Free Meet Me at the River by Nina de Gramont Page B

leave,” Mr. Tynan said, his voice stern and final with its withholding of detail. I could tell, though, that H. J. had probably been fired for his massively inappropriate actions, and I assumed in the wake of this mishap that he and Evie would forget all about our plans to ski.
    Mom goes downstairs to tell them I’m getting ready, and I can hear H. J. talking to her. His voice sounds deep and thoughtful—grown-up. Probably after everything he’s been through, losing a job doesn’t seem like a big deal. I root through my drawers for glove liners and wonder again how he and Evie could have endured so much, and not have it show in their every word and movement.
    “Sorry I’m late,” I say, walking into the kitchen. H. J. sits at the table, his coat off, a mug of steaming coffee in front of him. Evie slumps in the doorway, coat still zipped, apparently not the sort of girl who rejoices in conversations with adults. My mom takes my ski jacket from under her arm and holds it out to me.
    “Honey,” she says. “Here’s your coat. Paul’s putting your skis on their car.”
    “We already got your boots,” H. J. says. Whereas Evie looks even paler than usual, with dark circles under her eyes, H. J. seems downright breezy. He stands up and puts on his coat, thanks Mom for the coffee, and then sidles past Evie out the door.
    “Here,” Mom says. She thrusts an oversize plastic baggie into my hand. It’s stuffed with PowerBars, an apple, and the kind of aluminum juice bag you would give a three-year-old. I look up to say Thank you , and see that she is looking at my face with more than the usual worry and concern.
    I place my hand on her belly and say, “Thanks, Mom.”
    “Have fun, sweetie!” she says, and I promise her that I will.
    *   *   *
    “Your mom’s a hottie,” H. J. says as his ancient, wood-paneled station wagon rumbles through the dusky, snow-covered morning. People have been telling me some version of this statement my whole life, and I never know what I’m supposed to say. Thank you? Luckily, Evie rescues me.
    “H. J.,” she says in a shaky voice, as if she can’t stand another second of embarrassment at his hands. “That is not an appropriate remark.”
    “Sorry,” H. J. says, though he doesn’t sound sorry at all. He is driving, while Evie rides shotgun. I sit in the back, eating a PowerBar. I’d like some juice, too, but would feel too silly sipping from that babyish straw.
    “Do you know your mom and our mom were friends?” H. J. asks.
    “Yes,” I say, sitting up. “I remember that.” The car winds its way through Ophir, heading down into the Telluride valley. When we pass the road that leads to Alta, I expect to want to look away, but I find myself staring up the snowy path. Luke and I used to park at the bottom, cross-country ski up to the deserted mining camp, and commune with ghosts in the abandoned cabins. Cross-country skiing was something I could do well enough—you didn’t have to start when you were three to become moderately proficient. You didn’t haveto be a native. I used to love drawing maps of Alta—guessing at the significance of different buildings—but I threw them all away after Luke died.
    I glance in the rearview mirror and catch H. J. looking back at me. Behind his glasses his eyes crinkle a little bit in a sort of smile. The kindness surprises me enough to make me smile back, though I don’t know why it should. Surprise me, that is. Maybe because I’ve only ever seen him from a distance, and he always seemed like such a shaggy and preoccupied presence.
    “How are Jill and Katie?” H. J. asks.
    “They’re fine,” I say. “Katie’s in LA trying to get into movies.”
    “Is she having any luck?”
    “A couple horror films. She won’t let us see them.”
    H. J. laughs. “Cool,” he says. “Good for her.”
    I remember suddenly that one summer a good ways back, H. J. and Katie were both counselors at the Youth Center drama camp. Katie