Her Last Letter (21 page)

I didn’t think she could handle it, and I didn’t want to be the one responsible should she get hurt. “I really think you should practice the snowplow turns first. It’s not as easy as-”

“Oh, everybody knows how to do those.”

“Yes,” I said slowly, patiently, “they do, for most situations. But you have to realize that a good percentage of the blue intermediate runs here on Ajax are steeper than on say, Buttermilk, or even Snowmass.”

“Well, I have to try sometime, and I feel like trying now.”

I was wondering if the wine she’d downed at lunch had something to do with her bravado now. I looked to Trevor to talk the woman out of it.

Bob skied up to her. “It’s kind of late in the day. I’m getting a little tired. Aren’t you?”

“No, I’m not that tired. I plan to celebrate in the bar after we’re done. My first steep run on Aspen Mountain.” She slid away from him, trying to arc her skis as I’d demonstrated, but fell flat again, losing both skis.

We took Spar Gulch to Grand Junction and made a left turn into Kleenex Corner, then headed toward a blue section called Magnifico. At the very least, it was one of the shorter blue sections on Ajax.

Though it looked easy to me, I knew it wouldn’t to Sylvia. The slope dropped off sharply from the easy catwalk we’d been skiing.

Sylvia stared at it, looking back and forth as if trying to decide.

“You don’t have to do this, Sylvia,” Bob cautioned. “I think you should wait.”

“Yes,” said Trevor. “Let’s continue on down the catwalk. You can save this for tomorrow.”

“No,” she said. “I want to do it. It’s just snowplow turns, right? And I can do those.”

Bob shook his head. “Sylvia, this is no time to try and prove something. You’re not-”

She shot him a look. “That’s not what I’m doing at all. Gwyn, show me again what I’m supposed to do.”

I looked toward Trevor, but his face was unreadable.

“Okay,” I said, “if we’re going to do this, then we need to do it safely. What we’ll do is have you traverse across the slope, slowly. First, you’ll get into your snowplow position, then traverse across the hill, then plow to a stop. Sound good?”

“Yes, I can do that.”

“This would be a good place to start.” I pointed to a spot near me on the left side of the slope. “From here you’ll ski across the hill at a slight angle. And remember,
never, ever,
point your skis downhill unless you’re in your snowplow. In fact, you should keep the skis in a snowplow the entire time.”

Sylvia slid into position. I skied to a spot down the slope twenty feet below her on the far right side, then waved for Trevor and Bob to join me. Together we formed a line across the hill. “You can ski toward us. If you do pick up speed, we’ll stop you. Use a wide snowplow, Sylvia, really wide. Make sure you don’t let the skis come together.”

She adjusted her skis, pointing the tips together, her knees bent inward, inches from each other. The tails of the skis were spread apart so that the skis formed a V-shape.

“No-spread the tails wider than that,” I said, “as far as you can.”

“I’ll split my pants,” she said, but spread the skis.

“I know it’s awkward, but that’s the only position that will really slow you down on a steep slope, and it’s important to be aggressive and maintain it.
Now one last thing.
If you do get out of control-and you shouldn’t-
fall
, just lean over and
fall
. That will stop you.”

“Okay.” She took a deep breath and exhaled, then with a slight smile began plowing slowly forward. She managed to ski to us and stop. “I’m a little nervous,” she said, then looked for sympathy from Trevor.

“You’re doing fine,” he said.

She continued in this fashion on down the slope. Once, she lost control and slid into us, but everyone laughed, not hurt.

About a quarter of the way down, Sylvia seemed to become a little more at ease with the steepness, and managed twice to traverse across the hill, turn and traverse in the other direction. She stopped and smiled. “I think I can make it the rest of the way down on my own. I don’t need you standing there anymore.”

I was about to object, but knew she wouldn’t listen. Plus I was still angry. Fine, I thought, you’re the boss.

“Sylvia, I don’t think it’s a good idea,” Bob said.

“I didn’t ask what you thought, Bob.”

Trevor kept his mouth shut, but I caught a slight shake of his head.

My guess was that she was trying to impress Trevor, or maybe all of us, otherwise I couldn’t see why she’d take the risk.

“You don’t need to worry about me,” she said, looking back as she started off. “I’ve got this down.”

For a time, it looked as if Sylvia might be right, but I knew that even a second’s lapse of concentration could be a serious mistake surrounded by trees as we were. In spite of my anger, I decided to remind her of my previous advice. “Remember, Sylvia, if something goes wrong, make yourself fall. Just lay yourself out on the snow.”

She never even turned her head.

We followed her down, and I watched each time she eased into the fall line-the most direct route down the face and the most critical-and held my breath until she’d crossed it and again traversed the hill. We still had half the slope to cover and I could see her legs twitch from the effort her muscles were making to control her speed. Any minute now, I kept thinking.

I knew it would happen, and I saw exactly what started it all. She crossed her tips, only for a moment, but that was all it took. As she turned into the fall line, the skis jerked, locked up, and surprised by it, Sylvia came out of the snowplow and let the skis go parallel.

A split second later, she shot off down the mountain at warp speed.

“Fall,” I cried out, taking off after her. “Fall, dammit.”

I could hear her squeals of terror as she raced out of control. She was veering right, streaking toward the solid wall of pines. I tucked low, gaining incredible acceleration, realizing in a panic how deadly serious this had all become. If I didn’t reach her soon, it would be too late even for me to turn away from the trees. We’d both die.

“
Come on
,” I screamed at myself. “
Fasteeer.
“ Wind roared in my ears. I could see the pines like grim death ahead, see Sylvia.
Still time, still time.
Careening downward, I raised my body slightly, ready to deliver the blow. I shot in beside her and threw my body forcefully into hers, knocked her off balance. She crashed instantly. I flipped too and went airborne, cartwheeling, spinning through the air, then hit, tumbling over and over, skis and arms and legs flying and spiraling down the slope.

Eventually, I slammed down on my chest-spun crazily to a stop. I couldn’t breathe, the wind knocked completely out of me. I lifted my head, saw that all my limbs were still attached, and that I’d missed certain death by six, maybe seven feet. I couldn’t see where Sylvia ended up.

Finally, I was able to suck in some air, then tried to move my arms and legs and felt no pain. Nothing appeared to be broken, though my neck hurt.

The men skied up. “God almighty,” said Trevor.

I pushed myself to a sitting position and saw that Sylvia was a few yards down from me, not moving. “Sylvia, are you okay?”

She still didn’t move, but a small shaking voice issued from the snow. “Yes, my lip is bleeding, but I think I’m okay.”

“We need to get the Ski Patrol,” said Trevor.

“No,” Sylvia said weakly. “I’m okay. Just let me lay here for a minute. Nothing hurts. Just my lip.”

Eventually, Trevor and Bob helped each of us up. Sylvia clutched at the two men, her body shaking.

Someone who’d watched it all from the chair must have called for the Ski Patrol, because they showed up with a sled. Though Sylvia protested, she let them tuck her safely inside and tow her down the mountain to the Ski Patrol shack where they checked her for injuries.

They put a small bandage on her bloody lip, and when she insisted again and again that she was okay, they let her leave, warning that it might be prudent to make a stop at the hospital-just to be sure.

I didn’t mention my own neck, though I knew it would be really sore by tomorrow.

Despite everything that had happened, Sylvia insisted that we hit the bar, promising not to drink anything stronger than a Coke with a lime.

“I can hold the cold glass against my lip,” she said, “bring down the swelling.”

Trevor walked beside me as we entered the bar, already filled with skiers celebrating the day’s good weather and skiing. “God, Gwyn,” he said quietly. “You saved her life.”

“Don’t remind me.”

He laughed. “You really
don’t
like her, do you?”

I shrugged, then stopped to rub my neck, pushing my fingers into the soreness.

“Here, let me do that,” he said, but removed his hand once we caught up to Sylvia and Bob.

There was no place to sit, except for one seat at the bar. Sylvia took that spot. I stood by while the men ordered drinks, then excused myself and shouldered through the crowd to the john. I combed my hair and washed my hands, wondering how I was going to make it through another day of Sylvia.

As I approached Bob and Sylvia-Trevor was farther off securing a table from a group that was leaving-I overheard Sylvia’s harsh accusing words. “From now on I’ll make sure I have a
real
instructor, someone who won’t get me killed.” I shrank back, hoping they wouldn’t see how close I’d been. In any other situation, I would have given it right back at her, saying, “I didn’t volunteer to teach you, Sylvia.” Or nastier, “Even a real instructor would give up on you-bitch.”

I bypassed the two and walked over to Trevor. He smiled and handed me the glass of wine I’d requested. Maybe when the weekend was over I’d let him know what an ungrateful ass Sylvia had turned out to be.

Bob and Sylvia joined us at the table. I was the only one seated, and as I looked back over my shoulder I saw Sylvia whisper something into Trevor’s ear. He saw me watching, frowned and pulled his head away.

He sat down next to me, and Sylvia followed him, anchoring herself between Trevor and Bob at the small round table. She leaned forward and stole a glance at me, a tiny smile forming. “I’ll take your advice next time, Gwyn, and hire an instructor. I shouldn’t have placed all that responsibility on you.”

Was it an insult or an apology? I wasn’t sure. Maybe she did know I’d heard the callous remark. “It’s okay. Everybody’s fine and it was a great day.”

She held her glass to her lip, then withdrew it. “Yes, and we have one more day to look forward to.”

I didn’t like it that Sylvia was sitting next to Trevor. Her hand, the one at Trevor’s side, was hidden beneath the table, and I could only guess what she might try doing with it. I suddenly wanted to grab her by the hair and swing her-Tarzan style-up and into the rafters of the bar.

“You’re planning to ski tomorrow?” Bob asked Sylvia.

“Of course. All I have is a small cut on my lip, though it does hurt a little to smile.” At that, she grinned at Trevor.

I held my empty wineglass toward him. “Could you get me another, honey?”

“Sure. The merlot?”

“Yes.”

“Anybody else ready?”

Bob shook his head, siting the two beers in front of him on the table. But Sylvia nodded yes.

As soon as Trevor stepped up to the bar, I scooted over, taking his seat, eliminating any further funny business under the table. I leaned in toward Sylvia and Bob. “It’s really hard to hear in here,” I said. “Have you two decided where you’d like to ski tomorrow?”

“Well, I always love Snowmass,” said Bob, “though we’d have to rent a car or else take the shuttle bus.”

“Yes, Snowmass,” said Sylvia, turning her face from me and placing the glass to her lip again. “I hate Aspen Mountain.”

That evening we again met at Sylvia’s condo, and because she had enjoyed it so much the night before, we repeated dinner at The Silver Strike. After the meal and a quick stop at the Red Onion and The Little Nell, we strolled through town, the four of us walking arm-in-arm at Sylvia’s insistence. Always, she managed to place Trevor on one side of her or the other.

Finally, I’d had enough.

“Let’s go,” I said, pulling Trevor aside as we stood before one of the storefronts, admiring ten gallon Stetson hats and impressive leather saddles. “I’m tired.”

“It’s not late,” he said. “It’s only ten.”

“Please, Trevor.” I gave him a look he couldn’t fail to understand.

“Okay.” He walked forward and put his hands on the shoulders of Bob and Sylvia. “I’ve got to call it a day, you two. You wore me out.”

“Oh-h,” Sylvia cooed at him. “It’s so early. At least come back to the condo for a while.”

“No, can’t do it. I’m a sleepy boy.”

I smiled at them both. “Well, thanks again.”

“Okay,” said Sylvia, “then we’ll all go back.”

I quickly wrapped my arm around Trevor’s waist and urged him forward before Sylvia could pull the four of us together again.

Back at the condo, Trevor was quiet, and though I was boiling with anger, I readied myself for bed, determined not to argue with him, afraid I might let everything spill.

He eyed me from across the bedroom. “Anything you want to say to me? I can see the steam coming out of your ears, you know.”

I shook my head. “No, I’m fine.”

“No, I’m fine,” he mimicked in a high whine. “I can tell you’re not fine, Gwyn.”

“Let’s not get into it, okay?”

Naked, Trevor flopped onto the bed and reached over and shut off the lamp, leaving me in darkness.

Still undressing, I turned on the lamp at my side of the bed.

“Maybe you should sleep in the other room,” he muttered, not looking at me.

I suddenly wanted to slug him and cry at the same time. I’d been hoping … needing, actually, for him to hold me. After all I’d been through today. “Sure, I can do that. I’d be glad to do that.” I stomped around the foot of the bed and past him out the door.

I yanked down the blankets on the twin bed across the hall.

“Gwyn?” he called out.

I refused to answer.