He turned off the engine and looked at me directly. "I won't make that mistake again, Jeffrey. You're not just more important than mountains. You're more important than anything."
We jumped out of the car and raced to the board, with Cody behind us. “It’s a Weather the Storm challenge,” I said. I looked up at the clear blue sky, dotted with only a few puffy clouds. “Doesn’t look like there’s bad weather coming.”
“There are two parts to the clue name,” Ray said. “There’s no storm, but there’s weather. Feel how much colder it is here than it was down by the Mediterranean?”
As if on cue, a chilly breeze swept through. The clue directed us to find our way to the top of the ski lift, some fifteen hundred meters above us. “This is going to be tough for a lot of teams,” Ray said. “This could take over two hours in the cold, after just being in the heat.”
We were instructed that we could leave the bulk of our luggage by the ski lodge but were to take with us anything we thought we’d need. Desiree and Cherisse pulled up right behind us. They read the clue as Ray began unloading stuff from his pack.
“Come on, Jeffrey, get a move on,” he said. “Drop everything we won’t need on the mountain.”
“What will we need?”
“You’ve done this before. Layers of clothing, bottles of water. Some of those trail bars for energy.”
I watched as Desiree and Cherisse pulled water bottles from their packs and left everything else. “The NBA wives are getting ahead of us,” I said.
“Then move faster. They’ll get in trouble without extra layers.”
The wives had already disappeared up the trail by the time we began following it through oak and pine trees. It was chilly but not too bad and I worried Ray had wasted too much time repacking our bags.
The trail veered sharply downward, cutting across an open expanse of snow dotted by the ruts of downhill skiers, with a chair lift high above us. From our vantage point, I saw the distant valley below, the powder stretching in glistening waves. It looked beautiful. It also looked exhausting. Desiree and Cherisse were already plowing across the ski slope, their boots falling into deeper and deeper snow.
Ray looked around and spotted a rack of snowshoes nearly hidden behind a stand of trees. “They’re not paying attention,” he said, hurrying over to the rack. He handed one pair to me and began putting his own on.
“Remember our trip to North Carolina,” he said. “You don’t want to fight the snow, just step lightly and let the shoes do the work. Wide stance, steady pace. Got it?”
I nodded, but the first few steps felt awkward, my feet suddenly oversized and clumsy. Ray moved ahead effortlessly, his rhythm smooth and practiced. He glanced back. “You’re lifting too much—keep the motion rolling forward.”
Fortunately, we’d done a lot of snowshoeing on our trip to North Carolina with Leo when the slopes weren’t good enough for skiing, so we weren’t complete beginners. I remembered how patient Ray had been with Leo, who kept catching the front of his snowshoes and face-planting in the powder.
“Remember teaching Leo how to do this?” I asked as we set off along the trail, our snowshoes crunching through the top layer of snow.
“God, yes,” Ray chuckled. “He must have fallen fifty times that first day.”
“And you never lost your patience, not once,” I said. “You just kept helping him up, showing him how to lift his feet a little higher, how to find his balance.”
“He was so determined,” Ray said, pride evident in his voice. “Just like both of us.”
The trail curved around a stand of evergreens, their branches heavy with snow. The sun was dazzling against the white landscape, making everything sparkle like it had been dusted with diamond powder. Despite my initial awkwardness, I was finding my rhythm, enjoying the distinctive waddle-walk that snowshoes required.
“We’re making good time,” Ray said, checking his watch. “The teams from the Madrid flight could still be back at the parasail challenge.”
“Let’s not get cocky,” I warned. “Remember Adrienne? She’s from Colorado. This is probably like walking to the mailbox for her.”
Just as the words left my mouth, my right snowshoe caught on something hidden beneath the snow—probably a fallen branch. I pitched forward, arms windmilling, and landed face-first in a deep drift.
For a moment, I lay there, the snow surprisingly comfortable against my flushed face. Then I heard Ray’s laughter, not unkind but genuinely amused.
“This is like trying to walk with flippers on a moving sidewalk,” I mumbled into the snow.
“Need a hand, babe?” Ray was already beside me, extending his gloved hand.
I rolled over and looked up at him, snowflakes clinging to my eyelashes. “Maybe I’ll just stay here. It’s actually quite nice.”
“And let Cherisse and Desiree overtake us? I don’t think so.” He grabbed my hand and pulled me upright with onesmooth motion, then brushed the snow from my jacket and hat. “Besides, your nose is turning a very alarming shade of red.”
“Very flattering,” I grumbled, but I was smiling. There was something comforting about the familiar weight of his hand on my back, steadying me as I found my footing again.
