“Hey,” Jem said.“Can you tell me where to park?”
“Of course, sir,” the man said.“I’ll be happy to assist you.”
He reached for the door handle.
“We’ll just do the self-park,” Jem said.
“I’m afraid we only offer valet parking,” the man said with a fixed smile.“Complimentary, of course.”
“Uh huh,” Jem said as he buzzed the window back up.Before he undid the locks, he muttered, “Dinner’s going to cost a fucking fortune.”
Tean squeezed his hand, and then the valet was opening the door, and they got out of the car.
Inside, the same style continued: stonework, honeyed wood, warm light.The front desk must have been thirty feet long, dark wood that had been carved into intricate designs—probably, Tean guessed, by hand—and a chandelier made of antlers hung overhead.Men and women—mostly White, mostly middle-aged—milled in the lobby, and their voices echoed up into the high ceiling.
One of the uniformed staff was happy to point them toward The Fjall Club, which was the name of the restaurant Brigitte had chosen.It was located off the lobby, so Tean and Jem passed out of the din of echoing voices and into the muted murmur of quiet conversation.More stonework.More honey-colored wood.Across the room, Brigitte rose from her seat to offer a tentative smile and a wave.She was blond, thin, in a conservatively cut blue dress that accented her eyes.Jem ducked his head in acknowledgement, and she sank back into her seat.
“Okay,” Jem said, glancing at the bar.“A quick stop for courage?”
Tean rubbed his back.
“Fuck me,” Jem said under his breath and started across the room.
They passed the bar, where a large mirror sent their reflections pacing alongside them, and then a massive fieldstone fireplace.The tables were the same color wood that had been used everywhere else in the lodge, and the chairs had nailhead trim.On the far side of the room, a wall of French windows looked out on a snow-covered deck.Below the deck, a swimming pool was lit up and steaming gently.And beyond that, at the edge of the lighting, the lodge’s landscaping dissolved into snow and pine and, most importantly, the snow-covered slopes that brought people here from around the world.
As Tean crossed the room, he had time to consider the other people sitting with Brigitte.Next to her was a man who Tean thought must be fifteen or twenty years her senior.He was White, stoutly built, with hair that might have been ironed into place, and he was dressed in what Tean had come to think of as standard issue for Mormon men of a certain age and social position: a dark suit, a white shirt, a red tie.Two children sat at the far end of the table, a boy and a girl.No older than twelve, Tean guessed—definitely prepubescent, and the boy younger than the girl.Both blond.Both with small frames that, he suspected, made them appear even younger.Both in need of braces.Both with hints of Brigitte’s eyes in their features.Jem’s eyes.From what Tean had gathered, they weren’t Gerald’s biological children.
“Jeremiah,” Brigitte said, standing again as they approached.“This is Gerald.Gerald, this is Jeremiah.”
No explanation.No declaration.Nomy son.
Jem didn’t miss things like that, but his face stayed set in the easygoing smile Tean knew was one of many masks Jem wore at will.As Gerald got to his feet—more slowly than Tean had expected, and gripping the edge of the table to support himself—Brigitte stepped forward in what might have been intended as a hug, only to transform, in the last, fluttering moment of uncertainty, into her patting Jem on the shoulder and squeezing his arm.Then Gerald was up, holding out a hand, and Jem shook.
“This is Tean,” Jem said.
Brigitte settled for shaking his hand, thank goodness, and Gerald did as well.
“Sit down,” Gerald said, “sit down.”
They sat.
“Do you want something to drink?”Brigitte said.
“We don’t drink,” Gerald told them.His tie was crooked now from the whole business of standing up and sitting down again, but he hadn’t noticed.“That’s one of our beliefs.I can’t control what you do on your own time, but I expect you to respect our beliefs when we’re together.”
In a surprisingly friendly voice, Jem picked up the menu and said, “Diet Coke all right?I know that can be a hot topic.”
Or maybe not so surprisingly, Tean decided after that first moment.Because it was the same voice Jem used when he wanted something and he was determined to get it.
“Diet Coke is fine,” Brigitte said with a breathless laugh.“Gerald loves Diet Coke.”
“Not this late,” Gerald said.“It’ll keep me up.I don’t know why people get so worked up about it.The Word of Wisdom is clear: no alcohol, no coffee, no tea, no tobacco.Diet Coke doesn’t come into it.”
“I was reading about the decision at BYU to offer caffeinated soft drinks,” Tean said.“I know it seems silly for people to get so worked up about it, but apparently there’s been a lot of pushback from students.”
“I don’t like that,” Gerald said.“They should do what they’re told.Obedience is the first law of heaven.I believe in the blue cup principle.Are you familiar with the blue cup principle?”
Jem’s menu drooped in his hand, and his gaze was fixed on Gerald.Tean only registered this distantly, though, because the world had shrunk around him, gotten darker.The murmur of a dozen different conversations was getting louder and louder.
