Ski Lodge

7// Sleeping Arrangements

Sunday

The inside of the chapel was even prettier than the outside. Hints of architectural inspiration from Fay Jones and Frank Lloyd Wright littered the tall, wooden ceiling composed of triangle-laminated beams of wood that flowed down to the ground and into the earth. Meticulously cleaned double pane glass filled the back wall of the chapel where the pastor stood to give his sermon. It looked as if behind him lay the vast expanse of all of Earth as seen a quarter of a mile above by us mere mortals.

I settled into a pew, comfortable even though there was no cushion, and mentally prepared myself for church.

It was a good visit, more spectacular than sermons from home, which were not given in a cliff side chapel on a snowy mountain, to be fair.

I sat next to Becker during the service. I had to, the adults all packed into one pew and left the kids to sit in the one behind them. Laura and Weston got called at the beginning of the service to go to the kids room, so then it was just me, Becker, and an older gentleman who couldn't seem to stop coughing sitting alone at the end of our same pew.

Becker stared straight ahead the entire time. I did too, but my eyes were a little more shifty. I should have paid more attention to the service. And at times, it was easy to get lost in the pastor's elegant words. But something about Becker took my attention away. He seemed to keep shifting closer to me; I felt myself leaning away. It was imperceptible throughout the service, but as we neared the end, I was sitting right next to the man coughing at the other end.

Becker helped me into my coat as we walked outside, and I felt almost shy. Almost. But I plucked up my courage and smiled at him.

The group of us walked the long way home since the snow had been plowed from walkways while everyone was at dinner and or church. The hilly park was lit up with LED lanterns that swayed in the fresh, mountain breeze. Children's abandoned snowball fight walls were standing as tall as when they were first constructed. The park was mostly empty as the Sun had set, but still couples strolled along the paths, and even children were seen making snowmen and snow angels while their mothers called them to hurry back inside before they got frostbite.

I walked alongside Becker in silence. It seemed to be our way since that scene on the staircase and his apology after. I didn't want to bring up more negative points, and Becker knew that attempting to enter into my good graces would invariably bring those points up. Though, after sitting through a sermon, I must admit I felt, however temporarily, swayed to forgive and forget more freely. I think if Becker wanted to make amends, this would be the time, however, nothing was said between us the entire trip back, excepting some few polite words and comments on Laura and Weston's drowsy walks.

After the ten minutes of briskness, I was happy to enter the warm Lodge number five and sit by the small furnace we had just discovered hidden in a storage door under the staircase. The heat from the furnace rose into the other rooms of the little townhouse, and soon the Greene's had all excused themselves to bed. The Becker's and the Phillip's were both left downstairs much to the mothers' amusement. And not soon after the episode of Golden Girls had finished playing on the tv, my mother and Dr Erica Becker had excused themselves to bed. My father and Dr Becker seemed blissfully unaware of their wives' hushed giggling as the men settled in to talk about cars or boats or planes or something of the sort. And that left Becker to move to the loveseat next to me.

"I want us to be friends," he started.

"Becker..." I started not really knowing what I was saying. I glanced at my father and saw that he was too consumed in conversation with Dr Becker to take notice of what I was about to say.

He lifted an eyebrow and shifted back on the loveseat. "I think it would make our parents happy. And I think you'd enjoy the trip more if you got all of your pointed anger at me out of your system."

"You don't care what would make my mother happy; you insulted her just earlier today! But for the sake of this trip, I may be willing to try to be friends." I pursed my lips to give him a chance to make sense of the little I'd just said.

"You must admit that your mother is a little ridiculous at times. Just now, she was sniggering as she left the room. And she shooed you off of your father's arm earlier," he whispered.

"I admit that at times she can be a bit much, but that doesn't give you allowance to start bashing her to my face. Her daughter's face. 50% her face, basically!" My whisper was getting louder, and I glanced at my father to make sure he was still distracted.

"Franky!" I heard my mother's shrill voice call from upstairs. "Come here, please?"

I took a deep breath.

"Frannnnnk!" She called louder when my father wasn't moving fast enough.

"Coming, darling!" He yelled back up the stairs, "I didn't respond because the children are sleeping," he said more softly.

Becker looked at me as if to say, "told you so."

"Goodnight, son... and Trisha," Becker's dad handed us the remote before he followed my father up the stairs, "we will need you two to watch the little ones tomorrow."

I started to get up to follow the adults' idea of going to bed, but Becker pulled me down by the arm. He held my elbow.

He didn't say anything. He didn't know what to say. I could see a mixture of hurt and determination in his eyes that caused my shoulders to droop and my anger to soften.

"What," I said to him, standing back up.

"I've wanted to be friends with you ever since the first day of fifth grade." His eyes were wide as if he was shocked at himself for saying that.

"You had an awful way of showing it," I smarted.

"Yes. I did. And I'm sorry."

"Can we talk about this more tomorrow? I'd really like to get some sleep," I looked at him earnestly.

He nodded and walked with me up the stairs. Before he left for his floor he whispered, "goodnight, Trisha."

I weakly smiled down to him, "goodnight."