Chapter 8 - The Return to the Mountain
The drive back west was completely different.
The exhaustion that had weighed down my limbs during the midnight journey eastward vanished, replaced by an electric surge of pure, focused adrenaline. The sky over the plains cleared into a brilliant, crystalline winter blue, the snowfields glittering like diamonds under the midday sun.
We crossed back into Colorado by 3:00 PM.
As we began the climb back up into the Rockies, the temperature plunged, but the heavy Ford truck roared up the mountain grades without missing a beat.
At 5:15 PM, as twilight began to drape deep indigo shadows across the pine-covered ridges, we turned onto the private gravel road leading to the chalet.
The timber house stood illuminated against the snow, its expansive floor-to-ceiling windows glowing with warm, golden light. Smoke curled lazily from the massive stone chimney.
Through the front glass, I could see Beth setting plates on the dining table, while Tyler and Connor sat on the floor building a massive LEGO fortress.
I pulled the truck to a stop beside the porch steps.
Before we could even kill the engine, the chalet’s front door flew open.
Mark stepped out onto the porch, followed immediately by Beth. Beth looked at the covered bed of the truck, then at my face through the rolled-down window.
I gave her a single, firm nod.
Beth let out a cry of pure joy, covering her face with both hands as Mark threw his arm around her.
“Are they upstairs?” I called out as I stepped into the snow.
“They’re in the loft reading,” Mark said, hustling down the steps to help with the tailgate. “They have no idea where you went. We told them you and Harold had to run an errand for the truck.”
“Good,” Harold said, climbing down from the passenger seat, his knees cracking audibly in the crisp mountain air. “Let’s move fast before the little birds look out the window.”
Mark, Harold, and I hoisted the oversized green duffel and the long, heavy digital keyboard box up the porch steps, slipping quietly through the ski-room side entrance.
We carried the haul into the master bedroom on the ground floor, closing the door behind us.
Beth slipped inside, her eyes wide as she looked at the mountain of presents sitting on the king-sized bed.
“You actually did it,” she whispered, running her hand over the canvas of the duffel bag. “Nine hundred miles in twenty-four hours. You’re insane, Austin.”
“Harold drove the hard shift,” I said, looking at the old man, who was already leaning back in an armchair, looking thoroughly pleased with himself.
“Damn right I did,” Harold chuckled. “Now stop jawing and start staging the tree. We’ve got a holiday to finish.”
For the next twenty minutes, the adults moved with military stealth.
Beth, Mark, and I carried the packages into the great room, arranging them beneath the towering, nine-foot Douglas fir that dominated the corner of the living space.
Lily’s beginner keyboard, still wrapped in its sleek factory packaging with a massive red velvet bow Beth had scrounged from her luggage, stood proudly in front of the hearth. Max’s telescope box sat right beside it, propped up against the stone mantel.
The watercolor sketchbooks, the art pens, the robotics kit, the yellow jersey, and the headphones were arranged in two neat, colorful cascades across the woven rug.
And sitting directly in front of the keyboard, wearing a ridiculously undersized Santa hat that Beth had pinned between its ears, was Kevin the capybara.
Mark dimmed the overhead recessed fixtures, leaving only the soft, warm glow of the Christmas tree lights and the crackling flames in the fireplace.
The room looked like a painting. It looked like magic.
Beth walked to the base of the stairs, took a deep breath, and called up into the loft with a clear, melodic voice:
“Lily! Max! Can you guys come down here for a second? Grandpa needs help finding his glasses!”
A rustle of blankets sounded from above, followed by the light, rapid patter of socked feet against the wooden floorboards.
Max reached the top of the stairs first, holding the handrail, with Lily following close behind.
“Did Grandpa look under the—”
Max stopped dead on the third step down.
His small jaw dropped. His hands froze on the banister.
Lily took one step past him, looked down into the glowing great room, and completely stopped breathing.
The silence that fell over the chalet was absolute.
Beneath the glowing branches of the tree, surrounded by emerald and scarlet ribbon, sat every single thing they had dreamed of for months.
Max’s eyes darted from the telescope box to the stuffed capybara, then up to where I stood beside the fireplace.
“Dad…?” Max whispered, his voice trembling so hard it barely carried across the room.
May you like
“Come here, buddy,” I said softly, opening my arms.
***
