“I think I know what you mean, though.”
She wiped her eyes and nodded. “He was beautiful. He always will be.”
“Maybe you can show me some of your sketches when we get home.”
“No,” she said after a moment, “I think I’ll keep those for myself.”
“That’s fine.”
“Wow, I hadn’t thought of that window in years.” She forced a smile. “I think he used to sit there just so I could draw him. He was half in light, half in shadow, so it was fun to get the shading right.”
She laughed again. “And I’d forgotten what a bad singer he was. Rich used to say he couldn’t carry a tune in a bucket. James even said he made the piano go out of tune by standing too close. Oh, Paul, he really was awful. He couldn’t even keep rhythm. It used to drive Rich and me crazy.
“It’s kind of silly,” she said after a reflective moment. “Those are the things I remember about him. Not that he was a good Marine or a star wrestler, but that he couldn’t sing and used to sit in a window for hours so his little sister could draw him.”
“Those’re the things that make you smile.”
“They do. And… thanks for making me think of him. You remind me of him in a way, how you’re always positive about stuff. Like this morning,”
she continued. “You really can’t ski as well as me—sorry, you can’t—but you still tried, and it seemed like you were having fun. You made it a game to see if you could keep up.”
“That’s exactly what I did.”
“And that’s what I like about you. Well, one of many things.”
“Thank you.”
“Now come on, let’s hurry and eat. I wanna get back to the slopes.”
Later in the afternoon I decided to test myself on one of the most difficult trails on the mountain. Christy simply plunged over the edge and flew through the moguls like she’d been born on skis. I was more cautious and chose a line before I shoved off. I still wiped out once, but it was a minor tumble instead of a hair-raising crash. I made it to the bottom of the run and received a kiss for my trouble, although she grinned and took off again almost immediately.
We left the slopes when we reached the base lodge, since I wanted to take a look at the cabin’s hot tub while I still had enough daylight to see. We
stored our equipment in the lockers and headed to the market for groceries and more wine. Christy chattered away as we carried the bags up to the cabin, mostly about Laurence and how many instruments he tried before their mother finally gave up.
At the house I prepped the hot tub, replaced the drain plug, and started the hose to fill it. Christy made pasta and salad for dinner, and we polished off a bottle of wine. I checked on the water afterward and turned it off when the tub was full. The pump sputtered as it flushed the remaining air out of the system, but then it ran smoothly.
“Can we use it tonight?” Christy asked.
“No. It’ll take too long to heat up. Probably overnight to get to eighty degrees. But we can turn it up when we get home tomorrow. It’ll be ready after dinner.”
“Good. So I have an excuse tonight. Don’t ask,” she said before I could.
“Wren had some wild ideas for what I should do to you in the tub. You know,
‘to keep you interested.’”
“That sounds like her, all right.”
“Exactly. And she’s crazy if she thinks I need suggestions in that department. Speaking of which… I thought I’d model the lingerie you gave me for Christmas.”
“Maybe on a blanket in front of a cozy wood-burning stove?”
“With a bottle of wine?”
“Sounds like a not-date to me.”
“I might even let you not-kiss me.”
“I was hoping for a not-blowjob.”
“Play your cards right,” she said with a coy grin, “and you might get not-lucky.”
“Stop, please, stop!” Christy panted, and I lifted my face from between her legs. “You have to let me recover,” she gasped. “I can’t keep going like you do. Mine must be stronger than yours. One is enough. Two is plenty. Three is too much.”
I kissed her thigh and then climbed over her.
“Thank you. I’m sorry, but you can’t expect me to keep up with you.”
“I told you,” I said as I stretched out beside her, “sex is a skill. The physical part, at least.”
“And you’re better than me. I get it. Just let me catch up before you try any marathons again.” She sat up and reached for the wine bottle. “Do we have another?”
“No, sorry.”
“That’s okay. I’m in the mood for whiskey anyway. It’s sexier than wine.
Don’t you think?”
“I never really thought about it.”
“Well, I mean… wine is what kids drink. Not kid-kids, but you know what I mean. Whiskey is for grown-ups, my parents and grandparents, aunts and uncles.” She laughed. “Although, not my nana. She drinks brandy. But Granny Carmichael always has a glass of whiskey after dinner.”
Christy climbed to her feet and kept talking as she walked to the kitchen.
I admired the view and decided that she was a pretty package both coming and going. From the kitchen she told me about her Granny Carmichael’s stash of “corn liquor” (moonshine in my part of the country) and how she steeped cherries in it.
“Oh my gosh, Paul,” Christy said as she returned with the whiskey and glasses of ice, “I ate a bunch of them once, when I was seven. Danny put me up to it. Rich was so mad he gave him a black eye.”
“That seems to be what Rich does, but it sounds like Danny deserved it.”
“He really did.” She sat seiza-style and poured the drinks. “I put a little water in yours. Marianne’s suggestion. Sláinte.”
“Thanks. What’s that mean, by the way?”
“It’s Irish. It means ‘health.’ It’s like ‘cheers’ or ‘kanpai.’”
“Well, sláinte!” I took a sip of my watered whiskey and raised the glass in a silent toast to Marianne. She and Anne had become my strongest allies, even when they weren’t around in person.
Christy was in a talkative mood, so I sipped my drink and listened as she told me about life in Japan as a blue-eyed blonde gaijin.
“I love the culture and people,” she said. “I hope we can go sometime.
You can meet Nobu and Mariko. I told you about her, didn’t I?”
“A little. Your best friend, right?”
“I knew you were paying attention! Right. So, we met when…”
About halfway through the story, I said, “Hold on a sec. Mariko was more than just your best friend, wasn’t she?”
Christy’s blush was answer enough.
“Thought so. You’d’ve been… what? Thirteen, right? So, she was your first serious girlfriend?”
“I’m gonna wring Wren’s neck.”
“So, Mariko in Japan. Then Noelani in Hawaii. Brooke in San Diego.
Wren in Knoxville. Am I missing anyone?”
“No, you seem to know them all.”
“I pay attention, remember? I’m sure there are more—girls you fooled around with but weren’t serious about—but I wanna make sure I know the main ones.”
“Like I know about yours: Kendall, Gina, and Leah?”
“Exactly.”
“But… what about Wren?”
I heard something in her tone that was more than simple curiosity.
“Yeah,” she said to my sudden poker face. “She knows too much about you for being ‘just friends.’ That’s what she claims, by the way, so I’m not accusing you of anything. But you know how you can tell when I’m lying?
Well, I can usually tell when she is.”
I nodded and poured myself a healthy splash of straight whiskey. I was going to need it.
“She’s always careful not to say too much, but I’m not dumb.”