Mindy ignores the admonition, wishes she hadn’t. There is a large jag of white sticking out of her shin. Her blood looks like rubies against the icy slush. She fights back the urge to scream. “But my time...if I don’t finish, I’m DQd from the event. I have to get down. You’ve gotta let me up.”
The patrol’s voice is sympathetic. “You’re out of it now, sweetie, I’m sorry. Maybe you have enough points to qualify from your other races. But you can’t go anywhere, this leg’s pretty gnarly. Okay, here’s the splint, hang tight, this is going to hurt like a bitch.”
Mindy grits her teeth as they start pumping up the air cast. Fights back the tears, focuses on the voice that keeps saying, You didn’t make it, you didn’t make it. She stops fighting, tries to relax as they lift her into the sled and start down the remainder of the mountain. She tries to be a good sport about it, as she’s been taught, raises a fist toward the worried faces, and the crowd goes absolutely wild, cheering for their girl, but inside she is wailing.
She wanted this so badly. It’s all she’s ever wanted. And she’s blown it.
What happened? She runs the course again in her mind, realizes there is a big blank. She doesn’t remember how she went down. She knows this isn’t entirely unusual; she’s heard about it happening to other racers. She’s been so blessed, so lucky, never to have had a major injury. Granted, she’s seventeen, and she’s only been on the circuit at this level for a year. But still.
What if I can never ski again?
This spike to her heart is too much to bear. She wipes away tears as they reach the bottom. Her dad is waiting; she can see his bright red North Face jacket, concern etched on his handsome face. He pushes aside two ski patrols and kneels beside her.
“Poor baby. Does it hurt?”
“Daddy, I didn’t make it.”
“Let’s worry about your leg first, peanut, then we’ll worry about the rest.”
“I don’t remember falling. What happened?”
“Microburst of snow. Came out of nowhere.” As if to prove his point a swirl of snow surrounds them. Her father says, “They really should close the course, it’s too dangerous now.” He pats her hand. Mindy can only feel pressure through the glove, not the warm reassurance of her father’s hand.
“Where’s Mom?”
“I’m right here, honey. Right here. You’re okay. I’m here.”
Mindy hears the calm concern of her mother’s voice and takes a deep breath. If her mom isn’t frantic, it isn’t too bad.
“Mom will meet us at the hospital, honey. They won’t let us both ride with you. She’s going to drive the car—”
“No!”
Her dad’s face registers a tiny bit of shock. “Okay, no worries. Mom will ride with you, and I’ll bring the car.”
“No, it’s fine. I don’t care who rides with me. But we can’t leave. I need to find out who wins.” As she speaks, she hears them blow the horn. The course is being closed.
Her dad’s smile warms her. He leans close, whispers, “Maybe we’ll get lucky. You’re still in first place overall.”
The EMT isn’t quite glaring at them but is clearly anxious to get moving. “We have to take her now, folks. Who’s riding with us?”
Her mom presses her palm against Mindy’s cheek, unstraps her helmet. “Hang tight, baby. I’ll meet you at the hospital. We’ll get you fixed up. Be strong.”
Mindy grits her teeth again when they put her into the ambulance; the jostling makes red-hot pokers shoot through her leg. Her mother’s face disappears as the doors slam closed, the worry etched as deep as a fissure in granite.
Her dad takes a seat on the bench, trying to stay out of the way. The paramedic leans over her, takes her blood pressure and pulse. She tries to stay calm, not cry, not fall apart. All she can think about is her coach’s disappointment that someone else will be standing on the podium because she got too aggressive toward the bottom and let her ski get caught in that rut. He’s always told her aggressive equals arrogance, and arrogance equals crash.
“Mindy, I’m Todd. I’m going to start an IV and give you some pain meds so that leg doesn’t hurt so bad. Okay? A little pinch here, hang tight...that’s a brave girl, well done.”
Within moments, the horrible pain in her leg is gone. Her thoughts become disjointed.
Arrogant Crash. That’s a good band name. I wonder if they’ll let me have the gate I hit. Would it be arrogant to ask? The snow was so cold.
I didn’t make it.
Mindy doesn’t care, which surprises her. She feels sleepy and warm, hears her dad and Todd talking. And then there is nothing.
2
VAIL HEALTH HOSPITAL
Lauren Wright bursts through the Emergency Room doors exactly ten seconds behind the stretcher carrying her broken daughter. The paramedics wheel Mindy into a treatment room. Jasper is holding Mindy’s hand, even though she’s asleep. When he sees Lauren, his eyes close in relief. He reaches out his free arm and she snuggles in, letting him hold her while he also holds their daughter’s hand. Mindy looks dead. Gray, pained, lifeless.
“Is she okay?” Lauren asks, her voice barely a whisper.
“Yeah. They gave her some morphine so she wouldn’t hurt so badly. She was mumbling about a band named Arrogant Crash before she went out like a light. Todd here thinks it’s a punk rock band from Aspen who played Coachella last spring, but who knows?” Jasper grins, and Lauren manages a breath.
“Hope she’s okay. She’s an amazing skier,” Todd the EMT says, and Lauren nods her thanks to him.
“We appreciate you taking care of her.”
“Sure thing.” He hands off the chart to a petite redheaded nurse in blue scrubs. “Fingers crossed.”
The nurses are sweet and smiley, and Lauren’s blood pressure ticks down another notch. They bustle around, adjusting the IV tubing, attaching leads, turning Mindy from skier to patient. It makes Lauren uneasy to see her daughter tethered to the beeping machines. One of the nurses lifts the white-and-red towel covering Mindy’s leg, and Lauren gets her first good look at the severity of the injury. The lower half of Mindy’s leg is a tangle of hamburger with a large white bone sticking out. Lauren feels an odd tingle run through her body. Gooseflesh raises on her arms.
Jasper sees her blanch. “What’s wrong? What is it?”
She points at Mindy’s leg, whispers, “That. Oh God, Jasper, what if—”
He grabs her hand tightly, tips up her chin so she has to look into his eyes. They are good eyes. Exceptional eyes. Light blue centers with a dark blue ring. Add in the sandy hair and athletic frame, and Jasper is a man to be noticed. A man who, to her never-ending relief, only notices Lauren.
“No, no, no. Do not say it. Don’t even think it. She’s going to be fine. She’s young and healthy. The leg is badly broken, but it’s fixable. Everything is fixable.”
Fixable.
Lauren feels the wail begin inside her. Her lip wobbles. She cried in the car all the way to the hospital, tears of fear, tears of anger, tears of frustration for her only child. Jasper was right to separate them, if only for ten minutes. He’d given her a gift, moments alone to come to grips with the situation. It was kind, and necessary.
When she arrived at the hospital and put the car in Park, the tears ended. She’d wiped her face, fixed her hair. Vowed to be strong for Mindy. And for Jasper. And for everyone. Because that’s what mothers do. And Lauren is great in a crisis. Ask anyone.