Page 8 of The Last Letter of Rachel Ellsworth

Chapter Six

On the day of departure, Mariah awakened to the particular pale-blue light of a snowy day.

For one second before she remembered, a swell of anticipation swept through her body, lighting all the cells that loved the taste of sharp, high-altitude air, the bite of cold. Happiness spread through her veins.

And then she tried to move, and her shattered leg reminded her that it would be a long time before she could ever hit the slopes again.

The leg had no strength. All the metal holding her femur together would get freezing cold as soon as she exposed it to the air.

She wouldn’t be able to even get off a lift.

But she didn’t move right away. For a minute longer, she could lie here, in her childhood bedroom hung with posters of Hannah Teter and Shaun White.

She’d torn down her medals in a fit of fury not long after she’d come home from the hospital.

No one had to tell her she’d never compete again.

Her femur had not just been shattered—three inches had been basically pulverized, and so little had been left that the surgeons needed a lot of nails and screws and other metal to create a facsimile of her original leg.

That she’d not bled to death on the spot was still considered a miracle.

Which depended on your point of view, she thought with some bitterness, an emotion she’d learned not to express aloud. She was grateful she was alive, more or less.

But what would she do with the vastness of years that—presumably—stretched ahead? She couldn’t see anything on the path, just a dull, empty road filled with nothing.

Her phone started playing a wake-up ringtone, and she rolled over to turn it off.

At least this one thing was a goal, a way to get moving, focus on something besides her ruined life.

As she swung her legs over the side of the bed, gearing up for the discomfort that came from standing, she breathed deeply, offered one moment of gratitude.

Her mom’s sister, Jill, had suggested the practice, and it had been immeasurably helpful.

“Thank you for something to do today,” she said to the emptiness.

Veronica arrived fifteen minutes early. Mariah was relieved. They’d only settled details of employment, as well as the visa, two days ago, texting back and forth.

It was still kind of a shock to open the door to her a couple of hours later. Mariah had been so sure she’d be traveling with a grad student, someone close to her own age.

Veronica was totally a mom person, with her inoffensive bob, her cheery expression, her predictable hiking pants and boots that admittedly did look as if they’d been used a lot, and an olive-green fleece.

Mariah had been afraid that she’d be an overpacker, but she had only a backpack and a small suitcase.

The mom-ness gave her an unexpected pain.

Unwelcome tears welled up. She wanted her own mother, not someone else’s.

She’d hoped for a friend, not a ... companion, like somebody from an old novel.

It embarrassed her that she even needed it.

It was ridiculous that this was her life—Mariah Ellsworth, Olympic snowboarder and generally considered the strongest person almost anyone in her life knew.

“Hi,” Veronica said breathlessly after hauling the suitcase up the stairs. “I assume the Uber will be here soon, so I’ll just leave this on the porch, right?”

“Sure.”

“Do you need me to bring out your bags?”

Mariah blinked, heat and pain mixing in her throat. “Yes,” she said shortly, limping backward to reveal the suitcases behind her. “It’s more than you have.”

Understatement. Veronica stood just inside the door for a minute, eyeing the pile of luggage. Backpack, large suitcase, small suitcase. Mariah winced, suddenly embarrassed, an emotion that increased dramatically when Veronica asked calmly, “This is a lot. Do you need all of it?”

“I don’t know!” she cried. “It’s three different climates, right? Hot in India, less hot in Morocco, wet and rainy in England. I don’t even know what I need for Paris. I just couldn’t figure out how to pack for all of them.”

Veronica nodded, sucking on her lip. “This is going to be a lot for the two of us to manage. It would be better if you could condense it to the small bag and the backpack. Is there medical equipment you need?”

“No. It’s not like that.” Heat crept over her jaw. “It’s mostly healed.”

“Okay,” Veronica said reasonably. Which irked Mariah even more, and yet, this was what she’d needed, right? Someone calm. Someone who could help her. “That’s good, then. Do you trust me to repack for you?”

“We don’t have time!”

Veronica looked at her watch. “We do. It won’t be tidy, but it will get done.”

Mariah shrugged sullenly. “Okay.”

Efficiently, Veronica knelt and swung the first suitcase to its side and snapped the clips open, then set the other suitcase beside it and did the same. “I love the packing cubes. That makes it easier. What’s in the backpack?”

“Stuff for the planes, mainly. Tablet, extra chargers and headphones, socks, meds.”

“Perfect.”

“It’s not like I haven’t traveled at all,” Mariah snapped. “I was an Olympic snowboarder. I traveled all the time.”

Veronica looked over her shoulder, measuring. “Got it. So let’s winnow things down. Socks and underwear?”

Mariah pointed to the cubes. “I think. You should double-check. I’ve been on some meds.”

“No worries.” She zipped the cubes open. “Check and check.” Without asking permission, she took everything out of the small suitcase and opened each of the other cubes, one at a time. “You need a raincoat, warm sweater, jeans, leggings, T-shirts, and something pretty. This dress?”

She held up a light cotton dress enhanced with embroidery. Mariah nodded tightly as the phone in her hand buzzed. “The Uber is here.”

“He’s early,” Veronica said. “Text him that we’re on our way out in a minute.”

“He won’t wait!” Mariah cried.

“Of course he will.” She scrambled to her feet, went out on the porch and waved. “Tell him we’ll tip extra if he helps carry it down the stairs.”

Tension swirled up Mariah’s body, tension that had always lived with her, anxiety that sprung to life at the slightest trigger, but she’d always been able to burn it off—running, snowboarding, lifting weights, whatever. “But that’s not how this works!”

Veronica ignored her. At least it kind of seemed that way, and wasn’t she the boss of this whole thing?

But how did you boss somebody older than you?

And maybe Veronica was doing what needed doing, too, efficiently emptying cubes and placing other things in them.

“Wear your warm coat,” she said, tossing it at Mariah, who automatically reached out to grab the puffy jacket, forgetting she couldn’t always move the way she thought.

A wrenching pain burned through her leg and hip, and she yelped, but she caught the fabric of the coat in her hand. It was quite satisfying.

“You okay?”

“Yep.”

The Uber driver appeared at the door, a small, lean man in his fifties with black hair neatly combed away from his face. Veronica said, “Hi, what’s your name?”

He smiled, apparently undaunted by the mess in front of him. “Jorge.”

“Jorge, glad to meet you. I’m Veronica and this is Mariah, and I’m almost done here even though it doesn’t look like it. You can start with the bag on the porch. I’ll be finished with this in a minute.”

“No hurry,” Jorge said.

Veronica had opened and emptied the packing cubes and now repacked them and tucked them into the small case. “Cosmetics and things like that?”

Mariah shrugged. “I don’t really wear makeup, and I figure the hotels will all have soap and shampoo.”

“Ah, youth,” Veronica said, and closed the big suitcase. “That should be fine until you get back, right?”

“Yes.”

“All right, then.” She closed the small case, click-click, tugged it upright. She brushed off the knees of her pants as she stood up, and Mariah had a moment of extreme longing to be able to move like that, with such easy grace. “Let’s get out of here.”