Page 105 of A Little Too Late
We’ve both been working hard. There were about a million weddings at the resort this summer, which kept me on my toes. And Reed hasn’t taken a day off in two weeks. He’s either testing the new chairlift or huddled with Block over blueprints and plans.
Meanwhile, we’re renovating the house where Reed grew up. “You take the house,” Mark had said after Reed moved back toColorado. “Melody and I will be traveling, and it will just sit empty.”
After a little bit of thought, Reed had decided that he didn’t mind moving back into the home where he grew up. “A lot happened to me in that house. Not all of it good,” he’d conceded. “But let’s make it ours. Let’s start fresh.”
So we’re repainting, renovating the bathrooms, and changing the bedroom configuration upstairs.
Mark and Melody just closed on a condo that came up for sale, and they’ll have someplace to stay when they’re in Colorado.
But it’s been a lot of work for everyone.
Reed takes my hand, his thumb stroking my palm, as the chair rises over the new ski hill.
“Look at all the cutting you’ve done,” Block says, looking down at the newly cleared runs. “How many trails will you have open by winter?”
“Five,” Reed says. “Plus some gladed terrain.”
“Can’t wait to try it out,” Block says. “You’re a busy guy. How’s the home renovation coming?”
“Fine, but Ava is riding herd on that,” he says, sliding his fingers over mine. “She’s the one who has to answer all the contractors’ questions about electrical outlets and bathroom fixtures.”
He isn’t wrong. “I know everything about tile patterns that I never wanted to know.”
Block gives me a friendly smile. He’s a good guy, and Reed has enjoyed working with him on the development project. “Reed, the reason I hopped on here with you two is that I have something to show you. I’ve been fishing for something on your behalf, and this morning there was a nibble on the line.” He pulls out his phone, opens to a photograph, and passes it to me.
Mindful I don’t drop it, I pass the phone carefully to Reed. But I can see that the photo is a bronze sculpture, and I can tell that his mother made it.
“Whoa,” Reed says, enlarging the photo. “Whose is this?”
“It’s in a private collection,” Block says. “My gallery sold it fifteen years ago as part of a group show.”
Reed is quiet a moment, admiring the sculpture. “And you think it could be for sale?”
“I know it could be,” Block says. “I approached this buyer and told him that the artist’s family was interested in reacquiring some of her work. He said to make him an offer.”
Reed whistles. Then he passes the phone back to me, and I carefully hand it back to Block. “Will you help me make an offer on Monday?”
“You know it,” Block says. “And if this one doesn’t come easily, I’ll keep looking. We’ll find you something good.”
“Thank you,” Reed says quietly. “I really appreciate that.”
As we fly over golden aspens and deep green pines, I make a mental note to think about where we might put a sculpture in the renovated house.
“Are you getting off?” Block asks when we reach the top. “I think I’ll ride right back down.” The chair slows as it reaches the loading station.
“Yeah, we’re getting off for a walk,” Reed says quickly. “See you Monday?”
“Of course! We’ll talk about roofing materials.”
“Oh baby,” Reed says, and Block laughs as we disembark.
Reed leads me away from the lift, past a knot of people who are admiring the new trail map.
“Where are we headed?” I ask.
“Anywhere. Away from all these people. Damn, I thought I’d never get you alone.”
“You seem a little strung out,” I say as gently as possible.
