Maggie couldn’t get back to sleep once Paul left the morning after Thanksgiving. She felt anxious about the ski trip, and knew she was foolish to worry. Paul was the oldest man in the group, but he was an outstanding skier, probably better than the rest of them. He and the others had been training for several months and were in perfect shape. They had one of the best guides in the business, a superb pilot, and the best equipment money could buy. They knew the area, and had been there before, although they moved around a lot, depending on the snow and weather conditions, so each trip was different from the one before. Paul was in great condition, and kept his body toned and strong. He had climbed Everest, and this was a piece of cake compared to that. Paul had said so. But Everest was sixteen years before, at thirty-four, and this was dangerous enough.
Paul had given Maggie a number she could call to get periodic reports. It was the helicopter dispatch office. She couldn’t call Paul directly. There was no cell service where they were staying. They would be carrying radios to communicate with the base and each other, and they were each wearing an avalanche signal, in case they got buried, so someone could find them. They had the most modern equipment for this kind of skiing, and state-of-the-art clothing to keep them warm in the coldest conditions. Paul liked testing his endurance every year, to check how strong he was and how much resilience he still had. There was a tremendous sense of personal accomplishment when he came home after a week of pushing himself that hard. Every year he felt healthy and powerful for months afterwards. It was a rite of passage, a test of one’s manhood, which was hard for Maggie to understand. To her it just seemed unnecessarily dangerous, like everything else he did. Paul challenged himself every day, in one way or another. It was his way of proving to himself that he was still alive and at the top of his game. She understood that about him, and the reasons for it, but she wished there were some other way for him to prove himself, without risking his life. She had never understood male rituals like running with the bulls in Pamplona, where office workers and young boys risked getting gored by a bull in the streets of Spain. All a person had to do there was be able to leap over a fence in time. Paul would have to use his utmost skill skiing, and jumping out of the helicopter in just the right way at the right time. He would have to be able to stay ahead of potentially lethal weather conditions, endure the freezing cold, and flawlessly judge the terrain he would be skiing. A single mistake or careless moment could cost him his life, and those of his companions. It was a gamble of the most extreme kind, and precisely what Paul loved above all else. He needed to challenge himself and come home victorious. And she was left to wait it out day by day.
She stayed busy for the first few days. Aden left on Sunday to go back to Boston. She hadn’t heard anything by then and didn’t expect to. No one was supposed to call her. She could call the helicopter dispatcher if she wanted news of them, but she didn’t want to make a nuisance of herself. She thought of calling them on Monday, but decided not to. She did research for her online gallery to keep busy. She still had a lot to do before she could get started.
On Tuesday morning, she turned the TV on in her kitchen while she made coffee, just to hear some friendly voices in the quiet house. She didn’t pay much attention to who was being interviewed, and then saw a news bulletin roll across the screen, so she switched to the news channel. They said there had been an avalanche in Western Canada, in British Columbia, the day before, one of the worst in its history. Two groups of expert skiers who had been helicoptered in had disappeared. They had been missing for almost twenty-four hours by then. Maggie could feel her throat get tight as she listened. She could hardly breathe.
She fumbled in her purse for the number Paul had given her, and she called immediately with shaking hands. The dispatcher confirmed that Paul’s group was one of the two groups that were missing. They were in fact wearing avalanche transceivers, but a storm had come in, and rescue helicopters had been unable to get into the area. They were waiting for conditions to clear. Maggie could barely formulate the questions she wanted to ask them. She wanted to know how long they could survive in the freezing conditions until they were rescued, but she didn’t have the guts to ask them. One day? Two? Four? Five? Ten? None? And how soon did they think the helicopters could go in?
They told her they were hopeful that in the next few hours they could fly a mission, but they might have to wait another twenty-four hours. Another storm front was moving into the area. They gave it to her straight, with no apology and no hesitation. They knew that anyone who skied with them was fully aware of what the risks were. Paul had known them too. It was part of the thrill for him.
“We’ve had some really nasty weather,” the dispatcher told her. “They may all be fine, and we’re just too far away to pick up their transceiver signals. We need to get in and be a lot closer. They know what to do. There are no novices in the group. And they’ve got the best lead guide in Western Canada.” But Maggie knew, as he did, that sometimes the experts and the best guides died too. He suggested that she call again that evening, and when she did, he had no news then either. The predicted storm had come in, and all their helicopters were grounded. The rescue patrols had been alerted, but there was nothing they could do. “The weather dictates what we do up here,” he said, and Maggie thanked him.
Helen was sitting in her kitchen with her by then, and had been there since Maggie called her in a panic that morning and told her what had happened. Maggie hated to do it, but she had called Aden too. She didn’t want him to see it on the news. He sounded devastated when she told him, and he had stayed home from class all day to watch CNN in case there was any news.
“When he comes back, I’m going to kill him for doing this to my kid,” she said to Helen through clenched teeth. Aden had nearly burst into tears when she told him.
“Never mind Aden,” Helen said, “he’s doing this to you too. This is why I won’t let Jeff go up there. He thinks he’s such a hotshot skier, and he’s never climbed Everest like Paul.”
“That was sixteen years ago, he’s fifty now. He’s too old for this and he knows it. He said this was going to be his last year.”
Helen refused to leave Maggie alone that night and stayed with her. Jeff felt terrible about what was happening and said he’d stay with the kids. Maggie called Aden again that night, but there was no further news. And it was worse the next morning, on Wednesday. The dispatcher told her they had confirmed reports of a second avalanche in the area during the night. But at least the sky had cleared enough for the helicopter rescue patrols to go in and cruise around, searching for signals.
Maggie reported back to Helen, and they spent another day in her kitchen, watching the news channel, waiting to hear something and periodically calling the dispatcher. Maggie had insisted that Aden go back to class. She didn’t want him sitting there, agonized the way they were. She promised to call him as soon as they heard anything. Paul’s group had been missing for forty-eight hours by then. It felt like a year. She remembered his stories about Everest and wondered if it had been anything like this.
It was another endless night waiting to hear something, and Helen had to go home to her kids. She was back at eight the next morning, after her boys left for school. It was Thursday by then, and by noon the other group had been found. Four of them were dead. Two had died of asphyxiation in the avalanche, two had died of broken necks, and the other two had been airlifted out and were in critical condition. There was still no sign of Paul’s group. The patrols had hovered over the entire area for as long as they could, and had picked up no signals from their transceivers. There was no evidence of them anywhere. The patrols had questioned if they may have moved faster than expected and left the area, but there was no sign of them in a wide radius. It was almost like searching for survivors at sea.
That night was even harder for Maggie, alone again. She felt like she was reliving Brad’s death. All her old signs of PTSD returned and she tried to ignore them. But there was no way she could justify this to herself. He hadn’t died in the line of duty for his country like her brother in Iraq, even though that had seemed senseless to her too. He hadn’t died while doing his job, like her father. He had done this for sport and to prove something no one cared about, about how big a man he was, and now they couldn’t goddamn find him under the snow, and he had probably suffocated or died of a broken neck like the other men. And for what? The full force of what it meant being with him hit her like a wrecking ball while she waited.
The search continued on Friday morning, and the dispatcher told her they were “still guardedly hopeful,” which didn’t sound good to her. Helen suspected Paul was dead by then, but didn’t say anything to Maggie. She felt desperately sorry for her, and Jeff did too.
The patrols found a single signal at noon. Paul’s group had been missing for four days by then, and had gone farther afield than the rescue patrols thought they could, possibly trying to avoid the storm that was coming in. There was only one signal, and Maggie selfishly prayed it would be Paul’s. They had found each other again after thirty years, and she didn’t want it to end like this, with him dead under an avalanche on some kind of insane macho pleasure trip. The rescuers located the other signals that afternoon, scattered in the area. At first they thought there was too much wind to go in. And then, mercifully, the wind died down, and they were able to fly in.
They found Paul’s group just before dark. Maggie felt like she was in a daze by then, as she listened to what they could tell her on the phone. Three of the men were dead, the tail guide too. Two were in critical condition. The lead guide was in a coma with a shattered spine. An hour later she learned that Paul was one of the men in critical condition. They were airlifting them to the Trauma Center at Vancouver General Hospital, but by the time they got there, the lead guide had died. He was thirty-six years old and had four kids.
Maggie sat in her kitchen feeling paralyzed, not sure what to do, if she should make a run for it and go to him, or wait for further news once he got to the hospital. He might even be dead by then. She called Aden to tell him Paul was alive but in critical condition. It was all she knew, she didn’t know the extent of his injuries, or what his chances for survival were. Probably very slim by now. They had been out there for too long.
“He’s tough, Mom, he’ll make it,” Aden said, wanting it to be true. After she hung up, she knew she wanted to see Paul, before he died, to say goodbye and tell him she loved him. She hadn’t had the chance to say goodbye to Brad. Maybe this time she would.
She ran upstairs and threw some things in a bag, toothbrush, toothpaste, underwear, sweaters, jeans. She called the airline, and then Helen to tell her what she was going to do. She called a cab, closed the house, and was at the airport in time to catch a flight to Vancouver. She texted Aden that she was on her way and would call him with any news. It had been a hellish week, worse than anything she had ever been through, hoping he would make it, and terrified he was already dead. She had been afraid they might not even find his frozen body until spring.
She sat rigid in her seat on the four-hour flight, bracing herself to see him. She had no idea what he’d look like after being buried in the snow or exposed to the elements for four days.
When they landed, she took a cab to the hospital, and was told that Paul was in the Trauma ICU when she got there. Without even thinking, she said she was his wife, and a nurse led her in to see him. If she hadn’t known it was Paul, she wouldn’t have recognized him. His skin was gray with red, burned patches on it, his lips were translucent, and he looked as though he had aged twenty years since she’d seen him.
They were trying to bring his body temperature back up to normal. His hands and feet were frozen and the doctors were watching them closely for signs of frostbite and gangrene. They warned her in the hallway that he might lose his hands and feet. She prayed for him that it wouldn’t happen. It would kill him. But even if it did, she suspected he would find a way to do something dangerous and risk his life again. They would have to cut off his head or cut him in half to stop him.
He opened his eyes for an instant and looked as though he recognized her, but she wasn’t sure. He blinked but couldn’t speak. He didn’t have the strength to move, and after he saw her, he sighed and closed his eyes. She thought he had died, but the monitor showed that he was still breathing. She sat next to him while he slept and willed him to live. Two days later, he opened his eyes and spoke to her in a croak.
“Love you…” was all he said, and went back to sleep, as tears ran down her cheeks. He was still in critical condition, and all she could do was pray that his ninth life hadn’t run out. She sat beside him day and night, and slept on a cot next to him, and the following day he spoke to her in a whisper.
“Last time,” he said, and she nodded.
“I’ll kill you if you do this again,” she whispered back, and he smiled through his badly cracked lips. “I think this was your ninth life.” He nodded and when he could speak more clearly, he told her that he had thought of her constantly and it had kept him alive for the four days they were lost. He knew it was the last time for him. She had changed everything. He knew she loved him, and he loved her. He hadn’t had children so he could be free to do what he wanted, but now he had Maggie, and he knew when he saw her face that he couldn’t do this to her again. She looked ravaged.
“Last time,” he said again.
She called Aden and told him how Paul was doing. After a week they took him off the critical list, and miraculously his hands and feet had thawed out and had blood flow again. He wasn’t going to lose them unless complications set in.
He had told her that half of his group had been able to dig out with their avalanche tools. The others were already dead by then. The survivors had taken refuge as best they could, huddled together, but couldn’t have held out much longer. Surviving four days had been a miracle.
They released him from the hospital after the second week. They had her walk him slowly down the halls, using canes to get him moving again. The toll on his body had been brutal, but he was recovering. They said it was incredible he had survived, and she thought so too.
The Lady Luck was on her way to the Caribbean when Paul was ready to leave the hospital, and Maggie told him what they were going to do. She didn’t ask him what he wanted, and he didn’t argue with her.
“I’m taking you home to Lake Forest to take care of you,” she said, and he smiled at her.
“That sounds perfect to me.”
“And I’m tying you to the bed if you try to go anywhere,” she warned him. Aden was coming home and he could help her take care of him, if Paul needed help getting to the shower, or was unsteady on his feet. He was still having trouble walking, but getting better rapidly. He said his feet still felt like blocks of wood or bricks, and the doctors said it would take a while for them to move normally again.
When the hospital released him, he had his plane pick them up and fly them to Chicago, and a car and driver take them back to Lake Forest. The driver helped Maggie get him inside and up the stairs when they got to her house, and Paul looked like he had gone to heaven when he got there. He stopped for a moment before heading up the stairs and gazed at Maggie.
“I kept thinking of you here. I never thought I’d see you or this house or Aden again.”
“Neither did I,” she said softly. It really was a miracle that he had survived, more than she had dared to hope for, after two avalanches and four days in the freezing snow.
He walked up to her bedroom then, with the limo driver behind him to make sure he didn’t fall. Maggie thanked the driver, and after he left, she put Paul to bed, and he sank into the pillows like a man who knew he had no right to be alive but was grateful he was. He glanced around the room. She had already realized that Brad’s second anniversary date had come and gone while she was nursing Paul, and she had a feeling he wouldn’t mind. He had always wanted her to be happy. She would always love him, and still did, but she knew that this was where she was meant to be now. For some reason, Paul had come back to her, and he had survived the impossible. She knew that her place was with him, and so did he.
“Try to sleep for a while,” she said gently.
“Sit next to me.” He still looked like an old man and some of the burns on his face were still bright red, but he looked more like himself again, just older.
She sat next to him until he fell asleep, and then she tiptoed out of the room to put some of her things away and tidy up the house. She had left it a mess when she ran out to fly to him. She stood, gazing out the window, and smiled. The man with nine lives had come back to her. It was going to be a very good Christmas after all, for all three of them.