Page 6 of Please Send Snow
Knowing that my dad had done something so special for them made my heart ache with pride, and even more with missing him.
And his investment had paid off, I always thought the little figures made in the Poconos were the nicest. And the community loved them. Little displays of Foster’s Figurines could be found for sale at just about every hotel and gas station on this side of the mountain.
“I’m sorry, Miss Foster,” Michael says when he sees the tears in my eyes.
“Please don’t be,” I tell him. “That story is the best Christmas present ever.”
He smiles at me, his blue eyes crinkling.
“I’ll call around in the morning and see about finding you work at another hotel,” he tells me. “I’ve got a few friends around here who might know of something.”
“That would be wonderful,” I say, feeling a sense of relief that I might have a little help in my job search.
“Bronson isn’t polite,” Michael says, frowning. “But he’s correct that the new owner of this place is coming tomorrow, and you probably shouldn’t be here when the old man arrives.”
“I won’t,” I promise him. “Thank you again, for everything.”
“Sleep well, Miss Foster,” he says as he slips out.
I lower myself to the edge of the cot and sit for a moment, just breathing. The fresh memory of my dad is a welcome one, something I’m sure I’ll treasure and think of often as I find my footing.
Pull yourself up by your bootstraps, Maddie,I can hear him say.If a fool like me could do it, anyone can.
And boy, had he.
I honestly didn’t even know we were rich until my mom died. I just knew that my dad worked hard and considered himself really lucky to earn a living making art.
Up until then, we still lived in the same small brick house my parents had moved to when they got married. Our only real indulgences were home-cooked meals and road trips, and of course our Christmases here on Angel Mountain, in the lodge where Mom and Dad spent their honeymoon.
But after we lost her, women came out of the woodwork to “express their condolences” to my dad. The estate attorney warned me that there would be women after him for his money, and she hadn’t been wrong.
But Dad paid no attention to those women. We kept on with our old traditions as best we could, just the two of us.
Until Delilah showed up. And he couldn’t resist her—not when she found his weak spot.
I frown and launch myself off the cot, shaking off the old memories and digging through my backpack to find my bathroom stuff. I brush my teeth at the utility sink and do my best to focus on the positive things.
I made it here and Michael remembers me.
I have a new and beautiful memory of my dad.
Once I get a job, I’ll be able to finish my book.
I never wanted to follow exactly in my father’s footsteps. But I always wanted to do something creative. He didn’t blink when I told him I wanted to be a creative writing major in college—he just told me he couldn’t wait to read my first book. Neither of us ever imagined that he wouldn’t be around long enough to get that chance.
But that doesn’t mean I’m giving up. The manuscript I’ve been working on since the beginning of senior year has kept me sane through the sudden tragedy of losing him, and also during the spin-out of my entire life when Delilah did what she did.
Of course if I’m honest with myself, I’ve mostly just been re-reading past chapters lately, instead of actually writing anything new.
I’m here now, though. And this place always sparked my imagination. Up among the snowy trees of Angel Mountain, you could almost believe in real magic.
I do my best to ignore the fact that the whole place is muddy and brown right now instead of cheerful and snowy—like my dad took all the magic in the world with him when he went.
I’ll just have to bring it back,I tell myself.
I pull an old family photo out of my bag and use a dab of toothpaste to affix it to the wall over my cot, then step back to look at it.
In it, my dad is holding me on his lap in the horse-drawn carriage and we’re both smiling fondly at my mom, who is laughing with her eyes closed and her head tossed back.
