12

After Dad returned to work, I went to the library’s website and found Stephen Hawking’s recorded books. There were several, but I chose The Universe in a Nutshell and downloaded it onto my phone. I tugged on my long underwear and snow pants and pulled on my snow boots, slow with just one hand. I hated hats, but chose a blue-patterned one Mom had given Dad from a box by the door. Over that went the headphones. I had a long walk ahead, down Sunset Ridge, then left before Emerald West and out to Last Chance.

I stepped off the deck onto the groomed swath left by Tara’s snowcat last night. I strapped on my snowshoes with my one hand, no easy feat with my sling arm zipped inside my parka. I pressed play for Hawking’s book. This hour-long trek would take ten minutes on my snowboard, but the doc had said no snowboarding. Breaking rules = hurting Dad. I was on a mission not to hurt Dad.

The air had warmed to 25°F, and the afternoon sun warmed my face as I descended Sunset Ridge. Skiers and boarders winged past. A hawk circled overhead, its circumference widening with each rotation. The British narrator filled my ears. Before me lay Phantom Peak, surrounded by the spines of mountain after mountain, miniature worlds in each of their valleys. From my memory Mom’s voice said, M is for mountain.

I focused on those mountains to anchor me because I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. The narrator was explaining that quantum scientists had figured out the world might be made of microscopic harmonic strings, each having their own vibrations. Each of these strings was connected to a membrane surrounding our universe. There were potentially infinite universes out there, surrounded by these soap-bubble membranes. M-theory. Math had proved it. M was for math or membrane or M-theory. I focused on the peaks.

Someone slowed beside me: Sarge, his squat body in a big snowplow. “Hey, Sov. Good to have you back in the neighborhood!”

I paused the book, pulled down the headphones, and nodded. My ski-patrol family had grown used to my silence, so Sarge dove right into filling the empty space. “Settled in?”

I shrugged.

“I’m headed to a meeting at Emerald West. Out for a stroll?”

I nodded.

“I was thinking last night, you’ve grown an inch since Thanksgiving.”

That made me smile. He’d been teasing me about my height ever since seventh grade, when mine had surpassed his.

He saluted, his way of saying goodbye or hello or whatever. He pulled his heels parallel and sped off. Sarge was the fastest skier I’d ever seen.

I put the headphones back on. The scent of hamburgers and French fries rode the air as I neared Emerald West. I turned left, traversing Platinum Bowl on the road leading into it. Another road branched off it to the Platinum Club, a fancy reservation-only restaurant I’d never eaten at. I thought how bored Tara must be, hauling those diners down there instead of heading out on her nightly adventures. Now that I was living up here, I’d probably see Tara more.

The road into the bowl spilled out on a steep run called Hungry Bob, which also led to the restaurant. I dug in my showshoe’s claws, my feet angled sideways, as I hoofed my way up across the run. In the trees again, the footing was easier, but the snow deep. I made for Platinum Bowl’s groomed ridge.

Maybe when Tara was healed and back to her usual route, I’d ask to go with her one night, not just for her company, but to see my future. I pictured her black eye, and a shiver ran through me. Then I scolded myself. This was my mountain. My home. M was for my. Nothing was going to hurt me up here. Down below, life was brutal, but up here, all was good.

I cut across an intermediate run called Sluice Box and crested the ridge adjacent the lifthouse. I paused where six days ago, tears soaking my goggles, I’d hit rock bottom. I heard myself shout, I hate tests! I swayed with remembered fury and craved a cigarette. I pressed my gloved palm against my parka till I felt the amulet bag touch my skin. No doubt I looked ridiculous, wearing those headphones, my one sleeve swaying in the breeze, and my other hand pressed to my heart in a left-handed “Pledge of Allegiance” to the view.

Retracing my route from that day, I walked out the narrow catwalk along the ridge. I kept picturing Big John on that snowmobile, with me strapped down in the sled. As he’d heard what I’d done, he’d slumped, Wash’s comforting hand on his shoulder. I rubbed my hat, trying to smooth the furrows of guilt on my brow.

Then the narrator talked about time.

It had shape, he said, and he wondered if space-time could be warped. And if you warped it enough, was it possible to travel back in time?

That halted me. Literally. I looked out on Phantom Peak, where the sun was starting to cast the shadow resembling a face. I considered the narrator’s words. Could this explain my visions? Could M be for Mom, me, and meet ? Maybe my future really could lie in my past.