Page 73 of The Mountain
“It’s okay,” I tell him, forcing a smile, trying to make my tone as light as possible. “I don’t think it’s worth it.”
Grandpa harrumphs in disagreement, then asks: “And what’s this about your manager feeling sorry for you?”
I huff out a laugh, soft and raw sounding. Of course he’d come back to that.Work. He’s always cared about work. And not in a workaholic money-obsessed sort of way, but in the way that some people carefully catalog everything about trains or frogs or video games.
I can still remember him giving me advice when I was eight about how to make a good first impression on my teachers. “Sit in the front row the first week of class. Pay attention. Raise your hand and listen to what’s being said. Dress nice and look like a good student. Because once they’ve decided you’re a good student, they won’t care as much if you mess up later in the year. You’ll be a good kid in their minds. They won’t see your faults—not that you have any, of course.”
For Grandpa, it’s always been about how to play the game, how to rise to the top. About mastering all those unspoken rules that most people don’t even realize exist. About recognizing the patterns that can make a business fail or succeed.
“She’s not my manager, exactly,” I clarify, with a dismissive wave of one hand. “She’s on the board, I think, but she’s also this famous snowboarder who’s like the mascot for the mountain.”
“Oh.” I can hear the curl of a smile in Grandpa’s voice, the creaking of leather as he leans forward in his chair. “Is that right?”
I tell him about Chris, and how he wouldn’t give me time off to recover from being drugged. I tell him about Stephanie, therough snowboarder turned smooth corporate boss, wearing her femininity like a hard-won badge of honor. My cheeks heat when I tell him about my instructor’s certification—that it’s a joke, a useless piece of paper, that I couldn’t teach anywhere but this mountain. That I really only got promoted to teaching private lessons because Stephanie wanted to make a point.
I tell him about Jackie, and how rewarding it’s been to teach her, to help her learn this sport that I love so much.
“It’s all just been luck,” I tell him with a hollow laugh. “If Stephanie hadn’t felt sorry for me, I’d still be teaching group lessons.”
Or I’d be fired.
“So you’re saying you got promoted above people who are better qualified than you?” he drawls, tone laced with amusement. “Out of luck?”
I narrow my eyes, lips tightening into a frown. “Yeah. Pretty much,” I say warily. Because Grandpa sounds very much like he used to when we were playing chess, and he was two moves away from callingcheckmate.
“And then your student—Jackie, you said her name was? She booked you for a whole week? That must be costing her quite a bit.”
My stomach tightens at that unwelcome reminder. A full day’s private lessons is about a thousand dollars a day. Yesterday, Jackie cut our lesson short after my embarrassing breakdown about the avalanche. When she dropped me off yesterday, she told me she didn’t want to meet until 11 a.m. this morning—to have Christmas with her daughter, she’d said. Her daughterhad rolled her eyes, snorting in inarticulate but unquestionable disapproval.
“It’s pretty expensive,” I tell him.
“She’s a partner at a law firm, right?”
“Yes…” My jaw ticks, my fingers tapping where they’re wrapped around my bare knees. This is starting to feel more like a cross-examination than a Christmas morning catch-up.
“So I’d imagine she has pretty good judgment when it comes to how much things are worth, and who she wants to work with.”
I huff out an annoyed breath, nostrils flaring. Because I suspect I know where he’s going with this.
“You know what I think?” Grandpa asks, sounding much too smug for my liking.
“What?” I grit out, since I know he’s going to tell me anyway.
“I think you deserved that promotion.”
I roll my eyes, lips quirking into a smile despite myself. “You’re just biased.”
“Oh, I’m definitely biased.” I can hear the smile in Grandpa’s voice, full of warmth. “And so was Stephanie when she promoted you. And so was Jackie when she picked you to be her instructor. That doesn’t mean you don’t deserve it.”
I wrinkle my nose, not quite understanding where he’s coming from. Not when there are others who have trained more than me, who are better qualified than me. Who are better snowboarders than me. I mean, I’m not about to step back and let any of them take my place—not when I’ve got bills to payand food to buy—but that doesn’t mean I’m not aware that they deserve it more than I do.
“When some company comes to me and wants a valuation for their chain of restaurants or their start-up, do you know what I look at? Besides the obvious, I mean? Besides income and expenses and assets and debts and all that sort of thing?”
I shake my head, a mumblednowhispering into the dark. Grandpa’s business has always seemed incredibly boring to me—pouring over documents and spreadsheets alone in his office, staring at endless statistics and reports.
“Everything. I look at everything, Lily. People call it ‘blue sky’ value, all those intangible things that make one business worth more than another. But sometimes—very often, actually—it’s all those little things that make the biggest difference. Even more than a business’s expense sheet.”
I scrub at my eyes, then cover my mouth to stifle a yawn, wondering briefly how someone his age can sound so animated when it’s one in the morning for him.
