The Possibilities: A Novel Read Free Page B

you get?” Katie asks. She puts on her thinking face. “Hot guys on ski patrol.” She laughs, then looks at me to continue.
    Yes, hot guys on ski patrol.
    The level-three trauma center where you’ll wake from your Norfolk pine–induced concussion saying, “Dude, where’s my spleen?”
    Avalanche control equipment.
    The rescue team that will find your son frozen in ice, fingers gripping his coat, body like an ancient artifact already in its glass case, already stuffed with preservatives. You will wonder how it’s possible that your son, your baby, your friend, was here in December and now he is not.
    “You get moguls,” I say, quickly trudging through an emotion that feels like an injection of fear. “It costs money to make them, but it’s worth it because you’ve had a beer and you like the way you look doing moguls.” I exhale.
    Katie laughs and shakes her head. “Too funny.”
    “And we’ll do that again,” Holly says. “Sarah, maybe comment on the development, the evolution of this place. Yes, lift tickets are high, but there are more lifts, more terrain, more bang for your buck.”
    “I know,” I say. “Sorry. Getting into the swing of things.”
    I say something about evolution, but it comes off wrong. I say this place used to be pastures and farmland, very ovine. I have to correct Katie when she says, “Bovine?”
    “No,” I say. “Not bovine, ovine for sheep. Baa.” I actually bleat. “Sorry,” I say.
    We do it again, and yet, it’s so easy. We get to start over, no problem.
    I say something about change and adaptation. Too vague.
    I say, “More bang for your buck.”
    I say something about burritos. It flies.
    “Oh my goodness,” Katie says. Her post-laughter segue face. “Okay. Well, let’s head on over to the Twisted Pine, our premier furrier—animal-friendly furrier, I should add.”
    The statement is so ridiculous. I look around. Really? Do we just let this go? I can’t help myself. “Yes, Twisted only sells free-range mink. Nothing there has bitten its own foot off!”
    I smile at the camera, then happen to glance at Holly, who’s staring at me, horrified, as though I’m a non-free-range mink, gnawing into my little paw. Yes, this is the exchange. In return for a hard punch, in return for getting completely hijacked onto a sick, sick ride, I have been given a little bit of leeway. But I don’t want the exchange. Even though I take liberties, even though I feel entitled to mess up, I am not having fun with it. I am not liking the way I am punishing people. It’s revolting.
    Holly looks at the two of us, waiting. “I’m sorry,” I say. “That was . . .” I feel a heat in my chest, not panic, but a kind of exhilaration and confusion. While I don’t like my feelings, I still feel them.
    Holly gestures for me and I unclip my mic and walk to her behind the equipment. She wears a maroon caftan-like sweater over black leather pants. Her gold hoop earrings have blue gems in them like little eyes. She is determined to not look like a producer. Her hair is in a perfect ponytail. My head is itchy from the sun.
    “Hon,” she says, “if you want, Katie can get this. Easy day. Only takes one of you. I can always step in too, if need be.”
    “I’m fine,” I say. “I’m already here.”
    Her hip juts out. I stare at the hip. It’s like a personal assistant. I almost laugh when I imagine it speaking.
    “You just seem a bit distracted,” she says. “I mean you’re doing great, so great. So great! I’m just saying everyone understands if you want a break. A longer one. Or if you want to reenter more slowly. Do more behind-the-scenes work? Preinterviews, editing . . . This all must be so hard. I don’t know what I’d do . . . where I’d be if . . .”
    I wait while she imagines her children dead. Sabina, Gunner, and Lola: kaput. Her eyes well up and she shakes off whatever inconceivable worst-case scenarios she conjured up. She holds her hands awkwardly in