AVA
My desk is just on the other side of the door, so of course I hear the whole thing.
I hear Reed tell his father that he’s going back to California very soon. Which I did not know. And just as the pain hits, I hear Mark yell at his son that he doesn’t trust him.
It just gets worse from there. And I can’t take it—two people I care about, tearing each other apart.
I leave the office and skitter toward the canteen, heart pounding. I pour myself a cup of coffee that I don’t really need, and I try not to panic.
“What’s the matter?” Callie asks me. She’s wearing outdoor gear and has a camera around her neck, ready to capture candid shots of opening weekend. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
“Not exactly,” I say, taking a gulp of coffee. “Unless Reed or his dad don’t survive the fight they’re having. I don’t know how it can end well.”
She flinches. “That bad, huh?”
“Yeah.” I check over my shoulder to make sure nobody can hear me. But the only other occupant of the canteen is Sheila, tapping away at her keyboard at a table. “They want different things for the mountain, and I’m afraid Mark is too stubborn to listen to Reed.”
Callie’s eyes widen. “Are the new owners awful? Mountain gossip says they’re dismissive. Housekeeping says they’re bad tippers and that they leave blobs of toothpaste in the sink. And the bellhops claim the Sharpes collects venomous snakes. Not just on his neckwear, but in real life.”
I bark out a laugh. “I hope that last one is actually true, because it would make them more interesting.”
“What’s going to happen?” she whispers.
“I don’t know. It’s complicated.” That’s certainly true. “Mark wants to nail down the future of this place, but…” The sentence grinds to a halt, because there’s nothing more I can say without betraying confidences.
“But it’s complicated,” Callie says, because she understands.
“Yeah. I feel so conflicted. Mark can do whatever he wants. But Reed… God.” My shoulders sag. “I got so excited when he started to have big ideas for this place. But daydreams are one thing, and real life is tricky. Also, I’m terrified those two men will spend another ten years not talking.”
How much parental rejection can Reed be expected to take? He’s here. Finally. He’s trying, and Mark is pushing him away again.
It’s going to break my heart, too.
Callie squeezes my wrist. “Is there anything I can do to help?”
“No. But thank you.” My phone chirps in my pocket. I pull it out to find a message from the company that supplies our table linens. “At least it’s opening weekend, so there’s a million other fires to put out.” I stand up from my chair.
“See you out there,” Callie says. “Sutton is fired up to ski in the opening night ceremony.”
“I’m fired up too,” I promise her.
I love my job. I also love Reed.
But I’m afraid only one of those loves can survive at the same time.
It helps that today is a busy Saturday, and everyone wants a piece of me.
The beginning of the season is always chaotic, and today’s upsets include a ski lift with a missing inspection certificate, a shortage of personnel in the ski shop, and a flustered new concierge in need of a pep talk.
Not all of these disasters are technically part of my job description, but running a resort means facing a different challenge every day. When I’d told Reed I like that, I wasn’t lying. No two days are alike, and the views are always magnificent.
Distraction is a wonderful thing, and I lose myself in the minutia of making other people’s vacations a success. I’m good at it, and I genuinely enjoy showing our guests a great time.
But then I walk back into the hotel and overhear another bit of mountain gossip passing between two mouthy bellhops. “Yeah, Madigan is outta here already. His assistant—that hot chick, Sheila? She got him a first-class ticket on a flight so full that it cost two grand.”
“For a two-hour flight?” The other guy looks horrified. “For that coin, it ought to come with a porterhouse steak and a blowjob.”
I don’t hear the rest of their conversation, because I turn right around and walk back outside. If Reed is upstairs packing, I don’t even want to know. If he and his father are so broken, they can’t even have another conversation, I don’t think there’s anything productive I could say right at this moment.
I pull on my gloves and trek toward the new tubing area for children, which opens tonight for the first time.
“Ms. Aichers?” One of the younger members of the kitchen staff waves me over to where she’s standing in the snow beside a folding table. “Is this the right spot for the hot chocolate and cider?”
“That’s not bad,” I say, leaping in to help. “But if we brought this a little closer to the doors, it would be easier to refill tonight when you run out.”
“Yeah, good point,” she says.
“Let me help you with the tablecloth. We have to clip it down or it will blow away before this evening.”
Just like that, I’m swept back into the chaos of our opening weekend celebrations. I help set up the outdoor beverage station and the risers for the band and a million other little things.
When evening falls, I set up my box of torches near the ski lift. Then I pull out my phone to send a group text to the forty people who volunteered for the opening ceremony parade.
But first I check to see if I have any messages from Reed.
I do not. And if he’s left without saying goodbye, I will not be responsible for my actions.
With an hour to spare, I run home to change into skiwear and bolt down a bowl of soup. Afterwards, I heft my skis onto my shoulder to return to the ski lift just before eight.
Still nothing from Reed. He’s probably on the plane right now. He’ll probably call me tomorrow, apologetic. And I’ll have to steel myself for the awkward conversation of whether or not we’re going to see each other again. Somehow.
I can’t think about that right now, though. There’s a crowd of hotel guests, condo owners, and locals forming on the snow-covered lawn in front of the hotel. They’re spreading out waterproof quilts on the snow. And they’re drinking cocoa and hot adult beverages while they wait for the entertainment to begin.
But none of these people are Reed Madigan. This place suddenly feels empty without him.
Damn you, Reed. I spent years not thinking about him, and now I’m looking for his face in the crowd.
I hustle past everyone, because I’m actually running late. Stopping in front of the lift, I drop my skis to the snow and clip into the bindings.
“Looks like a good showing,” says Bert, who’s volunteered to man the lift tonight. “Got a good crowd, and I sent your people up the lift already. Sure hope the new owners will hold onto this tradition next year.”
I fish one of the last torches out of the box as I try to decide what to say. The sale of the mountain is not supposed to be public knowledge. But that’s mountain gossip for you. Everyone seems to know about the sale.
And I have no idea what the Sharpes are planning for this place. Until last night, I assumed everything would be fine and that I’d get a chance to run this place the way I’d like to.
But that was naïve, wasn’t it? I don’t even know if this place will still be called Madigan Mountain next year. The sign out on the highway might say Sharpes’ Snake Lodge for all I know.
“I hope we do this every year forever,” is all I can tell Bert. “If I have anything to say about it, we always will.”
He gives me a mock salute and a smile. “I’ll shut the lift down in—” He checks the time. “—ten minutes.”
“Wait for us!” a voice calls behind me.
When I turn around, I see Raven and Sutton running toward me with their gear. “Cutting it a little close, girls.”
“We like to live on the edge,” Sutton says, tossing down her skis to clip in.
“See you up there.”
“You know it,” Raven says as I juggle my poles and my torch and then scoot into position for the chairlift.
The next bench glides around and scoops me into its embrace. I sit back and tip my chin upward. The storm has moved past, and the night is clear enough to light the sky with stars.
It’s chilly in spite of the toe warmers I put into my ski boots. I don’t use them often, but I think of Reed every time I touch one. He gifted me a whole box of them before that fateful night when I first said yes to “pizza” at his place.
Some girls get roses. I got toe warmers. And I wouldn’t have had it any other way.
I can’t believe I slept with him this week. And now he’s leaving. What a stupid thing to do. Now he’ll live rent free in my head for another ten years.
As the lift climbs, I can hear Sutton’s excited chatter on the breeze behind me. The little girl was born here a few months after Callie came to work at Madigan Mountain. This is the only home she’s ever known.
That means Sutton and I have a few things in common. She was born here, and I was reborn here. Not to be dramatic, but this is the place I’ve lived my entire adult life.
I hope the Sharpes don’t ruin everything. It’s not my resort, and it’s not my money at stake. I don’t have any right to tell the Madigans what to do.
Reed and his father both accused each other of not giving a damn. There’s an argument in there either way, right? Reed stayed away from opening night for ten years. Who does that?
A traumatized person, I guess. In my heart I understand, but that doesn’t make this any less heartbreaking. Madigan Mountain is my safety net. But it isn’t Reed’s. And if his father doesn’t change his tune, it can’t ever be.
That’s just depressing.
The lift climbs smoothly to its natural terminus—at the edge of the learning area, about a third of the way up the mountain. The lift to the peak is just off to the side, but it’s shut down until morning. This is as high as we need to go for opening night.
I glide off to where my colleagues are poised in front of a stand of fir trees, chatting in the darkness, waiting for the signal to turn their torches on.
Raven—whose day job is managing the skier education program—is only a minute behind me.
“What time do you have?” I ask her when she and Sutton ski to a stop beside me.
“It’s a couple minutes till the hour. Bert will call me when the band starts playing.” She waves her phone at me. “Don’t stress, Ava. It’s all under control. And I’ve got a flask of rum in my pocket for our hot cider at the bottom.”
“You are prepared.”
“Always.” She grins.
“Good deal.” I clap my hands three times. “Line up, everyone! Two by two, behind Raven and Sutton.”
“Omigod, we’re first in line?” Sutton clucks. “This is everything.”
The clump of employees straightens out into a loosely organized line. Raven’s phone rings not long afterward, and when she turns on the speaker, I hear a drumbeat. “It’s happening!” she calls, handing me the phone. “Get ready to light up! Two by two. Count off with me, Sutton.”
Nobody at the bottom of the hill is going to demand their money back if we don’t do this perfectly, but it’s still fun. “Starting on four!” I call so that the back of the line can hear.
Together, Raven and Sutton count off the beat. And on four, they both turn on their torches. Four beats later, the pair behind them does. Then the pair behind them, too. And so it goes.
Meanwhile, I sidestep up the hill with the phone so that every pair can hear the beat when it’s their turn.
My plan is to join the end of the line like I usually do. But after the last pair, I’m startled to find Reed standing there in the dark. “You still ski?” I blurt out.
“Count of four, Ava,” he chides. A moment later he flips on his torch at the perfect time, as I fumble to turn on mine a beat too late.
He makes a clicking sound with his tongue. “I hope the Sharpes don’t hear about this little wobble.”
“Oh, fuck off.”
He laughs, and I admire the contours of his smile in the torch light. “Queue up, Ava. It’s starting.”
Still trying to catch up, I silence the phone and shove it into my pocket. “I thought you couldn’t ski anymore,” I point out as the front of the line slowly begins to move downhill.
“I can’t ski competitively. But if I wear a knee brace, there’s no reason not to get a few turns in now and then. My rebuilt ACL can take it. I usually ski at least once a year.”
“Huh. You’re an heir to a Colorado ski mountain, and you’re heading to Tahoe on the weekends?”
“Something like that,” he says gently. “You going to interrogate me? Or are we going to ski together now, like in the before times?”
“I’m a much better skier now than I was in college.” It comes out sounding churlish. Reed used to have to ski the beginner’s slope with me at the Middlebury Bowl. It was sweet of him, but I don’t need those memories surfacing now.
I wish he’d stop being charming and go back to California already. This is already tearing me apart.
“I’m glad you still ski,” he says quietly. “You deserve all the fun.”
Luckily, I don’t have to think of a reply, because the couple ahead of us begins to follow the line down the hill, and suddenly it’s our turn. Together, we move into their tracks and begin the slow zigzag route down the face of the hill.
We’re in synch, even as we carve the first turn. The new snowfall quiets our skis, so we swish across the hill, picking up speed, rolling into the next turn like well-trained dancers.
“What a beautiful night,” Reed says as we swing into the second turn. “In California, you can’t see the stars. Ever.”
“Why would anyone rather live there?” I ask, sounding needy.
“The paycheck,” he says simply. “Restaurants. Food delivery. Uber.”
I drop the subject, because I don’t want Reed to think I’m campaigning for his return to Colorado. I want it, and also fear it at the same time. If Reed moved back here, we’d have to confront the question of what we mean to each other.
If it didn’t work out, I’d probably have to leave this place and start over somewhere new.
Yeah, I’m getting ahead of myself. It’s a sickness.
As we continue the journey to the bottom, the band becomes audible. They’re playing selections from Nutcracker Suite, and they sound fabulous. We’re skiing to live music in a parade formation toward an awed mob of onlookers. It’s special. I love this night. I look forward to it every year.
I sure hope this isn’t my last one.
Reed gives me a big smile as we make the last turn and finish up at the bottom. The moment we come to a stop beside the others, I hear a crack and a hissing sound. The first firework explodes colorfully overhead a moment later as the audience gasps.
The band starts playing “Let it Snow,” and Reed puts an arm around me, his strong fingers curling at my hip.
It feels nice. Shoot me.
“There’s a cup of spiked cider with my name on it,” I say under my breath.
“Me too,” Reed says. “Unless that Halley chick is bartending. She’d probably put a snowball in mine.”
“And you’d deserve it,” I grumble.
“Maybe. But will you have a drink with me anyway?”
Danger, Ava. “It depends on whether that’s code for something else.” I tilt my head back to see a big blue starburst explode in the sky. I wonder if I’m strong enough to make the smart choice and go home alone tonight.
Reed and I are like two of the celestial bodies up there in the sky, powerless against all the different gravitational forces pulling on us.
Even if I don’t give in to another night with him, he’s still a force in my orbit. I don’t know how to shake him.
“Look, I need you to know something,” he says, leaning closer to me.
His nearness causes a thrum of excitement to roll through me. I could no more stop it than I could stop the moon from rising. Still, I don’t look at him, because I don’t want him to read it off my face. “What’s that?”
“I have to leave tomorrow morning. It was the only flight back to San Jose with a seat.”
My stomach plunges. “Yeah. Mountain gossip had you already gone.”
“Without saying goodbye? I wouldn’t do that.”
Anger rises in my chest as I turn to him. “You’re still leaving, though. And if you let your father sell this place, I know you won’t be back.”
“Let him?” Reed repeats. “You think I have a choice?”
“I think you could make your case again. How much trouble is Madigan Mountain worth to you? Your talk this morning lasted less than thirty minutes.”
“He won’t listen,” Reed says, and his voice is calmer than it should be. “Doesn’t matter how many times I say it.”
“You think that, but you don’t actually know.” My hands are balled into fists, because I’m so frustrated with both of them. They’re both hurting and too stubborn to be the one who admits it.
“Look…” Reed grabs the back of his neck and sighs. “Just because I can’t make my vision for the mountain work, doesn’t mean I don’t want to see you again. Will you come to California with me?”
“When?” I demand. “On vacation? I guess I could. But what would it lead to, besides more awkward goodbyes?”
“I don’t know what the future holds,” he says quietly. “But I don’t want to lose you again.”
“So don’t.” I sound angry, I think, but this really isn’t that complicated. “Stay here. Talk to your dad again.”
Slowly, he shakes his head. “I can’t stay here, Ava. I have to be at a meeting Monday morning. If I don’t go, it undoes months of work. But you could come and see Palo Alto. Try it on. There are hotels to run there, too. They’d be lucky to have you. And so would I.”
My pulse quickens, because I’ve been waiting years for Reed to say that he doesn’t want to let me go. My twenty-two-year-old self would already be looking at flights to California.
But with one glance at the hotel lit up against the dark sky, I feel deeply conflicted. Everyone I know and care about is standing around on this snowy field. “I don’t know, Reed. That makes me the one who makes the scary leap and gives up everything.”
“Yeah.” He clears his throat. “I know. That’s not fair.” He tugs off one of my gloves, tucks it into my pocket, then takes my hand in his.
“Reed.” I’m trapped inside his gaze as his thumb sweeps slowly across my palm. I can’t think when he touches me, and I need to keep a cool head right now.
This is big. Like I’m standing on a cliff, feeling vertigo at the view below. My heart thumps heavily inside my chest. “If there’s anyone I would ever do that for, it’s you. But—”
His brown eyes cool.
“—I’ve spent a decade making a life here, and now it’s in flux. If I leave right now, I am abandoning this place. Just like your father.”
“And just like me, I guess?”
“Well…” This is awkward. “I’m not ready to give up. The happiest I have ever been was last night when we were talking about the expansion.”
“The happiest, huh?” His voice is husky. “And here I thought the sex was good.”
The joke is meant to lighten the mood, but it’s a lost cause. “I want what we planned last night.”
“Like I don’t?” He swallows hard. “I’m not walking out on you again, Ava. He pushed me out.”
“That was one conversation,” I argue. “It’s not over.”
“Please.” He huffs out a bitter laugh. “It only took one conversation for him to tell me that my opinion doesn’t matter. But that’s not good enough for you, huh? I’m supposed to stay and beg him to listen to me? Chain myself to the ski lift and demand satisfaction?”
“I don’t know,” I whisper.
“Hell.” He looks up at the hotel. Really looks at it—like he’s memorizing the stone chimneys and the red shutters. “He told me to get out of his office. He told me to take my big ideas and go home. So that’s what I have to do.”
My heart clenches. “If you’re sure,” I say quietly.
“I’m sure.” He squeezes my hand. “We could still be okay.”
But I am not okay. Not at all.
