Dancing in the Dark

“Is that why you want to go through an experimental operation that’s risky as hell? So you can do something you hate?”

“So I can compete. There’s a difference, Seth. Don’t twist my words!”

“If the only reason you want to ski is to chase after medals, you might as well give up before you start.”

“And what’s that supposed to mean, Dr. Freud?”

“When we met, you didn’t only ski to compete. You skied because you loved it, because it was part of you.”

“Past tense. Was part of me.”

“It still is, even if you’re determined to deny it.”

Wendy glared at him. How could he know what she felt? Her doctors had thought they did, too. One of her therapists had even brought a man who ran a program for handicapped skiers to meet her. Handicapped skiers? The phrase, she’d told him coldly, was an oxymoron.

“Perhaps you haven’t noticed,” the man answered calmly, “but I’m an amputee.”

Wendy had barely glanced at the empty sleeve that hung from his jacket.

“What I noticed,” she’d replied with brutal candor, “is that you’re a cripple, the same as me.”

She’d instructed the therapist to work with her body and forget about playing games with her head. After that, no one had tried to talk to her about skiing.

Seth knew even less about how she felt than the therapist. He was convinced she’d devoted her life to winning and that she thought less of herself now that she couldn’t compete.

But that wasn’t all of it. What would he say once he knew the truth?

Wendy turned her face toward the side window and stared blindly at the forest flashing by. What a mistake she’d made, letting herself fall in love with Seth all over again. She hadn’t intended for it to happen, but when he’d kissed her outside the Purple Panda, he’d made her remember what love could be like. She’d wanted to taste it again, if only for a little while.

What she’d told him about there being two Wendys was true. One had competed for medals; one had planned a future as a wife and mother. Neither had survived the accident. Now Dr. Pommier’s new technique offered hope that she might bring one of them to life again.

She had to take the chance or die trying.

Tears blinded her. She looked away from the trees and out the windshield...

And saw Jiminy Peak straight ahead, rising from the trees.

For a moment, she felt nothing. It was only a mountain and not a terribly high one at that. Jiminy was nothing but a steep hill compared with some of the places she’d skied in the West and in Europe, but it was where she’d learned to fly down a mountainside, feeling as if she could take wing and soar.

Something seemed to tear free deep inside her. Seth was right. She belonged in a place like this, where mountain peaks pierced the sky, where the snow was deep and all you heard was the sound of the wind and the whoosh of your skis.

Seth pulled into a parking space and shut off the engine. She felt his eyes on her, but she was riveted to the sight of the slopes and lifts ahead, and to a time when she’d felt truly alive.

He got out of the truck and came around to her side. He opened her door and looked at her, his face pale beneath its year-round tan. Tension narrowed his eyes.

He didn’t speak. He didn’t have to. She knew that the next move had to be hers. Slowly, she stepped from the truck. Tears welled in her eyes. She bowed her head and tried to blink them away before Seth noticed, but she wasn’t quick enough.

“Oh, sweetheart.” His voice was rough with misery. “Baby, I’m sorry. I was wrong. I should never have—”

Wendy lifted her head. He could hardly believe what he saw. Yes, tears were streaming down her cheeks, but her eyes were glowing. Her smile was radiant.

“Wendy?”

She laughed. Or maybe she cried. All that mattered was that she flung her arms around his neck and kissed him, and he was sure that his Wendy had come home.

* * *

LARRY COHEN WAS a great guy. He had a nice sense of humor and an easy way with the kids, who gathered around him on their skis, some of them so wrapped in parkas and pants that Wendy figured they’d never be able to get up if—when—they fell.

But they did get up, and laughed, and tried all the harder. At first, there were six kids and Larry. By noon, there were a dozen tyro skiers having fun with Seth and Larry.

Wendy stood around and watched. Then she offered a little help. By the time Seth suggested she put on skis and really get into things, she didn’t even hesitate. How else could she encourage the kids to try to do a snowplow, or sometimes just try and stand up?

How else could she really remember how much she loved this sport?

And when Ski Wee classes ended, what could she do but ride the lift with Seth, stand at the top of the Left Bank run, flash him a thumbs-up when he grinned at her, and then fly down the mountain?

In late afternoon, Seth said he was exhausted. Wendy doubted it. He looked wonderful, his cheeks ruddy from the cold, his eyes bright, his smile stretching across his face. She knew the truth—that he was concerned about her. Her leg did ache, yes, but it was a wonderful ache, the kind she hadn’t had and couldn’t get from therapy workouts, no matter how strenuous. She felt alive in a way she’d all but forgotten. Last night, making love with Seth; today, skiing with him...

Could life actually be like this? So filled with joy that you felt as if you might burst?

“Me, too,” she said. “Let’s call it a day.”

She sat as close to Seth as the bucket seats would permit all during the ride back to Cooper’s Corner. When he started to apologize for taking her to Jiminy without asking, she stopped him.

“You’re right,” she said. “You did a terrible thing...but I’m happy you did. I guess I’d blanked out how it feels to ski and how much I love it.” She lifted his hand from the wheel and pressed it to her cheek. “Thank you.”

“We can try a tougher trail next time, if you like.”

“If I like?” She grinned at him. “Is tomorrow too soon?”

Seth smiled back at her. It was wonderful, seeing her like this.

“You’re happy,” he said softly, “aren’t you?”

She nodded. “Yes. Very.” She took a deep breath. “Seth? I’ve been a coward.”

“No, babe, you haven’t. I understand why you didn’t want to ski. Anybody would have felt—”

“I’m not talking about skiing. I’m talking about...about how I turned away from you. How I sent you away when you came to Norway to be with me after the accident.”

“You don’t have to explain it to me, sweetheart.”

“Yes. Yes, I do. You’re entitled to know the reasons.”

“I already do.” Seth wound his fingers through hers and placed their linked hands on the gearshift. “The accident devastated you. If I hadn’t been so self-centered, I’d have figured that out right away.”

“It did, but that isn’t—”

“Babe.” They’d reached the town. Seth pulled into the driveway at Twin Oaks and parked next to the car Wendy had left there the night before. He shut off the engine and turned to her. “You want to talk about things? Fine. But let me go first, okay? I have something to tell you.”

Wendy smiled. “Not another surprise?”

“Yeah. Another surprise.” Seth cleared his throat. He took her other hand and held both tightly. “Why did you come back to Cooper’s Corner?”

“What do you mean?”

“What did you come back for, Wendy? What do you want that I—hell, let’s be blunt—that I tried to convince you not to want?”

“The operation?”

“Yes, sweetheart. The operation. Specifically, a chance to meet Rod Pommier and convince him to accept you as a patien

t.”

Wendy sighed. “I’m close to giving up hope. My father thought he’d be able to get me a few minutes of Dr. Pommier’s time, but—”

“I can do it for you.”

She stared at him. It wasn’t a joke; Seth’s expression was completely serious.

“You? I don’t understand. How could you connect me with Dr. Pommier?”

Seth hesitated. His news was going to make her happy. He just wished it was doing the same thing for him.

“I know him,” he said, after a minute.

“You know...” Wendy looked puzzled. “You mean, you’ve seen him on the slopes?”

“I mean we’re friends. Well, more or less. We’re not pals or—”

“What are you talking about?”