Curtis sighs. “Who’s up for trekking up to that lift shack?”

—

I suck in the thin, cold air of the glacier. The Alps spread out below me like spiky white teeth. To the east: Italy. A hundred kilometers north: Mont Blanc. I feel like I’m standing on top of the world.

God, I missed this. The brilliant whiteness. The familiar weight of my snowboard tucked under my arm, the way other women carry handbags.

“Won’t be long,” Dale tells Heather.

She nods and adjusts her scarf.

Dale was going to stay down here with her but she must have seen the longing on his face—or more likely she was happy to get rid of him.

“Go,” she told him. “I’ll sit at the bottom and watch.”

I was amazed that she would offer but I’m not complaining, because all kitted up with his snowboard and goggles, Dale looks like Viking Dale again.

Brent, too, looks more like his old self. He nods at the half-melted jumps, smiling his dimpled grin. “You thinking what I’m thinking?”

“Definitely,” Dale says.

For a few minutes I’m going to pretend everything is just as it used to be and we’re all still friends.

Curtis is clearly dubious about Heather being left on her own, but he doesn’t argue. He’d rather have Dale with him, I imagine, than down here with Heather and possibly up to no good.

“Careful where you step,” Curtis says. “We’re sticking to the line of the lift. Single file.”

“Got it,” Dale says.

We trudge up the slope. The kiosk is all shut up, the deck-chair area swamped with snowdrifts. The little plastic button seats of the tow lift dangle from the cable, creaking as they swing in the breeze.

“Wish we could get the lift running,” Dale says. “Save us a walk.”

The powder is over our knees in places. I wade up behind Brent, more out of breath than I care to admit. Dale is just in front. He glances over his shoulder and I look back, too. Heather’s still there, perched on a snowdrift beside the main entrance.

Above, steep peaks loom. I suppress a shudder at the thought of all that snow sliding down on top of us. We all wear harnesses and avalanche transceivers. I gave my old transceiver away with the rest of my snowboarding stuff, but my brother still goes snowboarding every year and luckily he had one I could borrow. I’m glad I thought to bring it with me.

Unzipping the neck of my jacket, I peer down at the little blue box strapped to my torso and check the screen. The last thing you want is to be buried under the snow, wondering if you switched the damn thing on.

“Aw, how good does that one look?” Brent says as we draw level with the largest of the jumps. He starts to head over.