The Wife of Reilly (29 page)

We kissed and the world was right again.

Until it was time to get off the chair lift and I immediately lost my balance.

“I know, I know,” I said, holding my mitten out as Rick approached me. “I have every intention of getting off my ass.”

“Am I that predictable?” Rick laughed.

“More,” I smiled. With that exchange, we called a truce, which lasted less than one minute. “You know, it’s actually quarter of ten. What do you say we grab a

hot chocolate before heading down the mountain?” I suggested.

“Are you afraid to get going, Prudence?” Rick asked.

“Rick, it’s cold. I haven’t eaten since I got off the plane last night and I could really use the caffeine,” I said. “Can we not get overly analytical about hot chocolate?”

Matt agreed. “Yeah, lighten up, bro. Let’s get a drink.”

“I could use a cup of tea and shit,” said Kyara.

Sounds delicious.

The ski lodge was surprisingly crowded for that time of morning, but I spotted a family that was starting to clear away their breakfast plates. I walked over to the table and asked the mother if they were leaving.

“Help yourself,” she said. “We’re just about to take off. Are you ready to hit the slopes, Molly?” she asked her little girl. Her daughter was a four-year-old version of her husband. Both had an intelligent look with curious blue eyes and straight brown hair. The mother looked back at us and asked where we were from.

Matt told her we just drove in from L.A.

“How ’bout you?”

“San Diego,” she told us. “It’s my daughter’s first time skiing today. Actually, Paul and I have never been either, so we’re all learning together,” she winked at him.

“Lucy and Molly are faring a bit better than I am out there today,” the father said to us. “The things we do for love, right?”

“Yeah. Thanks for the table,” I waved at them.

Matt told me that he also wanted to start “our kids” skiing young.

Our kids?! One more thing we needed to discuss.

Chapter 27

The combination of cold air and fear was energizing. Matt showed me how to snow plow as we began toward the slopes. I got my balance and began in a skating motion for a few yards before falling. Matt helped me up and I was able to go another few yards. “Hey, I’m getting the hang of this!” I shouted.

“Wait till you get to the slopes, lady,” a young snowboarder yelled at me as he whizzed by.

“What did he mean by that?” I asked Matt.

“Well, we’re not really at the slopes yet,” he told me.

“We’re not? What is this then?”

“Well, it doesn’t really have a name. It’s the place before we get to the slopes. The flat area,” he explained.

“This isn’t flat,” I said, pointing to the downward angle of the path.

Rick shouted “yee haw!” before taking off with Kyara. “We’ll meet up with you at Miracle Mile.”

“See you there!” Matt shouted to them.

“Miracle Mile is miraculously easy, right?” I asked.

“You’ll be able to ski it no problem. Summit Run is too slow.”

“Too slow?” I asked. “How do we know what’s too slow for me? I think I should start off on the slowest one.”

“I promise Miracle Mile is no harder than Summit, it’s just faster.”

I figured I’d give it a try. When we met up with Kyara and Rick, the first word out of Matt’s mouth was “shit.”

“What’s wrong?” I asked.

“This run is closed,” he said.

Thank God!

“Oh well, let’s just go down the slow run,” I suggested.

“No, Prudence, you don’t understand,” Kyara said. “We can’t get to Summit Run from here. There’s only one other way to get down from here.”

I did not like the sound of where this was going.

“And that’s the black diamond run,” she finished.

“That’s a hard one, I assume?” I asked.

“The hardest,” she confirmed.

“Except for double black diamonds,” Rick added. “Now Prudence, think of this as a gift. In life, there are no signs that tell you you’re about to take a difficult run. At least you’ve got warning that there’s a challenge ahead. There is power in knowing that the road ahead is a tough one.”

Anytime you want to shut the fuck up, Rick!

“I’m sorry, Malone,” said Matt. “Just take it slowly and keep going from one side to the other. Don’t let yourself get out of control.” Who lets themselves ski out of control? It just happens. That’s why they call it out of control.

I did pretty well for about ten yards, but then toppled over a big lump of snow. My body hitting the ground made me feel like a wife being beaten by her drunken husband. Every time I hit the snow, I felt as though I should be cowering in the kitchen corner begging some dope in an undershirt to stop hitting me.

“Okay, hang tough, Prudence,” Rick said. “Get off your ass and keep skiing.”

Alas, my batterer.

I got off my ass and was determined to show Matt and his friends how I could focus on a task and master it. I bent my knees the way a ski instructor did as he whooshed by me, placed my skis close together and pointed my tips straight down the mountain.

“You go, girl!” Kyara shouted.

I felt so completely exhilarated that I had no other choice but to say “swoosh, swoosh.” I flew past another skier and felt a rush of relief that I didn’t crash into her. This was an amazing high for about fourteen full seconds — just long enough to pick up the speed to really damage my knee when I fell and twisted it.

“Shit, are you okay?” Kyara asked, the first to arrive on the accident scene.

“Is she hurt?” Matt followed quickly behind.

I looked at Rick as he arrived and said, “I can’t get off my ass so save it, buddy.”

“I didn’t say anything,” he defended.

“You were gonna,” Kyara said. “Can you get up?”

I tried to lift myself, but the pain in my knee was so sharp I could not stand on it.

“Okay, baby, we’re going to get ski patrol to take you down,” Matt said as he unstrapped my boot. “I’m sorry. We should have gone down Summit Run like you wanted.”

We should’ve gone to the Getty Museum like I wanted.

My injured knee was a perfect excuse not to ski for the rest of the weekend. After the nurse at the local emergency room wrapped my knee in a brace and gave me a set of crutches, she handed me instructions on caring for my injury. I knew one remedy I was more than willing to try — sleep!

Matt tucked me into bed at the cabin and lit a fire in the wood-burning stove. “Alone at last,” I said.

“The things you do to get me alone, Malone,” Matt said as he lay beside me, stroking my hair. “You get some rest now. You must be exhausted.”

“There’s so much we need to talk about Matt,” I said with my last bit of energy. Fading off with each word, I asked where we were going to live together. “Do you really want kids?” And with almost a whisper, “Why did you leave me?”

* * *

When I fell asleep that afternoon, I dreamt I was a princess trapped in a tower by a green-faced witch who was cackling about my “mangy little dog.” The tower was surrounded by a mote with pigs swimming in it. I hung my long, brown, Rapunzel-like braid out the window and watched the horizon for my prince to rescue me. Finally, Father rode up to the tower on a donkey. Though he was dressed in a long wool poncho and army cap, I knew he was on a secret rescue mission for the CIA.

“Father, you’re here!” I shouted without any worry of the witch downstairs hearing my cries.

“Have you been waiting long?” he shouted up to my penthouse.

“Look at my hair, Father. Of course I’ve been waiting long,” I shot back. Even in my dreams I could be a bitch.

“I have to get to Cuba, Prudence. Hurry up and come down.”

“Do you want me to let down my hair so you can climb up the tower?” I asked.

“Why would I do that?” he asked. “Then the two of us will be stuck up there. Just walk down the stairs and let’s go.”

I thought Father was a pretty lame CIA agent if he thought my escape from the witch would be that easy. “Just come down?” I shouted. “What about the witch?”

“Just tell her you’re leaving,” he offered.

“But I’m a prisoner! They don’t just let prisoners walk away, Father.”

“I think she’s ready to let you go.”

“But what about the pigs?” I asked.

“Walk on them like stepping stones,” he suggested.

Oh how desperate the CIA must be these days, I thought. But he was the only one coming around with an escape plan for me, so I figured I’d give it a try. I scurried down the stone staircase in my bare feet and made it to the mile-high door before the witch stopped me and asked where I was going.

“I’m leaving now,” I half asked and half stated.

“Oh,” she smiled, revealing blinding white fangs. “Do you want a sandwich for the road? I’ve got an extra Pat and Dick’s Honeymooner in the fridge. Extra honey mustard, right?”

Although I had been looking out the tower window for my entire period of captivity, when I stepped outside the door, my eyes were unaccustomed to the brightness of the sun.

“I brought your shades,” Father said, handing me Vilma’s cat glasses. “Now let’s get going before they close the doors.”

I had no idea where I was going with Father, or who was going to close the doors on us if we were late. Still, I climbed on the back of his mule and rode off into the afternoon sun.

Vilma’s glasses must have triggered my next dream, in which she was the star. She showed up at the foot of my bed dressed in chains. “Wake up, bitch,” she snapped.

“Vilma? What are you doing in California?” I asked.

“Look, I’ve got three minutes before I have to haunt a bitch in Sri Lanka, so let’s get a move on this,” she said. Vilma pulled a sheet of paper out of her leopard-print Kate Spade purse and began to read. “I am the bitch of men of the past, present and future,” she said as if she were way too cool to be cast in my Christmas carol rip-off fantasy. “You know, Prudence, if you can’t figure this shit out on your own you’re a dumb bitch, and I don’t have time to haunt dumb bitches.”

Dumb bitch? What happened to the admiration for my beautiful and lean tummy? I thought we were buddies, Vilma.

“I don’t have time for this,” Vilma snapped. “Suffice it to say that your relationships with men in the future look pretty much the same as your past and present if you don’t shape up.”

“Matt is the man of my future, though,” I called out to her as she disappeared. She was the only ghost I’d ever seen whose signoff was giving the finger. “What’s wrong with my relationship with him? I adore him.”

The next dream was equally bizarre. I was running a cross-country race where I was not allowed to stop for any breaks. I had my Deloitte tank top on and a pair of shorts. I started to feel drained and desperately in need of water when I saw my mother in the distance. “Thank God,” I muttered. “She’ll have some water for me.” As I approached her, she was wearing the pilgrim dress she had on at Thanksgiving, doing needlepoint.

“Needlepoint?” she offered, holding out her supplies.

“Water,” I begged.

There she was again in the next station. She was standing at the side of the road, this time holding a pumpkin pie out to me.

“Pie?” she offered.

“Water!” I shouted.

Up the road a bit further, she was there again. I began to think she ought to be the one running this race.

“Hot cross buns?” she suggested, holding out a steaming plate of them.

“I need water!” I shouted. I was furious that she could not see that a woman who was overheated and dehydrated needed water, not dry bread.

“Hot cross buns?” she asked again at the next roadside encounter. “One a penny, two a penny. Hot cross buns.”

* * *

When I opened my eyes, the cabin was empty. There was a note by the bedside table reading, “Back by five. Love you.”

I have never had to pee so badly in my life. When I hopped out of bed, I forgot about my knee and fell to the floor where there was a piece of pizza crust. I picked it up and devoured it, then surveyed the rest of the floor for more. I hobbled to the bathroom and sat on the toilet for what was without question the longest stream of urine ever made. During this endless pee, I noticed a pack of breath mints on the sink and was able to reach them by using Matt’s toothbrush as a hockey stick. Never has a breath mint tasted so delicious in my entire life.

Chapter 28

When Matt, Kyara and Rick returned to the cabin, they looked like a Gatorade commercial. They were jumping to give each other high-fives and recounting each other’s wipe outs and “extreme air time.”

“You missed an awesome day on the slopes, Prudence,” Rick said.

“Where do you want to eat before we take off?” Matt asked me.

“Take off?” I asked.

Thank God we’re leaving! My sweetie is always thinking of me. He even cut his ski trip short because of my injury.

“Anywhere. I just need food right away. Are we going to have trouble getting a reservation on a Saturday night?”

They all laughed. “Prudence, honey, it’s Sunday night,” Kyara said.

“Yeah, babe. We didn’t want to wake you up,” Matt said.

That night I was embarrassingly ravenous at dinner. I asked the hostess for bread as she walked us to our table. I ordered my food based on prep time. As the nubile waitress nervously described the daily special, I interrupted with, “How long does that take to cook?”

“It’s sautéed in a white wine sauce with capers and lemon.”

Not my question.

“Estimated time of arrival on that?” I asked impatiently.

“Not too long. I can ask the chef if you’d like,” she offered.

“Never mind. Just make mine rare and bring it quickly,” I said. “Can you bring some more bread, please?” I said with a mouthful of pumpernickel.

“Rare?” asked Matt. “You ordered chicken.”

“Yes, you’ll notice I passed on the braised ham for that very reason. Are you eating your ice?”

He passed his glass to me, and I fished out four cubes with my fork.

“You want some sugar for that?” Rick asked. “You could make a popsicle for yourself.”