by Jean Oram
I poised my fingers over the keys, not sure what to expect other than disappointment. I inhaled, then let out the breath as I began, playing a song I’d soon be performing with my friends on Christmas Day.
When I’d finished, I ran my fingers up the keys once again, noting that the dead one was still silent.
“I ordered a new key. Glue didn’t work,” Steve said. “Did you know that they have piano graveyards, kind of like a wrecker for cars? You can order used parts.”
“No, I didn’t,” I said. The piano sounded surprisingly better. Was that because I was expecting it to be awful, or had he actually improved it?
“What do you think?” he asked, when I continued to play. He was leaning against the side of the piano, his arms crossed over the top.
“It’s definitely better.” I paused my playing and tapped the silent key thoughtfully, then glanced up at him, startled by his intense gaze. “Do you think the key will arrive in time?”
He shrugged. “Nobody will notice if you miss a note or play an octave or two higher or lower than usual.”
Other than killing my poor friends as they tried to match the pitch. Still, I had to give Steve points for trying.
“Don’t pour too much money into it.” I sucked on the insides of my cheeks, mulling over the piano issue. Steve’s fix might pass for one night.
“Can you sing?” Steve asked, nudging me aside with his hip as he settled on the bench beside me.
“What?”
He began to play a song that sounded disjointed and out of tune. In other words, perfectly Steve and in sync with the old piano.
“What are you playing?” I leaned closer, intrigued.
“You don’t know it?”
I shook my head. The tune picked up tempo and I marveled at Steve’s hidden talent. It reminded me of discovering a well-hidden chocolate egg a week after Easter—after you’d already eaten your stash and were craving another hit of chocolate.
He began singing, his voice low and gravelly. The kind of voice that would fit someone found eating a can of beans under a bridge, ready to scare you witless.
I knew this song.
“Tom Waits?” I breathed, as his fingers danced faster and faster. “Nobody knows Tom Waits.”
Steve kept playing. “A girl in high school got me hooked.”
I frowned at him. I was quite certain nobody else in Christmas Mountain High had been listening to this artist.
“I snuck a listen on her iPod when she went to the bathroom during chem,” he explained.
“I knew I couldn’t trust you,” I murmured, starting to sway with Steve as he continued to play “Just the Right Bullets.” I was about ready to dive in as well, until he got to the second-to-last verse. The lyrics. The singer wanted the subject of the song to be happy. It was his only wish, and that he’d fix things for her—fix everything to make her happy.
I couldn’t help but feel as though Steve had chosen this song on purpose, and that it was saying more than I was willing to hear. I slid off the end of the bench, a lump in my throat.
“Nobody knows Tom Waits,” I repeated in a whisper, hugging myself on the chilly stage, the empty room echoing the song back at us.
Steve stopped playing, then smoothed dust off the keys, making them shine. Neat and tidy. Black and white. Almost perfect.
“I do,” he replied just as quietly.
But why?
“It’s still out of tune.”
“But getting closer?”
I couldn’t meet his eye. Couldn’t quite consider the subtext, the deeper meaning behind his words.
“It has a ways to go before it’ll be what I need.”
We walked back to the house together, my stomach rumbling due to missing breakfast, Obi tugging on his leash to sniff at every tree we passed.
“Come heli-skiing with me this afternoon,” Steve said, when we were about a block from home. “There’s this gorgeous slope you’ve got to ski to believe.”
Jumping out of a helicopter to ski down an ungroomed and possibly unstable terrain just for the rush of it didn’t appeal to me.
Maybe eight or so years ago, when I was still instructing at the Blacktail Mountain Ski Area and loving every second of ripping down the slopes on skis. Now, not so much. I was a bit more careful with anything potentially dangerous, giving risky sports a wide berth, well aware of their power to upset my life.
“I don’t ski anymore.” And I certainly wasn’t going to jump out of a helicopter to refresh that skill.
“Why not?”
“I’m a mom.”
“You’re not teaching Max how to ski? I thought parents were all about getting their kids into outdoor sports so they’d spend more time being physically active.”
“You’re not supposed to instruct your family or friends. It’s part of being certified.”
“So?”
“So?” Rules were in place for a reason—to protect people.
Great. Now I wanted to take Max out to see if he might love the sport as much as I had.
“Then come fly with me this afternoon. A quick helicopter ride is less risky than driving most days.”
“Most days?” I repeated doubtfully.
He didn’t reply, just watched me debate playing hooky with putting the second coat of paint on Max’s bedroom walls.
“Let’s go play,” Steve urged. “Let me show you the town from above.”
“You think I need to run away from my problems?”
“They’ll all still be there when you land.”
“You think I need perspective then?”
“Why can’t you let loose and play with me?”
“Why do you always push?”
He was standing close, as though he wanted to touch me. “Because I want to see you smile.”
I gave him a grotesque grin. “Satisfied?”
“Nope. It’s not the same as your loving-life smile.”
I couldn’t even recall what that smile felt like anymore.
Before I could indulge in a mini pity party, he said, “I’ll pick you up in half an hour.”
“With your helicopter? Funny.”
“Are you scared?”
I paused to think about it. Not exactly scared. But I wasn’t eager.
But why shouldn’t I take him up on his offer of a free helicopter ride? Why leave all the fun for the tourists? Hadn’t I promised myself I would do something exciting for myself during this break?
No, I hadn’t.
Why hadn’t I? Didn’t I deserve it? And wouldn’t it be exciting to have some of my own news to share when Max and Calvin called?
I should do more than just watch movies rated higher than PG-13, stay up past my regular bedtime, and paint a bedroom.
“Yes.” I gave a firm nod, as though assuring myself of my decision.
“You’re scared?” Steve touched my elbow and said seriously, “Because as a pilot, I’ve never had a crash I couldn’t walk away from.”
“Funny. I’m actually taking you up on that helicopter ride. But you have to pack our lunch, and I’m not paying for fuel.”
He looked affronted. “It wouldn’t be a very good date if I asked you to do that.”
Before I could protest that this was not a date, Steve skipped over the snowy banks, cutting across his yard. He jogged up the steps and turned to me with a wide grin before letting himself in the house.
There were no two ways about it. That man was determined to secure a place in my inner circle whether I held the door open for him or he had to break it down himself.
“It’s not a date,” I said to Steve, as the helicopter lifted off. I’d had almost an hour to work through the shock of him wrangling me into something outside my comfort zone, as well as implying it was a date. Was I so out of the loop that I didn’t understand what dating was like beyond high school?
“You have to turn on your microphone,” he told me, flicking a lever so we could talk through our bulky headsets.
I kept my mouth
shut.
“What was it you said?” he asked as we rose into the air, the big machine tipping to combat a gust of wind, the world around us a swirling cloud of snow.
I clung to my seat. What was I doing? I was a mom. I had a child.
I ventured a look through the side window, to find the ground racing away as we climbed higher. My hands clenched into fists and I reminded myself to breathe.
Then we were zipping along the valley, not so close to the ground that I worried about hitting trees or disturbing wildlife, but still not high enough that I felt entirely safe.
I ordered myself to relax.
“You’d better not crash,” I said.
“Don’t worry, I got my license to fly out of a cereal box.” He winked at me in a way that made my stomach give a little flip and my cheeks warm. Despite our past and our fights I liked this guy. Putting the physical risk of a helicopter ride aside, I reminded myself that good moms didn’t date casually, and with Steve it would never be anything but.
As we flew past a meadow, I saw a herd of elk pawing at the snow to graze on the dried grasses beneath. We moved higher.
“Where are we going?” I asked.
“Do you always stress out this much when someone else is driving?”
I stayed quiet, thinking for some reason of the book about the divorcée Carol had given me. Its message was learning not to care so much about the perception others had of us, but daring to believe something new about ourselves.
Currently, it seemed everyone was nudging me about how I was living my life a bit too safely, and as a result, putting myself at risk by being too sheltered. An obvious example was how I relied on Calvin, to the detriment of my long-term financial health.
I leaned back against the seat, eyes closed, concentrating.
So if my friends were right, the next question might be who was I, and was I the person I wanted to be? Obviously, I felt I could be more as I’d applied for school. But beyond that, my mind went blank, refusing to answer anything further. I slowly opened my eyes, to discover we were already near the top of the tall mountains, thousands of feet above sea level. Steve was watching me with concern, probably regretting taking me out, and worried that I was in the middle of a quiet meltdown. Maybe I was. Melting down my old self-image.
We rose above the puffy clouds that had been lying low over the town, and were suddenly blinded by sunshine. It was breathtaking, nothing but clouds, trees and snowy mountaintops. And us.
“Wow.”
“There’s a little bowl where the receding glacier left a lake over here. I’ve heard that in the summer it’s stunning. Crystalline blue waters like you’ve never seen.” He banked the helicopter to head in the direction he’d tipped his head, causing me to squeal. It didn’t feel dangerous, just different. It shook things loose in my box of internal worries.
We flew for several more minutes, Steve pointing out various mountains like a guide, even taking me past a slope covered with ski tracks where he had dropped someone off to go heli-skiing yesterday.
I wondered if he had taken this job to give him daily perspective. I understood if he did.
When he finished his tour of the local valley, he turned the chopper to head back toward home. As we drew near the town, I could feel the weight of my life pressing back in. All my so-called problems were still waiting for me, just like he’d promised.
“Aren’t we having lunch?” For some reason I’d expected Steve to put the helicopter down near a secluded cabin, somewhere we could have a hot lunch.
Ridiculous.
I’d obviously been watching far too many movies, and hadn’t had nearly enough dates in my lifetime.
“Trust me, Joy. I keep my promises.”
“A picnic then?” It was winter, but not completely unheard of… What if his idea of lunch was going to Prancer’s Pancake House? The whole town would have their tongues flapping if we showed up there together, and I knew I’d have a negative knee-jerk reaction about my attraction to Steve if they did. I needed more time to accept my change of heart so I didn’t automatically and publicly reject him.
He pointed into the valley near Christmas Mountain. “Looks like Ashley has a sleigh ride going on.”
“I’ve barely seen her since coming home. She’s been so busy with her new business.” I looked down, sorting out where we were and where the ride was taking place. “Actually, that might be Faith Sterling! I can’t believe there’s talk about closing down the luxury tour company. I hope she teaches that city snob Adam how important that business is, and shows him how wonderful and healthy it is to get out in nature.”
Steve made a hum of agreement. A moment later he asked, “Have I convinced you how awesome helicopter rides are?” He gave me a quick glance as he maneuvered the chopper down to the helipad just outside of town.
“It was nice,” I said, downplaying how thrilling it had been, before catching myself. “Actually, it was really great. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
When he’d successfully touched down, he stated, “Another landing where everyone can walk away.”
“Don’t worry about adding lunch to our date. This was enough.”
“I thought you said this wasn’t a date.”
“And I thought you said you couldn’t hear me without the microphone thingy turned on?”
He smirked and turned off the helicopter’s engine.
“Thank you, Steve.”
“You’re welcome.”
We smiled at each other for a moment, and I was unable to hide my growing grin. “I feel like the kids at the daycare when I told them Santa is coming to visit tomorrow.”
“Yeah?”
“Miles Wilson is dressing up in a suit.”
“Mr. Wilson? Who owns the feed store? You’re joking!”
I smiled. The man was a natural Santa with his wild white hair and wonderful green eyes. Yes, he was commonly known as the biggest grump in town, but he was a softie on the inside and I knew the kids would adore him.
“Well, that’s fun. I’m sure they’ll get a kick out of their lumps of coal,” Steve muttered, and I laughed at his lack of faith.
“I love this time of year.” Even people like Mr. Wilson got into the spirit of the season.
Steve removed his headset and opened his door. I continued to sit in the seat for a second, thinking.
“Are you coming?” he asked.
“Where?”
“Stop asking questions and just go with the flow.”
“Maybe I’m used to controlling things so I don’t have children melt down on me.”
“I don’t see any here today.”
I climbed out of the helicopter and met Steve on the other side. “I’m not used to going with the flow.”
“Do you trust me?” he asked.
I could trust him to scramble my mind, create havoc with my emotions and to do the unexpected. I could trust him to help Max. I could trust him to be kind to my dog. And I’d just climbed into a helicopter and allowed him to fly me to the skies, opening my world to a whole new perspective.
Steve was a man who came from a good place, even though he made me want to pull my hair out half the time.
“Maybe I shouldn’t have asked that,” he said, working his way through a system of securing the helicopter before taking a half step back to survey his work, then turning in the direction of his truck.
“And maybe you need to learn patience.” I caught up with him, hooking my right hand in the crook of his elbow as I matched his pace.
“Patience hasn’t served me well in the past.” There was something going on, moving behind his eyes, darkening them.
“When you’re patient people can fully consider their reply. It may give them enough time to realize how deeply they do trust you, for example. But if you would rather race off to the next thing...” I let go of his arm and he stopped walking. “I guess it’s no big deal, Adventureman.”
He frowned at the name and I realized t
hat somehow Steve Jorgensen—despite all our differences—had woven his way into my inner circle. And while I didn’t know what I was going to do about it, I vowed to explore it, and that meant living a little bit more in the present moment. Starting now.
I rolled up onto my tiptoes on the edge of the frozen helipad and kissed Steve full on the lips.
Steve pulled over at the Overlook, up the hill from Christmas Mountain. Down below, chimneys on what looked like tiny toy houses were puffing out warm air, creating clouds above them as their furnaces ran.
“Come on,” he said, climbing out of his truck.
If I recalled correctly, this was where Morgan and Dallas had gotten engaged last Christmas. I didn’t have any ridiculous thoughts about Steve proposing to me, but I stayed in the truck just the same.
He gave me a questioning look as I glanced out the windshield, checking our surroundings, then asked through his open door, “Do you have to know everything about everything at every moment of every day?”
“How many times can you say ‘every’?” I quipped.
“Many, many times.” He opened the back door to his pickup and pulled out a backpack and a blanket that I had assumed were part of a winter emergency kit.
Steve walked down a short, packed path to the bench that overlooked the town. He draped the blanket over it to protect us from the icy seat, then opened the backpack and started pulling out food.
“Picnic,” I said to myself, finally climbing from the truck. He was indeed a man of his word.
I sat beside him on the bench.
A helicopter ride, a kiss and a picnic.
It was a date.
“Hungry?” Steve handed me a container holding several kinds of sliced cheese. He opened a box of crackers, then a small tub with grapes and strawberries—two of the more pricey fruits found in the Christmas Mountain grocery store at this time of year. Definitely date food.
Next he pulled out a bottle of what looked like champagne, and I found myself glancing over my shoulder for Officer Hutchinson. The policewoman was still considered new to town, despite having been here for more than a year. She was a bit of a stickler for rules, and had nailed Ashley with a speeding ticket last year when she’d coasted into town above the posted limit. I had a feeling Ms. Hutchinson would not appreciate us drinking on public land.