Page 96 of On the Edge

I pause, wondering why that actually hadn’t occurred to me. I’d been so focused on howshehad left me, howshehadn’t called when she said she would. She knew my back was better and that I was due to go back to racing. Sure, I went back a little earlier than expected thanks to those photos being sent to my coach, but I didn’t leave her.

Did I?

Rory takes in my face, the way my shoulders have slumped. “You actually didn’t stop to think about that, did you?” he asks. I shake my head. “When did you guys get so bad at communicating? You were so good at it when you first started dating. Where did you go wrong?”

I think back to when Jackson and I were in high school, to the rumors and the misunderstandings we had to sort through, to our promise that we’d always be open and honest with each other. That there’d be no secrets. Then I think about the years when she was racing on the World Cup circuit, when I was open and honest about wanting to marry her and about my jealousy over her friendship with Marco, but she kept from me the fact that she was planning on retiring. And then we when got back together a few weeks ago, I was open and honest with her about my intentions, but she was still keeping secrets. Then again, Blackstone is probably the biggest secret I’ve ever had and I couldn’t tell her about it either.

“I think you’ll have to ask her that question,” I tell Rory, “since she was the one telling me that we’d make this work whatever the cost, but not telling me that she was planning to move back here and work at Danforth.”

I can tell by the way Rory’s eyes go wide that he expected she’d told me about that.

“Right, so if you want to talk about people not communicating, keeping secrets that affect the other person’s life, maybe you need to talk to your daughter.” I reach into my bag and pull out a sealed manilla envelope. “And while you’re at it, give her this too.”

Rory glances at the envelope, his eyebrows dipping as he looks at it.

“It’s every shred of original evidence that those photos existed. The original SD card they were taken on, as well as the only printed copies.” I think back to the process of getting them from Johnny Todd, my nemesis in Big Sky. I’d explained the entire situation to Jackson on a notecard tucked into that envelope. I’d assured her that she didn’t have to worry about those photos ever being shared or published. As mad as I was at her for the way she left me, I still wanted to put her mind at ease. I was planning to overnight that envelope to her in Park City once this meeting was over. As it turns out, that would have been a waste.

“Okay,” Rory says, eyeing the envelope in his hand like he’s holding a bomb. “I’ll give them to her. And I’ll see you tomorrow at the gala. You’re ready for that?”

“I am,” I tell him. Or at least, I will be by then.

* * *

The party’s in full swing when Rory steps up to the podium at the front of the room, next to the projection screen that’s been showing photos of the ski team on a loop for the last hour.

“It’s your big moment,” my dad says, smiling into his beer as he lifts the bottle to his lips.

“I don’t know why I feel so nervous.”

“Because you’re taking a big risk. You’d be foolish if you didn’t know that not everyone is going to love these changes. And I didn’t raise you to be foolish.” Growing up, my dad wasn’t the most emotionally available parent. He worked too much and he left most of the loving up to my mom. But Dad never did anything halfway. I think back to what I learned from him—how to always go after what you want, how to take calculated risks, how to persevere when things get tough, and how to know when to cut your losses. And maybe most importantly, how to love someone with your whole heart. He set that example in the way he loved my mom, and in the way he still loves her, five years after she died.

“No, you sure didn’t,” I say and tip back my drink too.

“You did good,” he tells me, glancing over and giving me a half smile because apparently it’d kill him to give me his full approval.

“I know.” I’m confident in my own decision-making abilities and I didn’t do this for his approval. In fact, the only person whose approval I actually care about regarding this transaction is Jackson’s. And given that her dad gave her those photos yesterday and Istillhaven’t heard from her, it’s safe to say that I probably never will—whether she agrees with my purchase of Blackstone or not.

The background music that’s been playing dies down, and Rory’s voice rings out from the podium. “For those of you who might not know me,” he says, as if there’s anyone at Blackstone who doesn’t know him, “my name is Rory Shanahan. I’m on the board of directors here, and we want to thank you for coming out tonight for this amazing event put on by our ski team. Every bit of the profit tonight goes to support the boys and girls who race for our mountain, and I’d like to take a moment to thank them. Can you all come up please?”

About forty kids, ages eight to eighteen come up to the front, all of them in the black pants and white dress shirts they’ve worn as they’ve worked this event together. We give them a round of applause, and as they leave the front of the room Rory leans in to the microphone.

“Some of you know that I’ve owned property here and been coming to this mountain for well over thirty years. I taught both my kids to ski here. My son, Beau, learned to love snowboarding instead, but my daughter, Jackson, raced for the Blackstone team until she moved on to Danforth and eventually the National Ski Team.” Everyone claps, even though this isn’t a new story. Jackson is skiing royalty at this mountain. “And Blackstone has changed quite a bit since I started skiing here. New trails, big additions to the lodge, and new lifts—thank God!” The audience chuckles. “And even though every change that’s happened here has been positive in the long run, sometimes change can be hard. The board has mentioned that there’d be a big announcement tonight, and so I want to prepare you for some changes that are going to be taking place starting next season.” A low-level murmur rises up from the gala attendees.

Rory explains how climate change is making it more difficult and expensive to run a ski resort, and about the multiple offers they’ve turned down to be purchased by major ski conglomerates. “To some extent, I think we all fear change. The board was afraid of losing the intimate and independent feel that we have here. But then, earlier this year we got a very different kind of offer. One that would allow us to grow on a reasonable scale by adding twelve runs and a small luxury hotel to the backside of the mountain. And the part that really sealed the deal was that the offer came from a veteran of the Blackstone Mountain Ski Team. You more likely know him from the waves he’s been making as a rookie this year on the National Ski Team. I’d like to invite Nate Davenport up here to tell you a little more about these plans.”

Heads spin toward me and the crowd parts as I head up toward Rory. This is a warmer welcome than I’d expected from him, all things considered. He shakes my hand, then gestures toward the podium.

I hate public speaking. I can power through it only because I’m too arrogant to make a fool of myself, but I always keep my remarks brief.

“Like Rory mentioned, I spent several of the happiest years of my life here at Blackstone. There’s nothing I want to change about the feel of this mountain. In fact, the main reason I wanted to invest in it is to preserve the independent spirit, while helping it to grow in a fiscally sustainable way that will ensure we can continue raising generations of ski lovers who feel the same way we do about Blackstone. And I know that any description I give won’t be able to do my vision justice, so I had some of the people I work with put together this video to show you what’s possible and the timeline for this growth.”

I tip my chin to the guy in the back who is running the AV and the lights dim even further as the video starts on the screen behind me. Through the many rounds of editing I’ve seen it at least fifty times, so I don’t focus on it at all. Instead, I watch the audience—the men and women who love Blackstone and are raising families who feel the same way. And thankfully, almost all of them are smiling and nodding as they watch the video, “oohing” and “aahing” at the stunning architecture of the new hotel and the small village of local shops and restaurants around it.

When the video ends, most of the adults are clapping and the teenagers around the edge of the room—the ski racers who are experiencing Blackstone the same way I did at their age—are high-fiving each other. I step back up to the podium to say a few words, but the lights don’t come back up. I make eye contact with the AV guy across the room, but he just shrugs and then taps a button on his computer.

I about give myself whiplash with how fast I turn toward the screen when I hear Jackson’s voice. Her face fills the white space, her cheeks pink from the cold weather and her green eyes bright and alive. She’s standing on the deck of the Blackstone lodge, I can tell because I can see the ski team cabin next to the lift behind her.

“Hi, everyone,” she says. I glance out at the audience and lock eyes with Rory, whose arm is around Jackson’s mom. When he winks, I have the sickening feeling he’s set me up somehow. “If we haven’t met yet, I’m Jackson Shanahan. I grew up skiing at Blackstone, and it holds a very special place in my heart. Here I learned about perseverance and dedication. Those lessons helped me achievesomeof my dreams.” She pauses for a moment while the picture of her receiving her Olympic gold medal flashes on the screen. “And for that I’ll always be grateful.”

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