Tough Cookie

The ski patrol took Eileen and Barton down the mountain in sleds. The two patrol members would tell us only that Eileen was unconscious. Barton was nearly so, and had a broken leg. How fast was the boarder going, the patrol wanted to know? As fast as any downhill racer I’ve ever seen on television, I told them. It wasn’t the kind of collision where folks get covered with snow. It was the kind of crash that leaves limp bodies. Lifeless bodies.

The patrol wouldn’t let us near Jack, whom two other patrolmen were treating for shock. Marla and I got permission to leave and skied down. As we lugged our equipment to our cars, I filled her in on what I knew about Barton Reed. That he was a convict. That he was in remission from cancer. That he had had a possibly deadly resentment for Doug Portman, and apparently also had it in for Eileen or Jack or both.

We headed eastward in convoy, Marla in her four-wheel-drive Mercedes behind the Rover. Overhead, two Flight-for-Life helicopters thundered eastward. The ski patrol members had told us where Eileen and Barton were being taken: Lutheran Medical Center in Wheat Ridge, northwest of Denver. I tried to keep my eyes on the road while punching in our home number on the cellular.

“Eileen’s been hit,” I began without preamble when Tom answered. “On the slopes. I saw it coming. I didn’t—” My voice cracked. “I couldn’t do anything.”

“Slow down, Miss G. Someone hit Eileen? What was it, a skiing accident? Is she all right?”

“She’s unconscious. Oh, Tom. Barton Reed hit her. He was watching for her and then he hit her. With his snowboard. It was deliberate. I saw it.” Emotion closed my throat. I struggled for control and said: “The helo’s taking her to Lutheran now. Reed, too. Oh, Tom, why would he do a thing like that?”

“I don’t know. Look, Wheat Ridge is in Jefferson. I’ll call someone from the Jefferson County Sheriff’s Department to be there at the hospital when they arrive. You … think I should pick up Todd from school and bring him down? What about Arch?”

Of course Todd should go to his mother. I told Tom so. “But I have to warn you, she looked terrible. All limp. Would you …” I couldn’t say it. Tears welled in my eyes. “Would you see if … if the priest from St. Luke’s can come down, too?” Best to prepare for the worst.

Ninety minutes later, Marla and I careened side by side into a hospital parking lot. Belatedly, I realized I’d tossed my ski boots in the Rover’s hatch and driven to Wheat Ridge in my socks. By the time I’d tied up my sneakers, Marla was opening the Range Rover door and peering inside.

“Goldy? Can we walk in there instead of running? I can feel my blood pressure rising.”

“You shouldn’t go in. Just stay out here and relax.”

“Are you kidding? The best place to be when you’re having a heart attack is inside

the hospital.”

“Marla—”

“I am kidding.” We walked across the snowpacked road to the hospital. Low, dark clouds obscured the view of the Front Range. Marla asked, “Did you see what happened?” I nodded, and she went on: “I’ve been thinking about it all the way over here. Like TV. Instant replay.” She shuddered. “It wasn’t what it seemed.”

The automatic doors opened. A rush of warm antiseptic air washed over us as we entered the high-ceilinged hush of the hospital’s lobby. As we headed for the information desk, I asked, “Wasn’t what it seemed in what way?”

Marla faced me. “That snowboarder, the one you said you knew? Barton Reed. He was headed for Jack. Not Eileen.”

“How’d he miss?”

“Who knows? I saw it right from the start. Reed was perched at the top of the run. Eileen had boarded to the side. Jack was traversing the run. Reed took off toward Eileen. But he was on a snowboard. To gain momentum, he would have to go fast one way, then turn, still cruising fast, and fly over to hit Jack. Jack was too far away for Reed to go straight down the fall line to whack him.” I suppose I looked puzzled, because she continued: “Goldy, listen. A snowboard is different from skis that way. To build up momentum, if he was aiming for Eileen, he would have gone left, not right, and then doubled back to hit her.”

I struggled to recall what I’d seen. I didn’t know enough about snowboarding to analyze the way Barton Reed had come down the slope. Had Jack seen the danger? I thought he’d reversed direction to protect Eileen, or at least to get her out of harm’s way. Had he been trying to protect himself instead?