Nat Janz came into the empty men’s room of the ski patrol quarters, unzipped his parka with its red cross on the back, went over to the commode and threw up. 

He leaned with his hands against the wall, coughing and catching his breath – and threw up again. He wiped his mouth, frowned at the smear of blood on his hand. He stood there for a long moment, letting things settle. After a few more careful breaths and no more vomiting, he flushed the commode with his foot.    

He stepped over to the sink and turned on the faucet, scooped some water onto his face. When he looked at himself in the mirror, at his drawn features, both eyes black and his nose still swollen from Munsey Beck’s head-butt, he shook his head and gave a resigned sigh. He dried his face with a paper towel and turned for the door. 

Outside, with the high-altitude sun glinting off the snow, he put on his dark glasses. Gave a nod to two ski patrolmen putting some things in the rescue toboggan. He went over to the ski rack and was reaching for his skis when he heard his son’s voice: 

“Hello there.” 

He turned to see Casey smiling and holding up his new snowboard. Ronnie Riker was standing beside him. 

“This is hot,” Casey said, giving the board an appreciative wiggle. “Thank you. I thought I’d try to get started, you got some time.” 

“What about school?” 

“I went by with Ronnie. They said start next semester, couple weeks.” 

“Couple weeks?” 

“That’s what they told me. They need you to fill out some forms and stuff.” 

Nat looked at Ronnie who nodded. He knew her ski patrol work counted as community service for school, her able to skip classes when they needed her here. He still hadn’t figured out how she’d wangled that, good grades or not. Casey probably figuring he could get in on the same deal. 

“When I went to school,” Nat said, “you just went.” 

“I know,” Casey said, “and you walked five miles. Uphill both ways.” 

“Don’t be a wiseass.” Nat picked up his skis and swung them onto his shoulder. “I got some things to tend to at home. Ronnie can get you started.” 

Casey frowned and gave him a close look. “You OK?” 

“I’m fine.” Nat had the dark glasses on, so it was hard to tell. 

“What about dinner?” Casey said. 

“We’ll see later.” Nat turned with his skis and started along a path that went around the base lodge, back toward town. “Maybe we’ll order in, watch a game.” 

Casey called after him, “Thanks again for the board.” 

“Use it well.” 

Casey and Ronnie watched him walk along the snow-pack path, exchanging Hellos with skiers and boarders he passed along the way. 

“He’s acting funny,” Casey said. 

“He is funny.” 

“I don’t mean ha-ha.” 

“I know.” 

“And what’s he do about money?” Casey nodded at the ski patrol quarters. “This can’t pay much.” 

“People still want him for private lessons,” Ronnie said. “And it’s not like he’s got a lot of overhead.” 

Casey looked at his father’s back. “Something’s not right.” 

When Nat disappeared behind a snowbank, Ronnie looked down at Casey’s new Capita board. “You want to try that? I’ll go get mine.” 

“I thought you were a skier.” 

“I go both ways.” 

                                                #          #          # 

When Ronnie came back, she and Casey took their boards around to the other side of the lodge, Ronnie leading him up a ramp to a waiting gondola car. Casey glanced uneasily above them, at the cable that would carry the car high, high up the mountain. 

“Ever been on one of these?” Ronnie said. 

“No.” 

“You’ll love it.” 

Casey looked like he was being led to the gallows. They climbed aboard the bright green car (each car had an orange CC logo on it), sharing it with two skiers, a man and a woman. The four of them took their seats, smiling to one another, Casey not so much, and the lift attendant slid the door shut. 

The gondola swung away from the loading platform and started its steep ride up the mountain. The car’s top half was Plexiglass, had two small benches inside, Casey and Ronnie shoulder to shoulder on one, the ski couple sharing the other. Casey’s eyes were cast downward, away from the passing mountain view. 

Ronnie pointed outside. “Over there’s the trail you took with your father.” 

“Uh-huh.” Casey didn’t look. 

Ronnie couldn’t help but notice. “You OK?” 

“I’m fine.” He rubbed some sweat off his upper lip, still not looking out. “How long’s this take?” 

“Couple minutes.” 

Ronnie could see he was having trouble. The two skiers glanced at each other. 

Outside, the car’s grip bar passed over the wheels on the first tower. The bump startled Casey. He jerked his head up and looked out the window. 

Eyes going to a yawning chasm below. 

As he looked, the chasm, the surrounding snow cliffs, everything down there started to spin. 

Casey was on the brink of panic. 

Ronnie put her hand on the back of his head. She knew what was happening. “Keep your head down. We’re almost there.” 

But Casey couldn’t take his eyes off what was sliding by underneath – the jutting rocks, the jumbled remains of a giant snow slide, all of it spinning. He was starting to shake. 

Ronnie could see he was about to lose it. “Look at me,” she said. 

Casey couldn’t. He was frozen. 

Ronnie grabbed both sides of his head, turned his face to hers. He stared at her, locked in his fear. 

Ronnie stared back – then suddenly leaned in and kissed him. She put her arms around him and held the kiss. 

Casey stayed frozen. 

Ronnie stopped and looked at him again. “It’s OK to kiss back.” 

For a tense, motionless moment there was just the sound of wind against the gondola window – and then Casey did. He held her close. Got into it and made the kiss a long one. A good long one. 

The two skiers across from them smiled and relaxed. 

Crisis averted.