Page 14 of Christmas With the Convict

Mr. Bettencourt smiles. “I insist that you join us.”

Suddenly, this kitchen is as tense as a prison chow hall.

My eyes instinctively dart toward the rack of chef’s knives. It’s only for a split second, but I curse myself for it.

Lucky for me, Wendy’s loud uncle bails me out. He gets up and slaps me on the back. “Don’t worry, Chase. We’ll show you the ropes out there. We’ve all been skiing since we could walk! There’s plenty of spare gear in the basement for you to borrow.”

If the others see what Richard is doing, they don’t say anything.

He doesn’t give a fuck if I learn to ski or go to the village and make snow angels with the kids all day.

He doesn’t want a criminal in his home without supervision. To him, I’m the Grinch come to steal all the presents from under the tree.

“See, Rick’s got you. Take him down there and get him geared up.” Richard grabs the second cup of coffee he poured. “And as for waking my daughter, I’ve got that covered.”

Even their skiing gear is a little too small for me.

The black overalls ride up my crotch.

Uncle Rick’s spare boots crunch my toes.

And these poles feel like big toothpicks.

Still, it’s worth it to be anywhere near Wendy. She’s in a light blue jacket that matches her eyes, a headband the same color as that skirt she wore yesterday, and her golden hair whips around her in the wind.

If only I could stay upright long enough to admire her.

We’re all gathered at the head of the village where the chairs pull riders up the imposing mountain. Thick cables stretch into the clouds and the chairs disappear.

Wendy helps me into my skis. I feel like a newborn deer carrying the weight of a boulder. Every time I go to take a step, I slip and slide, or my legs run away from each other. The only upside is Wendy laughing and grabbing my arms each time I fall.

“You’re getting it,” she says as she gets me upright. “Sort of. Remember,pizzawhen you want to slow down.French frywhen you want to—”

“I’ll stick topizza.”

The others glide effortlessly over like the bullies from some eighties’ ski-flick. Wendy’s dad and uncle chuckle as I nearly lose my balance again.

“Everybody ready?” Richard claps his gloves. “Let’s get moving before the tourists clog up the lifts.”

“You go ahead,” Wendy whips around on her skis. “I’ll take Chase to the bunny-hill for a while. He needs to get his bearings.”

Everyone laughs.

It’s not like when we were sitting around having coffee. They’re laughingatme.

“You’re gonna wait in that line?” Uncle Rick points his pole to the lift crowded mostly with kids. “For a sixty-second ride down a hill? Godspeed, kids.”

Most of them follow Rick toward one of the big lifts. Wendy’s dad laughs and shakes his head. “Well, Honey. If you want to waste your day on the kiddie slope, I won’t stop you. I’m hitting the big-boy runs. Have fun with your Christmas Charity.”

“I’m game.” With every inch of my body as rigid as stone, I carefully shove myself forward off my poles. “You learn to swim by jumping in the deep end, right?”

Wendy pulls up next to me and hooks her arm in mine.

I watch her father’s eyes blaze, and I can’t help but smile. Here she is, his youngest daughter, hisangel, cozying up with a convict.

If he wants to torture me, I have no problem returning the favor.

“Let’s go before thetouristsclog the ski escalators.” I shove off first, still unsteady but learning.

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