“She didn’t take shit from anyone,” Lauren said.
Assertiveness through firearms? thought Rory. No fear, handguns…There was something amiss with this family, but she couldn’t put her finger on it.
And it’s none of your business, anyhow.
Rory longed to ask why—about the handgun—but it seemed a delicate question to put to this girl. Instead, she said, “I want to get you into an avalanche class as soon as possible. But, in the meantime, how would you feel about teaching snowboarding to kids at the ski area?”
“To little kids?”
“Yes.”
“All right.” Lauren seemed to be thinking it over. “I could do that.”
“I think you could, too,” Rory agreed.
“What about fire-dancing?” she asked Rory. “Can you teach me?”
“Without fire. Possibly so. Let me look into it.”
Leaving Lauren at the house, Rory drove out to San Juan Ski and Snowboard to check on Beau and see how he was getting along in his new part-time job. She found him happily learning to use a jigsaw and not at all keen to return to Empire Street. Nonetheless, he was in an afternoon telemark class.
Telemark, an old form of free-heel skiing, allowed the skier freedom from the necessity of chairlifts and greater access to the backcountry. The style of skiing emphasized controlled turns, the proper execution of which was an art form.
Gigi Parks, the ski designer, pulled a pair of telemark skis off the wall and pushed them in Beau’s direction. “Give these a try and tell me what you think.”
Her assistant, Rory’s friend Woody, called goodbye to Beau as he and Rory left.
Rory was still preoccupied by the fact that the children’s mother had died in a handgun accident. She wanted to know the facts, and there was only one family member she could ask. The two of them had time booked for an hour of telemarking that afternoon, after he finished avalanche school.
Beau broke into her thoughts. “I like that place. I feel like I’m learning to do something useful.”
Rory considered this remark. “I’m glad you like it. I thought that might be a good fit for you.”
“Is it a group telemark class?”
“I think there are two other students.” She braked at a stop sign, then glanced over at him. “Is that okay?”
“I hate group lessons.”
Rory didn’t ask why. When people said that, there was usually one reason: fear of ridicule.
“Try it today,” she said, “and I’ll check with you tonight and see how it went. If it’s no good for you, we might be able to manage a solo lesson or two.”
The look he shot her was one of naked gratitude.
What a group these children were.
On Empire Street, Rory found Caleb outside on a snowskate. The seven-year-old was clearly a skateboarder. The snowskate consisted of a skateboard deck balanced on a short, wide ski, creating something that was a cross between snowboard and skateboard and perfect for transportation on Sultan’s icy streets.
However, Caleb was not wearing a helmet, and this wouldn’t fly with her. “Where’s your dad?” she asked as she got out of the car.
“He’s not back from avalanche school yet. Lauren’s watching us.”
“Well, you need to have a helmet on, Caleb.”
He made a face that promised lack of cooperation. “I don’t have to,” he said. “I don’t fall.”
“Congratulations on not falling, but while you’re here in Sultan, you’re learning safety from the Sultan Mountain School. That means wearing a helmet.”
“It’s my snowskate.”
“And no one makes you wear a helmet at home?”
He’d clearly been caught out. He glared at Rory and stalked inside. Caleb, age seven, might turn out to be the rebel of this lot, she thought. He wore his hair below his shoulders, and even at seven he had the confidence of someone who knew himself to be a capable athlete.
Rory followed Beau inside the house and found Lauren rubbing the German shepherd puppy’s nose in a puddle on the floor. Lauren started to drag the dog back to his crate, and Rory said, “Actually, what you want to do now is take him outside to wherever you want him to pee. Then, you’ve got to clean up with carpet stuff that will neutralize the pheromones. There’s some in the cupboard beside the sink.”
Lauren cast her a look that seemed to weigh all these instructions. She said, “Beau, take Seuss outside. You have your boots on already.”
Beau grabbed the leash and said, “What am I supposed to do?”
Teaching children how to train their puppy was beyond the call of duty, and Rory had hoped to grab a snack before telemarking with Seamus Lee. Instead, she gave the two siblings better ideas for corrections than “rub his nose in it,” made sure Caleb was wearing his snowboarding helmet and instructed Lauren and Beau that this was strict school policy.
THIS TIME, they took his car and drove to the head of a trail and out onto a long, gentle slope where they could practice turns.
Rory remembered how determined she was to know more about the handgun, but there were too many other things to attend to in the meantime. First—Caleb and the helmet.
“He knows he’s to wear a helmet,” Seamus said. “The woman who works for me always makes him wear one. She’s an older lady who, well, runs my household, if you will. She’s something of a renaissance woman. If my kids have any good values, it’s because of her.”
“Good values, such as…?”
“Well, she has many interests. She loves ballet and poetry. She gets them reading classics and has actually gotten them listening to opera, at times. And, of course, she encourages them to spend time outdoors. Climbing trees, skiing. Enjoying nature. And she’s gotten Beau to do some writing. She’s kayaking in Baja right now.”
“It sounds as though you’re fortunate to have her working for you,” Rory said carefully.
“Yes.” Seamus fell silent, frowning as he considered the road ahead.
Lauren tells me your wife died in an accident with a handgun. As Rory played this over in her mind, she knew she could not put it to him that way. Feigning ignorance? Yes, that was best. “Are you divorced?”
“No, my wife passed away when Belle was one.”
“I’m sorry. How did she die?” Rory hated the fact that her need to know the why of the handgun was stronger than any wish to save this man the pain of discussing his wife’s death.
“She was checking her handgun and it fired, and she was hit by a ricocheting bullet. At least, that’s what the forensic experts thought.”
“Was this in Telluride?”
“Yes, believe it or not. Janine represented battered women, and she’d been threatened by some of her clients’ spouses. So, she took to carrying a gun. It wasn’t…” He stopped.
Rory glanced at him, her eyes lingering on his cleft chin. He was a mystery, and she felt her interest piqued by what she could not reach within him.
He didn’t continue, so she finished the thought for him. “It wasn’t what you would have done?”
“No. It wasn’t.”
Rory didn’t know how to convey what she needed to