Just Let Me Die Here (A Serialized Novel) 12

“Alright, let’s give this one a try,” I say, pulling to a stop at the ridge of a run. ‘Strawberry Surprise’ reads the sign posted next to me. The blue square indicating difficulty has been partially covered with a sticker. The words on the sticker are in French. French I have not learned. But the cartoon image of a male skier and an underdressed, well-endowed woman gives a pretty good hint at what the words mean.

“I don’t know,” Tucker says. “Not too interested in what the surprise in Strawberry Surprise might be.”

“Oh, come on. It will be fine.”

Halfway down the mountain, I see Tucker clip the edge of his ski while trying to turn and get thrown off balance. He isn’t able to recover and he quickly tumbles downhill. The back of his ski hooks into the snow and pulls him up short, hanging upside down on the mountain.

“You okay?” I ask, sliding to a stop next to him.

“Yeah,” he says. “Fine. Just enjoying the surprise. This is my favorite part of this wonderful sport.” I ignore the sarcasm and appreciate the effort. He is able to pull up and right himself before gathering his poles and the one ski that found its way to the side of the run. “If you don’t mind, I’ll make this my last run. You can keep going, but I think I’ll find more enjoyable activities in the lounge.”

“Are you sure?” I ask, nodding towards what I see just over his shoulder. Tucker turns.

Just behind us, a trio of people in Santa costumes come speeding down the mountain. Two are on skis and the third is on a snowboard. The boarding Santa aims himself towards a small ramp of snow and does a complete mid-air flip before joining his friends at the bottom where they proceed back to the chairlift.

“You don’t get the chance to ski with Santa every day,” I say. “Let alone three of them.”

“This is true,” says Tucker. “But maybe I’ll catch Rudolph drinking some reindeer nog in the lodge.”

“Is that what makes his nose so bright?” I ask, punctuating the remark with a cheesy grin. Tucker just rolls his eyes. “Come on, that was funny,” I holler at his back as he skis away.

Two hours later, exhausted, but still on an adrenaline rush from the awesome skiing, I enter the lodge to find Tucker sitting on a couch in front of the fireplace, beer in hand. He is talking to a man who is sitting next to him. I wave at Tucker across the room and head towards them. Tucker smiles and lifts his glass in response.

“Great talking with you,” Tucker is saying as I approach. The man stands to go. He nods at me and heads towards the door.

“Who was that?” I ask.

“Oh, just some guy. Another non-skier, stuck here on a trip with some of his buddies. Nice guy. How was the skiing?”

“Fantastic,” I beam. And it had been. Some of the runs I wanted to try were closed, but for the most part, everything else was great. The last one in particular was one of the best runs I’ve ever been on. “I went down that one twice,” I tell Tucker as I sink into the seat next to him. “And I’ll definitely be heading back down it tomorrow.”

“So, this place is living up to your expectations?”

“Absolutely.”

“Good.”

Back at the villa, Tucker takes Millie up to the room for her nap and to get a bit of rest himself. I am still too amped from such a great day on the slopes. After changing out of my ski clothes, I decide to take up the afternoon cocktails provided by Ruth in the lounge. She is sitting next to the fireplace, knitting needles flying as if under their own power, stopping occasionally to sip from the Manhattan that rests next to her on the hearth. The rest of the room is empty of any other guests.

“Can I get you something, dear?” she asks as I enter the parlor.

“No, please,” I say. “I don’t want to bother you.”

“Help yourself,” she says, nodding to the sidebar that is stocked with a substantial collection of whiskey, gin, and wine. “There is beer in the kitchen fridge as well if you would prefer that.” I pour myself a glass of wine and make my way to the large armchair across from Ruth. “I never drink the stuff,” she continues. “Beer that is. Sam was the one who liked the beer. But occasionally a guest wants it and it just wouldn’t feel right to have a fridge without any in it. There are things that you just get used to in life and it seems wrong to change them.”

“Absolutely.” I take a sip of wine, relaxing into the comfort of the chair, the warmth of the fire, and the rich cherry of the drink.

“Fantastic snow today, wasn’t it?” she says, looking at me while the needles in her hand continue to produce a beautiful cream and navy pattern.

“Yes!” I say just a little too loudly. My response echoes out into the rafters of the entry room. “Fantastic. That’s exactly what I said.” I look at Ruth again. “You ski?” I ask, quite shocked at this break from my set impression of the grandmotherly woman sitting across from me.

“Every morning,” she smiles. “Keeps me young. Mostly cross-country, easier on the body. But some days, I just want to fly down a mountain. How long have you been skiing?”

“Since college,” I say. “Had season passes for a long time afterward too, but not so much anymore. I definitely wish we lived somewhere where I could do it more often.”

“Yes, it does help to have the mountain right at your doorstep.” She smiles at the mountains outside her window as if she’s just been reminded of their presence and their magnificence. “And what about your husband?” She glances up towards the door, as if she expects him to walk in at this very moment. “Does he ski?”

“Not well. Or willingly really.” Ruth chuckles. “But he goes along with it when he comes with me.”

“Did he ever ski before he met you?” she asks.

“No. I tried teaching him when we first met.” I take a long sip of my wine, remembering the disaster of a day that was.

“I’m guessing that didn’t go over well,” she says with a knowing wink.

“You guess correctly.”

“Yes, my husband, Sam, tried to teach me when we were first married. If I remember right, the lesson ended with me sitting down under a tree halfway down the mountain, in tears, refusing to go any further and his skiing away, to be found later in the hotel bar, telling his brother about the crazy woman up on the mountain. We decided the next day that I would take lessons from someone else.”

“Sounds pretty familiar,” I say. There is a pleasant silence in which two women sip on their drinks and appreciate their own private memories. “Have you always lived in Canmore?” I finally ask.

“Nope. New Jersey originally. Sam and I came to Canmore on our honeymoon. Drove all the way here. That was back in 1969. Things were a bit different then, you know. We spent two nights in a tent on the shores of Lake Louise. Couldn’t afford the actual lodge, but I didn’t care. The tent was perfect. And you know, there was barely anyone else there. It’s hard to believe that now, with the hordes of people they pack in there every day. But this place, the mountains, the lakes, just as beautiful then. We fell in love with it all. When we left, we vowed that we would come back here. One day, we would retire and move to Canmore and live in this wonderful paradise. Well, my Sam, may he rest in peace, didn’t make it to retirement. But a few years after he passed, I decided I could still follow through with our dream. Been here now about four and a half years and I’m loving it. Just wish Sam could be here to enjoy it with me.”

“That’s lovely,” I say. I try and imagine Tucker and I as an old couple. Where will we be then?

“Well, it’s been wonderful chatting with you dear, but I have to get going. I have a meeting in town I need to get to. Women’s Club. Don’t want to show up late or all those biddies start gossiping without you and about you. Enjoy the rest of your evening.”

Once Ruth leaves, I make myself comfortable in the bay window that looks out on the small garden. The snow is falling and, as with everywhere else in this town, I can see the spectacular mountains just beyond the low fence. I snap a picture and send it with a message in response to Sasha’s most recent text.

‘Now this is paradise,’ I write. Moments later, she responds.

‘Not enough sun and sand for me.’

After Millie goes to bed for the night, I start thinking again about Ruth’s story and about where Tucker and I will be years from now. This trip has already been a great escape, but we need to take some time to reconnect. Get our spark back. And who knows what else could come from a little one on one bonding time? We’ve talked about a second child in the past. Maybe we should move in that direction.

You don’t deserve the one you have.

I’m already in bed when Tucker comes out of the bathroom and switches off the lights. No time for him to notice that I’m wearing the sexiest lingerie I own. This only means that the two pieces match and the bra does not open on the cups for feeding, but it’s the best I’ve got. I feel him settle on the bed and pull the covers up under his arms. I roll slightly toward him and balance on my side. There is a glow coming in the side window and I can see the set of his face in silhouette. His sharp nose and his strong jaw, now softened by his growing beard. His broad shoulders are bare above the fold of the sheets and I let my eyes travel over his sculpted arms. It’s been a while since I took the time to appreciate my husband as a man. He is gorgeous and I want to show him how I feel.

I gently place my hand on his chest and start to run my fingers back and forth along the edge of the sheet. He is still and his eyes are closed, but I know he is awake. His breathing hasn’t yet sunk into the near snore that I am so used to. I pull myself closer to him, pressing my front into his side and tucking my face into his neck. I take in a deep breath of his scent and slowly exhale. He shifts his body slightly away and lets out a grunt. The wine from dinner emboldens me and I try again, this time running my hand down, under the covers, to the top of his boxers. Tucker sighs.

“August, please,” he whispers.

“Hmm?” I say with a flirty tone.

“I’m exhausted.” Typically, that was my line. I know that excuse and am a bit taken aback that it is being used towards me. It stings.

“Oh.” I pull off of him and roll onto my back. I stare at the ceiling until I hear him begin to snore and then I roll away and try to get some sleep. There will be other times, I guess. We still have plenty of vacation left.

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