My heart ached as she rolled up her jacket and used it as a pillow. She lay next to me, the top of her head touching my thigh as she slept. She did not know how strongly tempted I was to send her back to Miami this minute. But I could tell she sensed my fear.
The Homestead was situated on fifteen thousand acres of forest arid streams in the Allegheny Mountains, the main section of the hotel dark red brick with white-pillared colonnades. The white cupola had a clock on each of its four sides that always agreed on the time and could be read for miles, and tennis courts and golf greens were solid white with snow.
“You’re in luck,” I said to Lucy as gracious men in gray uniforms stepped our way. “The ski conditions are going to be terrific.”
Benton Wesley had accomplished what he had promised, and we found a reservation waiting for us when we got to the front desk. He had booked a double room with glass doors opening onto a balcony overlooking the casino, and on top of a table were flowers from Connie and him. “Meet us on the slopes,” the card read. “We scheduled a lesson for Lucy at three-thirty.”
“We’ve got to hurry,” I said to Lucy as we flung open suitcases. “You’ve got your first ski lesson in exactly forty minutes. Try these.”
I tossed her a pair of red ski pants, which were followed by jacket, socks, mittens, and sweater flying through the air and landing on her bed. “Don’t forget your butt pack. Anything else you need we’ll have to get later.”
“I don’t have any ski glasses,” she said, pulling a bright blue turtleneck over her head. “I’ll go snowblind.”
“You can use my goggles. The sun will be going down soon anyway.”
By the time we caught the shuttle to the slopes, rented equipment for Lucy, and connected her with the instructor at the rope tow, it was twenty-nine minutes past three. Skiers were brilliant, spots of color moving downhill, and it was only whet, they got dose that they turned into people. I leaned forward in my .boots, skis firmly wedged against the slope as I scanned lines and lifts, my hand shielding my eyes. The sun was nearing the top of trees, the snow dazzled by its touch, but shadows were spreading and the temperature was dropping quickly.
I spotted the man and woman simply because their parallel skiing was so graceful, poles lifted, like feathers and barely flicking snow as they soared and turned like birds. I recognized Benton Wesley’s silver hair and raised my hand. Glancing back at Connie and yelling something I could not hear, he pushed off and schussed downhill like a knife, skis so close together I doubted you could fit a piece of paper between them.
When he stopped in a spray of snow and pushed back his goggles, it suddenly occurred to me that if I did not know him I would have been watching him anyway. Black ski pants hugged well-muscled legs I had never known were beneath the trousers of his conservative suits, and the jacket he wore reminded me of a Key West sunset. His face and eyes were brightened by the cold, making his sharp features more striking than formidable. Connie eased to a stop beside him.
“It’s wonderful that you’re here,” Wesley said, and I could never see him or hear his voice without being reminded of Mark. They had been colleagues’ and best friends. They could have passed for brothers.
“Where’s Lucy?” Connie asked.
“Conquering the rope tow even as we speak.” I pointed.
“I hope you didn’t mind my signing her up for a lesson.”
“Mind? I can’t thank you enough for being so thoughtful. She’s having the time of her life.”
“I think I’ll stand right here and watch her for a while,” Connie said. “Then I’ll be ready for something hot to drink and I have a feeling Lucy will be, too. Ben, you look like you haven’t had enough.”
Wesley said to me, “You up for a few quick runs?”
We exchanged remarks about nonessential matters as we moved through the line, and then were silent when the lift swung around and seated us. Wesley lowered the bar as the cable slowly pulled us toward the mountaintop. The air was numbing and deliciously clean, and filled with the quiet sounds of skis swishing and dully slapping hard-packed snow. Snow from snow machines drifted like smoke through the woods between slopes.