AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Aiden is walking up ahead, carrying Ford on his shoulders. He stops and dips down quickly, eliciting a slew of giggles from my nephew. I scowl and focus extra hard on the explanation of the restaurant James loves.
“Is everything okay?” Brent leans in to ask me.
I give him a hearty nod. “Peachy.”
Brent.
I cannot focus on Brent at a time like this. I have enough on my plate as is, and if I start to unravel that spool of thread, I’m worried I won’t be able to stop.
Aiden turns around to face the group, his cheeks and nose adorably red from the chill.
My heart sputters and then I clamp down on it with an iron fist.
Any love I might have had for him has to go away—for good.
I want it to sour and spoil, so I tell myself I despise him. The dimples, the hair, the personality…all of it.
I want to reach down to form a snowball in my hand, compact it really tight, and chuck it right at his face. Oh that would feel good.
“There’s the gondola,” James says, pointing ahead. “You guys can go ahead and get in line. I’ll go into the store there and buy our tickets.”
It’s the holiday season, only a few days shy of Christmas, so Vail is full of families trying to take advantage of the ski town. The slopes are packed, and the wait for the gondola will be a while.
“Don’t worry, there’s a great restaurant up top where we can get a drink and something small to eat, just to make the trip up worth it,” Jolie says, taking a fussy Ford back from Aiden.
“I’ve heard the views are amazing,” I say.
“I’m surprised you’re willing to go up and see them. I thought you were afraid of heights,” Aiden says.
“Really? You are?” Brent asks.
I jut out my chin and shake my head. “No.”
I am. Deathly.
But I’ve been too preoccupied with Aiden to let my fear fester. Unfortunately, now that we’re in line and I can see the enclosed lifts up ahead, filling with people and then whisking them high up the mountain, I feel a little woozy. There will only be a tiny guide wire between me and my imminent demise. What’s not to love?!
“Line’s moving,” someone says.
I can’t take my eyes off the gondola.
“Move it, lady!” says some snot-nosed kid with a snowboard.
Oh, right. I’m holding everyone up.
I move forward—one step closer to death—and catch Aiden asking Brent a question about whether he enjoys skiing.
“No, growing up in Texas, I never really had the chance.” Brent laughs. “Doesn’t snow much in Austin.”
I can’t even concentrate on the fact that they shouldn’t be talking. I do not need them becoming chummy-chummy with each other.
My hands get clammy in my gloves. The line is moving much faster than I thought it would. James joins us with the tickets and hands me one. I take it and step forward.
Some teenagers are in front of me, laughing.
I lean toward them. “Hey, have y’all done this before?”
They frown, confused about what I’m referring to.
“Snowboarding? Yeah.”
“No. The gondola,” I say, pointing to it.
“Uh, hundreds of times,” one of the guys says with a laugh.
“So it’s not as high as it looks?” I venture, praying they’ll be able to talk me out of my fear.
“No, it’s really high. And it sways on windy days like this—feels like you’re going to fall at any minute.”
I gulp down some vomit trying to rise up my throat.
“Okay, cool,” I say, nodding as the line moves forward again.
The cabins are pretty huge, so we’ll all be able to sit together. Thank god.
Soon enough, it’s our turn to go. Not wanting to alert the others to my panic, I step up confidently and take a seat in the waiting gondola before realizing the row of seats across from me is blocked off with yellow tape.
“This one can only fit three,” a crew member says.
There’s no time to reconfigure the groups because the gondola technically never stops moving. It’s like an escalator, constantly in motion, so Aiden and Brent hop on with me, and James, Jolie, and Ford wait for the next one.
Aiden takes the seat beside me and Brent sits beside him.
I can’t even worry about the seating arrangement because already the ground is disappearing from underneath my feet.
OH MY GOD.
Everything is glass. This thing is held together by steel toothpicks, and now I realize what Ron Burgundy meant in Anchorman when he shouted, I’m in a glass case of emotion!
I look down, and the earth slips away little by little. We sweep over white snow and the tops of trees. Ten feet. Twenty. More. I squeeze my eyes shut—but that makes it worse, because without that sense, I’m too aware of the subtle rocking effect. Back and forth we glide, and suddenly I’m demanding that I get out.
