Snowed Under (Aspen Peaks #2)

2. Madeline

I practically fell into the driver’s seat when we reached the car.

Charlie bounced up and down behind me as he buckled his seat belt, holding enough energy for the both of us and practically pinging off the walls of the vehicle. Behind my eyes, a sharp, yet dull ache was forming. That mixed with the unsteady shakiness in my fingers was a dead giveaway. I was running on too little sleep, and I’d pumped too much caffeine, courtesy of Mr. Dunkin himself, into my veins.

I forced my back straight as I started the car, pulling every bit of energy left in me from my mostly sleepless night. The knot forming at the base of my spine tightened. Looking back, signing up for an extra cleaning shift after spending half my night studying for an upcoming exam wasn’t my brightest idea. But money talked, and I had never been known to ignore it.

To be fair, signing up for night classes in nursing school wasn’t my brightest idea either. Especially with two small children whose lives rested in the palm of my Pine-Sol-soaked hands.

Looking back at Charlie, who was looking down as he played with the buckle on his ski helmet, I reminded myself of the two affirmations that would never leave me.

You are valuable.

He left them for you.

A deep breath resonated in my chest as I pulled air in through my nose and let it out through my mouth. In one sentence, out the next.

You are valuable.

He left them for you.

I turned over my shoulder, mustering every inch of a smile I could, and directed it at the nine-year-old who read me like a book.

“Did you have fun?”

He looked back up at me, and it felt like sunshine itself was pouring through the car. This kid lived his life on bare necessities and smiled like he ruled the world.

“Yeah, Mr. Cooper was really cool.”

“I’m glad you liked it.”

“Mr. Finn is cool too,” He was quick to add on. “But I think I like Mr. Cooper better. Don’t tell him I said that, though. It would probably hurt his feelings.”

“All right, kiddo.” I smiled back at my sensitive little guy. He was always so aware of everyone’s feelings. I used to joke that he would be a therapist one day. But judging by his natural talent, I had a tiny Olympic skier in my hands.

We pulled out of the half-full parking lot, turning down the highway still covered in the snow from last night’s storm. When I’d clocked in this morning, the other cleaning ladies around me were complaining on and off about the weather from the night before. Talking about the pain of shoveling and salting their driveways or how they should have just called in sick. The I am so over this weather discussions would make you think they weren’t local to Aspen. I smiled to myself the whole time and kept quiet. I loved a good snowstorm.

It felt like nature’s way of wiping away the old and setting a blank slate right on top. Out with the old, in with the new. A renaissance, if you will. The beginning of a new era. One I was desperate to enter.

Ahead, the road stretched out before us like a ribbon of asphalt, disappearing into the horizon where the snow-capped peaks of the Rocky Mountains loomed in the distance.

Despite the bustling traffic of tourists, the view from the windshield would have been serene enough to put me to sleep if I was still long enough. Or maybe I was just that tired. Snowflakes fluttered, slow and delicate, against the glass, leaving behind intricate patterns that shimmered in the soft mid-morning light. Trees lined the highway, tall and proud. Their branches bowing under the weight of winter’s embrace, with fresh snow lying right on top of them.

“Can we get an ice cream on the way to Gram’s?” Charlie cut in.

“Nope.” I popped the P and passed a couple of cars, then turned toward my mom’s house, which was thankfully only a few minutes from the lodge.

A mixture of a whine and a groan erupted in my back seat in tandem with a long “come on.”

Oh, this was Will’s kid, all right. It felt like he was laughing down at me every time I heard that whining. It was like his way of peeking down from the clouds in heaven and pointing a finger at me, always needing the last word.

“No, ’cause Piper is going to want one and I”—am counting change to get us to the next paycheck—“don’t feel like cleaning up after her.”

That part wasn’t exactly a lie. Charlie’s two-year-old sister was a menace with anything that melted. I could already envision spending my afternoon with a carpet cleaner, removing the chocolate essence that had soaked into the soft material of my car seats. I cleaned enough in my day job. The last thing I needed was to add to the list.

Charlie crossed his arms, unsatisfied but not fighting it. “Fine.”

Pulling into my mom’s driveway always felt like God was tossing a coin up there, trying to decide which side of her he was going to pull out today. Heads for serenity, tails for chaos. My bet was always on tails.

I knocked on the door twice before opening it, only to be met with the booming strains of the Pocahontas soundtrack coming from the kitchen speaker. We were currently on week three of four of Piper’s Pocahontas phase, and I had painted with the color of the wind at least fifty times this week. My guess was that we were going to either circle back into Elsa territory after this or take a turn and go straight to A Bug’s Life. There was really no way to tell. Seasons changed, leaves fell, snow melted. But no matter what, our two-year-old movie critic was known for her four-week-long obsessions that led to car karaoke. Even if she couldn’t say a majority of the lyrics. Or the movie names themselves. Nicknames such as “pokey”—for Pocahontas—were a staple in her limited vocabulary. Still, we’d endure four weeks of border-line addictive watching, then her movie obsession would die out, and she’d be on to the next thing.

Two tiny pink-sneakered feet tapped the floor, pausing for a moment before pounding against the hardwoods. She inched closer until a thirty-inch angel came into view. Crooked blond pigtails, a wide-open grin, red-stained lips—presumably from the popsicle stick in her hand, and a pink sweat suit with Everyone’s favorite written across the top. A spitting image of her mother, of my best friend.

“MayMay!” she shrieked before throwing the half red popsicle stick to the side and sprinting to me with open arms.

I loved a lot of things about this kid, about both of them, but if I had to pick an absolute favorite, it would be this. The way they acted like every time I appeared, it was the first time they’d seen me in years. The way Piper’s sticky hands clung to my legs as she wrapped her arms around my thighs. Or how, even when he wanted to be too cool for me, Charlie never passed up a hug or an offered arm. No matter how big they grew, these two were always proud to be considered mine. And most days, I needed that kind of blind faith.

“Pipes!” I shouted back, bending over at the waist to squish her, planting a kiss on the top of her head, right next to the loosened left pig tail. “How was your morning?”

I pulled back from the hug and crouched down to her height. Piper spoke with her hands, waving them back and forth as she mumbled a bit of her own language. A stranger wouldn’t know it, but after a year of speech therapy, she was making some remarkable progress. She wasn’t up to par with most almost-three-year-olds, of course. We had a while to go for that, but she was no longer entirely silent. She had a voice. It just wasn’t one everyone understood yet. She was getting there, and we were meeting her halfway. Every so often, I could pick up a single word such as pay—play—or nack—snack—and that was progress enough for me.

“Oh, you painted with Gram?” I smiled down at her, mostly picking up on that one by the dried orange paint I was going to have to scrub out from under her fingernails tonight.

She nodded with wide, excited eyes before looking over my shoulder and taking off in her brother’s direction. Charlie grinned at her. “Hi, squirt.” Then he dipped down and picked her up, settling the princess on his hip and bouncing her.

“We did paint, and she got it all over my great grandfather’s mahogany desk.” My mom hobbled into the living space with a wet gray cloth in hand, favoring her left leg again.

God ended up with tails today. Noted.

I stood to my full height and straightened my back. “You could just tell her no when she asks to paint. Or let her do it somewhere else.”

My mother scoffed, as if the idea of telling Piper—the same toddler who tried to throw herself down the stairs when I suggested we change her diaper—no was up there with snorting cocaine and robbing a bank.

“Well, all right, then.” No need to stay here longer than we had to.

It wasn’t that I didn’t appreciate my parents. They were great. Most days…some days…days. But a majority of the last two and a half years had been centered around whether I was managing parenthood well enough and whether I was giving these two the lives they deserved whilst maintaining my own. The answer to both of those would be a resounding no. But at the very least, the universe had to reward me for my efforts.

I turned back to Charlie, who was blowing raspberries at Piper, causing her to erupt in excited giggles. “You guys ready?”

Charlie set down his sister. “I’ll go grab her bags.” He turned away and walked back to the kitchen without hesitation, and my lips curved up. Your kid is special. Cooper Graves had one thing right, at least.

“Thanks, bud.” I watched him walk away before turning to Piper and picking her up. “What do you think about McDonald’s and movie night? Does that sound good to you, little bug?” I tickled the inside of her neck with my nose, and my heart grew at the sound of her laughter.

Piper nodded in excitement before shouting. “Pokey!” and I laughed. “Yes, of course, Pokey. Because what else would we watch? Go grab your boots, and we’ll head out.”

Piper slid down my body to the floor, rushing to grab her little snow boots—that she had yet to grow fully into and were probably causing more harm than good. I figured by winter she would fit into them, but whereas her speech had grown, she was still our short and tiny girl.

“Madeline.” My mother said it with a sigh, in the same way she had when I was caught kissing my boyfriend in my car at seventeen or when she found out I was friends with a girl who smoked medical weed one time to help with a migraine.

I sighed right back, and any ounce of energy that these kids gave me left my body in an instant. I forced my chest to lift in preparation for whatever was coming. It could be the usual, the kind of lines she masked as concerns and questions but were more like distrustful accusations. The Well, are you feeding her enough? or Is cleaning the best job you can find now? Then there was How about quitting nursing school and finding something steadier for the kids? I’d heard it all, and to each one, I had a default answer.

“Yes?” I asked.

“Are you sure McDonald’s is the best meal for them?” Because fast food chains were up there with the devil’s lettuce or public debauchery.

My default answer came into play before I really had time to update the settings. My brain just took over. “I’ve cooked dinner every day this week. It’s the best meal to keep them happy and my sanity straight.”

“If you insist. I just—”

“You just what, Mom?” I cut in. From lack of sleep to the weight sitting on my shoulders daily, the last thing I needed was one more thing on my to-do list, because satisfying my mother’s high standards and buying more Pull-Ups were not exactly on the same level.

And because it was that kind of day, both kids came running back into the kitchen before I could finish the sentence full of words that I typically muted on TV shows for their sake. I twirled the keys in my hand before dipping to pick Piper up again. “Say bye to Gram.” I smiled and picked up Pipe’s hand, forcing it in a wave, as Charlie gave her a quick hug.

We turned to walk outside, and Charlie said, “Did I hear McDonald’s?”

My mom’s voice popped into my head. Is that the best for them? I looked down at both of these kids—like I was looking into my brother’s eyes—before nodding. “Absolutely.”

You are valuable

He left them for you.