Chapter 11

Cole was becoming increasingly frustrated. It was difficult, indeed, darn difficult, to talk to Dawney.

Immediately after they had sat down and buckled up, he had waited for the jet to finish its takeoff phase, then had started thinking about how to ask her the question that had been buzzing in his head for years:

“Why didn't you get in touch again after what happened?”

She had caught him off guard, however, asking him, explicitly, how he was doing now, what the doctor had said, whether he had given him the phone number of the Aspen doctor he had talked to, whether he needed to take heart medication, whether he had given him specific directions for his health, such as not drinking alcohol and foods to eat, and so on.

He had replied to her that, in the meantime, he was still recovering, that yes, his doctor had given him the phone number of the one in Aspen, and that, once they landed, she could make contact with him right away to get direct information about his health status and how to proceed for a full recovery, that no, fortunately, he did not have to take any heart medication, and that, after what had happened to him on stage nine years earlier, he was done with alcohol and the junk he took as a young guy.

She had arched an eyebrow. “You say you are done with alcohol, but why then did I find a bottle of champagne in your limousine?”

He had answered her, without hesitation: “That was for you. I haven't had a drink in nine years.”

And there had come the first surprise: “Me too. From ten.”

He had cursed himself and, more importantly, cursed Michaels, his private investigator, for letting that important detail slip through his fingers. Immediately he had thought about the irony of the situation: since he had first made her try a beer, Dawney had never said no in front of every alcoholic beverage he offered her, but now he had not only discovered that she had not touched the bottle of champagne he had gotten for her, but that in addition she was a teetotaler, as he.

After that discovery, he had tried, very gently, to divert the conversation to more personal things, like the concerts she had seen in the last few years, her family, her school...even though Michaels had already given him several pieces of information, he wanted to hear what had happened to her from her voice.

She, however, had been very succinct: no, I did not go to concerts anymore, work and school kept me busy and I no longer had time, and yes, I came home seven years ago and made peace with my mom.

The conversation had then ceased completely, and she had made no effort to resume it. Two hours had passed since then, and Cole was beginning to have had enough.

His more cautious side, which he had only discovered after the incident that occurred on stage when, after he fell ill, paramedics gave him an adrenaline shot straight into his heart to bring him back among the living, suggested that he should not rush. If he had introduced the talk now, Dawney would have clammed up even more or, worse, they would have ended up fighting.

He had to win back her trust, no easy feat, and the only way to do that was to show her that he had changed and that he cared about her comfort.

When it was now less than fifteen minutes before landing, he cautiously reached out to her and, as she stared into the void, he fastened her seat belt.

She at that point recoiled and stared at him, watchful.

“Soon the landing phase will begin. I didn't want to disturb you, so I fastened your seat belt.” Saying this, he also fastened his in a mechanical gesture that he had done thousands of times by now.

“Are we there yet?”

“Yes, Aspen is below us,” he explained to her. “If you want, you can look out the window. There is a beautiful view...This year the snow has already fallen in early December, and, the doctor at the local hospital told me there was a heavy snowfall last week. Now everything is covered in white, even the trees,” and pointed to the window next to her.

Dawney leaned over to look and, when she saw the spectacle below her, was breathless for a moment. Although during the two most chaotic years of her life she had followed the Razor Edge, and Cole, everywhere, before now she had never been to Colorado and, in twenty-eight years, had never seen snow.

The mountains below her looked as if they were covered in sugar. From where they stood, she could see dark green patches standing out amid the white that seemed to cover everything from the streets to the roofs of buildings. She still could not quite see the houses, but the town itself, from above, reminded her a lot of a picture she had once seen on the Internet depicting Sankt Moritz, in Switzerland. Only Aspen, unlike Sankt Moritz, seemed to be...more romantic. It also had fewer skyscrapers.

“It's beautiful,” she commented, sincerely admired.

Cole nodded, then barely leaned toward the window, trying to maintain a safe distance so as not to upset her.

“I think so, too. As soon as I can, and work commitments allow, I like to come and take refuge here...from time to time.”

Dawney also understood why. The view was nothing short of priceless and, the place itself, seemed to be bathed in a magical atmosphere. She vowed, as soon as she could, to take some photographs so that she could fix the memory of those fairy-tale places even more in her memory.

Cole, seeing her lost in Aspen's enchantment, discreetly turned away. Fortunately, she had not noticed him approaching her, otherwise she would have stiffened and ruined the experience. He, too, had experienced that feeling when he had first seen Aspen, but every time he went back there, it seemed that the magic was repeated.

“When miners arrived here during the Colorado Silver Rush, they named the town Aspen because of the many Aspen trees in the area,” explained Cole. “They are...like poplars. It is said that, when they tremble, they emit a very delicate sound, which only by being careful can you perceive.”

Trees that made sounds...it was the first time Dawney heard of it and, instinctively, she closed her eyes in an attempt to imagine it. She had to open them again almost immediately, however, because the jet touched the ground of a private runway and she was forced to put her head back on the seat to prevent it, the plane's roll, from jolting her violently.

A few minutes later the plane stopped and, the pilot, turned off the engines. Cole unbuckled his seat belt, then got out of the seat, and she instinctively mimicked him. “The journey will not be long, but the temperature outside is below zero. I don't want you to catch cold. Do you have a ski jacket?”

She nodded. “Yes, I have a light blue and white one, it is in my suitcase.”

She did not have time to say anything else that, immediately, Cole retrieved it and, after closing her suitcase, walked over and handed her the ski jacket.

“I'll get mine, then I'll get off the jet to check that the limo has arrived. You wait here until I get back.”

Dawney, suspicious of all that attention, tried to throw in a joke to nip Cole's strange attitude in the bud:

“Hey, Mr. Young, look I'm not a glass flower! I've seen more accidents and deaths than you have at Razor Edge concerts!”

He did not respond. He simply retrieved his black suitcase, then opened it, took out a black and red ski jacket, then put it on.

“I'll be right back,” he promised, then opened the jet door and lowered the ladder.

He had been shocked by Dawney's words and, more importantly, by the light manner in which she had said them. What had happened in those ten years? More importantly, what had she seen to become so cynical?

***

The limousine had already arrived, and by the time Cole climbed back on the private jet to warn her, Dawney had already retrieved all her luggage and gathered it near the plane's door. When he saw it, Cole arched an eyebrow and, at first, tried not to say anything, but then he could no longer hold back the words:

“You could have waited for me. I would have given you a hand.”

She, hearing a veiled note of reproach in his voice, became irritated. But then, not wanting to start her “first day of work” with a fight with her “employer,” she opted for diplomacy.

“They are not that heavy,” she replied, trying not to tell him that, in those ten years, she had managed more than well on her own and without burdening the shoulders of others, “but if you really want to be a knight in shining white armor, you can bring me the bag of boots,” and, without giving him time to reply, took her skis, poles, and suitcase, then disappeared past the jet door.

'What an impossible woman,' Cole thought, then grabbed the bag with the ski boots and followed her.