Girls in White Dresses

The whole time she climbed back up the hil and struggled to put the runaway ski back on, Isabel a thanked God that Harrison hadn’t been there to see it. That would have been mortifying. She crawled up and snapped her boot back into the ski. She sat for a moment to get her bearings, and then she stood up. She had to ski down. There was no other way off the mountain. She was a little turned around, but stayed to the right. That was what Harrison had said to do.

She skied down the rest of the mountain and didn’t see Harrison once. Maybe she’d taken too long after her fal . She skied right up to the lodge and took her skis off. She was done.

Isabel a clomped into the lodge in her boots and took out her cel phone to cal Harrison. “Where are you?” he asked when he answered. “I was getting worried.”

“I’m at the lodge,” she said. “I fel .”

“I’m at the lodge too,” he said. “Where are you?”

“I’m right by the food counter.”

“I don’t see you.”

Isabel a looked around for Harrison and then realized that this lodge looked very different. “Um, Harrison, I think I’m somewhere else. The sign says the Blackbear Lodge. Do you know where that is?”

Harrison was quiet for a moment. “That’s on the other side of the mountain. How did you get there?”

Isabel a could tel he was laughing. Her eyes started to fil with tears again.

“I don’t know! Where am I?”

“Stay there, okay? I’l come to you,” Harrison said and hung up.

Isabel a limped over to the counter and ordered hot chocolate. She had started crying a little, which made her nose run even more. The cashier was a high-school boy and he looked frightened of her. He was probably scared she was going to talk to him and tel him her problems.

She took as many napkins as she could and walked with her hot chocolate back to her table. On the way, she spil ed hot liquid on her hand. Now the tears started again. She was pathetic. She was a pathetic person.

Isabel a was blowing her nose when Harrison walked in.

“Hey there,” he said. “There’s my little Rand McNal y.”

Isabel a laughed and then started crying again. She couldn’t stop. Now this real y would be the end of them. Harrison would see how crazy she was and he would have to break up with her. Then they would have to drive back to the city together. This was a nightmare.

“Hey, what’s wrong?” Harrison pul ed up a chair and took her hand.

“Nothing,” she said, wiping her face with the back of her hand. “Nothing, it’s stupid. I’m just real y tired and I got so cold. And I’m embarrassed that I got lost.”

Harrison laughed in a kind way and leaned over to kiss her cheek. “That’s al ? You’l be fine, my little ski bunny. My little lost ski bunny.”

Isabel a laughed and then felt stupid for crying. “So how do we get out of here?”

“We have to go back up the lift and then back down the other side of the mountain. It’s a good run, though,” he said quickly.

“I don’t know if I can go back up there,” she said.

“Wel , I could go by myself and then ski back down to the main lodge and get the car. But it would take a while.”

Isabel a leaned her head back.

“You know,” Harrison started and cleared his throat. “I’m real y glad you came this weekend.”

Isabel a righted her head and looked straight at him. “Real y?”

“Yeah,” he said. “I real y like you, you know.”

Isabel a smiled at him. “Probably just because of my navigational skil s,” she said.

“Probably. So whadya say? You want to brave the mountain? I promise not to rock the ski lift,” he said, holding up his right hand.

Isabel a was tired and cold and she didn’t real y feel like skiing and was stil terrified of the actual ride on the ski lift, but it seemed ridiculous to sit here and wait and do nothing while Harrison got the car. How bad could it be?

“Are you up for it?” he asked. He looked hopeful.

“Yeah,” she said. “Okay, let’s do it.”

B ridget Carlson was the kind of friend you couldn’t get rid of. You could try—you could ignore her e-mails, let her phone cals go to voice mail, move to a different city, let her birthday pass unnoticed, take her number out of your cel phone—but she would find you. She was persistent, if nothing else. She tracked down new addresses, new phone numbers, new e-mails, and she would claw her way back into contact with you, until you had no choice but to acknowledge her.

This was how Cate found herself, against al better judgment, agreeing to have lunch with her. For weeks, Bridget had been leaving messages on her voice mail. “Caitlin, it’s me,” the messages said. “I’m coming to New York and we are meeting up if it’s the last thing we do. It’s been too long.”