An hour later Erik was suited up and sat beside Pappa as they took a short lift ride to the top of one of three beginner slopes on Eastern Exposure. He listened to his father’s last-minute advice, but he could barely do more than nod, counting down the moments until he embarrassed Pappa, until he fell clumsily into the snow, tears biting his eyes, confirming, once again, that he wasn’t the Lindstrom they all wanted him to be. His hands sweated profusely inside of his mittens, making them soggy. He felt, instinctively, that this was bad or would be bad later, and wished he could stop them from sweating, but couldn’t.
The lift neared the top of the small hill, and his father put his arm around Erik’s back, his paw of a hand gripping his far underarm, helping him off the lift. To Erik’s great surprise, he didn’t fall, even when his father let go. He stayed up on the skis with only a slight wobble.
“Good job, Minste. Stay up. Bend your knees. Remember what we’ve practiced, what I’ve told you. I know you’re frightened, but you can do this. You’re a Lindstrom. Trust the skis.”
Erik’s chest swelled with pride and relief. He pushed himself along slowly, following his father’s gentle instructions and gliding closer and closer from the lift to the top of the hill where they would push off and try his first run together. As he neared the top, his panic suddenly returned, furious now. He had once jumped off a high diving board at the community pool in Bozeman, and this hill was about ten times higher. Other children pushed off their poles with confidence, whooshing down the hill with shrieks of glee. Erik felt his heart beating like a hammer in his chest, and he could barely hear his father’s patient instructions as blood rushed like a waterfall in his ears. He wanted to scream in fear, tear off his skis, run back to the lift, and ride back down in shame to the safety of the base. His father lowered the goggles perched on Erik’s head, and patted him through his hood.
“I believe in you.” His father’s breath on his cheek made him want to weep. “You’re my boy, Erik. I promise you’re going to love it. Once you stop being afraid, you won’t know how you lived without it. Plant your poles. Ready? Push!”
Erik pushed off, remembering not to keep his skis perfectly parallel, but tilted them toward each other, bending his knees and tucking his poles under his elbows as his father and brothers had instructed. Slow at first, but quickly picking up speed as he made his way down the hill.
He could hear his brothers shouting encouragement from the chairlift above him, and his father’s voice from not too far behind. “Yes, Erik! That’s my boy! That’s my boy!”
His shoulders relaxed, and he trusted his legs. His lips turned up in a proud smile, his hood fell onto his shoulders and then he felt it: the exhilarating rush of wind in his hair, just as his father had promised, as he whooshed down the small hill in a picture-perfect first run.
Arriving at the bottom, he lifted his goggles in time to see his father come to a stop beside him, snow flying up in a rooster tail around Erik like glitter, like confetti. He lifted his goggles and smiled at Erik, as he never had before.
“A Lindstrom!” he declared. “Let’s do it again!”
Erik’s chest swelled with pride as he followed his father back to the lift, and it occurred to him that Pappa was right about skiing: now that he wasn’t afraid anymore, he loved it, and he didn’t know how he would ever live without it again.
***
Next to Erik on the front seat sat a bouquet of yellow and blue irises that had been wrapped in cellophane and tied with an elegant blue and yellow bow: a Midsummer offering for his girl. He glanced at them, enjoying the rush of happiness that had accompanied thoughts of Katrin since leaving her on Monday morning.
It was as though a switch, deep and hidden inside of him had been flicked on, and he saw his whole world with a brightness, a sharper clarity, filtered through the eyes of a man who cared for a woman, with whom he was—now that he allowed himself to be—besotted.
He had called her last night to finalize their plans.
“Kat?”
“Yeah. Hey.” He could hear the smile in her voice and it made his heart thump-thump a little faster.
“Am I catching you at a bad time?”
“Nah. Just swinging with a book.”
“Wish I was there with you.”
“Me too.”
“How’re you feeling, Ӓlskling?”
“So much better. Really back to normal, but I’m still pretty blotchy.”
“Stop it. You’re beautiful.”
“I’m sorry…is this Erik Lindstrom?”
“I can’t call my girlfriend beautiful?”
“Talk about a full conversion!” He imagined her deep dimples as she rocked back and forth on the porch swing, cheeks pink with pleasure. “You can.”
“I miss you, Kat.”
“Well, not for much longer. I’ll see you tomorrow?”
“Mmm. I can leave at three. Should be to you by four-thirty. Choteau by seven-ish to meet the family. Does that sound okay?”
“Sounds perfect. Hey…”
“What?”
“Speaking of the families…mine and yours…”
“Yeah, they’re going to know we’re together. So what? I’m keeping my arm around you the whole time. Wouldn’t put it past Lars to make a play for you, Ӓlskling.”
“Really? Lars, huh? Let’s see…he’s the biggest of you three, right?”
“Nope. He’s very scrawny and super ugly and we don’t like to talk about it, but he has some very severe hygiene and mental issues.”
She giggled. “Okay. No Lars for Kat.”
“No Midten, only Minste.”
