Page 23 of A Bear Ski Instructor Christmas

She turned to Reba. “It’s not that easy waiting.”

“Trust me, I understand. But maybe he’ll come around with time. Maybe he’ll remember you.”

The way the woman said those words didn’t sound at all reassuring. Rachel’s brows creased. She touched her necklace absentmindedly. “And what if he doesn’t? What if I’m the only one who remembers everything we had?”

The thought had taken root in her mind over a week ago, but it still sent chills through her because, as much as she wanted to deny it, that was a possibility. She could spend the rest of her life burdened with the beautiful memories that Michael didn’t share. And Michael had nothing to lose because he didn’t evenrememberwhat they’d had together.

A deep sigh escaped Reba’s lips. “Well, I guess bringing you here wasn’t such a bad idea after all.”

“What do you mean?”

“The Museum of Lost Things is a place where memories are stored—memorabilia from various points in time.” She pointed. “That there is a Boeing 737 engine, discovered ten miles or so from this village a few years ago. And that painting over there? It dates way back to the early nineteenth century. This place isfilled with things from our world, reminders of where we came from.”

“Like a time capsule?” Rachel made a conscious effort to relax her eyebrows. “A time capsule, but for Earth. An Earth capsule.”

Reba frowned at the analogy but nodded slowly. “Something like that. Now and then, residents of Melinor come here to try to remember what life was like back there. It’s easy to forget many things once you’ve been here for a decade or two, trust me.”

Rachel didn’t want to imagine all the things the woman must have lost track of over the years. Friends, family, her job…it sounded so horrible. And if she remained on Frost Mountain long enough, Rachel was likely to experience the same fate. Soon, she’d become so used to Frost Mountain that memories of her old life on Earth would lose their relevance. Memories of her dreams, of Sam…

She brushed the thought aside before it could sink deeper into her mind.

“So coming here helps people remember Earth,” she muttered.

“Not always.”

“Huh?”

“That’s the point I’m driving at. Sometimes, it doesn’t matter how much memorabilia there is. People don’t always remember what life used to be like for them. Sometimes, those memories are lost forever because the people have been here for so long that the symbols of their past mean nothing to them anymore.”

Rachel let out a shuddering breath. “So what you’re saying is…”

“That there’s a chance that Michael will never get those memories of you back.” A sad look flashed in Reba’s eyes. “And as much as you love that man, you’re going to have to accept reality at some point.”

***

Rachel soon grew bored with the museum. In her defense, it was hard not to lose interest after everything Reba had told her. She and the older woman left the building, Rachel half-wondering if she might return some other time to grab a book or something else to kill time. They walked in silence through the streets, which thrummed with more energy than usual today.

“What’s going on?” Rachel asked, gesturing toward the excited-looking villagers they passed.

“Christmas is,” replied Reba. A moment passed between them before she added, “Well, Santa Claus, to be more specific.”

“Huh? Run that by me again?”

A smile tugged at the corners of the woman’s lips. “It’s Michael. He dresses up as Santa around this time of every year and walks around the village right before he teaches the villagers to ski. This is his third year now. I have to say, it’s been…amazing, having him around here.”

Rachel was barely listening to her. A memory had just struck her, one of Michael in a complete Saint Nick’s suit, grinning at her as he eased himself into his skis.

“You look like a total clown; you know that, right?” she’d asked him, resisting the urge to giggle at him.

“I’ll take that as a compliment. Have you ever seen a jolly Santa on skis before? This is going to be awesome.”

He gazed past her at the snowy slope ahead of them. Lee Canyon was crawling with lots of skiers that day. Not many of them were skiing yet. Most stood watching in disbelief and amusement as Michael plodded over to the top of the slope. He smirked over his shoulder at her, his fake white beard twitching as he did, and she burst into laughter.

“Watch and learn, babe,” he called to her, straightening his hat. “Ho, ho, ho!”

And he was gone, hurtling down the hill in a blur of red and white.

That was the last she’d seen of him. It had all been a gimmick: Santa on Skis. She’d been laughing uncontrollably, but that day had ended in tears.

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