by Sarah Gay
Tori’s hands began twitching with indignation. “You weren’t there. That’s what I’m trying to say. My situation is different than yours.”
“You made me so angry. You said that it would take time. That I needed to be patient, that time would heal my wounds.”
“I remember. You yelled that if one more person mentioned the word time, you would scream.”
“Casey did something worse than dying, he abandoned me. I had a right to be angry.”
“Sorry.”
“Me too. Have you ever heard of a woman named Mary Ann Baker?
“No.”
“She lost her parents, and then her only brother, to a hereditary disease. When her brother died, she couldn’t afford to transport his body home, or bury him. I believe he ended up in an unmarked, public grave.”
“A potter’s field,” Tori lamented.
“Baker was full of sorrow and rage. Then, she bore her soul to God. She wrote lyrics which beautifully capture Christ calming our troubled hearts and minds.”
“What song?”
“Master, the Tempest is Raging. Like Mary Ann Baker, I believe that if you have faith, and ask Him in humility, He will calm your troubled heart. He calmed mine.”
Tori grew defensive and threw her towel at Gussie’s face. “I’ve done that.”
Gussie raised a brow. “In humility. Not our strong point.”
Tori’s jaw tightened. “How dare you?”
“I dare, because I care.”
“You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“I’m your twin. I know you better than you know yourself. I wouldn’t tell this to anyone else. Some people need meds and additional therapy.”
“Tried those.”
“And for someone with clinical depression, it would be a slap in the face to them, advising that they humble themselves and pray more.”
Tori narrowed her eyes. “And it’s not a slap in the face to me?”
“I’m telling you what’s helped me, your identical twin. Can I finish my story?”
“No.”
Gussie threw her head back and walked toward the bedroom door.
Soul constricting guilt slithered up Tori’s legs. “Fine.”
Gussie jumped on Tori’s bed and fluffed a pillow she then used to stuff under her chin. “The pain you’re going through is real. It’s not exactly like mine was, but that doesn’t matter. It’s pain. I’m not saying that God can, or will, take away your pain and depression. What I am saying, is that it can’t hurt to ask for comfort.”
Tori laid down next to her sister and buried her head in her feather pillow. Hadn’t she been humbled by her husband’s death? Did she lack faith? “I’m not strong enough for this.”
“We never know how strong we are until we have no other choice. I’m sorry you’re in pain, but I know you’re going to pull through this.”
“I’m not so sure.” Tori exhaled her grief. “I need help.”
“I’m always here for you,” Gussie said, lightly touching Tori’s arm.
Tori felt the electric shock pulse through her body. They rarely touched each other—for this exact reason. It was a bond difficult to explain.
Gussie continued, “But, I realize that’s not enough. That’s why I’ve found a handsome someone who wants to help.”
Tori’s eyes narrowed. “Seriously? Are you on drugs? Why would you even bring up the subject of another man? I’m never going to find anyone like Jim again.”
“I thought that too, before I met Ray.”
“Nor, do I want to.”
“That’s fair. But all this guy wants to do is snuggle, and make you happy.”
“What?”
“And there’s a catch. You may need to clean up after him—from time to time.”
“Is he a slob?” Tori anxiously ran her fingers through her wet hair. “Wait. Why am I even entertaining the idea?”
“I’ll go get him. Brush your hair.” Gussie rolled off the bed and smiled. “He’s waiting in the living room.”
Tori’s mouth dropped. “You wouldn’t dare.” Maybe her sister would dare. When they were young, Gussie had done worse things than this. And Gussie had given the disclaimer earlier that she dared to do things for Tori’s own good. She ran to her master bathroom, leaned over her husband’s sink, and prepared her toothbrush.
The peppermint toothpaste swirled in Tori’s mouth, causing her to gag. It had been Jim’s favorite. She used it during her pregnancy, and hated it. It was the instigator of her morning retching ritual. After Ethan was born, she switched to an organic cinnamon paste to avoid the awful memory. Now, with Jim gone, she yearned to have him back, even if it meant reliving her nauseating pregnancy.
She held her hand under the running water, and splashed the sides of the basin out of habit. It was the only idiosyncrasy that drove Tori mad; the one thing about him that grated on her nerves, the constant hair in the sink. He would pull his hair through his fingers every day, and if it was longer than half an inch, he’d snip it into the sink. She would curse as she rinsed his hair down the drain every morning.
Tori ran a wide-tooth comb through her dark, chestnut hair that was cut in a 90s-layered style—reminiscent of an old Friends episode. Tori and her middle-school-aged friends used to see who could come the closest to replicating the stars.
“How do I look, Mom?” Tori said into the mirror. She had always asked her mother that question before leaving home.
Horrific twist of fate, losing her husband to cancer one year, then having her mother diagnosed a few months later. Her mother now resided in an assisted living facility an hour away, close to where she received her cancer treatments. Tori visited her at least once a week. Her visits were too short and too infrequent, but it was all that she could emotionally give.
Her mother would have given more. She had given more. When Tori went to her with the news of her pregnancy, her mother showed love and compassion. She had been a voice of reason, grounding Tori. What would happen when that voice stopped speaking? Tori shuddered. Receiving the news of her mother’s illness was a rude awakening. Suddenly her mother wasn’t the invincible lion tamer of her youth. She was human, and humans die.
Gussie entered the bathroom quietly. “Like heaven dusted your cheeks with angel mist. Remember who you are tonight. You’re an angel sent to me from heaven in my old age.”
“You even sound like her,” Tori said solemnly. “I’m going to miss her so much.”
“Me too. She always has a way of making me feel like I’m really something. You know?”
Tori grasped the sides of the sink with her palms. “Was it her calm, listening ear, or the bowl of ice-cream that she handed us as teenagers when we talked, that created that sense of belonging?”
“I don’t know, but I could go for a bowl of mint chocolate chip right about now. You up for a trip to the store?”
Tori raised an eyebrow. “What about the snuggly guy sitting in my living room?”
“He’s right here,” Gussie said, unfolding a blanket to reveal a wiggly puppy with glossy, black locks. “He can come too.”
Tori squealed with delight. “He’s adorable!”
“And he’s been trained to be an emotional therapy doggy. And I got your shrink to write a letter to confirm the necessity for this little guy. You’re all set. Meet your new beau.”
Tori’s chest warmed as she brought the puppy up to her face and peered into his deep brown eyes. As he snuggled his cold wet nose into her neck, his soft, newborn fur rubbed against her chin, causing Tori to experience the first real sense of comfort since her husband’s passing.
“What would I do without you, Gussie?”
Gussie embraced Tori, sending a warm electrical wave down her spine. “You’ll never have to know.”
2
One year later
The clean, thin mountain air whipped across Zee’s face, causing his eyes to water. This was his last run of the day. The chairlift climbed up the moun
tain with a speed equaling a robin in flight. Although the cold air met his face with force, his cheeks remained warmed from the sun that had blanketed them with a fresh suntan that day. It was reminiscent of having spent the day surfing.
He took in a deep breath and admired his surroundings. The white mounds met the azure sky with resplendence, then cascaded down the mountainside in perfectly groomed trails, skirting the verdant rows of evergreen trees.
Zee preferred to be here in the mountains, alone, to hobnobbing with the Hollywood actors and onlookers in town. Sundance Film Festival was not all he had expected it to be, or perhaps it had been. He was ready to get back to the beach and do some surfing.
He jumped off the lift, and skied toward an intermediate run with a few switchbacks through the trees. He wasn’t an experienced skier by any means, having lived near the ocean a good portion of his life, but he’d picked it up rather quickly over the past few days.
A group of young kids pulled up next to Zee with their instructor at the helm.
“Follow me. You know the drill.” The instructor gave a wide grin and a thumbs-up. “Everyone good?”
The kids raised their ski poles in the air and hollered with enthusiasm. Zee watched as they wound down the hill, leaving behind beautiful bowtie ski tracks.
What I wouldn’t give to be young again, Zee thought. Being in his mid-thirties wasn’t bad, but it’d be better with a wife, and a kid or two. Zee adjusted his ski mask, pushed off, and flew down the hill.
His legs burned from squatting and bending into his turns. He approached the group of young students as they were advancing past a rustic, log cabin.
What was an old cabin doing in the middle of a ski run? Zee maneuvered up to the front of the cabin, removed his skis, and clomped onto the wide deck. Peering in through the window at the primitive room, he caught a glimpse of a large stuffed bear in a state of slumber on the bed. With a low chortle, Zee expressed his amusement.
“Help,” a young cry emanated from amongst the tall trees. “Anyone there?”
Zee ran to the side of the cabin. “Where are you?”
“Down here.”
Zee surveyed the forested slope to find a boy buried up to his waist in fresh powder. “Hold on, kid.” Zee advanced slowly, trudging through a few feet of dusty snow. “What happened?”
The young boy, with clear blue eyes and a pasty face peppered with freckles, shook his head. “I came into the trees then hit a wicked jump.” His arm shot up with excitement. “It was awesome!”
“Awesome, huh?” Zee said with a chuckle as he dug his arms into the snow.
The boy smiled with a nod, revealing his two missing canine teeth.
“I like you, kid. How old are you?”
“Ten.”
“When I was ten, I was trying to catch some awesome, cranking waves in the ocean.”
“Cool.”
“There ya go.” Zee pushed the last of the ensnaring snow aside. “What’s your name?”
“Ethan.”
“I’d hate to see you get hurt, Ethan. Watch those wicked jumps.”
“Thanks,” the boy said eagerly, now free from his powdered prison.
Zee smiled as he watched the young boy zip down the hill. Then, thoughts of what might have been yanked him back to the harsh reality of having lost that one-sided battle.
Zee placed his skis upright in the designated ski rack at the entrance to the lodge. His sun-strained eyes welcomed the low light. Was his developing headache a result of his day in the wintry sun, or due to the high altitude? He removed his heavy ski jacket, placing it on the back of a hand-carved wooden chair.
The open room resembled a European hunting tavern from the early 1800s, with crisscross timbers reaching up several stories, a central stone fireplace, and iron sconces hanging off the walls. No expense was spared here.
The common area entertained a dichotomy of tired skiers and energetic, non-skiing, supportive spouses and travel buddies—who deferred the exercise to pampered indulgence at the world-renowned spas and restaurants.
As he relaxed back into the wooden chair, Zee could hear bells tinkling. It was a few weeks after Christmas—too late in the season for a Polar Express reenactment.
A black dot scurried across the floor just before a tiny creature jumped up onto Zee’s lap, causing him to nearly eject out of his seat. He grasped his armrests with force, attempting to steady his racing heart with deep breaths. Upon closer examination of this high-jumper, Zee realized that he had just been accosted by a miniature dog. He was a black ball of fluff, with three silver bells hanging off his collar, and weighing no more than two or three pounds.
Zee slowly cupped the little pooch in his hands. “Seriously? You’re smaller than my one hand?”
The little guy nuzzled his nose into Zee’s palm, before utilizing Zee’s thumb as a chew toy. “Ow. Those are some sharp little teeth.”
Out of the corner of his eye, Zee noticed the bright blue ski jacket of the little boy who had been buried in the powder. The boy’s chin remained down as he swept his head side to side, studying the carpet with his eyes.
“Rambo!” the boy called out.
With the crowds now clearing, the boy moved into open view. The distressed vacationers had become aware of the possibility of an aggressive pet and slowly dispersed.
Zee flipped over the lightweight doggy tag. Rambo etched into the red paint. “You do have razor-sharp teeth, but something tells me you wouldn’t thrive, let alone survive, in these woods—like your namesake.”
Zee stood and walked up to the boy. “Is this who you’re looking for?”
“Yeah, thanks.” The boy gave a sigh of relief. “My mom’s going crazy.”
“Let’s find your mom and set her mind at ease.”
“She’s right there,” he said, pointing to the front doors with his elbow.
A tall brunette sauntered into the room like she was out to get the main part in the next blockbuster movie. Had Zee met her before, perhaps at one of the celebrity parties he had attended in LA? She looked familiar.
Zee sucked in a quick breath as she turned and he caught sight of her face. “Wow, that’s your mom?”
The boy’s face lit up. “She’s really nice. Do you want to hang out with us?”
Was he asking Zee to possibly date his mom? His body tingled with anticipation. “Absolutely.” Now we get serious. “Can I see Rambo for a minute?” Zee took the fluff ball out of the boy’s hands before he could answer, and snuggled the tiny creature into his chest. Game on.
When his eyes met hers, the confident woman’s placid expression warmed to irrefutable joy. Zee’s chest refused to fill with air for a moment, causing his heart to race. What he wouldn’t give to have someone look at him like that every day.
She began, “You found him! How can I ever thank you?”
The boy pulled at her sweater, “And he’s the guy who dug me out of the snow.”
“I’m twice in your debt, Mr.?
“Zee.”
“Mr. Zee.”
“Zee Terrence,” he corrected.
“Z? Like, the letter Z?”
“Unusual, I know. It means sea in Dutch.”
“Is your family from Holland?”
“No idea. I have a brother named Kai, meaning sea in Hawaiian, and a sister named Meri, mean—”
“Let me guess. Sea in Hungarian?”
“Finnish. Hungarian is Tenger. I barely escaped being named Tenger Terrence.”
“Zee was a better choice,” she said with a smile that made Zee swallow hard to keep focused on her eyes instead of her mouth.
“You’ve got two great little guys here.” Zee held Rambo in the air, then snuggled him back into his chest. “What kind of dog is he?”
“A teacup maltipoo pom.”
“A pompom?”
She laughed.
It was working.
“He’s a Maltese-Poodle-Pomeranian.”
“Rambo, right? I didn’t get your
name.”
“Sorry. I guess I’m a little flustered today.” Her cheeks blushed as she reached for Rambo. “It’s Victoria, but my friends call me Tori. Call me Tori,” she stuttered.
Zee brushed hands with Tori as he placed the small ball of fur in her hands. After the initial euphoria from her touch, he felt a cool piece of metal. He looked down at her fingers. Wedding band. Why hadn’t he looked down at her finger ten seconds into their conversation? Idiot!
She blinked her eyelashes. “Can I buy you a hot chocolate to thank you for your help today?”
He stepped back, growing serious. Was her affectation all pretense and manipulation? Did she know he was an executive producer? “Thanks, but I have a commitment this evening. It was nice to have met you, Tori. And you too, Ethan. Watch those jumps.”
Zee turned, ripped his jacket from off the back of the chair, and cursed his stupidity all the way back to his lonely room.
3
Later that ski day
The house filled with gaiety and laughter as the smell of savory pot-luck items wafted back to Tori’s room. Her family brought sunshine to her lonely, cloudy day. She was almost finished giving her hair soft waves with the flat iron when Gussie entered the Western styled master bath. Tori loved the Aztec hand towels, but had lost the fight with Jim about the wooden toilet seat printed with a cowboy riding atop his horse. It was his throne, he’d argued.
Gussie pointed to Tori’s chest. “Love your white blouse. Can I borrow it tomorrow?”
“Depends.” Tori and Gussie had always shared an affinity for trendy clothes. They also shared hair-pulling brawls over outfits as teenagers. Gussie wasn’t getting the shirt that easy. “What did you bring to share?”
“Omi’s German chocolate cake with cream filling.”
“The shirt’s yours.” Tori licked her lips. Memories of her childhood tickled her tongue. “I want the first piece. That’ll assure that I actually get one.”
“You got it,” Gussie said with a wink and finger gun. “Hey, what’s this about some guy digging Ethan out of the snow today?”