Avalanche

by Melinda Braun

  It had been a good day.

  DAY 7

  MATT

  Location: University of Colorado Hospital, Aurora, Colorado

  Matt knew he’d been out for a few days because when he woke up the first thing his eyes landed on was his mother, sitting in the little side chair next to his hospital bed. She was reading a book, a clue she’d been there a while, and it was also a clue she was relaxed, which must have meant the doctors had already reassured her he would be fine.

  Right now, if he was honest, he felt better than fine. The lumpy hospital mattress underneath him a cloud of soft fluff. Smooth sheets against his skin, the solid weight of blankets pulled up to his chin, leaving him pleasantly cocooned. Even his eyes had a weight, and when he tried to wipe them, his mother looked up from her book. “Oh honey!” Her face alternated first with surprise, then worry, before she finally smiled and settled on relief. “You’re awake!”

  “Mom?” It was hard to make his mouth work; his tongue felt bloated to twice its size. Or maybe it was the drugs. They must have given him something. After all, he was in a hospital—druggie heaven.

  “I’m here, honey.” She squeezed his hand in hers, but it felt far away, a phantom itch on his skin. “Your dad’s here too. He just went to get some coffee.”

  Coffee. It sounded amazing. “Me too,” he babbled. “I want some too.”

  “Okay honey.” She smiled. “The surgeon will be coming by soon to explain a few things. He wanted to talk to you when you woke up.”

  “Surgeon? Why?”

  She kept patting his hand, her face an undecipherable mask. She leaned over and smoothed his hair back from his forehead, then kissed it, like she used to do when he was little.

  “Matthew!” His father appeared at the end of his bed, holding two Styrofoam cups of coffee. He was rumpled looking, like he’d slept in his clothes. Or hadn’t slept at all. “Good morning. Or should I say good afternoon.” He set the cups down on the table. “How do you feel, son?”

  “Hungry,” he confessed. “Really hungry. Do they have pancakes here?”

  “I think that can be arranged.” His dad smiled, eyes wet and shining. He was here. Matt realized he hadn’t seen him in over a month. Or heard his voice.

  His mom released his hand, placed his arm across his chest as though she were arranging him into a proper position. “I’ll go and let the nurses know you’re awake.” She kissed him once more, gave a silent nod to Matt’s dad, and slipped out the door. He wondered what they had talked about while he was sleeping, but he already knew he would never ask.

  “Matt.” His father sat down heavily in the chair, bent his head forward so he was staring at his coffee. “I wanted . . .”

  “I’m sorry, Dad.”

  “Sorry?” He looked up. “What on Earth do you have to be sorry for?”

  “For what I said on the phone.” Matt took a breath. “I shouldn’t have said it.”

  “Well, what you said was true.” His father smiled back at his cup. “I think I am an idiot.”

  “I still shouldn’t have said it.”

  “I shouldn’t have canceled our trip. Shannon had some problems and . . .”

  “Is she okay?” Matt’s voice was rough with worry.

  His father glanced at him, surprised at his sudden concern. “Oh yes. Yes, she’s fine. But she didn’t want to be alone, just in case . . .” He trailed off, looking up at a painting on the wall. A picture of mountains, a view of a snow-covered range sometime near sunrise.

  “I understand.” Matt did understand, in a way he hadn’t before, and he examined the painting as well, wondering if they both saw the same image. Doubtful. Matt knew he would never look at mountains the same way again.

  His father put his hand on Matt’s shoulder, squeezed it, but Matt winced. “Ow!”

  “What is it?” He snatched his hand back as if burned.

  Matt rolled his shoulder. A thick square of gauze was taped on the top, poking out through the hospital gown. “That’s where the mountain lion bit me.” He turned his head, as if to look at it, wondering how many stitches it took. “At least, that’s what I think it is. Honestly, when these drugs wear off I think everything’s gonna hurt.”

  “Mountain lion?” His father was stunned. He sank back into the chair like a deflated balloon. “Jesus Christ, Matt.”

  “Yeah.”

  There was not much else to say after a confession like that. “You look different,” his father offered finally.

  “Well, I definitely lost a few pounds.”

  “It’s not that,” his father said. “I don’t know, really. I guess you look older.”

  “I feel older.”

  “You’re not a kid anymore, that’s for sure.” His father scratched at his chin. “When did that happen?”

  Matt gave the picture one last look, finally recognizing it—the view was the same outside the window. “It happened a few days ago.”

  • • •

  “Knock, knock.”

  Matt turned his head. Next to his mother, a man in green scrubs stood in the doorway. Green hat. Green shirt. Green pants. This must be the surgeon. “I heard the patient is awake.” He walked into the room and stood at the end of the hospital bed, giving Matt a satisfied smile.

  “Yes, doctor,” his dad immediately replied, gratitude (and something like awe) in his voice.

  But if he’s a surgeon he must have done some sort of operation, Matt thought. On me. But what . . .

  His feet. His toes. His legs.

  “No!” Matt leaned forward, flinging off the blankets. He couldn’t feel anything, see anything.

  “Honey! It’s okay!” His mom pressed a solid hand to his chest, pushing him back down to his pillow. “Calm down.”

  “My feet!” he blared, but it came out wrong. It sounded like mwah fwee.

  “You’re fine.” His mom understood. “Your feet are just fine.” She helped prop him up; his dad adjusted the mechanical bed. His right leg, he now saw, was bandaged from the shin down, wrapped up so it resembled an enormous Q-tip. His left leg was encased in a bootlike cast, all the way up to his knee.

  The surgeon stood at the end of the bed. Matt thought he looked young—much too young to be in charge of cutting people open. “I hear you have a pretty amazing story to tell.”

  “What did you do to me?”

  “Well, you get right to the point, don’t you?” He grinned and bobbed his head good-naturedly. “It’s not so bad. Just the big toe. That definitely had to go. Completely necrotic. And part of the second metatarsal.”

  “What?” Matt gasped. “You cut off my toes?”

  “Right ankle was shattered, too. I put in three screws,” he continued, as though he were commenting on the weather. “All things considered, it looks good. You’re one tough nut, kid.”

  Shattered ankle. That must have happened in his plunge over the falls. Leah must have told the doctors everything else.

  Leah! “I wasn’t alone,” he said, swallowing down something sour. “Where is she?”

  “Where is who, honey?” his mom asked.

  “Leah. She’s the one who saved my life. More than once.”

  The surgeon looked down at his clipboard with a frown. “Yes, I remember her. She was adamant that she was fine. We treated her for mild hypothermia. Kept her overnight for observation, but she refused to be admitted.” He looked up. “She left with her brother two days ago.”

  “You found them?” He gripped the edge of the sheets. “Where are they? Where’s Tony?”

  “Tony’s fine. They’re all fine, honey,” his mom said.

  He knew that wasn’t true. “Sid was hurt bad, Mom.”

  “Well, he’s going to recover,” the doctor replied. “Thanks to you. That was real smart thinking, telling the nine-one-one operator the coordinates. The helicopter crew spotted the slide and were able to locate them quickly. If they hadn’t, your friend wouldn’t have lasted much longer.”

  “Sid’s okay?�
�

  “Punctured lung,” his dad told him. “And a head injury. He’s still here in the hospital, recovering like you. The Jains flew in with us on the same flight last night.” He touched Matt on the head, something he hadn’t done in years. “You saved them, son. I’m so proud of you.”

  Matt lay there, considering his words. “Dylan?” He felt a twinge of nausea at his name. “Did they find him too?”

  His mother gave his father a look, as if they had already previously agreed on how much to tell him. “There’s a recovery team out there right now, looking for Dylan’s body. They have dogs. . . . And the girl, Julie . . .”

  “What?” Matt looked up in surprise at her name. “What about Julie?”

  “Well, they’re still trying to figure that part out. I guess she skied off somewhere and they have some volunteers still looking.” She patted his hand. “That boy Carter stopped by when you were in surgery. Such a nice young man. Said he and his sister were going back out to help look. That must be that Leah girl?”

  “I can’t believe she just left.” Matt watched the ceiling. He counted the tiles running over it and got to fifteen before he found he could speak again. “I didn’t get to say good-bye.”

  The surgeon cleared his throat, looked at his watch, impatient to leave. “So, I just wanted to tell you the situation.” He tapped his finger on Matt’s cast.

  “How long?” Matt was also eager to have the surgeon leave.

  “Eight weeks,” he replied. “You’re young and strong. You’ll want to make an appointment with an orthopedist when you return to Des Moines.”

  “How long till I can play basketball?”

  “Well, ahh . . . you’ll probably want to discuss that with your own doctor,” he answered, rubbing his chin. “No hurry to rush it. Make sure to concentrate on getting your balance back to normal.”

  “So no basketball? No tennis? No anything?”

  “Uh . . . ahh.” He kept massaging his chin, as if trying to think of a more agreeable way to say no. “Have you ever considered golf? It’s a great sport.” He bobbed his head once more and gave them a weird wave as he backed out of the room, something between a bow and a salute. “And you can even ride around in a cart.”

  4 MONTHS LATER

  MATT

  Location: Home, West Des Moines, Iowa

  “All ready, honey?”

  “Yeah Mom.”

  “You sure you’ve got everything? Enough underwear and socks?”

  “I’m good for at least two weeks.” Matt stifled a laugh. “I know how to do laundry, remember?”

  “I know.” His mom blinked. She was smiling, but her eyes were too bright, too red and puffy around the edges. He knew she’d been crying. “What about snacks?”

  “Got it,” he replied. “And you can always send me care packages if you want.” He knew she would; he knew she’d want to. “The cookies I like. You remember what kind?”

  “Oatmeal chocolate chip.” His mom nodded and bit her lip, chewing on it absently. Her hands fluttered as she moved about the kitchen, opening drawers and cabinets, then shutting them, wiping the dishrag over the same spot on the counter, as if waiting for a mess to appear.

  “He’ll be just fine, Rebecca,” his grandfather said, looking up from the table as he went through yesterday’s mail. His mother’s parents had flown in from their retirement home in Arizona the week after he returned to Iowa, and even though he’d been home for more than four months, they were still here. Matt’s mother still got worried when he was out of her sight, but his grandfather was more old school, and he liked to remind Matt that when he was Matt’s age he was getting shot at in a rice paddy in Vietnam. The very first thing Grandpa Molinari said when he arrived was a question, actually a demand. “Let me see that foot of yours, kid.” And when Matt removed his sock, Grandpa whistled. “Holy sonsabitches!” To which his grandmother hollered, “Leave the boy alone, Peter! And stop your goddamn swearing!”

  Matt wasn’t sure what he meant, but Grandpa seemed weirdly impressed with his injury because he clapped him on the back and offered to take him down to the local bar for a whiskey. Unfortunately, his mom said no. For his first two weeks back, his mom hovered around him like he was a toddler learning to walk, even going so far as to sit in his room at night when he slept. He knew this because he woke up once and saw her sitting in his desk chair, head slumped on the table.

  “Matt will be just fine,” Grandpa Molinari repeated adamantly. “Just fine. After all, he takes after me.” He gave Matt a conspiratorial wink.

  “I know he’ll be fine, Dad.” His mother sighed. “But it’s a big change. And it’s a big city.”

  “Minneapolis isn’t so big,” Matt argued. He was wearing his new University of Minnesota T-shirt—it came last night in the mail. He liked the maroon and gold combination better than he thought he would.

  “Well, it’s bigger than Des Moines.”

  “It’ll be fine, Mom. It’ll be good.”

  “I know,” his mom said, shaking her head. “Oh, did you call Tony?”

  “Yeah, the Jains left yesterday for Illinois.”

  “You two need to keep in touch.” Her eyes grew even brighter at the mention of Tony’s name. “Make sure you visit each other. I’m sure you’re going to make a bunch of new friends, but . . .”

  “We will.” Matt nodded. “We definitely will.” Matt and Tony had passed the summer in a quiet routine. Matt spent Monday and Wednesday mornings doing rehabilitation exercises at the clinic, mainly practicing keeping his balance while reaching and grabbing things, going up and down stairs, and other basic things he never realized required his toes. On Tuesdays, Thursdays, and Fridays he worked at the public library, learning to reshelve books according to the Library of Congress and Dewey decimal systems. And because Tony was working full-time at Kroger’s, stocking shelves with cereal, pickles, jars of marinara, and baby wipes, it was always the evenings when they’d finally meet in Tony’s driveway to shoot hoops. Sometimes Sid would be there, sitting in one of the Adirondack chairs in the front yard, and once in a while he’d join them, but would get winded after a few free throws. He was still recovering—unlike Matt, his injuries were hidden yet severe. It would take a long time for Sid to heal, and the doctors warned he would never be the way he was. Then again, neither would Matt and Tony.

  They would shoot baskets until the sun sank behind the trees and the sky turned an incandescent shade of violet. Eventually the background would dissolve, the pole disappearing into the dim, leaving only a pale backboard to aim at. They’d play horse, round the world, twenty-one basketball, and time trial. But never one-on-one.

  Once, after Tony had sunk five three-pointers in a row, he said, “I thought I saw her after.” He held the ball against his chest like a shield.

  “Saw who?”

  “Julie.”

  Matt’s heart skipped. They had learned that Julie’s body had been recovered two weeks after they left Colorado. She had been found by a group of backpackers, near the base of a high cliff in a remote section of the forest. “What do you mean, after?”

  Tony took another shot and the ball smacked the backboard, bouncing off onto the lawn. “After the helicopter picked us up. After we were flying back to Denver. I thought I saw her.”

  Matt didn’t say anything for a while. He retrieved the ball from the grass. “What happened then?” He tossed the ball back to Tony.

  “Nothing. Nothing happened.” In the dark it was impossible to make out Tony’s face, and Matt guessed he wanted it that way.

  “Well,” Matt said slowly, “maybe you didn’t see her. Nobody else did?”

  “No.”

  “Then maybe you didn’t.”

  “Maybe.” Tony didn’t sound convinced.

  Matt had the sensation his best friend wanted something from him that he wasn’t qualified to provide. A pardon, absolution for his guilt, or possibly just a big fat lie. “Don’t beat yourself up about it,” he said finally. “You di
dn’t do anything wrong.” That isn’t a lie, Matt thought.

  This Tony seemed to accept. He dribbled the ball a few times, swallowed hard, and took another shot in the dark. And the net swooshed.

  • • •

  “What about your dad?” Matt’s mother asked, snapping Matt out of his memories of late-night basketball games. “Did you get a chance to say good-bye?”

  “We said good-bye last night,” he replied, and by the sound of his voice she didn’t ask any more. Her eyes remained focused on the counter, looking for stray crumbs to wipe away. “It’s fine. It’s good. He said that when things settle down, they all want to come up for a weekend. See the campus.”

  And that all included her. She was small, red-faced, and swaddled in white, a blue-and-pink-striped knit hat hiding dark hair when Matt first saw her in the maternity ward. Upon first glance Matt thought she looked rather squashed and wrinkly, more like an old elf than a baby. As he sat in the chair with her, snug in his arms, he wondered with a growing lump in his throat how something that delicate could survive in this world. “Hey, little baby,” he said, and her eyes opened. First right, then left, and she peered up with twin pools of shining black, so deep and serene that he felt dizzy looking in them. Then the baby yawned and shut her eyes.

  “Seven pounds, eight ounces,” his father crowed. “Twenty inches long. A ten on the Apgar.”

  Matt had no idea what he was talking about, so he looked at Shannon, who was propped up in the bed. “Everything’s perfect,” she explained. “She’s perfect.” Shannon appeared exhausted, but not nearly as rough and worn out as his father. Her face was puffy, and her hair was limp and tangled, but Matt thought she looked beautiful. She looked like a mother.

  “I still can’t believe it,” his father whispered as he took her from Matt’s arms, handing her back to Shannon. “A girl. I was so sure it would be a boy.” He shook his head in wonder. “I have no idea about girls.”