Running Cold: A Novel, page 9
I wanted Julie to have her mornings free to work out, so I’d instructed Francesca not to give her the early shift. It was nice to see her back to her old, overachieving ways. She was never one to settle for an ordinary life. I was still asleep when she left for her morning skis, but we had a camera on the loading dock, and I’d seen her coming back a few days in a row now. If I missed her, the cafeteria manager always let me know when she arrived for breakfast, all snow kissed and rosy cheeked for her omelet and toast. I know it sounds like I was stalking her, but I’d spent the last three years missing her, I wasn’t going to let her get away again.
The arrival of her friends was a surprise, and not just to me. There was no way she would have invited them. I had no intention of blowing her cover. In fact, once I learned they were here, I made sure she had the weekend off. Francesca, her supervisor, already suspected we were more than friends, no point trying to hide it. And what did I care? We would be together eventually, it had always been our destiny.
I had thought about stopping by the Sidecar to say hello, but I wanted her friends to meet me as her independently wealthy boyfriend, not a hotel employee. So when Johnny the bartender phoned me to say she had just ordered a round of drinks, I told him to give her whatever she wanted on the house—“compliments of the manager,” bien sûr. I didn’t want to hover, but it was important she knew I was looking out for her, like before. But this time, I would be the man with the promising future who got to keep her forever.
The chairlift slowed when we got to the top. I scooted out from between the snowboarders and banked left toward the trees. The marked trails were skied out, but I never skied the marked trails. There was always untracked snow in the forest, and my favorite pastime was finding it.
I ducked under the trail-closed barrier and dropped into the narrow couloir. The snow was deep here, which meant I had to go fast to keep from getting stuck. Skiing powder is different than skiing groomers. You have to keep your body weight over your skis, because if you lean too far forward, you could catch an edge and flip. And on terrain this steep, if you start rolling, you may never stop.
I had seen it countless times in Chamonix: skiers who came for the thrill of fresh powder, but went too fast and got into trouble. Some froze to death before we could get to them. Others lost control and skied right over a cliff. Unlike in a resort, where rescuers use sleds to cart injured skiers off the mountain, the front face of l’Aiguille du Midi is too steep for sleds. If a skier could not ski out on their own power after some oxygen and first aid—a splint for their broken leg, a tourniquet for their bleeding arm—we had to leave them there. Leaving people to die was the worst part of my job. We did what we could to ease their suffering. Some of my fellow soldiers carried whiskey. I carried a gun. How the injured party chose to go was up to them.
There was no turning in the couloir, so I was flying when I popped out at the bottom. I entered the forest like a rock from a slingshot. The trees dictated my turns, like the pegs on a Plinko board. The key to skiing powder is to stay relaxed, let your upper body do the work while your legs gently steer. You have to anticipate. Trying to turn too sharply can knock you on your derrière. And you do not want to fall where no one’s going to find you.
I got into a rhythm. The trees were a blur of emerald and white as I whizzed by. I didn’t realize it had begun to snow until I emerged from the grove. I didn’t recall there being snow in the weather forecast, but then again, I also didn’t recall checking the forecast before I left.
I did a few more runs off the backside, then called it a day. I had some paperwork to catch up on back at the hotel, including filing an incident report about Julie’s run-in with Madame Rousseau. That woman had been a thorn in my side since the day she arrived. I looked forward to never having to see her scowling face again.
I had to wait twenty minutes for the bus and didn’t get back to the hotel until almost noon. Normally, I went in through the staff entrance, but I was cold and my boots had grown stiff, so I went in through the front door.
“Oh! Hi there,” a woman said as I stepped into the lobby. I didn’t recognize her, but there was no reason not to be polite.
“Hello.”
“Sorry, of course you don’t remember me, it was a horrific day,” she offered. I didn’t know what to say, so I just nodded and forced a smile.
“I’m Isabel,” she said, offering her hand. “Julie’s friend. Most people call me Izzy.”
“Ahhh, yes,” I said, removing my glove so I could shake. “Remy.”
I didn’t remember meeting her, but no harm in pretending.
“I didn’t realize you were here too,” she said.
“No?”
“We thought Julie was all alone. That’s why we came.” She smiled. And I was confused. Did she think I was . . . a guest?
“We’ve known each other a long time,” I offered.
“It was nice of you to come for the service.”
“Jeff was a friend too.”
“Are you from here?” Could she not hear the accent?
“Not originally.” Obviously. “Julie and I trained together.” That was technically untrue. She trained with the ski team. I trained tout seul. But we skied together unofficially sometimes.
“I see.”
There was an awkward beat of silence.
“I’m just waiting for the other ladies to come down,” she said. “Three women, one bathroom.”
“Yes, of course.”
“We’re meeting Julie for lunch in town.” She smiled a little too brightly. I dare say she was almost . . . giddy.
“Wonderful. Nice to see you, Isabel.”
“And you as well.”
As I turned to go, it hit me. Isabel thought my presence here meant I was with Julie, as in, her boyfriend. And given my hopes for the future, I decided not to correct her.
CHAPTER 20
Izzy
“Where’s Julie?” Christa asked as she and Suki stepped out of the elevator.
“She’s meeting us at the restaurant,” I replied. Julie had told me she had an “errand,” but I knew why she didn’t want to hang out in the lobby.
“What’s going on with you?” Suki asked. After ten years of friendship, she could read me like a book, and knew I was sitting on something tantalizing.
“Let’s walk.”
A light snow was falling as we stepped out into the roundabout. I knew from my weather app that it was −8°C. I didn’t need to know what that was in American to know that it was freeze-your-tits-off cold. The restaurant was a fifteen-minute walk from the hotel. I was grateful for Jeff’s puffer, and after the revelations of the last five minutes, suddenly felt a little bit less guilty about wearing it.
“What’s going on, Izzy?” Suki repeated.
“Did something happen?” Christa asked. I took a quick look around to make sure no one was within earshot. “Why are you acting so dramatic?”
“C’mon, spill!” Suki said, so I did.
“Remember that French guy at Jeff’s funeral?”
“What French guy?”
“The tall, dark, and handsome one.”
“What about him?” Christa asked.
“I don’t remember him,” Suki said.
“Yes, you do,” Christa interjected, sucking in her cheekbones and puffing up her lips.
“Oh, that guy!” Suki said.
“He was hot.”
“What about him?”
“His name’s Remy,” I told them.
“OK,” Suki said.
“And?” Christa asked. So I dropped my bomb.
“He’s here.”
“You mean in Banff?” Suki asked.
“Not just in Banff,” I said, “staying at the hotel.”
“So?”
Good God, do I have to spell it out for them?
“Why would some hot guy from Julie’s past be at the same hotel two weeks after her husband died?” I said. “Unless . . .” I raised my freezing cold eyebrows. And then they got it.
“Oh my God.”
“Oh. My. God.”
“Right?”
“But it’s so soon,” Suki said.
“Too soon,” Christa added. And I raised my eyebrows again.
“Wait,” Christa continued. “You think it started . . .”
And Suki finished her thought. “While they were still married?”
“It would explain a lot,” I said, knowing what I was implying was harsh but also totally credible.
“You think Julie . . .” Christa couldn’t get the words out.
Suki shook her head. “No, Julie wouldn’t do that.”
“She and Jeff were solid,” Christa said.
And I just shrugged. Because I couldn’t say how I knew otherwise.
“Well, I’m not jumping to conclusions,” Christa announced.
“Me neither,” Suki agreed. “It’s probably just a coincidence. This is an extremely popular winter-vacation destination.”
I didn’t bother trying to convince them—didn’t have to. The events of the next twenty-four hours would reveal all.
CHAPTER 21
Julie
The girls wanted to go shopping. I hadn’t asked for the weekend off, but Francesca had given it to me, so after my Saturday-morning ski, I joined them for lunch.
I told Izzy I had an errand to run so I could meet them in town. I didn’t want to hang out in the lobby and risk a staff member saying something that might reveal that I was an employee—and a disgraced one at that. My tip money had run out, and it would have been torture to watch my friends eat Banff’s most mouthwatering croque monsieur on an empty stomach, so I ate my usual late breakfast in the staff cafeteria before heading out.
“Aren’t you hungry?” Izzy asked after I didn’t order.
“I ate at the hotel,” I said. “I’ve been up since five.” And, unlike much of what I’d said to my friends since they’d arrived, both statements were true.
The girls insisted I have a coffee, which they paid for, and then we were off to the shops.
“It’s like being inside a snow globe!” Suki enthused as snow dotted our parkas and eyelashes. If not for the dread percolating through my chest, I might have been charmed by these picture-perfect streets, all decorated for Christmas, but all I could think about was how to get through the weekend without my friends finding out I was a fraud.
The town was bustling with tourists. I heard dozens of languages—French, Chinese, Japanese, a swirl of Slavic tongues that I couldn’t identify. I did my best to return my friends’ smiles as we walked arm in arm down the sidewalk, peeking into shops selling all sorts of local treasures—art, clothing, keepsakes, jewelry. I couldn’t buy anything, but it would have been strange if I didn’t try on a few hats and scarves.
“Oh my God, I love that on you—it goes with your eyes!” Christa said as I wrapped a periwinkle pashmina around my neck. We were in an upscale boutique on Banff Avenue filled with luxury cold-weather items—goose-down jackets, shiny leather boots, earmuffs made of fox fur and mink. I never imagined something as insignificant as a new scarf could dampen the pain of losing Jeff, but being wrapped in cozy, featherweight cashmere did make me feel a little better, if only for a moment.
“Let’s all get something to remember our first girls’ trip by,” Christa said.
“Maybe we should all get the same thing!” Suki chimed in.
“We’re not getting matching outfits,” Izzy vetoed.
“Not the whole outfit,” Suki clarified. “Just one part. Like a scarf!” she added, looking at me. The scarf around my neck was $200. Which was $199 more than I had.
“I barely have room in my closet for the stuff I brought,” I lied. “I’m not buying anything new.” I took off the scarf and hung it back on the mannequin.
“Well, I hope you have something fabulous for tonight,” Christa said.
“What’s tonight?” I asked, trying not to sound nervous.
“We’re taking you to Sky Bistro!”
“Our treat,” Suki added before I could object. “Our husbands insisted.”
Sky Bistro was a five-star restaurant atop Sulphur Mountain. You had to take a gondola to get there. It had views of the entire park. I had always wanted to go. But when I was training, I couldn’t afford to eat anywhere that Remy’s employee discount didn’t apply. And when Jeff was here, we rarely left the hotel, but for other reasons.
“They promised not to complain about the bill,” Izzy said. I knew this was a splurge for her, and my heart swelled with gratitude for the sacrifices she was making to spoil me.
“You guys are too good to me,” I said, shame catching in my throat. “I don’t deserve you.”
“We can’t imagine what you’re going through,” Christa said.
“We want you to feel taken care of and loved,” Suki added.
My eyes welled with tears. Not just out of grief, but also out of guilt. Because you don’t love people by lying to them. But I was in too deep now. And I wanted their friendship, not their pity.
“Well, if we’re going to get something matching, how about something practical . . . like this?” Izzy said, modeling a fur-lined cowboy hat. She strutted across the boutique like a supermodel on the catwalk, and we all laughed.
Despite my disappointed feelings that I couldn’t buy anything for my friends or myself, it was a good day—the best I’d had since Jeff died. Christa bought some crystals in a woo-woo spiritual-healing store, Suki bought gloves (because apparently she’d forgotten hers), and Izzy and I pretended that there was nothing we wanted or needed.
We were cold and wet from the snow when we got back to the hotel, so we split up to shower and change, with a plan to meet back in the lobby in an hour. I didn’t know that anyone was watching me, so I stopped to grab an apple off the counter before heading to my room. As I unlocked the door and peered inside, I looked for signs that someone had been there, but saw none. I walked to the bedside table and checked my phone. I hadn’t brought it with me to lunch, roaming was too expensive. Plus I was already with the only people on this earth I wanted to talk to.
I took a quick shower, then wrapped myself in a towel and peered into my closet. It looked like the sale rack at REI. I had a half dozen pairs of ratty Rad Pants, four pairs of snow pants with bibs. There was an assortment of sweatpants from Roots, base layers from MEC, fleece zip fronts from Columbia and Marmot, and of course my flashy Team Canada separates. But not a single thing suitable to wear to a nice dinner out.
I imagined the girls all dressed up in jewel-toned sweaters and pearls. I could just tell them the truth—that I’d left my nice clothes at home. It’s not like I didn’t own any. Of course they had told me we were going out to a fancy dinner while we were clothes shopping . . . so why hadn’t I bought something to wear?
As I stared into my closet, my father’s parting words echoed in my mind. “You’ll never amount to anything.” At my wedding, instead of acknowledging my impressive past, he took a swing at my unremarkable future. “Now that your best days are behind you, you’re wise to marry someone who can take care of you.” And it wouldn’t have hurt if it wasn’t true.
I wasn’t movie-star famous, but I didn’t want to be seen out at a fancy restaurant in a pilly pullover from L.L.Bean. For one night, I wanted to look beautiful, successful, worthy of the gold medal I once wore proudly around my neck.
I didn’t have any clothes that would match my fancy legacy. But I knew who did.
And as luck would have it, it was happy hour.
CHAPTER 22
Izzy
“You look amazing,” I said to Julie as she stepped into the lobby like Julia Roberts arriving at a movie premiere. Being in love looked good on her, I thought, but couldn’t say out loud. The girls weren’t ready to accept that Julie had cheated on Jeff. And it was hardly appropriate for me to be the one to convince them.
Discovering Julie had a lover made me feel a smidge less horrible for sleeping with Jeff, but that wasn’t the only reason the discovery made me happy. I loved Julie. If there was another man in her life, she wouldn’t be alone. I may have envied her, but I didn’t want her to suffer. She was a beautiful, accomplished woman who’d helped me through some difficult months when the boys were babies. I would always want the best for her.
“Good Lord, woman, you put us to shame!” Christa gushed as she jumped up to give Julie a hug.
We were all dressed in our wintery best—Suki in a cream-colored cable-knit sweater, Christa in tartan plaid trousers, me channeling Catwoman in a black turtleneck and knee-high boots . . . but Julie was in another league. Her shiny, ruby-red leather pants were painted on impossibly toned legs, and her tanned complexion popped against a bright-white angora sweater as decadent as marshmallow fluff. She was a Greek goddess, and we were mere humans. Same as it ever was.
“Sorry I’m late,” she stammered, and I had to look closer to see her eyes were rimmed with red. Has she been crying? Her hands shook as she pulled on her gloves. In our three years of friendship, she had never been late. And it wasn’t like her to be rattled like this. But it also wasn’t like me to willingly travel to a place where the average winter temperature was twenty below, so maybe we were in a brave new world, where everything was opposite?
“I had them pull the car around,” Christa said. “Shall we go?”
Julie answered by heading toward the door, so we all followed her out. If she hadn’t lost her husband two short weeks ago, I would have asked her what was wrong, but of course we all knew . . . or thought we knew.
The ride to the base of Sulphur Mountain was about ten minutes. The roads were slippery, so I took it slow, occasionally pumping the brakes like my dad taught me on our day trips to Pine Mountain. Julie was probably wishing she’d offered to drive, as Christa and Suki were surely wishing I’d asked her to.
