A Little Too Late (Madigan Mountain)

AVA

“Was that Reed?” I hear myself ask as Sheila returns to her barstool after her call.

I still can’t believe he got on that plane. I shouldn’t be shocked. It’s exactly what he said he’d do, and I’m heartbroken anyway.

“Yep. That was him. He misses you.”

I make a face that betrays my thoughts about that. “Then where is he? Does he sound as brokenhearted as I feel?”

“He sounds…” Sheila’s face grows thoughtful. “Fine, I suppose. But Reed is always fine. He’s really good at faking it. That’s why he’s such a good negotiator in the board room. All that ice in his veins comes in handy.”

About a hundred emotions swim through me. Sadness. Anger. Love. I miss him so desperately. The Reed I know isn’t icy at all.

Then again, that guy boarded a flight to California. He’s gone. Possibly forever.

“If the Sharpes buy this place, he’ll never come back,” I say slowly. “Did you know his mother is buried on the property?”

Sheila shakes her head. “That’s rough.”

“It is,” I agree. “But I wanted him to fight harder.” It’s hard to say that out loud. Because I wanted him to fight harder for me, as well as the resort.

“I would fight if I were him,” Sheila declares. “I’m ready to take up a pitchfork right now.”

“You deserve that raise,” I insist. “Drinks are on me tonight.”

She grins, lifts her martini glass to mine, and we toast.

“Can I ask you a question?” I ask after a healthy gulp of liquor. “What would Reed do if Madigan Mountain were one of his VC investments? How would he defeat the Sharpes?”

Sheila’s clear eyes turn guilty. “Well, you’ve already seen him in action. A little corporate espionage is not beneath him.”

“I know. And I have to say it was fun.”

We share a smile, but then Sheila’s fades. “I actually poked him about this. I suggested that he leak the details of that awful development to the town council. And he’d already thought of that.”

“Oh.” I can see it now. “It might slow down the sale of the mountain.” If the town mounted a campaign against the Sharpes, the state land conservation authority might refuse to transfer the long-term lease of the skiable land to the new owner of the resort. “Bad press could endanger the whole transaction.”

“That’s right.” Sheila runs a finger around the rim of her glass. “But Reed asked me not to try anything. He thought you could get in trouble for it.”

“Oh, hell.” I swallow hard. “Mark would never forgive me if I leaked it. Or if he thought I did.”

“Right,” Sheila says gently. “Reed doesn’t want to hurt you.”

Then where is he?

“Somehow this is going to end up okay,” she declares. “It’s not over yet.”

“I guess.” I take another sip, and then say something I’ve been thinking about since before Reed even left. “I want to put an idea in your ear.”

“What’s that? More ginger martinis?”

I shake my head, because I’m being serious now. “If you were serious earlier about working somewhere fun, I would hire you here in a hot second.”

“Here?” She sits up straight on her barstool. “Really?”

“Really. When Mark retires—however that comes to pass—I’ll be the manager, doing his job. And I’ll need an assistant to do my old one.”

Sheila’s eyes go wide. “An assistant,” she repeats slowly.

“That’s right. The hours are a little goofy, but we have a good time. And the skiing is great. I love it here, and I think you could, too.”

She covers her mouth with her hands. “Oh my God. If you poached me, Reed would be so angry.”

“He thinks you’re leaving next fall anyway, right?”

“Sure. For business school. That’s how it’s done on Sand Hill Road.”

I shrug. “Just think about it, okay? But when the dust settles, I’ll ask again. You can let me know if you’re considering it.”

“Wow, okay.” She drains her drink. “This is the most interesting trip I’ve taken in a long time.”

“I’m glad.”

Halley scoots down the bar toward us. “Another one, Ava?”

“No thanks.” I shake my head and throw down my credit card. “It’s been a long day. But Sheila’s tab is on me.”

“We could charge it to Reed,” Sheila says.

“Now there’s a plan,” Halley sniffs.

“No, I got it.” I push the card toward Halley, who takes it reluctantly. “I should try to get some sleep.”

“Was it tense today?” Sheila whispers. “With Mark?”

I nod quickly. “I can’t tell which of us was grumpier. Probably me. I mean—he’s getting what he wanted. What does he have to be mad about?”

“No idea,” Sheila says in a low voice. “Unless he feels guilty.”

“Maybe,” I grumble. “I think he’s ashamed of himself, but he’s too stubborn to say so.”

“He should be ashamed,” Sheila says loyally.

I don’t disagree. Mark and I spent many uncomfortable hours together today. The Sharpes’ visit had disrupted our routines last week, so we had a lot of ordinary resort business to settle together. Payroll, scheduling, and so on.

It was so awkward. I could hardly look him in the eye, and I’m sure I wasn’t good at hiding it. This tension won’t die, either, until he signs the resort over to the Sharpes and takes off to travel with Melody.

That’s only a couple of months away. I can grit my teeth until then.

My phone rings, and my heart leaps immediately. Reed. I pull it out of my pocket, and I’m immediately disappointed. The caller is Bert.

Hell.

I answer the phone. “Don’t tell me the raccoons are back.”

“No,” he says slowly. “But I got a situation. The big boss got bombed, and he’s crying on a peak lift chair.”

I run that sentence back through my head, and none of it makes sense. “The big boss… You mean Mark?”

“Of course I mean Mark. Haven’t seen ’im messed up in maybe ten years. But he used to do it on the regular.”

“But he doesn’t drink,” I insist.

Bert’s silence tells me everything I need to know.

And it must be bad, because otherwise Bert wouldn’t call. “Okay, what do you think I should do?” Frankly, raccoons are easier than this.

“I dunno. He’s not really dressed for sitting out there in the snow. Got no gloves or hat. How about I pull a sled around? You talk him onto it.”

“Fine. See you outside.”

“I’ll give you a fifteen-minute head start,” he says.

By the time I reach my boss, he’s lying back on one of the lift’s chairs, staring up at the sky. One leg dangles down to the snow, the other is bent, his foot propped on the seat. The chair sways gently when he sighs.

“Mark?” I say carefully. “Everything all right over here?”

“Hardly,” he grumbles. “Fuck the Sharpes and their fancy-ass whiskey. I had a ten-year chip.”

“A…what?” I ask, trying to understand.

“Ten years sober,” he slurs. “Now I don’t even have ten minutes.”

Yikes. This is not my area of expertise. “Those ten years still count, Mark.”

“Fuck everything.” He swings around and sits up properly.

Taking that as an invitation, I sit down beside him. “Was it really the Sharpes’ whiskey?”

He pulls a fancy, decorated flask out of his pocket and hands it to me.

There’s the Sharpe snake logo etched into the metal. “They gave this to you?”

“Fuckers. Told them a dozen times I don’t drink. One of ’em tucked that in my pocket on his way out.”

I don’t point out that he didn’t have to drink it, because I have no idea what his triggers are. I just put the flask in my own pocket. “You can fix this,” I say. “Where do you want to be in ten more years?”

“On a beach with Melody,” he mumbles. “But I don’t want my kid to hate me, either. Or the whole damn town. I just wanted to retire without turning everybody’s life upside down.”

“What if they needed changing?” I whisper. “Reed wants to help. Why don’t you let him?”

He hangs his head. Maybe it’s not fair to argue with a drunk man. But somebody has to sort this out, and I think that somebody might be me.

“Reed will resent me,” Mark says. “He hates this place. They all do. If he comes back here out of obligation, he’ll just hate me more.”

“That’s wrong,” I insist. “Reed needs to be needed. We all do. He got excited about the mountain again, and you just threw that in his face.”

Mark puts his head in his hands. “I love that boy. I never wanted him to leave. I never wanted any of them to leave. I shoulda said so.” He takes a shuddery breath.

“You’re still here though, right? You still have a chance to say it. It’s not too late. It’s never too late. The greatest gift you can give someone is your love.”

I know this is true, because I’m so terrified, too. It’s scary to put yourself out there. Rejection is traumatizing.

And I think Mark is just like me.

The buzz of a snowmobile’s motor growls in the distance. A moment later, Bert pulls up beside the lift.

“Oh look,” I say. “Bert is here. Want a ride home, Mark?”

“Subtle,” he mumbles.

He staggers to his feet, and I grab his arm and walk him over to the snowmobile, where Bert hops off and hands me his helmet.

Dutifully, I get onto the sled, while Bert makes sure Mark is holding on tightly and wearing a helmet. I text Melody to tell her what’s happened and ask her to meet us at the door. Then I drive slower than I’ve ever driven, heading to the A-frame, taking care that Mark doesn’t fall off.

Melody starts yelling more or less the minute we arrive. “God, Mark, really? You are going to be so mad at yourself tomorrow.”

“Save it, woman,” he growls. “I’m already there.”

“You’d better call your sponsor in the next five minutes, or I will not be responsible for my actions.”

“I mighta lost my phone somewhere.”

Melody has a lot to say about that, too.

Good thing I’m done here. I stammer out a goodnight and then burn rubber driving away from that mess.

As I motor toward the shed, my phone vibrates in my pocket, but I wait until after I’ve parked the sled and removed my helmet to check my messages. The unanswered call was from Reed. Call me, he’s texted. I miss you.

I stare at that message a long time, but I don’t call.

In the first place, I don’t have any idea what to tell Reed about his father’s relapse. If I tell him, is that betraying my boss’s confidence? Is it screwing with Reed’s head?

And in the second place, I’m angry. He’s in California, living his life, trying to put Madigan Mountain behind him.

I’m here, neck deep in all the issues he left behind.

He can hear back from me later. When I’m not so angry.