Early the next morning, Nat, dressed and sober, was standing at the loft window that overlooked Main Street, staring at something down there. 

He glanced over at the sofa where Casey was asleep under a blanket. Then he turned and stepped quietly over to the door and let himself out. 

Down on the street, Carson Quiller Senior was in the driver’s seat of his Range Rover, sipping coffee and reading a newspaper propped on the wheel. 

A loud rap! on the window made him jump, sloshing coffee all over the paper. He snapped his head up and saw Nat Janz standing outside, making a circling motion to lower the window. 

Quiller pushed the Down button and glared out. “What the hell do you want?” 

“I wanna up that bet of ours.” 

                                                #          #          # 

Steep terrain is rushing under the snowboard’s nose. A mogul is coming up fast. The board launches off the mogul and takes to the air. Stays up there in the rarefied air. And then…

The airborne boarder, Casey Janz, made an off-kilter landing. He fell on his shoulder, did a quick roll, landed upright with his board still going full-speed forward. Couldn’t help smiling at his smooth recovery. 

But then he caught an edge, took a hard fall, bumped and cartwheeled down the trail, stopping just below a skier watching from the side. 

The skier, his father, skied over. “You OK?” 

Casey was on his back, trying to catch his breath and some dignity. “How many times we gonna do this?” 

“Till you can stay on your feet,” Nat said. 

“I did, I just…” 

“I keep saying it -- if you feel you’re gonna fall, then fall on purpose. Don’t fight it, roll with it, go with the gravity.” 

“I did,” said Casey. 

“Yeah, but you didn’t take control. You’ve got to do it here…” He touched Casey’s board with a ski pole. “… and here.” He touched his own head. “Then you’re up and still going like no sweat. Like it’s part of the act. The steeper the better, it takes you with it.” 

Casey gave him a look – then took hold of the ski pole and let Nat pull him to his feet. 

Ten minutes later they were sitting side-by-side on the chairlift, snowboard and skis on the footrest, riding up the mountain. Casey looked uneasy, eyes darting down at the rugged patch of ice and rock they were passing over. 

Nat was aware of his son’s discomfort, could see how Casey’s gloved hands were gripping the safety bar. “You’re pretty quiet.” 

“Just thinking.” 

“About what?” 

Casey shrugged, distracted. Nat glanced down at the deep gorge now passing below them. 

“Talking might be a good thing,” Nat said, “if you feel like it.” 

“I’m OK.” 

“Fine.” 

After a pause, Casey said, “What about you talking? About you know what.” 

“My ailment? I’ve told you what I know.” 

“You tell me you’ve got cancer, and then act like it’s just hemorrhoids or something.” 

“You ever had hemorrhoids, you wouldn’t laugh.” 

“Who’s laughing?” 

“Between you and me,” Nat said, “Gizzy has them.” 

“Gizzy could be a poster child for them.” 

“He’s actually a good person. Not a lot of people know it, but he came close to being a priest.” 

Casey scoffed. “Please…” 

“I’m serious.” 

“You’ve done it again, you know, like you always do.” 

“Done what?” 

“Completely changed the subject.” 

“You’re the one brought up hemorrhoids.” 

The chatter had kept Casey’s mind off the heights – which, of course, was Nat’s intention. 

Nat said, “But as long as we’re on the subject of changing subjects…” 

“What about it?” 

Their chair was nearing the top of the mountain, approaching the unloading platform. Nat lifted the safety bar back over their heads. 

“… I upped that bet with Quiller to ten grand.” 

“You what?” 

It took a few runs for the jolt of that to settle in, Casey realizing that for whatever reason, his father needed to do it this way. Never mind how he’d pay if they lost, had to put that out of his head. Just do the fall-and-recover shtick over and over until it was part of the act.   

After the last run, feeling like he was one big bruise, Casey waited for his father to check in at the Ski Patrol building, reporting a potential snow-slide they’d spotted from the chairlift. Then, with snowboard and skis on their shoulders, they started down the path that led from the base lodge back into town.  

Nat said, “You think you can work on this by yourself tomorrow?” 

“Whatta you mean?” 

“I have to go back to Denver for the day. Maybe two.” 

“Tomorrow my job starts.” 

“What job?” 

“The café, in the kitchen. Part time, so I can work it around school.” 

“You didn’t tell me that,” Nat said. 

“I was gonna surprise you. Like show you the money.” 

“What time you start?” 

“Dinner shift.” 

“So you’ve got the day to work on your moves.” He shifted his skis onto his other shoulder so he could look directly at Casey. “Ten thousand bucks.” 

“You don’t have to remind me.” 

                                                #          #          # 

Early the next morning, Casey was back in his usual place in the bed, covers pulled up, three-quarters asleep. He blinked full-awake when he heard the door squeak, shut his eyes when it creaked open. 

Nat came in quietly. Went softly over and stood by the bed. Stood still and looked down at his sleeping son. Casey kept his eyes closed, breathing the easy rhythm of slumber. After a moment Nat raised his fingertips to his lips, leaned over and touched his fingers to Casey’s forehead. 

He stepped quietly back to the door and silently let himself out. 

Casey waited a few moments before opening his eyes. Stayed in bed until he heard the front door open and shut. He got out of bed, listened inside the bedroom for another second, then opened the door and stepped out. 

He crossed the loft, the simple, shabby room half dark at this hour, blanket folded on the sofa where his father had slept. Casey stood by the window in his T-shirt and shorts, peering down at Main Street. 

He could see his father down there crossing the street, daypack over one shoulder, a thin flat package under his arm – the package from the frame shop in Denver. He watched him disappear into the Copper Pot Café, leaving footprints in the light snow that had fallen during the night. 

Casey stayed by the window, rubbing something away from his eye. He looked up at the mountains towering above the town, the peaks picking up the day’s first light, the last of the snow clouds having blown through. He glanced back down at the café – then turned and went quietly back to the bedroom.