Snow Baby. Brenda Novak
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gather the accident was my sister’s fault,” Stacy said, studying him.
Dillon rubbed his neck. “Not really. It was the storm more than anything. Where should I put my stuff?”
“You can room with Bill and Tony, if that’s okay. There’re four bunks in the back.”
“Fine.” Dillon let Stacy lead him down the hall. The high-pitched whir of a blow-dryer came from behind one of the doors they passed, tempting him to barge in and try to explain his relationship with Stacy to Chantel. But he told himself there’d be a better time and kept moving until they came to a small square room with two sets of bunk beds pushed against the walls. Cheap comic-strip curtains hung over one window, and a few well-worn rugs covered the wooden floor—standard furnishings for a rental cabin.
“How come you never mentioned having a sister?” he asked Stacy as he dropped his duffel on a wrinkle-free bed.
“Because, for a long time, I didn’t,” she replied.
WAS SHE IMAGINING IT or had Dillon’s eyes really lit up the moment he saw Chantel? Stacy stood in the hall outside Dillon’s room, chewing her upper lip. He was just surprised, she told herself. Not every man she met was going to throw her over for her sister. Still, she couldn’t shake the feeling of foreboding that had shot through her veins when she’d introduced the two of them a few minutes ago.
Maybe she shouldn’t have invited Chantel to join her this weekend. She simply wasn’t up to living in her sister’s shadow again.
Closing her eyes, Stacy took a deep breath, remembering Chantel’s apology when she’d returned to California. The way she’d offered it, humbly and without hope, had melted Stacy’s heart, reminding her how much Chantel had meant to her while they were growing up. Life was okay back then, better than okay, until one incredible year—when the tall gangly Chantel had suddenly become a stunningly beautiful woman.
Then things began to change. Stacy and her sister couldn’t go to the mall anymore without boys falling all over themselves in their eagerness to get close to Chantel. They couldn’t go dancing together without Stacy playing the wallflower while Chantel was swept onto the floor by one boy after another.
And now Chantel was back, and Stacy feared she’d find herself right where she used to be, playing second fiddle to the golden girl of the family. Life was almost easier when she and Chantel weren’t speaking. If not for seeing Chantel’s face plastered on the front of countless magazines, Stacy could almost convince herself that she didn’t have a sister. And after what Chantel had done, she felt perfectly justified in doing so.
And yet…sometimes Stacy longed for the old days. The Christmas Eves they’d whispered together in one big bed, too excited to sleep. The Halloweens they’d poured all their candy into one common pot. The summers they’d spent together—the trees they’d climbed, the lemonade stands they’d run, the games they’d played.
They’d lost so much since then. Where had it gone?
Pushing away from the wall, Stacy crossed to her sister’s door. The blow-dryer was quiet now, but she could hear Chantel moving around the room. She knocked softly. “It’s me.”
At her sister’s invitation, Stacy slipped inside and sank onto the bed. “So what do you think?” she asked.
Chantel stood in front of the dresser, brushing her hair. “About Dillon?”
“No, about the price of eggs in China. Of course about Dillon.”
Her sister smiled at her in the mirror. “He seems pretty special. I think you’ve chosen a great guy this time.”
Stacy waited, sensing something more in her sister’s voice, but Chantel didn’t elaborate. “Are you going to tell me what happened last night? About the accident?”
“Oh, that.” Chantel set the brush down and turned to face her. “Unfortunately I rear-ended him. It was so snowy and slick, I just couldn’t stop in time.”
“And then?”
Chantel cleared her throat. “And then I gave him my insurance information.”
“But you said you got stuck.”
“That was after the accident.”
“What happened to Dillon?”
“I don’t know.”
Chantel had spoken so quietly, Stacy could barely hear her. “What?”
“I said I don’t know. Maybe the Highway Patrol closed the freeway. I’ve heard they do that sometimes.
“Yeah, they do.” Stacy toyed with the fringe on one of the throw pillows that decorated the bed. “So, do you want to go skiing with us today?”
“Actually I think I’ll stay here and read, or just take it easy. Last night was pretty traumatic.”
“Okay.” Stacy tossed the pillow aside and stood to go, feeling instantly relieved—and hating herself for it.
CHANTEL COULDN’T STOP shaking. Long after Dillon and Stacy had left, she sat in the living room, staring out the window at the crumpled fender of her car and wondering how much more could go wrong before something finally went right. She’d almost died last night. If not for Dillon, she would have fallen asleep and never awoken. But he’d come for her, risked his own life to save hers, and his sacrifice and all they’d shared afterward had forged a bond so quick and sure Chantel wasn’t sure how to sever it. She only knew that she had to. For Stacy.
How ironic that it would come to this, she thought. Or maybe it was simply justice.
The telephone rang, and Chantel glanced at the Formica counter where it sat on top of a narrow phone book. She had no desire to talk to anyone. She had even less energy. But the ringing wouldn’t stop.
After several minutes she climbed to her feet and walked slowly across the room to answer it. “Hello?”
“Chantel?”
It was Dillon. Chantel’s breath caught at the sound of his voice, and the memories of last night crowded closer. Memories of a rough jaw against her temple, words of passion in her ear. “I thought you were skiing.”
“I’m in the lodge. I wanted to talk to you.”
“Where’s Stacy?”
“She took the lift up with the others.”
There was an awkward pause.
“Listen, Chantel, I just want to say that I was sincere last night, that it was real. I didn’t mention Stacy because she and I have only dated a few times. And nothing’s ever happened. I mean, we haven’t had sex or anything, in case you’re worried about that.”
Part of Chantel was relieved to think he hadn’t slept with Stacy. A bigger part of her cringed to imagine what her sister would do if she found out about the two of them. “She cares about you, Dillon.”
“I care about her, too. We’ve been friends for almost two years.”
“So you wouldn’t want to hurt her.”
“Of course not.”
Chantel took a deep breath. “Then you understand why this—whatever it is that sprang up between us—can’t go on.”
Silence. Then, “I’m not sure I understand at all.”
“Stacy’s my sister, Dillon.”
“A fact I’m not likely to forget and one I wasn’t very happy to discover. But I’m not sure I’m willing to give up a relationship that could work for one that wasn’t going anywhere to begin with.”
Chantel blinked against the tears welling in her eyes. She thought they’d shared something special; it was gratifying that Dillon felt the same way. But it made