Sleeping Beauty (61 page)

There was a long silence. Keith finished the nails on his left hand and began on his right. He was alone in the office; seven-thirty in the morning, the day after Christmas, only a damn fool would even be out of bed. But it was two hours later in Florida, where Vince was spending the holiday with
some politicians, and Vince always told him to call early. “You still there?” he asked.

“Yes,” Vince said. He was stretched out on a chaise by the pool, the sun beating on his bare legs and chest, and he tried to picture Tamarack in the snow. Hatred filled him. He hated that town. He hated the people who lived there, and the tourists, and his family who had homes there. And more than any of them, he hated that bitch.

He'd been right about her from the day he'd seen her in the chapel, last July. His instincts were always right about people who were out to hurt him. And why else would she have come back? Women did that: once they got an idea they'd been hurt, they tucked it away and kept it inside them and fed it so it grew until, years later, they took it out and got angry all over again, and then went to work. Men weren't like that; they wrote off the past and forgot it. Women were vultures with clawing, clutching memories.

So she was in Tamarack, poisoning his family against him. In one evening, if Keith was right, she'd trashed everything he'd done the week before. But she'd done more. She'd latched onto Josh Durant, the son of a bitch who'd almost derailed Vince's political future by forcing a sordid lawsuit that could have ended up on every front page in the country. And then she egged him on to find investors to buy into the company . . . the one scenario that hadn't occurred to Vince.

When he thought of her, he no longer saw a young girl with wide blank eyes and small breasts bending over him in bed; he saw instead a dark hulk of a woman, her mouth twisted with vicious hatred, hunkered down to block his path. He gazed at the tray of drinks floating in the pool—champagne and orange juice, to speed the recovery from Christmas—and his wife and their hosts slipping into the water to swim to it. Everything in his life should have been as smooth as their long, easy strokes. His reelection was assured, and money was coming in from people who were talking about bigger money when the race for the White House began. He'd made a name as an environmentalist
who also was on the side of big business, and in the past few months he'd begun to make himself an expert in foreign policy and finance. His wife charmed everyone. She liked politics, too, and she loved Vince. She was, in fact, perfect. She was the dullest woman Vince had ever met, but the best thing he had ever done was to marry her.

And the worst thing was to let that bitch wander around, getting in his way. A long time ago she'd gotten him kicked out of his family; now she was hell-bent on getting him kicked out of his future. He should have gotten rid of her the day she came to Ethan's funeral.

“I told you once to get rid of her,” he said to Keith.

“Yeah, but I didn't know what you meant. Anyway, that was July; this is, you know, December, and I keep telling you like everything about her and you haven't said anything—”

“Get rid of her. It's a damn shame you can't get rid of Leo, too; he's a fucking nuisance. But he's small potatoes; you take care of her and that'll be fine.”

There was a pause. “Did you have anything particular in mind?”

The swimmers were treading water, chatting and drinking; they waved to Vince, motioning for him to join them. He wondered if they were talking about him. You couldn't really trust anyone, he thought; you never knew what they might do an hour or a day after they'd told you they were on your side. But he had to trust Keith, at least for now; there didn't seem to be any choice. He hated him—he hated his smart-ass voice and the way he saw more than people realized—but he was Vince's boy and he was there, in Tamarack. He'd do what he had to do, and Vince could take care of him later. First things first, he thought, waving back at the swimmers.

“I thought
you
had something in mind,” he said casually. “Didn't you tell me once that Leo might cut back on maintenance if money got tight?”

Keith grunted. He hated it when people remembered things he'd said and quoted him to himself.

“I didn't quite get that,” Vince said. “Did you hear me?”

“Yeah,” Keith said, thinking. “Sure. I'll think about it.”

“Not too long; I want this taken care of. Call me as soon as you've done something about it. No details on the telephone; just whether you're on top of it. I'll be here for another week.” He hung up. He took off his dark glasses and left the chaise and dove into the pool. The water closed around him, cooling his hot skin like the embrace of an anonymous woman. Nearby were the slowly-moving legs of his wife and their hosts treading water; he could hear their voices. He felt a leap of exultation.
Done.
There was nothing in his way anymore. He was as close to everything he wanted as he was to these three people who were on his side, and who would do anything to help him. With a powerful kick he broke the surface of the water, pushed his gleaming blond hair out of his eyes, and smiled boyishly at them. “I feel so good,” he said, and smiled even more broadly at the admiring warmth that sprang to their eyes.

*   *   *

Anne and Leo stepped into the gondola, behind Robin and Ned, at one minute to nine. It was four days after Christmas, a cold, clear morning with the sun just touching the peaks of the mountains beneath a brilliantly blue sky. Outside the gondola building, hundreds of skiers waited for it to open, at nine o'clock, their upright skis jutting above their heads like the staves of a medieval army. “Good crowd,” Leo said. “In fact, it's been good all week. We've definitely turned around; it's going to be a great winter.” The car moved slowly on the curved track inside the building. “No Keith this morning,” Leo said. “I've gotten so used to seeing him it's like I'm missing a piece of a puzzle.”

“How come Josh isn't here?” Ned asked. He and Robin sat on the seat facing the town. “He's gone up with us every day this week.”

“Packing, I guess,” Leo replied, watching the gondola operators open the building to the waiting skiers. “He'll be leaving for Egypt in about half an hour.”

“I wish he'd take me,” Ned said wistfully. “I've done Tamarack Mountain a gazillion times; I'd rather see the mummies.”

“I'd rather be here,” Robin said. “I like it when school's out and we get to go up early. I like going ahead of all the people.”

“Yeah, that's okay,” Ned conceded. “I like not standing in line.”

“What do you like, Aunt Anne?” Robin asked.

“Being with you,” said Anne. She turned from the seat where she and Leo sat, facing up the mountain, and smiled at Robin. “In our own little car that's taking us to mysterious places.”

“Just to the top of Tamarack Mountain,” Ned protested.

“Are you absolutely, definitely sure? How do you know we won't take off like a flying saucer and end up on another planet?”

“Because we're hooked onto the cable,” Ned said practically. “We can't go anywhere but up the mountain.”

“Probably not,” Anne sighed. “But wouldn't it be fun if we could?”

Leo smiled. He liked watching Anne with the children; it was the only time she allowed herself to relax and become fanciful. With the rest of them, even now, after the months they had known her, she still kept her control, and her distance. He and Gail often talked about it at night, in bed, wondering what they could do to help her feel safe enough, loved enough, to let go and just have a good time without monitoring every word and gesture. And then there was Josh. Something had happened between him and Anne at Christmas, but there was no way they could ask what it was. Whatever they did, however close they thought they were to Anne, there came a moment when it was as if a door came down, shutting them out.

They reached the end of the gondola building, the doors slid shut, and the car was switched from the slow speed track to the cable. Immediately it shot forward, picking up speed as it began its ascent. The cars behind them were filled with skiers, their skis standing upright in racks on the outside; so many skiers had been waiting in line that there were six people in each of the round, bright red cars that moved up the mountain like beads carefully spaced along a string.

Leo watched Anne talk to Robin and Ned. If only she'd treat Josh and the rest of us like children, she'd be a lot happier, he thought wryly. I'll have to suggest it to her; she might find it amusing enough to give it a—

The car jerked.

“What was that?” Robin asked, her eyes widening.

Leo grabbed his CB radio. He could have sworn the car had slipped, though he didn't see how the hell—“I don't know, sweetheart. Maybe a gust of wind.”

Anne met Leo's eyes. There was no wind.

“Patrol,” Leo said into the radio, trying to reach the ski patrol communications center.

“We slipped, I felt it,” Ned said hoarsely. He and Robin were gripping the center post, their ski mittens pulled into taut wrinkles by the force of their grasp.

“Patrol,” Leo shouted. There was no response. “This is Leo; shut the gondola down! Patrol!”

They passed Tower Number Four and began to climb sharply, seventy-five feet above a long, moderate slope that Leo had named Ethan's Run. And then the car stopped moving. They hovered in space. “Daddy!” Robin screamed. A deafening screech filled the air, from the cable still sliding up the mountain. “We broke off!” Ned yelled.

“Patrol!”
Leo shouted into the CB radio. “Kill the gondola! We're loose on the cable—”

“Dad!” Ned yelled. “They're gonna hit us!” Leo and Anne turned and saw the car behind rapidly closing in on them. The skiers in the car were gesturing wildly, their mouths open in shouts that could not be heard over the screeching of the cable.

Anne scrambled to her knees on the seat and flung her arms around Robin and Ned, who were staring wide-eyed at the approaching car. “Turn around,” she commanded. Terrified, Robin and Ned turned on their seat to face her. She pulled them against her as tightly as she could over the back of the seat that was between them and pulled their heads down, trying to protect them in the circle of her arms.

There was a thunderous crash. Robin's and Ned's screams were muffled against Anne's shoulders as the other car
smashed into them, crushing steel and plastic. The force of the collision was too much for the second car; it tore from the cable and fell seventy-five feet to the ground. It crashed on the soft snow and slid thirty feet down the slope before coming to rest against a cluster of pine trees. The impact shook a glistening shower of snowflakes onto the bright red car, which lay very still and very quiet as the sounds of the crash died away.

The gondola came to an abrupt stop. The cars swung wildly back and forth in the silence. Then, distantly, the muffled shouts of the skiers inside the fallen car could be heard, and their hammering on the gondola doors as they tried to force them open. “Anne!” Leo called. “Robin! Ned!” He was on the floor, where he had been thrown by the impact, wedged between the seat and the front of the car. His voice was hoarse.

“We're here,” Anne replied. She was kneeling on the seat, afraid to move, her back to him, her arms gripping Robin and Ned. She was trembling, stunned by the raw terror of the crash, of watching the other car fall, and of feeling their own car swing wildly in the minutes after the crash. The car steadied, but then she realized it was tilted forward, and she clung to the sobbing children to keep them from falling out. “Hey, I think we're okay,” she said, forcing her voice to be calm.

“Wait—” Leo grunted. He tried to move.

“Don't!” Anne said sharply. “Don't move, Leo!”

“Why?” he said. “What's—”

“I'm afraid we might fall.”

“Fall?” Leo tried to grasp it Fall. The car might fall. He opened his eyes, but the sunlight blinded him and he closed them again. The pain in his head hammered into him; he felt he was dissolving into it. “Why?” he asked.

“We're . . . dangling,” Anne said. Her voice was tight with the attempt not to let the others hear her fear. She tried to turn around to see Leo, but she was afraid to let go of Ned and Robin. “Are you hurt, Leo?”

“No.” He lied automatically, listening to his children's sobs. “Wait,” he said, and forced himself to crane his neck
and look up. The car was dangling from the cable, swaying as they made the slightest movement. “My God,” he whispered. He closed his eyes, trying to think.

Robin's crying slowed, and Anne loosened her embrace. “Don't,” Robin cried, clutching her. “Don't let go, Aunt Anne! I hurt, my leg hurts, don't let go!”

“Me, too,” Ned gulped. “My leg hurts, too.” His voice rose. “It won't move! I can't move it! What're we gonna do? Dad?”

“It's okay, I'm here,” Leo muttered. “Wait . . . I'll try to—” He tightened his muscles and inched himself up. The car shuddered. He moved slowly, fighting the pain in his head, pulling himself up until he was on his knees, his head resting on the seat.

Ned looked over Anne's shoulder. “Dad!” he shouted. “Your head's all bloody!”

Robin let out a screech and buried her head in Anne's arm.

“Leo?” Anne cried.

Leo raised his hand to his head. He felt the warm, sticky blood matting his hairs. “Not too bad,” he said, trying to grin at Ned. He felt his face twist and wondered how he looked to his son. “Takes more than that to knock out a Calder.” He paused, breathing hard, getting up the strength to go on talking. “What was that crash, Ned? Can you see anything?”

Ned turned to look back down the mountain, and gave a yell, gripping Anne's arm. “We're all open!”