He sighed a long sigh. “Doesn’t look like a New Mexico car to me. Looks like a Midwest car, someplace with a lot of humidity. Your wheel wasn’t sounding right when you drove around one day, before the storm, and I’ve just taken the liberty of looking under her.”
She found herself frowning. “You were under my car?”
“I can walk and move. It just wears me out!”
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean…” she stammered. “What I mean is, that seems so much trouble! All the snow! You got wet!”
“Rust,” he said. “As in, rusting out. As in, that car has seen a lot of moisture. And I have to tell you, it’s bad—the whole undercarriage is going. It’ll last you a bit longer, but not much longer.”
She felt a pang. Ah, the Grey Goose was aging too. “Thanks,” she managed. “I guess. I appreciate it.”
“That’s no New Mexico car.”
She shrugged. “I bought it used.”
“Older plate. I don’t think they make that design anymore.”
She tried to look surprised. “Oh, really? I think they do…they must…”
He looked at her, steady. “I’m surprised you didn’t get pulled over.”
“I’m not…I didn’t—”
He waved his hand, as if her words were pesky mosquitoes. “Something is mildly amiss here; some information is being withheld. Rita noticed it too. It’s funny, but secrets have a way of floating in the air. You can often just see them, somehow. But whatever it is, it doesn’t seem nefarious. It seems a gentle secret; that’s how Rita put it. I do like to wonder, though. My brain can’t help but come up with various scenarios. For example, I was just reading about some serious and well-thought-out damage to some oil rigs near Chalk Canyon a few weeks ago, and whoever did it hasn’t been caught, despite a big search, given the significant financial loss. That’s sacred land. Sacred. Too wild to drill, some say. I happen to agree. You ever been?”
“Nope.”
He blinked at her. “Yup, something is amiss here and I’m not going to ask. But I’m going to tell you that I’d hate to have you get lost out here on these back roads. Your car doesn’t have long. Some adventures aren’t worth having. Don’t get stuck.”
She put her hand to her necklace and turned to go before he could see the flush of her cheeks. She’d known it was time to fly south, and now she had the push she needed. Although, true, it wouldn’t be the Grey Goose taking her.
—
Rita had a surprise in the bed of the truck: two pairs of old cross-country skis and boots. “This much snow is rare, so carpe diem, we’re going,” Rita said. “Come on. I need a friend to join me.”
So she and Rita started out, cutting tracks side by side through the sparkling white, Lady bounding alongside, stopping occasionally to push her nose into the snow. Ammalie’s ski boots were a bit big and stiff with age, and immediately gave her a cramp in her right arch, but she was too happy to care—it wasn’t going to kill her, after all, and that was her new baseline. The snow was perfect. Though she was no expert, she knew there was sticky snow and gluey snow and too-hard snow, and there was perfect snow, when it was warm enough outside to not be freezing, but cold enough for a glide. The swish-swish of the skis metronomed with her heart.
Rita was a better skier and charged ahead. Aha, so this is what it was like to have someone go faster than you through life! Ammalie realized she liked it; it was as if someone else was fueling the energy, keeping the momentum, and maybe that’s what had dragged her down before, not just the literal going faster but the emotional weight of feeling like the one cutting a trail through the logistics of getting household things done, Powell to school on time, the groceries bought.
She felt a sudden rise of bitterness toward Vincent; yes, he’d had more energy for adventures and hobbies, but that’s because she was the one making regular life happen! Yet she also wondered why she and Vincent hadn’t skied more; they both had skis and knew how. They could have gone some mornings, on the days he worked from home, or on weekends, before she left for the lunchtime crowd. But enough. No more regret about what they could have done. She was doing it now.
Rita waited for her to catch up, and then they skied side by side again, each cutting their own tracks in the snow. “Thank you for your help during the storm,” Rita said. “Perspicacity. Wasn’t that your word of the day a few days ago?”
Ammalie nodded.
“Well, thank you for your diligence and perspicacity during the storm.” Rita turned to her and flashed a coral-lipsticked smile, which seemed particularly bright against the backdrop of a landscape of white. Then, out of nowhere, she added, “I had a son and he died. In Iraq. I’ll never feel fully human again.”
“Oh!” Ammalie startled, both from the information and by a thump of snow falling from a tree to the ground. “Rita, I’m so sorry. That’s unbearable. I can’t—I can’t imagine.”
“Then my husband died. I just thought I should tell you. Rex and I bought this place soon after, and we’ve enjoyed it here.” They skied in silence for a few glides, and then she added, “My point in telling you this is that there is no one. No real kin. Rex feels better when he’s warm. He left a little house he had in Puerto Vallarta, in a retirement village he loved, with paved sidewalks that are oddly better for wheelchairs than most of America’s. He agreed to come help me with this place for a year or two. And now he has. He wants to go back. He has MS—did he tell you that?—and he wants to die there. He wants to take Lady too. I should have known he’d fall in love. But it’s up to you, of course. My plan is to sell this place next year. To the right person. You could always stay, you know. I’d recommend the next person hire you. And I hope you stay and work for me as long as you want. We can discuss a salary and all that.”
Ammalie looked over at Rita briefly, then back ahead as they skied. “That’s really kind. Thank you sincerely, Rita. The storm gave me a lot of time to think. I…have a bit more traveling I need to do, and I best do it soon. There’s one more adventure required of me. But I wouldn’t mind circling back here someday.”
“Perspicacity,” Rita mumbled thoughtfully, her breath misting out.
Ammalie smiled at Lady, who was darting through the snow, jabbing her nose into it randomly, and then racing back to them before repeating the whole process again. The plings and drips of snowmelt and birdcalls in the white expanse seemed like a certain version of heaven, something cleansed and pure. “Rita, I brought my dying husband a glass of water—water. What he needed was an ambulance.” Her voice sounded dazed even to her when she added, “I haven’t confessed this to anyone. Truly, this is the first time I’ve said it aloud. I haven’t even told my son, although he was there, upstairs, and he knew the ambulance got there too late. I just moved too slow, because I was surprised, and I hadn’t thought it through. Water.”
Rita continued to glide along beside her. They had worked out the rhythm and pacing so that they could stay side by side in the meadow. “It sounds solicitous, if not effective. And understandable! After all, that’s what humans do. In particular, that’s what waitresses do. They bring you water. Right? Sometimes they bring you so much water that it’s annoying.” She reached out and touched Ammalie’s shoulder. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t joke. I’m so very sorry that he died.”
“Even if the doctors say it wouldn’t have saved him, and are right, there is still something about how slowly I reacted that haunts me. I’m afraid Vincent died knowing that I was being impatient, and that I wanted the water to fix his problem, more or less. So now I try to think through things more. Like in the snowstorm.”
Rita started to speak, stopped, started again. “Well, you did great. I’m also sorry for you, Ammalie. I’m sorry about Vincent, but I’m also sorry…” And here she paused and looked down at her salmon-colored scarf, as if about to say something that edged on improper. “I’m sad you’re so alone. I wish someone would bring you a glass of water. Metaphorically speaking. You seem so very…on your own. Although perhaps that’s by choice? And you have people?” Then she looked up with a renewed energy, perhaps trying for happy. “It’s just that you don’t talk about your life much. What I do know is that you’ve helped us greatly these last days. We’d like to give you a thousand bucks, in addition to the room. That’s my version of bringing you water.”
“Thanks for that.” Ammalie swished her skis through the snow. “But I don’t need that.”
Rita burst into a birdlike cascade of laughter. “Don’t be ridiculous. Yes you do. A car repair. A trip. Or the water heater will go out in your home. Or send it to your son for college. Or donate it! There’s always something, and if you’re being honest, you know that as well as me.”
“Actually, thanks. I have an idea of something I need to do. I have it all planned out. I just need the day after tomorrow off.”
“It’s Thanksgiving! We expected you’d come over for a meal. Rex is a good cook—”
“Thank you. I’ll happily take leftovers. But I’ve decided that this year, my thanksgiving will be an act of service, and there’s something I really have to do.” With that, she bent over and gave Lady an all-over rib rub, with a rump scratch as the grand finale, and then, as a final blessing, she ran her fingers over the scar on Lady’s head.
CHAPTER 15
On Thanksgiving, right as the red sun crested Earth and soft light spread, Ammalie pulled up to the flapping-eyed Dart sitting alone in the landscape of snow that looked like a white and undulating sea. “Ahoy, matey,” she murmured, but her voice was serious and sad. Today would not be a playful one. Today could be the hardest day of her life—physically, at least, the birth of Powell being the only other one that might come close.
As she had expected, there was no sign of anyone, but when she lugged in two boxes of canned goods and left them on the counter with a note for whoever needs these—peace she saw that the money she’d left was gone. Kit had been here, presumably. Knowing that brought her some amount of peace, though she was still stomach-sick with worry. How had he survived the storm? When she knocked on the propane canister with her gloved hand, she had at least one answer: It echoed empty. He’d used up a full canister and probably just left. The snow had mostly melted yesterday on the dark rock path that led to Dart’s door, which is why no footprints were visible.
