Playing with Fire (15 page)

“Yeah, I realize that. But I thought maybe I could help.”

I consider this. “You know…if you want to help, it'd probably be better if you didn't try to sound too much like a parent. I mean, we had a dad, and he was cool. But Zach is twenty now. Even if he doesn't act like an adult, well, he sort of is. And I just don't think he's ready to have someone step into a father role.”

Steven seems to chew on this and finally smiles. “I think you're right, Samantha. I probably overstepped my bounds.”

His comments make me curious, and since Mom's not around, I decide to ask. “So, are you getting serious about my mom?”

Now he looks a little uncomfortable, but then he sits up straighten “I don't know how you define
serious.
But I really do like your mother. And I think she likes me.”

Okay, now I want to ask if his intentions are honorable. Really, those are the words that go through my head. But of course, I can't say that. “Are you guys exclusive then?”

He kind of shrugs. “Well, we haven't really defined our relationship. But I can say that I'm not dating anyone else.”

“Oh…” Then I see Mom coming our way. I'm surprised at how young she looks with her flushed cheeks and messy hair. And she's smiling.

She flops down in the big armchair next to Steven and lets out a happy sigh. “I don't know when I've had such a fun day.” She actually giggles now. “I mean, I've only been on the easy slopes, and I'm being really careful since it's
the first time I've been on skis in years. But it feels so great to be up here. It reminds me of being a girl.”

“Cool,” I say, but probably not with as much enthusiasm as she'd like. I really am happy for her, but at the same time, I'm suddenly worried about Zach.

I'm thinking about that dream again and how he looked, lying facedown in the snow. Although I'm trying to convince myself it's not related to today. Or maybe I'm just in some kind of denial. But even so, it's not dusk here yet, and we'll be on our way home before that. And besides trampled snow and pine trees, I haven't seen a thing that resembles anything from my dream. Not any small cabinlike structures, not one whiff of smoke.

Okay, I realize my dream could have been a metaphor for something else. I do get dreams like that occasionally. But even that doesn't really make much sense. Well, other than the implication that Zach is in danger. And I don't really like to think about that.

Mom looks at her watch now. “I told Zach we'd be leaving at three thirty so we can avoid the end-of-the-day traffic jam out of here. Have you guys seen him anywhere?”

I admit to her that it's been almost two hours now, and Steven hasn't seen him since lunch. “Well, I told him to meet us here.” Mom frowns. “But I wish I'd given him my cell phone.”

“He doesn't have his own cell phone?” asks Steven.

“He doesn't even have his
own job,”
she says in a slightly irritated tone.

His brows shoot up, and I suspect she stepped on his toes.

“Sorry, Steven. I didn't mean to tear into you like that.
It's certainly not your fault if my son makes us late.” She gives him a little smile. “I don't want to sound ungrateful. It was so sweet of you to treat us to this incredible day. I just don't want anything to spoil it. Especially Zach.”

“It's okay, Beth. I know some things can be trying for a mom.”

She nods. “Yeah, it's not easy.”

I wonder how much she's told him about my brother. And I'm not sure how I'd feel about it either way. I mean, it's not like Zach has exactly kept his mistakes top secret, and Steven is fully aware of his stint in rehab.’ I'm just not sure if he's aware that Zach might be failing now. And even though it feels slightly hopeless to me, especially after last night's dream that I assume is drug related, I still desperately want Zach to beat his addiction. I so want our family to move past this drug demon that my brother has introduced into our lives.

S
o much for beating the traffic,” Mom says as the parking lot starts getting jammed with SUVs and other vehicles, all trying to get in and out of here at the same time. The day skiing has finished up now, and night skiing will begin soon. Our day passes expired an hour ago. It's now close to five.

“Even if Zach took one last lift up at four, he should be down by now.” Steven looks once again at his watch. I can tell he's getting impatient.

“Do you think he could've been hurt?” Mom asks with a creased brow.

““ “If he was hurt, we'd probably know about it, Beth. You'd be hearing your name on the PA system.”

“Maybe we should talk to someone,” I suggest. “Security or something?”

“We've already paged him,” says Steven. “You don't really want to send out a search team for him, do you?”

“I guess not.” Mom sighs. “I just wish he'd get down here.”

“I wish I'd thought to loan him my phone,” I admit.

“I wish we could go home.” Steven frowns at the mountain.

It's still light out, but it's only a matter of time before it gets dusky. They've already turned on the big lights, getting ready for night skiing. I am feeling more and more uneasy. Finally I decide it's time to talk to my mom. Privately. She doesn't like hearing about my dreams or visions. They creep her out, and I try to protect her from that. But I'm thinking that when it involves Zach, I have to make an exception.

“Can I talk to you?” I say to Mom in a quiet tone. “Alone?”

She glances at Steven, who seems oblivious to my request, then back at me. “We're going to visit the little girls’ room,” she tells him. “Will you keep an eye out for Zach? My phone's on.”

He nods, still frowning at the slope like he expects to see Zach. riding down any minute.

Mom and I go inside, and I begin to explain about last night's dream. I don't go into all the details but only say that my dream involved snow and that Zach really did get hurt.

“Why didn't you tell us this before we came?”

“I don't know,” I say, suddenly feeling guilty, like this is my fault. “I guess it's because it just didn't seem like something that could really happen up here. It didn't seem to fit.” I think of the fire, the cabin, the gunshot wound — things I didn't tell her.

“But you said that it involved snow and that Zach was hurt. Where else could that happen? It's not as if we have snow in Brighton right how, Samantha. What if your brother is up there on the mountain seriously injured?”

“My dream wasn't like that. It wasn't a snowboarding accident. He had on Adidas tennis shoes, Mom.”

“But he was in the snow and hurt?”

I nod, trying to swallow against the lump growing in my throat.

“So, what are you saying, Samantha? What am I supposed to do with this?”

Tears are burning my eyes now. “I don't know. I just thought I should tell you.”

“You're the one who works with the cops,” she hisses at me. “You're the one who gets these horrible dreams and things. You should have some answers here.”

“Just because God gives me these things doesn't necessarily mean they come with answers. It usually takes hard work to figure things out.”

“But you think your brother may have been injured?”

“I don't know, Mom. All I can say is that in my dream, it wasn't a snowboarding accident. It was, uh, something else.”

“What?” she demands with angry eyes. “Tell me exactly what your dream was. How did Zach get hurt?”

I look down at my snowboarding boots and take in a deep breath as I pray a silent prayer. Should I tell her? Will it help? Or will it hurt?

“I am your mother, Samantha. Tell me.”

I look back up at her. “Zach was lying facedown in the snow. There'd been a fire nearby…a cabin was going up in flames. Zach had been shot.”

She stares at me with horror in her eyes. “Shot?”

“I didn't want to tell you. I didn't want to think about it. It didn't seem like something that could really happen. Not today. Not here.”

“A fire?” she says in a quiet voice. “Why would there be a fire up here in the snow?”

“I know…it doesn't really make sense.”

“Was he dead, Sam?” Her face looks pale now. Oh, her cheeks are still flushed from the cold, but beneath that is white, like the blood has drained out.

“I don't know… It didn't look good.”

“What do you think it means?”

“I was hoping it was more like a warning dream…more symbolic than a real prediction.”

“Symbolic of what?”

“I thought it might be related to drugs, like Zach might be using again, and if that was the case, he was going to get hurt.”

Mom puts a hand to her head, as if she's almost faint. “I need to sit down.”

We walk over to a bench by the window, and Mom just seems to fold over at the knees as she sits down. I know I've ruined her day—Zach and I both have—and I feel horrible.

I put a hand on her shoulder. “I'm sorry, Mom. Maybe my dream was nothing but a bad dream. Maybe I shouldn't have even told you about it. But I've been worried about Zach off and on all day. I even tried to talk to him…about drugs, you know? But he wouldn't listen. We sort of got into an argument, but then he apologized. And after a while we quit riding together. I couldn't keep up with him. And then he went missing…and I didn't know what to think.” I blink back tears now. “I feel like this is my fault.”

Mom looks at me. Her eyes are glistening too. “It's not your fault, Samantha. But it's not exactly easy to hear about your dreams, especially when they involve my son.”

“It's not exactly easy to have dreams like that.” I want
to add that her son is also my brother, but I don't think that'll help much.

Mom stands. “I guess I should go speak to someone, let them know that he's missing and we're worried about his welfare.”

I stand too. “Yeah. I think so.”

My boots feel like they weigh a ton, like I can barely drag my feet over to the information desk, where my mom talks to a security woman. “My son was supposed to meet us here at three thirty. We only have day passes, and we were trying to leave early. I'm afraid he may have gotten hurt or lost.”

The woman looks at Mom with compassion. She asks his name, clothing description, height, weight, and age, writing each thing down on a small pad as Mom tells her.

The woman looks up. “He's
twenty?”

Mom nods. “Yes, that's right.”

The woman frowns. “Well, a twenty-year-old might be off doing just about anything.” She looks at the clock. “He's not quite two hours late yet. Have you checked the lounge? We've had some kids sneaking in there with fake IDs about this time of day even though the staff is supposed to stay on top of it.”

Mom looks indignant. “I hardly think my son is off drinking in the lounge.”

I nudge Mom's elbow as in
hint-hint, he might be.

“Well, I'll put out an APB on him,” says the woman. “Keep your cell phone on, and if I hear anything, I'll give you a call.”

“Thank you,” my mom says in a crisp voice.

The woman looks at me now. “In the meantime, you might want to look around a bit more.”

I know she means we should check the lounge, but I wait until we're out of earshot before I mention it to Mom. “He might be in the lounge. I mean, I know that he and Tate have been drinking buddies lately.”

“You know this for a fact?”

I nod, feeling like a traitor. To both my mom and my brother. But really, what should I have done?

“You stay here, Samantha. I'll go check the lounge.”

I pray as I wait. And as weird as it seems, I pray that Zach is in the lounge. I mean, seriously, isn't that preferable to being injured—or worse—out in the snow after dark?

Apparently not. I try not to look too happy as Mom emerges from the lounge with Zach in tow. I'm surprised she's not pulling him by his ear. Her face is so angry that I think I might prefer to walk home tonight. And Zach, of course, looks pretty sheepish.

“Do you have any idea what you've put us through?” she is saying to him. “We've been worried sick and—”

“I lost track of time. I thought it was still early and—”

“I don't want any of your excuses, Zach!” She opens her ceil and punches the digits of Steven's number with such force that I'm surprised the phone doesn't fall apart in her hand. “You owe all of us, especially Steven, a big fat apology.”

“I'm sorry—”

“Shut up!” she snaps. “No, not you, Steven. Sorry. We found Zach.” She pauses as he'says something. “Yes, he's just fine.” She glares at her son. “Well, physically anyway. I have no idea what's wrong with his head.” Then they agree to meet at her car.

It's getting dark as we leave the parking lot. No one
speaks, which is a good thing. Steven turns on the radio to a jazz station. He's almost as ticked as my mom, but I'm relieved he doesn't delve into it. I'm also relieved that my brother is okay. At least he's okay for now. Who knows what's around the next corner for him.

We're about twenty minutes from home when my mom finally breaks the silence. “I'm so sorry about how this day ended,” she says to Steven. “I had no idea I had raised such a selfish and insensitive son.”

Thanks, Mom.” Zach folds his arms across his chest and glares at the back of her head.