I’m hiding in the bathroom for a chance to catch my breath, when a knock raps on the door. They’ve found me.
“Nate?” It’s Dad.
Sweet relief. I open the door and peek past him to check for spies.
“I’m going to take the boys into town for the lighting festival. You want to come?”
My gaze returns to my father. Despite his deep age lines from all thework in the sun and his thinning hair, he looks younger than I’ve ever seen him. It’s his smile. He’s found joy.
Once again I get to be happy for someone else. But maybe I should be happy for me too. Last year I’d attended the lighting festival with Joey. This year I’m not where I wanted to be, but I’m moving forward despite life’s setbacks. I have peace.
“Sure, Dad. We’re not taking the sleds though, are we? I need a break.”
Dad guffaws. “Youneed a break?”
“I packed the sleds,” Sarah calls from the living room.
I lower my eyebrows.
Dad wiggles his. “Better put on your snow pants.”
I shake my head but do as directed. Because even with all the sights I’ve seen over my year as a pilot and all the beautiful places I’ve visited, there’s nothing like a lighting festival in Leavenworth.
The small town, nestled in mountains that surely rival the Swiss Alps, is designed to resemble a Bavarian village. It’s glorious in every season, but once a foot of snow dumps on the hill next to the gazebo and every tree and building is outlined in twinkle lights, it becomes the most wondrous of winter wonderlands.
I plan to drive separately in case I need to make a quick getaway and also because I won’t fit in the same SUV as Dad’s new fam. The youngest of Sarah’s boys follows me to my truck, dragging his sled after him. Brady. He’s eight and redheaded, and he talks nonstop during the short ride into town and the long search for parking.
I finally nab a spot at a nearby grocery store, and we crunch through snow in our boots. I glance over at Brady’s missing teeth, betting I can guess what he wants for Christmas. I never imagined I’d have a brother so much younger. Then it strikes me that this is probably the same age difference between Claire and her older brothers.
I’m sure her Thanksgiving is going a lot differently than mine. If her nieces and nephews are her age, then there probably aren’t any snowball battles. Not that San Francisco has snow anyway.
Brady races ahead to the top of the little hill next to a polka band performing Christmas carols in the gazebo. He drops his plastic disc andturns to face me with a challenge twinkling in his eyes. “Do you think you can sled while standing up, Nathan?”
I really don’t want to end up in a walking boot like Claire’s. Or worse. But as I open my mouth to say so, another conversation plays through my mind. I’d told myself I wouldn’t have left Claire behind on a hiking trip if I were her brother. Well, now’s my chance to prove it.
I step up to the plate ... er, saucer. “Have you done this before?”
“All the time.” He hands me a rope he’s tied to one handle for the illusion of control.
I take the rope and plant one foot at a time on the plastic disc to test out my balance. I snowboard every year. I’ve done single-leg deadlifts. This should be a piece of pumpkin pie.
“Okay.” I jerk my legs a couple times, slipping closer to the precipice. “Watch out,” I call to children below.
The hill is teeming with them, but I appear to have an open lane.
“Go!” Brady shoves me from behind.
I’m thrown off-balance by the kid’s push, then by gravity’s pull. I tighten my core, press through the rubber soles of my boots, and bend my knees to ride the bumps. I’ve got this.
Wind stings my cheeks and ruffles my hair, but the chill is invigorating. My heart races to match the sled’s momentum. It’s almost as thrilling as my first solo flight. I pump a fist in the air with victory.
Unfortunately, the sidewalk rushes toward me faster than a landing strip. Passersby scatter to avoid the coming crash. While I’d stayed on my feet for the duration of the sled ride, there’s no way to stop this thing.
Plastic meets concrete, and I fly through the air. A slushy pile of snow on the side of the street catches me. At least I have my snow pants on. Could have been worse.
A gloved hand reaches down to help me up. It’s black with fur trim. The style seems familiar, but my brain is still scrambled from that landing. It’s not until I’m standing face-to-face with my ex’s matching fur earmuffs, vibrant blue eyes, and dimpled cheeks that her identity registers.
“Joey.” I glance side to side, but sadly, there are no escalators here for a quick escape.
