Cassidy laughed, though the idea of a cocktail was starting to sound appealing. Especially one shared with Pete. Her belly tingled with the thought of kissing him again.
A charged, urgent energy buzzed through the group as they bombed down the top of the run—an intermediate groomer—and regrouped at the top of Gabi’s. The wind began to swirl and the ceiling of sky seemed lower as well, muting the light. Mark yodeled, the others added their own war cries, which were muffled by the thick flakes of falling snow. Cassidy paused to adjust her ski boot buckles to give her aching toes a bit more room. When she straightened, the rest of the group had taken off and Pete was looking at her expectantly.
Cassidy wondered if she’d missed something, but figured that Pete would fill her in. She had skied Gabi’s—a double black diamond run—the day before with mixed enthusiasm. Because of the new snow, conditions today would be better, but the flat light made some of the terrain features harder to see. Her eyes were feeling dry, too—which usually happened after a long ski day. She looked forward to removing her contact lenses at the cabin later.
She pushed off and sensed Pete do the same, and they quickly picked up speed. Her legs burned with the effort of executing the steep turns, and so her focus narrowed. In her peripheral vision, she noticed the group spreading out. The snow beneath her skis puffed into the air with each turn as her ski tips scooped and surfaced. Her fatigued legs found their rhythm and a feeling of lightness bubbled up inside. Spring, swivel, turn—her body knew what to do and, in that freedom, came a pulse of joy.
Her left eye suddenly burned, she stopped and removed her goggles—slowly, expecting a contact lens to tumble out—then felt around her eyelid with her fingertip. The wintry air cooled her hot cheeks. Nothing seemed amiss, and after a series of blinks, the pain lessened. She replaced her goggles and continued down to the bottom of the run, where other routes merged together. Although she didn’t see the group, she expected to find them at the bottom of the lift. After continuing on to the lift line, she still didn’t see them. Had they already loaded? Because of their odd numbers, someone would have to ride single. Maybe they had arrived before her and paired up, knowing that Cassidy would follow. As she looked up squinting to confirm this, fat snowflakes blew across her vision. But the chairs lofting into the sky did not carry Pete or his friends. Could she be so far behind them that they had taken the lift and were already halfway up the mountain? Or could she have passed them? She looked around, unsure of what to do.
From underneath it all came the thought: Pete forgot about you. The tingly feeling that had swelled inside her all day bottomed out so suddenly that her legs felt weak.
Cassidy tried to shake the feeling, instead piecing together what had gone amiss. They had stood at the top of the run. She had adjusted her buckles. Had they made some kind of decision about where to go and she’d missed it? Surely Pete would pass on that information. Or could someone have gotten hurt? Oh God, no, she thought. What if Pete or one of his friends was hurt and she had left them up there by themselves?
The thought built up in her mind and she saw it: a figure crumpled in the snow at the edge of the woods, in pain, with no one to help.
Six
Mt. Baker Ski Area
November 28, 2014
“Cassidy!” a voice called from her left. She turned sharply to see Pete hurrying her way.
Relief washed over her, followed quickly by a stab of anger. She turned her skis around and met him halfway. “Where’d you go?” she asked.
“I thought you knew we were going back to Pan Dome,” he gushed, his chest heaving from the exertion.
“How would I know that?” she said, unable to stop herself.
“At the top,” he said, cocking his head. “We all decided.”
Cassidy’s anger quickly faded because of the confused look in his eyes. “I must have missed it,” she said.
“I’m sorry,” he replied. “I thought you heard us.”
She shook her head, chiding herself for being so quick to jump to conclusions. Though the miscommunication unnerved her.
“We have time for one more run,” Pete said, stepping closer, his clear eyes fixed on her in a way that made her heart race.
“Okay,” she said after a deep breath. “Though I think my legs need a break from the steeps.”
“So, Cassidy Kincaid has a limit, huh?” he said, his mouth twitching with a grin. “I’m glad to hear you say that, actually,” he added. “Mine do too.”
They pushed off and skied to the bottom of Chair 6. Pete’s friends were nowhere in sight.
“Mark wanted to start back, with all the new snow on the roads,” he explained, as if reading her thoughts. “And I’m sure Aaron had cocktails on the brain.”
“Last chair,” the liftie said as they slid into place and took their seat. Cassidy shivered. The stormy sky was breaking a little, revealing a thin band of blue above an endless chain of snowy mountains.
“You ever gone into the backcountry here?” Pete asked.
“A few of us from the ski club have,” she said. “There’s some nice bowls off Artist’s Point.”
“I’m sure all of your patrol training really comes in handy,” Pete said.
Cassidy shrugged. “I’ve been out of it for a few years now, but hopefully it’s all still in there.” She tapped her temple for emphasis.
She soaked in the dusky view opening by the second as they rose higher up the mountain. Though she tried to stay in the moment, the miscommunication had rattled her.
“Are you guys skiing tomorrow?” Pete asked.
“No, most of us have work to finish before Monday.” Cassidy pictured the
