Warm Winter Love (7 page)

“It’s been such great weather that I’ve gotten the team together for some early practice. Looks like we’re going to have a great bench this year.” He had never sounded more enthusiastic. “Wait till you see them.”

“Yes.” She paused, knowing that she should sound no less excited. It just wasn’t Jason’s style to say anything romantic. He let her know in practical ways that he cared for her. She sighed. What would happen if she just said something nice and simple like,
Jason, I’ve met a man…?
No, that wouldn’t work. Why couldn’t she just tell him that she was troubled, that Sam was intruding on her time, on their plans? No, again, better to tell him that in person when she was able to think more lucidly and she could see Jason’s eyes. Then, maybe, she wouldn’t have to tell him about Sam. Maybe being away from Sam would make her realize that she really loved Jason.

She cleared her throat. “Well,” she said, “I just wanted to see how you were doing. Take care of yourself, Jason. I’ll be home in a few days.”

“Yep. Call me when you get home. And drive carefully. Oh, and Katie… “

“Yes?”

“Happy skiing!”

She heard him hang up and she sat there holding her cell phone, annoyed that she had accomplished nothing except awakening him. She knew that he would go back to sleep and not think about the telephone call anymore. He was like that. He would just think that she was lonely and needed some reassurance from him. No, he would have no misgivings about her calling him, because, as far as he was concerned, everything was always on course. Nothing could or would interfere with their lives.

She slowly shook her head. Jason would never understand her confusion at this point, at this early stage of a—what could she call it? A flirtation? A fascination? A romance? What could she call what was happening between her and Sam?

She continued to hold the phone in her hand and wished that Jason would call her back and ask her if anything was really wrong. If she wanted to talk? If she were lonely? Or just to say he loved her and missed her. But she knew he wasn’t like that. He was probably sound asleep again.

She sat in the chair next to her bed and thought about the evening. About how Sam hadn’t said another word to her about the two of them and how she was able to forget that she was becoming more trapped in a triangle. Sam had told her about his family—his sister and parents—and how both children were taught to ski at an early age because his parents believed in fresh air
“and cold air naturally meant fresh air. You should have seen us, Katie. There we were, shivering, and my mother kept saying, ‘It’s good for you, it’s good for you.’ And all my sister and I wanted to do was go inside and drink hot chocolate.”

And afterward, Sam had taken her arm when they had tired of the slopes and he guided her into the coffee shop and ordered hot chocolate for both of them.
“To this day, Katie, every time I smell this aroma I automatically look around for my skis and poles and I honest to goodness can smell wet woolen mittens and almost hear my mother encouraging us and I remember how cold my nose was all the time and all those other little crazy things you keep stored in your mind because they were so much fun once upon a time.”

Katie had sat there, warmed by the fire in the huge stone fireplace, watching him as he drank from the mug, and she could almost see him as he was twenty-five or so years ago, shivering and then blowing on the hot steam. Much like he did with the baked potato, she thought, and then she remembered the scene in the restaurant when he had told her that he thought they were falling in love.

She had to think about something else then so that the memory of the simple but powerful statement could be erased, and so she spoke about the other guests and how she had recognized some of them from past vacations.
“That’s the fun of coming to the same place year after year,” she had said. “You get to feel like its old home week.”

“Oh, Sam!” She leaned her head against the bed and gently stroked the cream-colored pillow sham. “Oh, Sam,” she said quietly again, realizing that he would never be able to call Cedar Crest a regular place, a regular ski resort of his. His traveling would make that impossible.

His traveling—that was one of the big stumbling blocks in the whole relationship. They were two different types and he had even said it. He was the wanderer and she had called herself a
homebody,
a person who found her peace and contentment at a home base. That was her life and that was what she had always wanted.

She shook her head once more and then glanced at the clock. It was late and she wanted to be up early tomorrow. Magic Mountain was constantly beckoning her now, reminding and warning her that only four more days were left. It was as if the mountain were radiating a mingled joy and sadness magic for her for this one time and that after she and Sam left the Crest the spell would be forever broken. She switched off the light and remembered what Sam had said about memories, and she wondered if, years from now, she would be just another person he had met and that this was just another lovely week stored in his mind.

Chapter Seven

Katie couldn’t remember when she’d been so happy or so miserable. The days and evenings with Sam were exciting and joyous and constantly filled with new and bright conversation and new discoveries.

By day they skied the mountain and trails and in the evening, after dinner, they would linger at the table and talk about their lives.

“Tell me about your family,” Sam said when they first sat down at the table. “I don’t know a thing about you.” He reached for her hand and caressed it. “And I want to know all about you.” She let her hand remain in his, liking the way it fitted within his fingers and palm. It was a large hand, almost as though it belonged to a pianist. His fingers were long and slender and she wondered if he preferred Beethoven or the Beatles. It was something to ask him later.

“Well,” she began, in answer to his question, “there’s just my mother and me,” and she was grateful that he accepted the statement and didn’t ask about her father. “She lives in a senior citizens complex but she’s still driving and doing things. She has lots of friends and she’s having a wonderful time. She’s one of those very active social women, the kind who like getting involved with gardening, clubs, social activities, and all that. She always did. People would always say that she had class and style, if you know what I mean.” She looked at her own jeans and heavy sweater. “She wouldn’t approve of this outfit, for instance. It’s not quite feminine enough for her,” she said, laughing. “I get to see her at least twice a month and we always have a good time. Only . . .” She looked up at Sam and laughed again. “We both like to get our own way, and so we’re both stubborn. But aside from that—her trying to influence me and my trying to not let her—we get along really well.” She looked outside at the softly falling snow. “She loves warm weather, I like cold, and never the twain shall meet.”

“Just as long as you both have your own lives.” Sam put down his fork. “It’s a live-and-let-live world, Katie.”

She nodded. “Yes, I know, but try telling her that sometimes. So that’s why I live a hundred miles from her. I’m happier this way and so is she. Not that I don’t love her—don’t get me wrong—but sometimes it’s very difficult.” She shook her head. “We really are very different except for one thing.”

She put her hands close to her lashes. “Everyone knows we’re mother and daughter when they see our eyes. The same color, the same deep brown. But I also look a lot like my dad.”

“Tell me about him.”

Should she tell him about her father? About how she had really loved him, although she hadn’t gotten to see him too often? She heard Sam drumming his fingers against the table—one of his habits when he was thinking about something. It was funny how much Sam reminded her of her father. Maybe that was why she was attracted to him. And maybe that was why, also, she was attracted to Jason. He and her father had nothing—no, absolutely nothing—in common. Her father was spur-of-the-moment; Jason was methodical. And sometimes that was good—he planned for everything and anything. There would never be worries about anything practical when they married.

She took a deep breath. When she and Jason were married. Funny, but that idea seemed so remote today. She could see Sam’s fingers drumming on the table now. The fingers beat a cadence that seemed to say,
Sam is here, Sam is here. Jason isn’t, Jason isn’t. What to do? What to do?

“Katie-Katie, come back to Cedar Crest,” Sam said softly and she smiled at him. “I was asking you about your dad.”

“Ah, my dad.” Katie put her elbows on the table and her head on her hands. “It’s very difficult for me to talk about him.”

“Look, if I’ve upset you—don’t answer it. It’s just something I wanted to know about you, to try to fit all the pieces of the Katie Jarvis puzzle together. So that I can know you better.” He leaned back against the slats of his chair. “Oh, Katie love, we have so much to discover about each other.”

“And so little time,” she murmured.

“Don’t say that, Katie. We still have three more days. I told you I’m a convincing salesman. That’s my job. I sell ideas and plans and now you’re my biggest client and I’m my biggest plan. And if you say yes, then I take over the company.”

Katie shifted in her seat and smiled. “You would have liked my father. He was a lot like you. A lot like you,” she repeated, and let her voice drop. “He was even a salesman. And he could sell anything.”

“What happened to him?”

“He died a few years ago. It was very complicated, Sam. You see, he and my mother divorced when I was twelve and it crushed me. He was a shining knight in armor to me, someone I could focus on when I was supposed to be studying in class and I got bored. I could always think that today was Wednesday or Thursday and I would see him soon. Fridays, when he was finished traveling for the week, were pure magic for me. I waited for that day.”

She smiled as she remembered herself as a young girl. “And every time he came home on the weekend—that’s the only time I saw him even when we were all living together, because he was away traveling the territory during the week—well, anyway, I would wait for him because he would bring me back things. Not necessarily material things—it was more than that. He would bring me back stories about the people he met and the cities and towns he visited, and he would tell me about them and, oh, Sam, there were some nights I would go to bed thinking that his had to be the best life in the world. He surely had to be the luckiest person in the universe to have such a great job. That was when I thought traveling was the best thing you could do—the only thing. That’s because my dad made it appear that way.”

She looked away toward the window and saw that it was snowing harder now, and she remembered that the Crest’s weather forecaster had predicted a brief storm that evening.

“Well, anyway,” she went on, “the strain and stress of not having a husband around all the time got to my mother and she finally told me one day—I’ll never forget, it was also on a Friday and I was looking forward to seeing him—that she and Dad had decided to live apart from then on.” She touched the rim of her cup and moved her finger around it. “It hurt her, Sam. She isn’t a callous person even though I accused her of sending him away, and it hurt her to say that to me. She made the decision for both of them—I know she did—but she had her reasons and I really do understand them now. But try telling a twelve-year-old girl that her father isn’t coming home anymore. It was terrible.”

He nodded. “It must have been,” he said quietly and she could tell that he meant the words.

“I could see her point, Sam. She was a product of her generation. She wanted a husband and a home and family and she wanted them all together, under the same roof, every night, every day. It wasn’t the same, seeing him only on weekends. At least not for her. As for me, I had my friends, but Mother wanted more than friends. She needed a husband’s companionship and she wasn’t able to get it from my father. It was just the circumstances. Just the way it was. She figured that she was married and entitled to have someone to rely on, for whatever reasons. She wanted her husband home with her.” She looked up at Sam. “We’re a lot alike on that score.”

He signaled the waiter for more coffee, and they were silent while the cups were refilled. He took a sip of the hot brew and closed his eyes slightly. His mouth worked for a few seconds before he spoke. “So that’s why you said we could never. . . .”

She nodded. “You’re so much like my father. He would have loved you.”

“I wish that you would.” He said it simply and directly and she felt a shiver run through her body. How could she say she didn’t love him? She was telling him things she had never told anyone, not even Jason. It was just so easy to talk to Sam, to tell him about her life and her hurts. No, she could never deny to herself that she loved him—she did very much—although she had known him less than a week. Only this was a no-win situation. Hadn’t she seen her mother hurt? Surely she had learned something from her mother’s experience.

“Did you get to see your father often?” He was probing now, seeking information that might reconcile their situations.

“Yes, on almost every weekend. Our time together was limited. He still told me stories and sent me postcards but I gradually saw the change in him. It was like the spark had gone out of him. And I began to hate the traveling he did and the cards he sent me.” She stared at the near-empty dining room. “It was terrible, Sam. I started to realize that if he had a job like the other fathers in my neighborhood—well, then I would have had a father too. But I also knew that to force him to take a job nearer home would only cage him and I didn’t want that, either. I loved him too much to ask him to do that.” She touched his hand. “I don’t want that to happen to me again, Sam. I don’t want to be lonely in my adult life too. Can you understand?”