Page 78 of Good as Gold
“Soon,” she says. “I thought you were going to call Arnie and feel him out about a permanent job.”
“I did. He didn’t sound ready to commit. But there are some other guys I can call.”
“And women,” Cara points out.
“And women,” I repeat. “You want the job? We can hire someone for the office instead.”
“No way. It’s a critical moment for the business, and it wouldn’t feel right to turn over the office to a newcomer right now.”
“Yeah. True.” We fall silent for a moment, and I hope she’s not too worried. “We’ll get through this season. It’s not gonna be easy, but we can do it.”
“We can,” she says softly. “If the situation was reversed, this is what he’d do.”
I picture Sean’s fierce smile, and I know she’s right. That man was strong. “Put up the full calendar,” I decide. “I’ll interview people in August and September. We’ve got plenty of time to find the right employees.”
“If you’re sure.”
“I’m sure.” We need the cashflow. Running at half capacity isn’t an option, since we are leasing a hundred percent of a very expensive helicopter. “What’s that website we use for job postings?”
“Let me handle it. Just email me a complete job description.”
“Will do.”
After we hang up, I try to scratch out a job description on my notebook.Heli-skiing guide. Big mountain experience necessary. Avalanche training. CPR certification…
I set down my pen and try to picture myself driving to work this winter, parking my car behind the hangar next to some stranger’s car. Knowing Sean’s beat-up Jeep won’t be there in the lot.
We won’t be slurping coffee together at dawn, waiting for our first customers of the day to show up. They’ll look either pumped up or nervous. Or a combination of both.
Colorado will go on. The snow on the peaks will be as untracked and beautiful as ever. But Sean won’t be there to see it, or to swap war stories at the bar after work, either.
I fucking dread the coming winter. But it’s coming for me anyway. I’ll show up and give it all I can. Because Sean would do the same for me.
Closing the notebook, I pull out my phone. He’s still in my contacts. I tap his number and listen to it ring.
After a moment, his voicemail message kicks in. “Yo, you’ve reached Sean.”
I stop breathing.
“If you’re looking for wisdom, you’ve got the wrong number. If you’re looking to book a ride with me, you can do that on heli hops dot com. If you’re looking to buy me a drink, text me instead! Love you. Later.”
I put the phone away and lift my face to the sky. The frogs are singing and the stars are shining, like everything is just fine.
It isn’t. And I don’t know if it ever will be.
* * *
At least I’m busy. The beer wagon is in great demand. Otto keeps shooting me texts, asking if he can add dates to my schedule. And I keep saying yes, because the money is great.
I keep hiring Rory, too. That’s working out better than I’d expected.
“When I was young, I honestly thought I was above this kind of work,” he says one hot June Saturday when we’re sweating in the wagon at a music festival. “I had a lot of big ideas, and I thought they made me a genius.”
“Tell me about it,” I say as I pour my hundredth beer that hour.
“Butyourcompany didn’t go out of business,” he points out.
“Not yet. And I am grateful. But being in charge is exhausting.” That’s a big understatement, but I am not about to discuss Sean’s death while we try to serve all fifty people in line.
