Closing Day

by Anna Rudolph 

Maddy’s Subaru Outback chugged up the mountain road, her car visor shielding her eyes from the afternoon sun pouring through the dusty windshield. She had left her closing shift at the Twisted Halo Cafe ten minutes early to race up the winding road and get a few runs in on closing day. Her boots and skis shifted in the back as she swung around a curve.

The familiar sight of the red, barn-style hotel greeted her, its silver silo gleaming as she pulled into the Lincoln base at Sugarbush. The lot was alive with tailgaters. Every fashion of folding chair sat out on the asphalt. Grills sizzled and barbeque assortments were laid out in truck bed buffets. Panting dogs shaded themselves in car shadows.

Maddy loved this time of year. It was like a big party. Skiers and riders shed their Gore-Tex and long johns after the bitter months of cold and celebrated the last of winter’s gifts making mushy, bumpy turns under the May sun.

She rounded a corner at the front of the lot, on the lookout for a gap between après festivities. She couldn’t believe her luck when she spotted a break in the line of trunks and tailgates at the far end of the row. As her car rolled forward towards the spot, Maddy was unable to keep from smiling at the people she passed outfitted in bathing suits, pool floaties, cowboy hats, jumpsuits, and every color of floral shirts.

But her joy vanished when she looked forward again to find a faded green truck that appeared to be held together by will power and ‘Ski the East’ stickers whipping into the spot. Her spot.

Maddy rolled down her window and stared as a man unloaded from the truck. He looked to be about in his mid-twenties, like her. He wore a loose, short sleeve button down and a pair of colorful, almost too-short shorts that revealed corded quad muscles bulging from a full season on skis. His mustache twitched in a smirk as he took in her face, which was pinched in anger, and he had the audacity to lower his head, look over his sunglasses, and wink at her.

“Tough luck, Mass,” he said, nodding towards her Massachusetts license plate. Asshole. She had moved to the Mad River Valley half a decade ago, but still had her car registered in her home state of Massachusetts. It had bitten her in the ass on more than one occasion; her plates and her lead foot made her an easy target for state troopers.

“That was my spot,” Maddy argued. He made a show of looking for signage.
“I didn’t see your name on anything.” Then he strode over to the back of his truck, tucking his hand beneath the tailgate handle and letting it fall open. The ​​nonchalance with which he began unloading his gear ground on Maddy’s every nerve. She made an effort to feign innocence as she leaned out the window, twirling the end of one of her long, blonde braids.

“Surely a strong, capable man like yourself could find another parking spot,” she drawled.

When he turned over his shoulder to look at her she made sure to bat her eyes like the deal-sealers she knew they could be.

“That pretty smile’s not going to do you any favors, Mass.”

Her charm fell at once, irritation swarming like angry bees to take its place. “Seriously?”

He beeped his truck lock in emphasis and sat down on the tailgate to pull on his ski boots.

“Plenty of room in the F lot,” he offered, not bothering to look up at her. The F lot. The dirt overflow lot that was practically in another zip code. She had an F-word for him.

Cursing, Maddy sped off. She could have sworn she heard him laugh as she rolled up the window.

She circled around and found a spot in the back of one of the lower lots. Too impatient to wait for a shuttle to come pick her up and still fuming from booty-shorts-boy, she trudged furiously through the parking lot to the mountain, hauling her skis over a shoulder. Taking the walk in her ski boots had her instantly warming, sweat trailing down between the triangle panels of the purple bikini she wore at a top. Her matching purple tutu almost seemed to mock her as it bounced with each grumpy step.

At last she arrived at the corral for Valley House, popping into her skis and blowing out a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. Peeling off the strands of blonde hair stuck to her face, she recentered herself, ready to revel in the hour of skiing she had left before the season ended.

“Single?” The liftie asked and ushered her to come forward. She slid over the sun-warmed snow to wait for the lift.

“And single.”

Snow sprayed her calves as short shorts himself came flying in. Where the hell did he come from?

“Hey, Mass, you made it,” he said, flashing a grin as the lift scooped them off their skis. He was panting a bit, and it was an effort not to look at the way his broad chest rose and fell under his thin shirt, sweat causing it to stick to his torso. He’d already taken at least two runs in the time it took her to park and walk her ass over.

“No thanks to you,” she spat back.

“I’ll make it up to you. How about I show you around this next run?” The insinuation that she needed any help getting around this place made Maddy snarl.

“There’s only two runs open. I think I’ll manage,” she fired back.

“Okay,” he said dubiously, leaning back against the chair. “Call me if you get lost.”

Get lost. That’s what she’d like to say to him. But they were trapped together for this lift ride, at the mercy of the cable that seemed to go even slower to spite her.

“I’ve lived here and skied here for five years,” Maddy said instead.

“Yeah? How come I never see you around then?” he asked.

“You probably just don’t recognize me without all my winter gear on,” she retorted.

Indeed it had been brutally cold all season. The only possible identifying piece of Maddy visible from under all her layers would have been the two blonde strands she wore pulled out from beneath her helmet and buff. But in the current spring conditions, Maddy was pleasantly surprised that drawing his attention to her purple bikini top seemed to shut him up.

Neither of them spoke as the cable hauled them from pole to pole above the melted out trail of scattered boulders and yellow grass keeled over from winter’s weight. The silence only made it that much louder when the lift came to a squealing halt.

You have got to be kidding me. Of all the people to be stuck with. Even the way he took off his helmet to run fingers through his fluffy brown hair was pissing her off. Or was it that she liked looking at it that angered her?

It was him who finally broke the silence.

“You seriously ski here often? I feel like I would have remembered you.” Blush bloomed on Maddy’s cheeks and she tried not to think about how that comment made her feel warm even as a cool breeze blew off the snow.

Instead she shrugged casually.

“I work mornings at Twisted Halo, so I’m usually only here weekday afternoons. I try to avoid weekends. Too crowded.”

“Those damn out-of-staters,” he jabbed, grinning. She only rolled her eyes. “I try to get in runs early when the snow is fresh, but I’ve been so worn out that mornings are getting tougher and tougher.” He paused, then added devilishly, “you wouldn’t happen to know anywhere I could get a good cup of coffee?”

Her heart fluttered.

“There’s this place in downtown Waitsfield. But you probably wouldn’t like the barista. Bit of a Masshole,” she said.

He laughed. “I bet she’s all bark and no bite.” She bristled, ready to bark back a defensive remark that would only prove his point when he added, “and besides that town could use some excitement.” Her interest piqued.

“Are you from Waitsfield?”

“Born and raised, lived there my whole life,” he answered.

“And parades and star making parties just aren’t doing it for you?”

“Don’t get me wrong, I love a good parade. But, you hang around long enough you can get a little stir crazy.”

“Would you ever go somewhere new?”

“I’ve thought about it, thought maybe I would eventually. For at least a few years, just to try it. But,” he paused like he was considering something. “We lost my mom last year. And my dad’s been taking it pretty hard. My sister and her husband live over in Charlotte, so they’re close but he really needs someone here with him. I see him almost every day. I’m glad I can be there for him, but it makes it hard to get out as much as I’d like to.”

His words hung in the air as still and heavy as the lift they were stalled on. Moving to Waitsfield opened up Maddy’s world, gave her permission to explore, room to breathe. She couldn’t imagine having to sacrifice that freedom, let alone to do so out of necessity and grief. Couldn’t imagine losing her own mother. She didn’t know what to say. “I’m sorry” didn’t even begin to feel like enough. She tried something else.

“The spot’s all yours,” she said.

“What?”

“The parking spot, it’s yours. In fact, I bet if you went down to customer service and flashed some of those muscles, they’d put up a sign for you: ‘reserved for rusty green truck.’ And then even on days when you don’t have a lot of time you can know that there’s a spot waiting for you at the front of the lot.”

“Thank you,” he said. “That’s very thoughtful.” Maddy’s heart squeezed at his sincerity. 

He cleared his throat.

“So what was it that brought you to Vermont?” he asked and Maddy took his cue to change the subject.

“Mostly this,” Maddy said, flexing her ski through the air. “Mountains. Snow. Tiny little houses that sell waffles.”

He laughed, and the sound was so wholesome it made her skin pimple with the sudden warmth that flooded her.

“It’s not too slow for you?” He said with surprising earnestness. “The pace of life?”

Maddy had noticed a difference since moving here. There was so much beauty and loveliness it seemed as though the people here couldn’t help but make a practice of savoring it. The first crocuses of spring, the call of the loon on a night by a lake, a dirt road drive through cow pastures and tree canopies, the way water braided through the stones of a rocky river. Life here was a maple-sweet elixir meant to be drunk in slowly.

Maddy winced thinking back to her earlier agitation, how quickly her feelings caught fire. She was many things, but even-keeled had never managed to be one of them.

“I still need to work on slowing down, you know? Not needing to rush everything,” she said.

He smiled up at the chair lift cable, frozen in time despite the sunny day.

“Seems like the universe has a way of knowing, doesn’t it?”

“I guess it does,” she said with a hint of amazement.

Maddy let her tutu-ed self slide ever so closer to the man at her side, and the two found themselves talking and talking as the sun sank lower towards the western sky. 

“I’m realizing I didn’t get your name,” he said after some time.

“It’s Maddy,” she said.

“Maddy,” he tried it out on his tongue. She liked the way it sounded.

“And you?” she asked.

“Duncan,” he replied.

“Like the doughnuts! That’s the most Massachusetts thing I’ve ever heard.” She laughed and the chairlift bounced with her joy. No, that wasn’t just her laughter, but the bobbing sensation of their chair being pulled forward. They were moving again. Chairs ahead and behind them cheered in celebration, and as she took in Duncan’s beaming face, Maddy wondered what it might be like to kiss his sun-warmed lips, to feel the playful tickle of his mustache against her skin. But she had a feeling whatever was happening between her and Duncan was one of those splendors it was best to take your time with. 

Pushing off their chair, the two unloaded onto the slushy spring snow. Like twin raindrops sliding down a window, they skied in parallel, each drawing their own line through the field of sun-softened moguls.

At the bottom of the run, Maddy carved into a stop beside Duncan and grinned through heaving, exhilarated breaths. She wanted to do it all again—with him—over and over. She wanted to ski lap after lap with him and never stop. 

But as she turned towards the lift, a string was pulled across it. Closed. For the season. Something in her deflated.

“Oh,” Maddy said, heart sinking. “I thought we’d have more time.” She rocked back and forth in her skis, unable to bring herself to pop out of her bindings and admit the season was over. Her day with Duncan was over.

“More time?” Duncan said, incredulously. “Mass, we’ve got all the time in the world. There’s a whole summer ahead of us.” He tapped her pole with his own. “You hike?”

Maddy’s answering grin was brighter than May sun on snow.

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About the Author

Anna Rudolph is a Vermont-based fantasy/romance author whose work explores the magic of nature and human connection. When she’s not lost in her stories, she can be found outside enjoying every season with her amazing and supportive partner and their silly dog.