I’ll sleep in the other bed.” She nodded to the room’s second twin. “We’ll share. Okay, baby?”
“Mouse loves you,” Belle told her sister.
CHAPTER THREE
EARLY THE NEXT MORNING, Rory and Lauren strapped on snowshoes over their snowboarding boots. They carried packs made by CamelBak, with water reservoirs, as well as emergency blankets, and small first-aid kits. Rory also wore an avalanche beacon and carried her shovel in her pack, though they were not going into any avalanche zone.
“This looks pretty tame,” Lauren pointed out, although she was breathing hard from the hike uphill.
“Good. We’re just starting out with this. The country around here has a lot of avalanche danger, so I don’t want to take you anywhere hairier until you’ve gone through the course and learned to use a beacon.”
“I wish I could take a course in fire-dancing,” Lauren said.
“I don’t know how your dad would feel about that. And I’ve never taught a minor with fire. Of course, you don’t actually learn twirling or poi with fire. You learn without. It’s essential to practice for months, to get really good, before you bring fire into it.”
“I’d practice without fire,” Lauren told her. “But I’m not afraid of fire.”
Rory glanced at her, noting the remark. She turned the comment over in her mind, knowing it would have relevance to snowboarding and everything else this girl did.
“I am,” Rory said. “I’m afraid of getting burned and I’m afraid of breaking bones snowboarding and skiing, and I’m afraid of being buried in an avalanche. It doesn’t stop me doing any of the things I like to do, but it does make me determined to do things the right way. Fear is what helps us stay alive.”
“I guess,” Lauren said without conviction. “Our family’s not fearful, though. I’m not, in any case.”
Why did she keep pointing that out? Rory wondered. What was wrong with a little healthy fear?
They made the run together, Rory following Lauren. Lauren was obviously an accomplished snowboarder. Her form was excellent. Probably, she’d had the best teachers in Telluride.
Rory led her up another slope, breathing hard as she made her way over the powder in her snowshoes. They snowboarded together for three hours, then headed back to the Empire Street house in Rory’s car, a black Toyota RAV4 that she’d bought used. As they turned down Main Street, however, Rory spotted a familiar shape wearing a day pack and walking with the help of an ornately curved walking stick. Her grandmother wore black wool pants and an imitation ermine coat, and her still-thick white hair was swept up in a French twist beneath her matching fake fur hat.
Snow fell heavily as Rory pulled up beside her and rolled down the window. “Gran, do you want a ride?”
“Of course not, Rory.” Her mother’s mother frowned with interest at Lauren. “I will fall apart if I don’t keep up with my walking.”
Walking, dancing, singing, yoga, Rory filled in. The way Sondra had raised her—good grief, she’d learned to ski by being guided down slopes between her grandmother’s legs—seemed to have determined that she pursue an active, healthy lifestyle. Part of her love of fire-dancing and belly dance had come from her grandmother’s enthusiasm when she’d learned of Rory’s new interests; without being told, Sondra had seemed to understand that what Rory liked was the peaceful concentration required to work with fire.
Feeling a surge of love for Sondra, Rory told the woman, “This is one of my dad’s clients, Lauren Lee. This is Sondra Nichols,” she told Lauren, “my grandmother.”
“It’s nice to meet you,” Lauren said dutifully.
As they went on their way, Lauren asked, “Is your grandfather alive, too?”
“No. He died before I was born. She’s been widowed thirty-five years, and as long as I can remember, she’s always said that she’ll never marry again.”
“Like my dad.”
Rory glanced over in interest.
Lauren said, “He has girlfriends, of course. In fact, don’t be surprised if he tries to make you the next one. But he never marries them.”
Rory couldn’t read the teenager’s tone—not with accuracy. “Do you wish he would?”
“I don’t really care,” Lauren said. “It’s not like he has that much to do with us, anyhow.”
The reply shocked Rory, and bothered her. She knew what it was to have a father who didn’t “have that much to do” with her. She’d never held it against her father, believing he was devastated by her mother’s death—and by her betrayal. But in Seamus Lee, who had four children, one of them just four years old, noninvolvement seemed criminal.
“I thought he had the kind of job…” Rory stopped abruptly.
“Oh, he could spend time with us. And he used to, before my mom died. But not anymore.”
“How did your mother die?” Reflecting that she and the Lee children shared motherless status, Rory pulled up outside the Lees’ temporary home. Lights were on inside, illuminating the Greek Revival house against the gray afternoon, making it warm and welcoming.
“A handgun accident. The forensic people figured she was loading it and didn’t know it was already loaded or something like that. I don’t really know how handguns work.”
Neither did Rory. She wondered why Seamus Lee’s wife had been loading a handgun in the first place.
“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
