Snow Falls

chapter Eight



Ryan scooped rice onto a plate, then added a generous amount of the chicken mixture on top. It was a dish Morgan had taught her—salsa chicken. Ryan had stopped by unexpectedly one evening, and Morgan had thrown together this: small pieces of chicken breasts sautéed with celery, carrots, onions, a can of stewed tomatoes and salsa. It was easy and quick, and Ryan had added it to her list of favorites. But her supply of fresh foods was dwindling, and she’d just barely salvaged the last of the celery for this dish. She still had onions and potatoes. Other than that, they would have to rely on canned foods for the rest of the winter.

She felt Jen watching her, but she didn’t look up. Jen was full of questions, none of which Ryan was prepared to answer. It would be best if Jen remained just a little afraid of her. Perhaps it would limit her inquisitiveness.

“Are you going to avoid talking to me the whole time I’m here?”

Ryan glanced up, raising her eyebrows questioningly.

“I know you want to remain this mysterious recluse,” Jen said, “but I think I have a right to know something about you. I am putting my welfare in your hands, after all.”

Ryan smiled at this. “Yes, you did drive up a closed mountain road during an impending avalanche, didn’t you? You didn’t so much ‘put’ your welfare into my hands, though, as thrust it there. It’s not like you had any other choices. Or that I did, for that matter.”

“So you’re going to clam up anytime we talk about personal things? Are you, like, wanted by the law or something?”

“Seeing as how I called the county sheriff on your behalf, I hardly think so,” she said with a smirk.

“Then why won’t you talk to me?”

“I told you, I don’t like people. I don’t like questions. I choose to live up here alone so that I can avoid both of those,” she said sharply, hoping to end the conversation.

Jen pulled out a barstool and sat down, accepting the plate that Ryan slid her way. Ryan walked around the bar and sat next to her, thinking it would be rude to eat her dinner in the recliner the way she usually did.

“This is good,” Jen said. “Thank you. I know you didn’t expect to have to feed someone else.”

Ryan shrugged. “I have to cook anyway. It’s no problem.” She could feel Jen studying her, could sense questions forming in her mind. She could always just tell her who she really was, but she could only imagine the hundreds of additional questions that would bring.

“What are you running from?”

Ryan glanced at her, knowing she was fishing. “Nothing.”

“I write self-help books. And while I’m not an expert on anything, I’ve researched behaviors to death. And you, the mysterious Ryan, are running—hiding—from something.”

“Is that what you think?” God, she wished Jen would just let it rest.

“A lot of people don’t like other people, but they don’t choose to live somewhere where they are literally cut off from the outside world. Not unless they are hiding from that outside world.”

“Perhaps I have a mental disorder,” Ryan said. “That should cause you some concern.”

Jen put her fork down, taking a drink from her water glass instead. “You’re trying to scare me.”

“Am I? Will that do it?” Ryan looked at her. “I thought you were already scared. You know, having to sleep in the same bed as a lesbian.”

Jen smiled. “Yes, that was a shock. But you don’t seem all that threatening.” She leaned closer and bumped her arm playfully. “Are you medicated?”

Ryan laughed. “No. I have no mental disorder. At least I don’t think so.” She relaxed, knowing she couldn’t keep up this façade of pretending not to like her indefinitely. It could be so much worse. She decided to throw her a bone, a bit of information about her life. Maybe she’d be sensitive enough to leave it at that.

“My family is...wealthy,” she said. “And we don’t see eye-to-eye.”

“Because you’re...gay?”

“No. The reason why doesn’t matter. But it afforded me the opportunity to buy this land, build this cabin.” She paused. “My solitude is for my own sanity.”

“Okay. Then what do you do?”

“Do?”

“Yeah. You must do something to keep sane. Laptop?”

“What about it?” she asked cautiously.

“You keep busy with something,” Jen said, her voice slightly accusing.

Ryan wondered if Jen could see the possible lies and excuses that popped into her mind as she tried to find something appropriate to say. There were dozens of them, and what she blurted out was probably the worst possible choice. She cringed as she heard the words leave her mouth.

“I’m...an editor.”

Jen’s interest was obviously piqued. “An editor? Like in publishing?”

Ryan nodded, desperately trying to think of a graceful way out of this.

“So when I told you I’d written several self-help books, you didn’t think to mention this then? I mean, we have something in common, at least.” Jen looked at her accusingly. “Which publisher do you work for?”

Ryan shoved a forkful of her dinner into her mouth, stalling. “I freelance,” she mumbled.

“Freelance?”

Ryan nodded, not elaborating.

Jen put her elbows on the bar, watching her. “So you have a project now?”

Ryan nodded again. “Yes.”

Jen picked up her fork again. “You’re doing an awful lot of typing. What are you doing? Rewriting the whole manuscript?”

“First-time writer. I’m making a lot of notes.” She stood, scooting the barstool away and taking her half-eaten dinner to the sink, effectively ending the conversation. An editor? Yeah, way to think on your feet, she chastised herself.

She felt Jen watching her as she slipped on her coat and gloves. She avoided looking at her. “Girls.” Both dogs jumped to attention, Sierra beating Kia to the door, as was the norm. They burst out into the darkness, the air bitterly cold after the warmth of the cabin. The snow crunched beneath her boots, and her breath frosted around her. The moon was only a sliver, but the light was enough, reflecting off of the snow, to allow her to move about without a flashlight. The dogs ran up the trail ahead of her. They knew the nighttime routine. She would wait close to the cabin as they did their business. They would return a few minutes later, snow clinging to their fur, tongues hanging out regardless of the temperature. They would stare at her, waiting on her to let them back inside the warm cabin.

She looked skyward, where a million stars were twinkling. She loved nights like this. Silent, dark and windless. So quiet, in fact, she could hear each breath she took, hear each steady beat of her heart. It was almost a form of meditation, for she could hold no thoughts in her mind as it emptied itself of contemplation and filled itself with a relaxing nothingness.

Tonight, however, her mind remained fixed on the uninvited guest who was sharing her cabin. An inquisitive guest, no less. Ryan’s wish to remain anonymous was on shaky ground. She wouldn’t tell her the truth. Catherine Ryan-Barrett. No, Jen would want to know about her family and the hotel and casino business. And then about the Pulitzer Prize and if she’d really been the one to write the book. Or whether as the tabloids said—and as her parents had believed despite her protests to the contrary—there had been a ghostwriter. She bit her lip, remembering how betrayed she’d felt at the time.

No, Ryan had no desire to answer any of the hundreds of questions Jen would ask if she knew who she was. The better option, should Jen ask again, would be to tell her she was trying her own hand at writing, chronicling her adventures of living alone up here on the mountain, in winter. Maybe that would appease her.

Ryan smiled quickly and shook her head. More likely, it would lead her to want to read what she was writing, to discuss it. No, she’d probably be better off sticking with the editor story, half-assed as it was.