and they all sat around the fire, relaxing.
“Welcome to my new digs,” Logan said, raising his mug. “Welcome to my new life.”
“Hear, hear!” said Bilski. “Your new life is awesome.”
“Thanks.” Some days, like today, Logan was absolutely convinced of the awesomeness. Other days, like when Charlie was in a different time zone and Logan rattled around alone in the old, rambling, too-big house, he was not so sure.
“So, how is the resort business going?” his father asked. Of course he would ask. To Al O’Donnell, business was life.
“It’s a lot of work, but I have a fantastic team,” Logan said. “Karsten’s director of mountain operations stayed on. So did most of the senior staff. I get expert advice in all areas.” What he wouldn’t tell his father was that the financials were precarious. At the end of every day, he felt himself teetering on the fiscal cliff, trying to juggle the overhead with the revenues. Yet somehow he stayed on top of things and made it work. Operations were chugging along. Thanks to a dumping of snow from heaven itself, conditions were great and the daily till kept the cash flow going.
“So, are the revenues just pouring in?” his father persisted.
“Al.” Logan’s mother sent her husband a warning look. “Now is not the time.”
“Pouring in, that’s right,” said Logan.
“It seems like such a lot of work,” China said.
“I’m not afraid of hard work.”
“Are you taking care of yourself?” his mother asked. “You look too skinny.”
“I’m not skinny, Mom.”
“And pale,” she added.
“It’s the dead of winter,” he said. “Everyone is pale.”
He tried to keep it light. The dynamics of the family never changed. Or rarely did. People reverted to the old roles carved out a generation ago. His parents expected him to fail. As a dumb kid, he had cheerfully obliged them, time and time again; right up to getting a girl pregnant in high school.
Now they simply expected him to screw up no matter what he did, no matter how much time had passed.
“It’s working out,” he said. “Don’t worry, I’m not going to lose my shirt. I’d never do that to Charlie.”
“Dad thinks owning a ski resort is a guy’s fantasy, like owning a sports bar or building hot rods,” India explained to Darcy. “Fun to pursue, but no way to make a living.”
“Anything that’s fun is immediately suspect, right, Dad?” asked China.
“Girls,” her mother said. “That’s no way to talk to your father.”
Logan glanced over at Darcy. “Aren’t you glad you’re here? Lucky you, getting a ringside seat to our family feud.”
She laughed. “Sounds more or less like my own family, except we’ve got more girls.” She turned to Logan’s father. “My firm brought one of our biggest clients to Saddle Mountain for a photo shoot. It was fantastic. I can understand why anyone would be suspicious that something so much fun could also be profitable.”
“I see,” said Al. “And how did the shoot turn out?”
“One of the best we’ve done all year. The client was thrilled, and Saddle Mountain gets a lot of exposure.”
“You should show us the footage,” said India. “We’d all like to see.”
“I don’t know...” Darcy ducked her head.
Logan was intrigued to see her acting reluctant about it. “Come on,” he said. “It’ll give everybody a preview of the resort.”
She hesitated. “It’s very commercial, aimed at selling gear.”
“But it was filmed right here,” said Logan.
“Okay, does your TV have a USB port?” When he nodded, she said, “I’ll be right back.”
“All right,” she said, “barring any technical difficulties...” She slotted in the thumb drive.
“Did you really bring work with you?” Logan’s mother scolded.
“Just a little,” said Darcy. “There’s a big outdoor retailer trade show in January, so I’ve got some deadlines.” Logan switched on the TV with the remote, and the client’s logo came up along with adrenaline- pumped music. “This is a montage with video that will be featured on the client’s website and in their retail stores. It’s going to go live this weekend.”
The opening sequence showed the mountain on a bluebird day, the peaks stark against the crisp sky. The broad panorama narrowed, homing in on a grove of birch trees. There was a panning shot of a deer, its head turned toward the camera, eyes alert with caution, before it turned and fled over the crest of the ridge, tail flipped up to show its white underside. The movement startled a brown-and-white hawk into sudden flight. Almost simultaneously, the scene dissolved into a sequence of a snowboarder exploding straight up into the sky as though shot from a cannon. A trail of sunlit snow sparkled in her wake; then she landed in a spray of knee-deep powder, then floated along through a forest glade.
“That’s Darcy, by the way,” India told her parents.
“The snowboarder?” her mother asked. “Heavenly days, really?”
“She’s good, huh?” India said.
“Good” did not begin to cover it. She was phenomenal, gliding through the snowy wilderness as if, for her, gravity was optional. She embodied everything a snow sport should be—fun and colorful, graceful and exhilarating. Saddle Mountain had never looked better.
At the conclusion of the presentation, Bilski leaned over to China and said, “Let’s take snowboard lessons.”
“Better yet,” said China, “let’s go shopping for all that cool gear.”
“My client would love to hear that,” Darcy said.
“The resort looks lovely,” said Logan’s mother. “I’m glad we’re here for the holidays. Truly.”
“Thanks, Mom. It’s going to be great, you’ll see,” Logan promised her. “It’s going to be awesome.”
“I hope those weren’t my brother’s famous last words,” said India after the parents had gone to bed.
Darcy, who was with her in the kitchen washing up the Irish coffee mugs, asked, “What, does disaster follow him?”
India chuckled. “I guess we’ll find out.” She reached for a glass jar and took off the top. “Christmas cookie?”
“Thanks.” Darcy helped herself. It was cut out in the shape of a gingerbread man, though it was missing a limb and had only one cinnamon candy eye. The red-and-white icing resembled bloody bandages.
“Those are the Walking Dead Christmas cookies,” said Logan, carrying a few more dishes into the kitchen. “The kids and I made them.”
Darcy took a bite. “Oh my gosh. This might be the best cookie I ever ate.”
“I bet you say that to all the guys.”
“I swear, I’ve never said that to a guy in my life.”
“He’s good, too, huh?” said India.
Darcy savored another bite. The cookie was tender and delicately spiced. It tasted exactly like Christmas. “I think he knows it.”
“He doesn’t mind hearing people say so.” Logan dimmed the kitchen lights and switched on the yard lights.
She gazed out the big picture window of the kitchen while polishing off the cookie. “It’s snowing again,” she whispered.
“He doesn’t mind hearing those words, either,” he said.
“Everybody loves the phrase ‘it’s snowing.’ There’s always been some kind of magic in those words.”
“Speaks to the kid in all of us,” India said. “Snow days, playing outside. In fact, I’m going to check on the bunk room and make sure lights out really means lights out. Then I’m off to bed. Night, you guys.”
