The man inside was covered with dirt and sawdust, standing on a stepladder, hammering something into a ceiling rafter. There was a long wooden table covered in glass bottles of syrup, baskets of onions, garlic, and apples, and chalky balls of soap lying out on pieces of wax paper. A cast-iron stove stood in the corner with a pot gurgling on top.
“Sorry, my wife, Dorothy, is getting the last couple of bottles of cider. Should be out in a sec,” said the dusty man. I loved the way his rust-colored beard blended in with his brown coveralls.
“No problem,” said Dad. “Actually, we were wondering if we could use the restroom.”
“Sure, sure,” said the man, pointing past the stove to a set of swinging doors that looked like they were from an old-fashioned saloon. I went through and found the bathroom.
When I came out, Dad was standing on a chair, just next to the man.
“You see? It’s easy enough. Restructured the whole roof that way,” the man was explaining. His voice was warm and crackly.
“Hey, Sam,” said Dad. “Norm’s just showing me how he put up his own drywall. I’ve been meaning to do that on the porch in the condo.” Norm gave me a smile. His eyebrows were big and bushy, too. When Norm turned back toward the wall, Dad shrugged his shoulders and made a funny face. Dad barely knew how to screw in a lightbulb — I knew he was just listening to Norm to be nice.
I went outside to wait. It was a whole other world here. I looked up. The sky was enormous, hanging on to the last slips of purple, and now I could feel soft flakes falling on my face as I opened my arms and pretended I was floating away with them. Ahhhh. I took a deep breath in and let it out with a deep sigh.
“Sounds like you’ve got a lot on your mind,” came a small voice behind me.
I turned around to see Kathy’s bright teeth open in a wide grin.
“I guess,” I mumbled.
“You just gotta let it go. Just look up and find a flake and … ‘smmmwwk’!” She puckered her lips and squeaked out a kiss.
I stared in horror. Was she for real?
“Come on, try it! It’ll make you feel good!” Kathy said, nodding her head fervently.
“Nah, I think I’m okay.”
“You sure?” she purred. Now she was standing right in front of me, her head tipped up.
“Yeah, I’m sure.”
“Come on, give it a try!”
“Really, that’s okay.”
Then she reached out one of her pink gloves, like she was going to take my hand. I stuffed mine into my jacket pockets quickly.
“Sam. Is it okay if I call you Sam?” she asked.
“Yeah. That’s what everyone else calls me,” I said flatly.
“Where does that come from?”
“It’s short for Samantha.” Were we really having this conversation?
“Yeah, I know. I just thought maybe there was some other …” her voice trailed off into the darkening sky. Then it was her turn to let out a sigh. “Oh well,” she whispered, and turned away. I headed toward the car. Sorry, Kath. Couldn’t she tell that we were not buddies? And we were not going to be, either.
I walked around to the far side of the car and slumped down so she couldn’t see me. I couldn’t believe I had a whole week of this ahead of me. Then I heard the door to the barn open behind me and Dad’s voice, low and soft.
“Hey, what’re you doing out here, sweetie?”
“Just listening to the sky,” she murmured.
“Mmmm, it’s something, huh?” he said.
And then she said something too soft for me to get. I decided I was too cold to wait out here anyway. But as I was stepping into the car, there it was. Another “smmmwwk!” popping in the air. Dad laughed gently.
“C’mon, you try!” she cooed
“Smmmwwk!”
“Smmmwwk!”
They drifted, peppering the air with tiny smacking sounds, Kathy giggling the whole time.
Ugh. I was already sick of snowflakes, and we hadn’t even unpacked.
Bishop Inn was a large Tudor house tucked into a copse of fir trees at the bottom of a windy hill. There was a long driveway that led us around to the back, where there were four other SUVs, each with its share of pillows and ski poles visible through the back windows. One of the cars was covered with bumper stickers — SAVE OUR PLANET, KEEP AMERICA GREEN, and my favorite, MY HYBRID CAN BEAT UP YOUR HUMMER. Dad turned around to face me and Jeremy.
“Okay, where are we, kids?”
It was what he always used to say whenever we got somewhere special. I don’t know how or when it started, but our job was to say, “Here!”
And then he’d say, “And when do we start having fun?”
And we said, “Now!”
This time, I just sat there. Jeremy was still asleep.
“Kids?” Dad tried again, this time shaking Jeremy’s knee. “You wanna show Kathy how we do it?”
“That’s okay, Judd,” said Kathy, putting a hand on Dad’s wrist. Her fingernails were perfect pearly half-moons. “We’re already having fun.”
The inside of the inn was warm and smelled like cedar wood. The first thing I saw when we walked through the door was a crackling fire in the fireplace and two big maroon armchairs in front of it. The ceiling was at least twenty feet high and there was a staircase twisting up onto a balcony. The walls were cherry-stained wood and over the fireplace there was a string of small white Christmas lights and a sketch of a group of men hunting with dogs, and somewhere there was a clock ticking quietly. It was really soothing and homey. Well, if I really couldn’t ski, and I didn’t find the boy of my dreams, at least I had a cozy place to snuggle up and read, right?
“You must be Mr. Levy,” said a tall man with little wisps of gray hair sprouting out of his head and a long, thin nose. He smiled and his light blue eyes got lost in his soft wrinkles.
“That’s me,” said Dad, sticking out his hand.
“Phil Bishop. Nice to meet you.”
“Thank you. We’re very excited to be here. This is my daughter, Samantha, and my son, Jeremy, and my wife, Kathy.”
Wife, Kathy. Deep breaths, Levy, deep breaths.
“Great. Well, let me get you settled in and you can put your things down,” said Phil. He led us past the fireplace to a small study lined with books. Outside the picture window was a huge mass of mountains, piled on top of one another, spilling down the countryside.
“Wow,” breathed Kathy. And for the first time, I had to agree (even though I didn’t tell her that). It was pretty spectacular. I mean, we have trees and some hills in Westchester, but this was different.
Phil was used to the view, I guess. He didn’t even look up, just went to his desk in the corner. It was covered with folders, loose scraps of paper, and pink receipts. On top of one of the piles was a glass plate with a half of a ham sandwich and some crumbs.
“Excuse the mess. There is a method to this madness,” he said, sitting down, pushing the piles into different places on the desk. “Levy … Levy … Levy. Aha! There we are! The Honeymoon Nest!” He looked up at Dad and gave another big smile. Then he looked at me and Jeremy. “And you’ll be going to rooms four and five on the other end of the hall.”
“Looks like you ski quite a bit,” said Dad, walking over to one of the bookcases.
There were framed pictures on practically all of his shelves. Some of them were of the mountains, but most of them were of what looked like a younger Phil and a beautiful woman with long dark hair and wide, almond-shaped eyes. Most of the time they were in ski outfits, the sun bouncing off their goggles. Then there was one of the woman with a squirming baby in her arms, pink and puckered. Then the three of them — their son, I guessed. He was a cute little kid with the same almond eyes and thin nose. They were posed in front of a Christmas tree, on a sled, and, of course, on skis.