Good With Children

Lauren said, “He has girlfriends, of course. In fact, don’t be surprised if he tries to make you the next one. But he never marries them.”

Rory couldn’t read the teenager’s tone—not with accuracy. “Do you wish he would?”

“I don’t really care,” Lauren said. “It’s not like he has that much to do with us, anyhow.”

The reply shocked Rory, and bothered her. She knew what it was to have a father who didn’t “have that much to do” with her. She’d never held it against her father, believing he was devastated by her mother’s death—and by her betrayal. But in Seamus Lee, who had four children, one of them just four years old, noninvolvement seemed criminal.

“I thought he had the kind of job…” Rory stopped abruptly.

“Oh, he could spend time with us. And he used to, before my mom died. But not anymore.”

“How did your mother die?” Reflecting that she and the Lee children shared motherless status, Rory pulled up outside the Lees’ temporary home. Lights were on inside, illuminating the Greek Revival house against the gray afternoon, making it warm and welcoming.

“A handgun accident. The forensic people figured she was loading it and didn’t know it was already loaded or something like that. I don’t really know how handguns work.”

Neither did Rory. She wondered why Seamus Lee’s wife had been loading a handgun in the first place.

“She didn’t take shit from anyone,” Lauren said.

Assertiveness through firearms? thought Rory. No fear, handguns…There was something amiss with this family, but she couldn’t put her finger on it.

And it’s none of your business, anyhow.

Rory longed to ask why—about the handgun—but it seemed a delicate question to put to this girl. Instead, she said, “I want to get you into an avalanche class as soon as possible. But, in the meantime, how would you feel about teaching snowboarding to kids at the ski area?”

“To little kids?”

“Yes.”

“All right.” Lauren seemed to be thinking it over. “I could do that.”

“I think you could, too,” Rory agreed.

“What about fire-dancing?” she asked Rory. “Can you teach me?”

“Without fire. Possibly so. Let me look into it.”

Leaving Lauren at the house, Rory drove out to San Juan Ski and Snowboard to check on Beau and see how he was getting along in his new part-time job. She found him happily learning to use a jigsaw and not at all keen to return to Empire Street. Nonetheless, he was in an afternoon telemark class.

Telemark, an old form of free-heel skiing, allowed the skier freedom from the necessity of chairlifts and greater access to the backcountry. The style of skiing emphasized controlled turns, the proper execution of which was an art form.

Gigi Parks, the ski designer, pulled a pair of telemark skis off the wall and pushed them in Beau’s direction. “Give these a try and tell me what you think.”

Her assistant, Rory’s friend Woody, called goodbye to Beau as he and Rory left.

Rory was still preoccupied by the fact that the children’s mother had died in a handgun accident. She wanted to know the facts, and there was only one family member she could ask. The two of them had time booked for an hour of telemarking that afternoon, after he finished avalanche school.

Beau broke into her thoughts. “I like that place. I feel like I’m learning to do something useful.”

Rory considered this remark. “I’m glad you like it. I thought that might be a good fit for you.”

“Is it a group telemark class?”

“I think there are two other students.” She braked at a stop sign, then glanced over at him. “Is that okay?”

“I hate group lessons.”

Rory didn’t ask why. When people said that, there was usually one reason: fear of ridicule.

“Try it today,” she said, “and I’ll check with you tonight and see how it went. If it’s no good for you, we might be able to manage a solo lesson or two.”

The look he shot her was one of naked gratitude.

What a group these children were.

On Empire Street, Rory found Caleb outside on a snowskate. The seven-year-old was clearly a skateboarder. The snowskate consisted of a skateboard deck balanced on a short, wide ski, creating something that was a cross between snowboard and skateboard and perfect for transportation on Sultan’s icy streets.

However, Caleb was not wearing a helmet, and this wouldn’t fly with her. “Where’s your dad?” she asked as she got out of the car.

“He’s not back from avalanche school yet. Lauren’s watching us.”

“Well, you need to have a helmet on, Caleb.”

He made a face that promised lack of cooperation. “I don’t have to,” he said. “I don’t fall.”

“Congratulations on not falling, but while you’re here in Sultan, you’re learning safety from the Sultan Mountain School. That means wearing a helmet.”

“It’s my snowskate.”

“And no one makes you wear a helmet at home?”

He’d clearly been caught out. He glared at Rory and stalked inside. Caleb, age seven, might turn out to be the rebel of this lot, she thought. He wore his hair below his shoulders, and even at seven he had the confidence of someone who knew himself to be a capable athlete.

Rory followed Beau inside the house and found Lauren rubbing the German shepherd puppy’s nose in a puddle on the floor. Lauren started to drag the dog back to his crate, and Rory said, “Actually, what you want to do now is take him outside to wherever you want him to pee. Then, you’ve got to clean up with carpet stuff that will neutralize the pheromones. There’s some in the cupboard beside the sink.”

Lauren cast her a look that seemed to weigh all these instructions. She said, “Beau, take Seuss outside. You have your boots on already.”

Beau grabbed the leash and said, “What am I supposed to do?”

Teaching children how to train their puppy was beyond the call of duty, and Rory had hoped to grab a snack before telemarking with Seamus Lee. Instead, she gave the two siblings better ideas for corrections than “rub his nose in it,” made sure Caleb was wearing his snowboarding helmet and instructed Lauren and Beau that this was strict school policy.

THIS TIME, they took his car and drove to the head of a trail and out onto a long, gentle slope where they could practice turns.

Rory remembered how determined she was to know more about the handgun, but there were too many other things to attend to in the meantime. First—Caleb and the helmet.

“He knows he’s to wear a helmet,” Seamus said. “The woman who works for me always makes him wear one. She’s an older lady who, well, runs my household, if you will. She’s something of a renaissance woman. If my kids have any good values, it’s because of her.”

“Good values, such as…?”