Dawn is beautiful in the mountains. It colors the white peaks all rosy.
It looks like an ethereal painting.
I woke up extremely early this morning. Especially considering that I’d had a lot to drink the night before, that we’re not required to meet up with everyone until noon, and that satisfying Snow is a pretty exhausting full-time job. I left her lying facedown, naked and tangled up in the bedsheets, in the glow of sunrise reflecting off the mountains. I only snapped a quick photo or two as a keepsake of a beautiful memory.
Okay, and maybe I’ll send one to Roddy to brag a little.
But I exited the room pretty early, and have been pacing up and down the halls of the chalet. I went to the kitchen area where the caterers (courtesy of Helen’s dad) have already prepared coffee and croissants, among other delicious breakfast items. I am not the only one up at the crack of dawn, for David is in the main area of the chalet, where the glass windows extend to a towering height, and the view is magnificent. He has an easel set up, and he is painting the mountains.
He looks quite somber and focused, so I don’t really want to disturb him, but I can’t help being drawn to the stunning pigments on his canvas. I hope that peeking over his shoulder won’t disturb his method.
“That’s incredible,” I tell him. “You’re truly gifted.”
“Thanks,” he says, without turning around. “This mountain, right here, is called the Matterhorn. One of the highest peaks in Europe. I took a few pictures, too, because the light can change really fast. But there’s just something therapeutic about painting the live object. It’s almost spiritual. Not that mountains are alive, or have spirits—but you know what I mean. Or do you? Sorry if I’m rambling. The girl I’m in love with just married someone else right in front of me last night, so I’m in a weird mood right now.”
“That’s understandable,” I tell him. “And with the way you paint, the mountains do look like they are alive, and have spirits.”
He inhales deeply, and then exhales as he continues painting, quick, confident brushstrokes. “The worst part is knowing I made it happen. I tricked her into coming here, told her I wanted to paint the mountains. So, I might as well paint the fucking mountains, right? I don’t have a right to be upset or sad when I brought this on myself. She was perfectly happy with me, and I could have left things well enough alone. What was I expecting? That she would choose me, over him?”
David laughs, a self-deprecating laugh. His brush strokes become more aggressive, and the painting becomes more beautiful, and so lifelike that it could be a window to another world. “No one chooses a painter over a doctor. Especially when that doctor gave you the ability to see, or you wouldn’t even know what a painting fucking looked like. And especially when you’re pregnant with the doctor’s baby. I’m sorry. I don’t even know you, I shouldn’t be unloading all my pain on you at 7AM, before you’ve even had your morning coffee.”
“It’s perfectly fine,” I tell him. “I wouldn’t be out here walking around in circles like a madman at this hour if I didn’t have some pain of my own.”
David glances back at me then, only briefly, before returning his eyes to the canvas. “It’s Cole, right?”
“Yes.”
“So, what’s your damage?” David asks as he continues to add color and dimension to the canvas. “You have to tell me now, so I feel less awkward and humiliated for venting to a complete stranger—and a relative of the groom, no less.”
“I’m hardly related to him. I am engaged to his biological sister, but we both just met him yesterday for the first time, really. You probably know Liam much better than we do.”
“I wish I didn’t,” David responds as he chooses a darker color for the shadows, and makes the mountains look a little angrier. “Okay, so—what’s eating you this morning?”
I exhale, not wanting to share too much personal information, but craving a listening ear. “Can I expect artist-patient confidentiality?”
“Sure. This is a safe space, and anything said here remains between you, me, and the painting.”
“Well, my girlfriend has been suffering from a very rare mental illness for as long as I’ve known her. I didn’t realize what it was, or what it was called—it was just her, and I loved it about her. It was almost like a superpower, her ability to change into a completely different person, if she needed to.”
David turns around then, slightly, to look at me.
“And I think it’s partially my fault for not getting her help sooner. She was so depressed and suicidal for so long. I tried my best to just make her happy, and it didn’t seem like doctors could or would do anything to help. Most of them wouldn’t even understand this. But it’s been mostly harmless, and mostly a benefit, something we could almost live with—until now. Now, I think things have gone too far. I took her to a psychiatric facility when she was seeing people who weren’t there—but they only made things worse.”
“They tend to do that,” David says softly.
“I thought she was perfectly fine for weeks—I thought she was getting better, healing. Now she tells me that I put a ring on the finger of the wrong girl, and the girl that she used to be isn’t even inside her anymore. She’s just gone. That crazy, soft, immensely intelligent girl I grew up with, who was addicted to hacking into everything, who helped me build my business from the ground up, who was so brilliant she got recruited by the CIA—she’s just gone. She’s gone, somewhere deep inside her own head—if she’s even still in there—and I didn’t even notice. And I don’t know if I’ll ever see her again.”
“Damn,” David says, shaking his head. “You’ve got real problems.”
“A little bit. I hope that helps you feel better about Helen.”
“Loads. My basic love triangle is basic.” David gestures to his canvas, and then to the scenery. “I can’t help you much, but you’ve done the right thing by telling the mountains. They are tens of thousands of years old, very wise, and they offer the best advice. Just listen closely, and they will provide the answers you seek.”
“Well, that’s cryptic,” I respond with a chuckle. I don’t think I’ve ever met a painter before, but his technique reminds me of my sketches of buildings. It seems so strange to me, drawing something that will never be built—drawing something that is already built, by nature. Are painters like architects who suck at math—or architects who do too much weed?
“I’m sorry if I sound loopy,” David says. “I haven’t gotten much sleep.”
“You should get a nap,” I tell him. “We’re supposed to be having this killer unbachelor party later.”
“Ugh. Because that’s exactly what I need—to celebrate with Liam. I hope it is a killer party—in that I hope someone pushes Liam down the mountain and he dies. That would literally solve all my problems.”
“That’s so funny—my girlfriend said something quite similar.”
“Then maybe she’s not as mentally ill as you think, if she recognizes that Liam deserves to fall down a mountain and die. Or—maybe I’m more mentally ill than I realize.” David sighs and puts down his paints. “I should really go to bed.”
“You should.”
“I mean, it’s not cool to fantasize about making someone a widow when she’s been married for less than 24 hours, right?”
“Not particularly cool, no.”
“I thought so. I just need to lie down for a bit. Have a good night, Cole. Or morning—whatever.”
“You too, man.”
The poor bastard stumbles toward his room looking like a zombie—then he realizes he was heading in the wrong direction, and has to shuffle back the other way. I feel so bad for him.
Moving to the breakfast bar, I pour two cups of coffee, and then hold them against me with one arm while I grab some croissants. I take a bite as move back toward the room I share with Scarlett, but before I can get there, I see Liam walking down the hall.
“Good morning,” he says with a yawn. “Damn, those croissants smell good.”
“There are lots just over there,” I say, with my mouth full, chewing. Then an idea strikes me. I think it comes from the mountains. “Hey, Liam, you know how you said you knew some mental health professionals?”
“Yeah?”
“I’m sorry to ask this so early, but it’s a little bit of an emergency. Would you happen to know anyone who specializes in DID?”
“Are you serious? No, but I can ask my colleagues.”
“It would be great if you could find someone who can do long distance sessions via video call, or even text chat. This is probably a long shot, but even someone here in Switzerland we can visit immediately.”
“I’ll call in some favors,” Liam says quickly. “I’ll find someone ASAP—just give me a few hours because of the time difference between here and New York.”
“Thank you.”
“Is it for Sophie?” he asks.
I hesitate. “Yes, but please don’t tell her I told you. Consider this your first top secret mission as a big brother.”
“Alright,” he says proudly. “Mission accepted.”
He smiles at me, and I continue heading to our room. I feel a little bit better already, like something is being done.
I should confide in the mountains more often.
When I enter the room, Scarlett stirs on the bed and turns to look at me through one half-opened eye, peering through a curtain of very messy hair.
“Coffeeeeeeeee!” she exclaims with excitement. “My hero!”
And it’s silly, but I do feel slightly heroic.
When we all meet up at noon, the girls quickly gather and go off in one car for their massages. The guys hang around the chalet, enjoying the free drinks to get a head start on the festivities—and decide on the festivities.
Liam pulled me away from the others, and handed me a piece of paper with some information written on it, with the phone number and name of a recommended, specialized therapist. I thank him quietly, before returning to the others.
“So we’re having a day on the town?” Liam asks skeptically. “It looks like a really small town.”
“Yeah,” Owen says with disappointment. “I’m sorry guys, but we won’t be able to do strippers.”
“No one wanted to go to strippers other than you,” Liam says to his friend.
"Can we go skiing?" David asks, glancing at me with a secret smile.
I’m not even worried. I’ve been dealing with Snow 24/7, so I’m pretty sure David’s murderous tendencies pale in comparison.
“Yup!” Owen says. “It looks like the Theodul glacier is open year round, and there’s a huge lift. Do you guys feel like skiing?”
“Not really,” Liam admits. “Sorry to be a spoilsport, Owen, but I’d really just rather grab some food in a pub and chat with you guys. All of this has been a little stressful.”
“Boring old man,” Owen mutters. “Well, we are missing two dudes—Helen’s dad and James. Should we wait for them, or do this without them?”
“I think they both felt like they were a little too old for a bachelor party,” Liam says.
Owen shakes his head. "You’re never too old! Maybe Helen's dad can give us some marital advice. He's the only one here who's been married.”
"Well," David says glumly.
"Happily married," Liam adds.
"Yeah. Cole, I don't think you heard the story," David tells me, putting an arm around my shoulders, as we are chums now. "My ex-wife—she did the worst thing imaginable. The worst thing that a woman can ever do to a man."
Everyone in the room finishes the story in unison: "She took his dog."
David sniffles. "It's not funny, you guys. Macaroni was my best friend."
“That’s a cute name,” Owen says.
“Her golden fur was so curly, like my favorite cheesy pasta,” David says mournfully. Then he places a hand on his stomach. “Actually, I could go for some pasta.”
“Yeah, let’s not turn to him for marital advice,” Owen says.
I find myself smiling sadly. "Well, I've been married before. Sort of happily."
"Oh, yeah?" Liam asks, with interest. "But I thought you were engaged to my sister. Did your wife die?"
I smile. "Not exactly. You see, Sophie and I actually had to get married once before, when she was fourteen and I was sixteen. It was the only way we could be emancipated from foster care, so that I could receive the inheritance my dead parents left for me, and pay for us both to go to MIT."
"Whoa," Owen says in surprise. "You married her when she was fourteen?"
"You guys both went to MIT?" Liam asks, with a shocked expression. "Why didn't I know this?"
"Because you walked away from her when she tried to meet you," I respond, with a hard jaw. "I really wish you hadn't done that."
"I'm sorry, man."
I didn't realize that somewhere, deep down, I had been blaming Liam for everything that happened to Scarlett after the wedding. If she hadn't left in a rush like that...
"So, you guys have been together for like fourteen years?" Owen asks. "That's amazing. That's a serious story of love and devotion, right there."
"Not exactly," I explain, still staring hard at Liam. "You see, Sophie had been treated really badly in her foster homes, so I didn't feel it was right to try to actually be with her. I thought that what she needed at the time was only a brother, to look out for her. So I tried to be that, instead of a boyfriend, or a husband, or whatever. I even encouraged her to date other people. Looking back, I'm not sure if it was the best choice—it only made us both miserable. Because we both wanted to be together, but I kept telling her to wait until we're older. Whenever she tried to discuss it with me, I told her we’d talk about it later. She hated me for that. And eventually, I lost her because of it—for many years. I didn't think she'd ever come back to me, to be honest."
“This is also not a story of a happy marriage,” Owen complains.
"That sucks," David says. "But at least you found each other again."
"Would have been nice if she had an actual brother," I say, angrily, to no one in particular. "So I didn't feel that it was my responsibility to be fatherly for my girlfriend, because she had no one else."
"I'm sorry," Liam says. "Words can't describe how sorry I am, Cole. I saw you two, together, happy, earlier—obviously wealthy and successful. I just thought you guys had it all, and I didn't know how you suffered... because of me."
"Yeah, buddy. You basically ruined a good decade of my life," I tell Liam with a grin, lifting my glass. "But it’s all good now. So, cheers!"
Everyone says cheers and drinks a little awkwardly.
"But we're going to get married again, for real, as adults. So there's a happy ending to the story, after all."
"So what would be best suggestion of marital advice for my good buddy, Liam?" Owen asks.
"Just be a good person. Mean what you say. And do the right thing now, because there might not be time to do it later.” I take another sip of my drink. “Hey, actually staying until the end of the wedding was a good start.”
Everyone laughs at this, and Liam flushes slightly.
“Come on, guys,” Owen says, heading for the door. “Chug all your drinks—it’s time to go barhopping!”
"Really? Barhopping? I’m getting too old for this,” Liam says with a groan.
David grins. “You guys are going to make me wish I had joined the girls for massages.”
“Maybe the girls can join us when they finish their massages,” Liam suggests. “No offense to you fine gentleman, but I already miss my wife.”