Page 27 of Going Down

I lift my eyes, looking past the lodge’s rooftop and trees. The Green Mountains are in the background. Placing the letter in my lap, I take in the real thing, focusing on the range in the distance.

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13

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No one can walk backwards into the future

I smile cheesy for the camera as the shutter clicks.

“Come back after lunch and I’ll have your badge and staff parking permit ready,” my new boss tells me.

“Perfect. It’ll be about an hour. My dad is in town helping me settle in.”

“Did you find somewhere to live?” They ask.

“Not yet. I’m staying at the motor lodge until I find a place.”

“That’ll add up quick. Make sure to have them give you the negotiated ski guest discount. And here’s a list of townies willing to rent rooms.” My boss slaps a paper on the counter. “You’re lucky to be here preseason and have the pick of them.”

“Thanks!”

“No problem. I’ll see you in a bit.”

The sun is still shining and the turned leaves are starting to fall. I temper the nervous skip in my step leaving the administrative office. My father is waiting to meet me in the parking lot. I’m excited and petrified about managing my own first aid station.

“I saw a hole-in-the-wall sandwich shop on the way. Want to check it out?” he asks, tugging me into a hug. Dad keeps telling how proud he is. But each time we talk about the extra distance we wind up getting misty.

“I’m up for anything.” I don’t want my dad worrying about me. I’m concerned enough about him.

Seated at the diner, we order deli grinders with fries. Recognizing that after our meal, my dad will be gone and I’ll be on my own someplace I’ve never been, has me picking at my food. I fake smiles and try to laugh when dad makes a joke. Inside I’m dying and second-guessing if I’m doing what’s right for me without thinking of his needs.

My phone dings and my smile turns to a lip-biting frown. Dad notices right away, inquiring what’s wrong.

“Capote.” I hold up the image for my dad to see.

He raises a brow, surprised as I am at who is holding the cat.

Cadence stayed true to her word and sends me pictures. I hear from Dash all the time too. We’ve texted about how much fun he’s had exploring a new country. He mentions the places he wants to go after a stint in Colorado this upcoming season.

The second I told Dash I was taking the job in Vermont, his face came up on my screen to congratulate me in person. Well, sort of anyway. We video chatted for an hour about everything and nothing the way we used to last season on our night apart.

It was like he was in the room until Dash said, “I miss you, Kat.” Then I couldn’t get off the phone fast enough.

My version of missing Dash is realizing how much I love him for everything he did for me. I can’t tie him down with the knowledge that he’s behind every chance I take nowadays. I don’t want him to think some silly woman is pining for him. Although, I’ve spent sleepless nights with Dash on my mind and tears on my pillow.

Dad lifts his fork at the picture of Dash snuggling Capote. “Did you know he was back in the States?”

“No,” I whisper. I did have a rough idea that he could be in Texas based on what Dash said he does before the first snowfall in the Northern Hemisphere. “I’m glad he’s having a good visit with his family.” It’s the truth, even if having Dash so close and yet so far away churns my gut.

Dad nods, changing the subject to my recent midterm grade. He toasts my success with his coffee. I clink a cup of hot chocolate to his. I’ve been taking classes ad-hoc since the summer. One at a time. It seemed like digging my feet in to not finish my degree was only hurting me and maybe it was time to grow up. I’ll likely never go to medical school, but nobody can take a diploma from me once I’ve earned it.

The waitress boxes my sandwich for later and tops off Dad’s coffee while he eats apple pie à la mode. Part of me wants to buckle myself into his car and let him take me back to Massachusetts with him. I don’t remember this pull in opposite directions when my parents dropped me off for my freshman year.

To stop them from wringing, my dad reaches across the table and takes my hand in his. It’s comforting like the way he used to help me cross Boylston Street when I was a little girl.

“Do you know what I loved the most about your mother?” he asks.

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