Page 40 of Mazywood

Somewhere in the snow.

While Johnny carried luggage and groceries into the house from the rental he’d moved to park in front of the kitchen door, Tasha watched Imani and Sharise tear through their bags to put on scarves, gloves, and boots, readying themselves to test the ski slope on the bluff behind the house. Their five-foot black snowboards lay waiting within reach, propped against a tree. The girls strapped on their helmets.

“Come in for a hot second and look around,” Tasha said to Sharise, a bit stung that her oldest had cast aside their shared interest in Mazelle Washington. “You won’t believe it.”

Sharise gave her a knowing look, as if Tasha’s hurt feelings—slightly hurt—were obvious and she pitied her. “Mom, I won’t have anything else to do here after it gets dark,” she said. “I’ll be amazed. I’ll shoot video. I’ll do all the things.” She was just shy of sarcasm.

“You’re coming in before it’s dark,” Tasha said. “First sign of sunset.”

They both stared with irritation, so Tasha dug in, checking her watch. It was only three o’clock, but the gray, sun-spotted sky looked ready to give up its fight to break the clouds. It was almost too dark already. Sharise and Imani would need to be able to see any tree roots or obstacles hidden in the snow, so strong daylight mattered. She wished it were less gray.

“Actually, come in by four thirty. Then you can help get dinner ready.”

“What?” Imani said. “Four thirty?” Her face was knotted with emotion as she kicked up a divot of snow. If she were at home, she might have slammed her door in a meltdown.

Sharise patted Imani’s shoulder to shush her, remembering better than Imani that Tasha’s usual response to pushback was a less generous offer. “Fine—four thirty,” Sharise said. She turned to her sister. “That’s ninety minutes. We can hit it again early tomorrow.”

Imani’s face stayed sour, but she took Sharise’s cue and didn’t argue. She was learning to control her emotions, thank goodness. They had patched far too many dents in her bedroom wall.

“Shit!” Johnny said from the other side of the house.

“What?” Tasha called back, anxious. The girls paid no attention to the pause, but Johnny didn’t answer for so long that she almost went after him. “Johnny?”

“Nothing.” Johnny’s voice muted as he apparently walked back into the kitchen, but it didn’t sound like nothing. He had been agitated most of the day.

“Dad couldn’t stand his grandmother, huh?” Sharise said. Tasha was shocked silent by the question, which seemed like affirmation. “He never talks about her. Never showed us this place. He’s pretty much hating life right now.”

“Definitely,” Imani agreed. “He’ll probably want to leave after one night.”

“Not true,” Tasha said. “The drive was just stressful. He’s doing fine. There is no way we’re leaving after one night.” She didn’t like lying to her children, so she hoped they wouldn’t press beyond her assurances that they would not go home early.

Sharise’s eyes tore into her, searching for the truth. The intensity of Sharise’s skepticism surprised Tasha again. Her children’s unfettered perceptions broke through her denial: Johnny couldn’t have told her everything that had happened to him at this lodge. His aversion was clear to Sharise and Imani too, and it didn’t make sense. Even if he was ashamed of his grandmother’s career, or she’d put a scare into him, it didn’t explain why Bear Creek Lodge was such a family secret. They should have been vacationing here for years.

Tasha rubbed her hands together, noticing the cold. She was wearing her hooded jacket, but she must have left her gloves in the car. Her fingertips tingled in the chill. She remembered Mazelle’s robe hanging on the mannequin and thought about how cozy it must have felt on winter nights. Would Johnny be bothered if she tried it on? She would ask and see his reaction.

“Hon—you about ready?” she called to Johnny.

“Daddy, come on! We only have ninety minutes!” Imani wailed.

Johnny appeared from the side of the house, trudging in snow above his ankles. His jacket was fully zipped, his hood up. A Miami boy to his core. He wore a thin smile, but his hunched shoulders and posture looked defeated. Tasha wondered if Sharise and Imani could still see what was so plain to her now. Tonight, she would ask him what had happened here.

Johnny took Tasha’s hand and flashed his ghost smile.

The rear of the property grew more densely wooded before it dipped dramatically beyond the fence, opening up to sky and a river of white snow bordered by tight clusters of pines. The gate to the ski run stood open, propped with a rusty latch against a wooden post.

Tasha leaned over to take it in, and she was pleasantly surprised that it wasn’t as steep as she’d feared. The ski trail was well-maintained in a fairly straight line of white powder for several hundred feet before it reached a tree line below. There was no ski lift, but steps followed the trail down to a large boulder that might mark the edge of the property. The run was clear except for a ramp she was sure Imani would love; but despite Tasha’s natural caution every time her daredevil daughter went snowboarding, this trail did not scare her. It wasn’t nearly as steep as the one Imani had practiced on last winter at Big Bear.

“There’s a ramp!” Imani said. “I can practice my backside air as much as I want.”

“And no one’s here but us!” Sharise said, shouting because she could. Her voice didn’t echo the way it might have in a movie; instead, it was swallowed by the emptiness. Small. This might be a modest ski hill near tourist towns, but to Tasha it looked like the wilds of Montana.

“This is good with you, Sharise?” Johnny said. Sharise was an uncertain boarder, and Imani had surpassed her older sister’s skills immediately.

Sharise nodded. “Imani’s got my back. I’m gonna get so much better!”

The girls looked alien to Tasha, decked out in winter gear as they latched their boots to their snowboards at the top of the run. She and Johnny shared a bemused glance. How in the world had they raised two children who loved snowboarding when neither of them had even tried on skis? It was even more surreal to be in their own backyard.

Her snowboard secured, Imani fastened her small GoPro video camera to her helmet. She started recording: “This is ya girl Imani, hashtag Black Girls Board! Check me out on my family’s private trail, y’all.” It was impossible to ignore Imani’s code-switching as she shifted her voice for her YouTube audience. She was a chameleon.