What she heard when Red Coat said “sled” was “basket.”

  Here was the thing about going into a basket: you lay on your back on the hard surface, and you’re strapped in. Not a little strapped in, a lot strapped in. Blocks go around the head, a strap over the forehead, and spider webbing holds you down. This method of attaching a person to a basket that’s being lifted from the ground up into the helicopter is life-saving. Mary had seen the rotor wash spin a basket around and around so fast that it lost form like a children’s top. And, had that patient not been completely secured, they would have been ejected, catapulted out into the air, and fallen to their death.

  Surely, the rescue team would perform the exact same protocol to get her up the mountain. If she came unattached, she’d slide with absolutely zero capacity to protect herself or stop. She could imagine gliding straight for the cliff’s edge or into a crevasse and tipping in. The last thing that would be seen on those go-pros pointing her way was the bottom of the sled and the sound of her last long-held scream as she vanished into oblivion.

  She imagined her son talking to a friend:

  “How is your mom doing?”

  “Ah, man! She died.”

  “Wait, what? She died? How did that happen?”

  “She went to the dogs.”

  “I’m not waiting on dogs. That would be a no.” Mary carefully sidestepped toward the lift. She wanted to unclip the skis, but the ice was pretty much caked and solidified. And then the babies were riding up with their skis on the ground. There was probably a reason. She’d just keep the skis on a bit longer.

  “You sure? It looks like you got pretty banged up on the mountain. I watched you through the binoculars to track if we needed to send search and rescue when you headed in the wrong direction.”

  “The right side of the mountain.”

  “Is more dangerous, yeah. I was pretty worried when you disappeared, but you got yourself back on the slope.”

  “You were worried? You should have heard what was going on in my head,” she muttered, then realized that he was being kind, and she stopped with the sarcasm, reaching out a hand as if to soothe. “I appreciate that you focused on me, hoping to keep me safe. I appreciate you. This whining and my stink face I’m making are because I’m wet. I’m cold. I’m a little bruised, body and spirit—ego. And I’m trying to make my way back to the top. Quickly. And so waiting for the dogs will take longer. You understand. Thanks, though.”

  “Stink face,” he repeated as if tying it on for size or maybe to see if, by saying it aloud, the meaning might become understandable.

  Mary kept side-stepping toward the lift. “Can you call off the dogs, please?”

  The guy lifted his radio toward his mouth and then dropped his arm again. “How about we just keep them en route until I see you’re up at the lodge.” He touched the binoculars dangling from the cord around his neck.

  Mary huffed out the oxygen and thought, yeah, she’d make that same call if it were her. But that didn’t mean she liked it. She joined the line behind a class of six-year-olds rattling off their French. Sure, they spoke it as their first language here, but after struggling with it in high school, these kids sounded like geniuses to Mary.

  And here was her turn.

  She moved over to the T bar and balanced her skis. Turning, she gave Red Coat a thumbs up, then grasped the bar as a man came to the other side for balance. When the lift moved forward, Mary gratefully sat down. And it was with a split second’s awareness that this wasn’t like a bench lift. This was on an elastic, probably meant to adjust under the bum and push the skier up the hill.

  All of that came fully formed into her head as she let out a scream, and she went down in a tumble of limbs and skis along with the man from the other side.

  Down, down, down they fell.

  Mary lay there wondering how she could get up the second slope with her skis still attached. When she examined them, she saw she had knocked the ice off the latches.

  Tiny win.

  She’d take it.

  Off came the skis.

  And up, up, she climbed. The only way she could get the skis up with her was to pile both of them and her ski poles into a mound and push them in front of her as she crawled up on her knees inch by crappy inch.

  The man who fell with her was furiously yelling in a language that Mary, thankfully, didn’t understand. Not yelling at the situation. Yelling at her. Spittle in the wind, yelling.

  This wasn’t fun.

  Arriving at the top, the angry guy was already on his way up the lift. Mary figured he was probably one of the teachers, or he wouldn’t have been on the baby hill. Surely, that was going to make things awkward for him in front of his class. But he’d only fallen half as far as Mary had and had crawled up super-fast, so he was probably within smelling distance of food by now.

  Mary was trembling and knew that she was becoming hypothermic. She was wet and exhausted, with no breakfast calories to sustain her. Little in the way of oxygen up this high in the sky, and no sleep, yeah none of this was—Mary looked up.

  “Are you injured?” Here came the ski savior with the radio and binoculars.

  He came to a perfect swirling stop beside her. Now, Mary was just irritated. What a showoff.

  “I have hand warmers and a mylar blanket. Let’s get you stopped and wrapped up.” He pointed at the sky. “You can hear them. The dogs are nearly here. Not a long wait at all.”

  She could indeed hear what sounded like a large team of very enthusiastic dogs off in the distance. And if Mary thought that a troop of scouts shoveling her out with their tin bowls was awful, this was the stuff of nightmares. Mary redoubled her efforts.

  “Madame, I don’t think you’re aware of your situation. You’re dressed for yoga. You’ve been wet for a long time, and you are —”

  “Hypothermic, yeah, yeah. I know what’s going on. I know I’m almost up to the shed and the lift.”

  “Madame, you need someone to go up on the other side of you on the lift, and I can’t imagine anyone would be willing to partner with you.”

  That was fair. “Okay, well, we’ll cross that bridge when we get to it.”

  Red Coat scowled and shook his head. “There are no bridges anywhere near here.”

  “It’s a phrase. It’s something people in America say. It means … never mind. Just Whew! Look, I made it.” She stood up, sinking the poles into the snow and shoving her boots back in the ski clips.

  The helmet video cameras were still aimed her way, and Mary pulled the scratched-to-hell goggles over her face to obscure her identity. Mary called out, “Hey, which one of you wants to ride up the mountain on this T bar with me?”

  There was general jostling and some elbow pokes.

  By the sound of their barks, the dogs would be here in a few more strides.

  She was going to kill Deidre. First, she’d wait to see where the star-reading woman was sending her. It was possible that Mary could just leave the task to the Borneo headhunters. Then Mary wouldn’t need to deal with a body.

  Today, Mary planned to be at her Norfolk home, getting her garden ready for winter. And instead, she was over here in Switzerland doing her darndest to push up the daisies.

  Some kid about her sons’ age slid forward, big grin on his face, his chin-length curls a tangle under his beanie. “I’ll go.” He had the look in his eye like those dudes on YouTube got just before they ran and leaped into the air, strapped to a bungee cord.

  Great, she was this kid’s death-defying adrenaline rush.

  Chapter Six

  Pitching forward at her hips, Mary gripped the center of the T bar with her right hand and jabbed her ski poles into the icy snow with the left. She propelled herself forward and away from the contraption that had (this second go-round) pushed her all the way to the top of the glacier.

  When she focused on ski-boy to thank him for his kindness, he sent her a look that Mary read as disappointment.

  With his helmet cam showing a green recording light, maybe he’d been hoping to post a video that went viral.

  Was that ungenerous?

  It wasn’t like he’d tried to sabotage her or anything. The whole way up, he’d been coaching her. “Skis parallel. Focus on your breath. Oui, Madame. You’re doing very nice job.”

  And as she listened and responded with appreciation, she was also thinking that this young man was a creature of the snow. There was no way this kid had gone down the children’s slope because he hadn’t graduated past that level of accomplishment. Mary remembered the number of adults and their phones trained on her when she crawled up from the first T-bar mistake; that group wasn’t the same little school kid groups and their carers that she’d fallen beside as they moved happily down the Alp. Mary concluded that she was the subject of mountainside gossip, and she’d pulled in a group of the curious. She’d been the accident on the side of the road that tugged attention and caused traffic congestion.

  Great. Just great.

  “What’s your name?” The guy who had helped her through that balancing act stood there looking expectant as if the curtain were about to rise on the next scene in Mary’s drama, but she was done. She just wanted a damned cup of coffee.

  Bending to release her skis, then lifting them up to hug them to her side. Mary said, “Me? I’m Joan Crawford.” She pulled up an actress’s name too historical for a kid his age to know.

  “Good to meet you. I’m Fabio. I’m from Ticino.” He extended his arm as if he could point out his house.

  Of course, Fabio. She had no idea where Ticino could possibly be. “Yeah? Well, thanks for being brave enough to help me to the top. Hope your day goes great.” She turned toward the chalet and walked away.

  Wrestling her skis through the door, Mary trudged to the rental guy to hand in her equipment.

  “You enjoyed?” he asked, accepting the apparatus and looking it over for damage.

  “Beautiful country,” Mary said to the kid with the wide grin. Yeah, he knew. Wise ass. “I’ll go ahead and buy the goggles.”

  He nodded and tapped the register. “You want to keep them as souvenir?” He held them up. “Or I just throw in trash?”

  “Trash.” Mary didn’t want to remember this episode. “How do I get to the food?”

  Mary followed the point of his finger, flinging a “Merci!” over her shoulder as she tried to walk into the restaurant with as much dignity as her abused body could muster.

  Deidre sat in the warm glow of light at the window.

  A pot of coffee with two mugs was on the table.

  “There you are.” Deidre pulled the napkin from the table and put it on her lap. “I ordered breakfast. You’re going to like it.” She lifted the mug to her lips for a sip. “Coffee’s good.”

  Mary eased her way into the chair, blowing the pain out with her breath.

  Deidre, “I do black diamonds in West Virginia, and I thought, hey, I’m a little rusty.” She poured coffee into Mary’s mug, leaving enough room for cream, then pushed it over to her. “Since I haven’t skied since last year, I decided to take the easier slope.”

  Mary wasn’t sure she had the strength to lift the heavy-looking ceramic to her lips. Maybe she could just duck her head and slurp.

  “Girl!” Deidre pushed the little pitcher of thick cream over to her, followed by the bowl of brown sugar crystals. “I thought I might not escape with my life.” She shook her head. “I mean, up on the black diamond, I saw that the skiers wore ski pants and coats. So I figured I’d head to the slope where they weren’t afraid of falling and breaking a nail, you know what I mean? So I went to the blue slope.”

  Mary stared vacantly at her. The day had been stunning. And her senses decided to take a nap.

  “These chicklets in their Brazilian bikinis with the matching ski boots, working on their tans from the sun reflecting off the ice.” She put her hands on her cheeks, pressing in to make a fish face, then reached out to wrap her hands around the warmth of her mug. “I kid you not. There were patches of ice, not even any bumps to slow me down. It was like they’d just brought out the machine on the hockey rink and polished it all up. The speeds I reached, Mary, the wind caught at my lips and flapped my cheeks like I was on a speed boat. I was so jealous that you were on the bunny slope having a gentle ride.”

  “Yeah.” Mary managed.

  Deidre tipped her head, trying to catch Mary’s gaze. “You okay?”

  She unwrapped her cutlery from the napkin to find a spoon for the sugar. “Turns out I know a bit of French.”

  “Ooh La La.” Deidre lifted a shoulder to look coquettishly at her friend. “You found a hunk?”

  “Mmmm. Crevasse.”

  “Crevasse?” Deidre pulled her brow together. “Like a tour of some kind?”

  “Yeah, I took that tour. I took it right off the ski path, down a slickery ice patch, and stopped myself by grabbing hold of the post. As I dangled there, panting for breath, I had time to read the signage.”

  “What did it say?” Deidre asked.

  “It said: This is what you get for being spontaneous and not doing due diligence.”

  “An actual crevasse, then. That would be a bad way to go.”

  “Yah think?” Mary leaned back so the server could put a plate laden with sausages, bread, fruit, and cheese in front of her. It smelled so good. Mary was ravenous.

  “Glad you didn’t die.” Deidre picked up a wedge of cheese from Mary’s plate, took a bite, and then pushed back in her chair while the server placed a steaming bowl down for her. “Merci,” she told the server. “L’addition, s’il vous plait,” putting her credit card on the table to pay the bill before focusing back on Mary. “Listen, we need to eat and get back to the car. I put the address into the GPS, and if we eat and go, I have just enough time to get to Mrs. V’s. We can change our clothes in the bathroom and just head on.”

  As Mary’s muscles stiffened from today’s survival exertion, She wasn’t so sure she’d be able to bend down enough to peel off her damp pants.

  ***

  Wheels crunching over the gravel drive, Deidre spun the wheel around the horseshoe, then slowed to park just beyond the sidewalk leading to the front door.

  She hadn’t said a word on the way. Very un-Deidre-like.

  Climbing painfully out, Mary took in the typical chateau-designed home. The landscape had a stateliness that made Mary think this place was probably a hundred years old or so. It was on the large side of what Mary had seen on their drive from the ski debacle to here.

  She drew a deep breath fragrant with lemon thyme, fresh and welcoming. A sweet garden, visible from where they parked, looked like a lovely place to gather with friends and enjoy laughter and ease. Yeah, Mary felt she might be able to relax in a place like this. She’d see if she couldn’t replicate this feeling the little garden of her Norfolk bungalow. Maybe Mrs. V. would allow her to take photographs later so she could figure out what plants created that herbal bouquet that made Mary want to close her eyes and dream.

  As the two strolled up the sidewalk, the door opened to a woman in a long flowing top and leggings, both in the same sapphire raw silk, that managed to look both comfortable and professional. Her silver hair was scraped back into a bun at the nape of her neck. Smiling a welcome, she dipped her head and gestured toward the interior. “I will escort you back in just a moment,” she told Deidre as the group walked into a large foyer and then off to the right to a receiving room. “Mrs. V. is finishing her meditation, centering herself in preparation for your appointment.” The woman sent a glance toward Mary, held her eye for a long moment, and gave her a nod as if in recognition. That look was pregnant with … something.

  Mary wasn’t sure what to make of that silent exchange.

  Deidre and Mary lowered themselves side by side onto the brown leather couch. Deidre reached out ice-cold fingers to grip Mary’s hand in both of hers.

  Nerves.

  The room was set up, though, to assuage client anxiety. Rich in textures and subtle patterns, the colors gave the space depth and interest. It was lovely, Mary thought. She wouldn’t mind sitting on the couch waiting for Deidre, thumbing through the art books stacked on the coffee table, or fiddling with one of the wooden puzzles that filled a pottery bowl.

  Deidre jackhammered her heel, making the sofa shake.

  Well, nerves were to be expected. Deidre was asking for the destination that would change her life. And life changes came with cost-benefit ratios. What if she had made the effort to come here, paid this—surely outlandish amount of money—and went to the required location, but nothing changed at all?

  That would be its own kind of catastrophe, having hopes and wishes dashed.

  It was one thing to wish for a unicorn and blow out the candles in one puff on an eight-year-old’s birthday cake. Everyone knew that was for funzies.

  In Mary’s mind, this was the adult form of that very act. And this, whatever this was to Deidre, seemed like her friend had sucked in a lung full of air and was just looking for a direction to blow her wish.

  Knowing that talking helped to allay her friend’s anxieties, Mary asked, “You were telling me that at forty—my birthday tomorrow—I’d wake up with a new perspective on life. Now that you’re newly fifty-three. Looking back, is there a big leap at that decade, too?”

  Deidre turned unblinking eyes toward Mary. “Yeah, it’s called menopause.”

  “Come on.” Mary pressed. “Tell me something that’s changed for you recently.” Hopefully, Deidre could equate change with something besides magical destination-setting star charts.

  “Teacups.” Deidre sent a glance toward the door that the helper had gone through.

  “All right.”

  Deidre pulled her glance back to Mary. “Sorry, I’m a little nervous. I don’t want her to tell me to go to the South Pole on my birthday. I hear the penguins are cute but smell horrible.” She skated a hand out. “Listen, at this point, I’m exhausted from trying to climb out of my rut. If a trip to chat with a polar bear will spring me forward, I’ll do it. Just, if she could tell me that I need to be in Tahiti, that might be nicer, you know?”