The Jeweler (8 page)

Maybe things are going to be okay. I’ve got bluebird days to ski, lessons to teach. Maybe I can do this.

It sure felt better to focus on those things, and she needed a way to move forward, not dwell in the past. Maybe this was the way.

For the next two months, she kept telling herself that.

F
ENDER
C
OULD
H
EAR
Sam messing around in the office at the back of the shop. He was sitting at the jeweler’s bench, playing with the grinder. Anything he could find nearby, he was grinding down to a nub—pencils, old keys, anything.

“Fender, what about teeth? Could I grind my teeth down on this? You know, into vampire points?”

Fender worked out front by one of the display cases. “Feel free to try it, and let me know how it goes.” He pulled one of the velvet trays out from the display case. He reached into his pants pocket and retrieved a ring box.
The
ring box. It was starting to look a little worn. And no wonder: Fender had toted it around with him for two months now, and the gray velvet had rubbed smooth at the corners. He cracked the box. There it was. The ring had ridden along in Fender’s glove box as he went to his lessons with Ginger. It never made it out of the glove box, but it had logged some mileage.

Ginger
. He thought about her. He stopped thinking about her. Back to the matter at hand: putting the ring back in the store. Time to let sleeping dogs lie. Things were going well with Ginger. He’d had two more lessons with her: one right after the bunny disaster, and then as soon as he could after that, in early February. But then the weather had turned subzero, and even he had limits. And anyway there had never seemed to be an opportunity to tell her the truth.

He didn’t have the guts to take things beyond the slopes. He was a heel. And she was too good. Telling her about the ring and the proposed proposal by Dead Boyfriend would complicate matters. Fender liked how uncomplicated everything felt right now. And that made him want another ski lesson.

A loud screeching of metal broke the Zen moment. Sam stood, and Fender could see him through the office window. In an instant, Sam was at the door to the office. “It’s handled! I’m all right. Everything’s under control.” He came up to the counter and stood next to Fender. “What are you doing out here?”

“Putting something away.” Fender held the ring up to look at it again. It was a platinum band, smooth and free of decoration. A simple prong setting held the diamond. It was pear-shaped and big, a little shy of two carats. It was beautiful.
Dead Boyfriend had good taste; I’ll give him that. Actually, Old Lady Harriman was the one with great taste. I just convinced him to take it off my hands
, Fender remembered. A ring with no owner. First Harriman, then Ginger’s boyfriend.

“God, that’s huge. What’s that from?” Sam hadn’t noticed the ring box, which Fender now slipped back into his pocket.

“An estate sale. Somebody died.” Fender ignored the tweak he felt in his gut and tucked the ring into one of the slots on the tray.

O
N
T
HE
D
AY
O
F
F
ENDER’S
fourth scheduled lesson, it rained. Ginger checked in at the office, expecting a cancellation. But there were no messages for her.
He’s really getting into skiing. I’m surprised.

She smiled. Fender Barnes. This student definitely won the prize for perseverance. Even she would have given up on skiing after his run-in with Wylie and Mr. Bunny, his plywood nemesis. One person could take only so much. But to her surprise, he’d called the next weekend and requested her again. She’d seen him once more in February, and that whole lesson he’d just seemed to smile a lot. Then a couple of rotten weeks of cold, miserable weather had passed, and she’d thought maybe he’d given up on skiing entirely.

But now, almost two months after his inaugural lesson, he was back. And bless his heart, despite the additional lessons she’d given him since then, he still wasn’t really catching on. After three lessons, he had the wedge turn down, but that was about it. Typically, Ginger had adults on intermediate terrain by three lessons.

But there wasn’t much about Fender that was typical. He’d graduated to wearing a coat rather than a garbage bag. When she was teaching, though, she had the feeling that sometimes he was just looking at her, that not much of anything was really sinking in. She’d ask if she was making sense, and he’d just grin and nod.

It wasn’t a lot of skin off her nose if he just liked taking lessons. She’d keep teaching as long as he kept signing up. When it rained, though, even Ginger didn’t have much fun skiing, and she considered herself a diehard.

Rain wasn’t totally unusual as the season drew to a close. The weather had warmed up and become more unpredictable. She’d skied in March and April in snow, sleet, fog, rain, and lightning. Today was March third, so she was ready for anything.

It was a slow morning. Most of the instructors sat in the ski school locker room. They played cards or tuned their skis.

At ten minutes to eleven, Ginger began to get her gear on. A couple of the other instructors patted her on the back in pity. It was pouring rain outside. There was a puddle of water standing on the snow in front of the door to the locker room. It was grim. Ginger resigned herself to getting completely soaked. She thought ahead to a hot bath and warm bed with Zoë curled up at the end of it.
I can do this. If Fender can take it, I can take it
.

She walked out to the private lesson bench in the rain.
Why am I doing this? I’m doing this because it’s my job, and because I like Fender
. She slowed a little. She liked him.
I like Fender, and I like the way he makes me laugh.

She spotted him as soon as she walked up to the meeting area. Fender sat on the bench, holding an umbrella. She bit her lip to keep from laughing.

“Hi. I didn’t know if you’d come.” His pants were already soaked through.

“You buy, I fly, my brave friend. But I have bad news for you, Fender. You can’t ski with an umbrella.”

“I was trying to save the total soaking for the lesson.”

Ginger turned and headed for Chair Two. “Follow me.”

They got on the lift. Ginger liked riding the lift with Fender. She usually looked at him and watched the expressions on his face and the crinkle to his eyes. Today it was raining so dang hard, she just tried to pick out the next tower through the sheets of water. But it still was nice to have him sitting next to her.

“This is interesting.” Fender shifted his shoulders a little. “I didn’t know it was possible to have small tributaries of water running into your underwear. And they’re icy. How pleasant.” He sat up a little straighter and pointed off into the rain. “What’s that?”

Ginger followed the path of his finger to Summit Lodge. Or at least in the general direction of it. It was a restaurant at the top of Chair Two. Earlier in the season it was busy, but today it’d be dead.

“It’s Summit Lodge. What’re you thinking about?”

“If I’ve paid for the lesson, does it matter what we actually do in the lesson?”

Ginger smiled. “Usually I’m supposed to teach you how to ski.”

“But what if I’m a pain in the ass and throw a temper tantrum? Would you have to appease me?”

“If it was in the name of total quality guest service, I guess I’d have to make you happy, yeah.” Ginger saw the last tower emerging out of the rain.

“Okay. So here’s the plan. We go into Summit Lodge and wait until it stops raining. And if anyone questions you, tell them I insisted. I’m well-known for being a first-class jackass, so it’ll be believable.”

“First class, huh?”

“Ask anyone. I am Grade A jack.” The chair deposited them at the top of the lift, and they turned toward the lodge.

After checking their equipment, they found a table inside. The Summit Lodge was big, with bare log beams, antler chandeliers, and high ceilings. But today it was quiet and even seemed cozy. Fender plunked down at a table by the fireplace.

“I’m going to have an Irish coffee. What do you want?” He waved to a waitress at the bar.

“I’m still on the job. I’ll have a regular coffee, though. With lots of cream.” She stood. “Will you order that for me? I’m going to go towel off. I’m drenched through. You may have witnessed a record, Fender. I don’t remember it ever pouring this badly.” She excused herself to the bathroom.

In the ladies’ room, she peeled off successive sopping layers. She ran the hand dryer and stuck her head under it. Every time she looked in the mirror, she caught herself grinning. Perma-grin.
God, I haven’t smiled this way about a man in a long time
. She didn’t stop herself this time; she let herself go there.
Not even with Brad did I smile like this. Not even with Brad
. She paused for a moment and took stock: how did admitting that feel? She wrung out her fleece. It felt okay. She hadn’t been struck down for thinking it.

Fender sipped his coffee when she returned. He had his boots and socks off. “Because you are a nice girl, I’ll only have one drink.”

“Do you usually have more?”

“Well, you see, I have really bad judgment when it comes to women. They usually warrant drinking until I can’t hear the screeching. Or I hear it, but I don’t care.”

“Tell me a bad judgment story.” Ginger sipped her coffee and felt her body warm up.

“Well, there was Sandy. And Sandy’s parakeet. I don’t know if I should tell you that one. It makes me out to be a bird killer. Oh, but there’s Emilia. She was a hoot. I don’t know if she thought I was much fun, but oh well. See, I own a jewelry shop—”

Ginger interrupted. “You do? That’s really cool. Which one?”

“It’s not so cool. Barnes and Son, downtown. I’m the son. The prodigal son to boot. But we don’t have time for that sad tale. So, Emilia was from Massachusetts. I think she was even a debutante at one point in her life. I don’t remember how she found her way out west. I think she was a programmer or something.

“I met her down at the Rendezvous one day when I was hanging out with Pop. She was gorgeous, so I asked her out. I think I suggested something original like dinner and a movie. So, we go out, and we talk about our jobs. When I said I was a jeweler, her eyes lit up. I don’t know what it is with chicks and shiny stuff. They’re as bad as crows with aluminum foil, I tell you what.” He paused and looked at her. “Except you. I’m sure you’re not that way. Oh, Jesus. If I say anything that offends you, just ignore me. Chalk it up to hypothermic insanity or something.”

Ginger looked across the table at him and smiled. “I like your stories. You’re fine.”

“You could hit me when I start to say something that pisses you off. Wouldn’t be the first time a girl decked me, either.”

“Your track record sounds amazing.”

“You know, my charms are boundless. But have you ever had a student as entertaining?” He sat back and looked straight at her.

I like his eyes. I like his smile.
Ginger felt warm.
I don’t feel cold anymore.

“Hello?” He touched her fingertips, and she jumped, almost knocked over her coffee.

“What were we talking about?”

He looked at her, and Ginger realized he was on to her.
He can tell, can’t he, that I was thinking about him?
He raised an eyebrow. “I think we were talking about how much you like me.”

She wasn’t ready. She changed the direction of the conversation.

“No, I’m pretty sure we were talking about other crazy students I’ve had. I’ll tell you about Rocket. He gives you a run for your money.”

He nodded, giving her the point. “Okay. Tell me about Rocket.”

They chatted and laughed, and Ginger watched his eyes and face and just generally enjoyed him, forgetting herself.

Until she saw the clock on the wall behind him. “Our lesson time’s about up. I need to go check in at the ski school pretty soon. I’ve got about fifteen minutes to get down the front side to the office.”

He sat up in alarm. “I don’t want to get you in trouble. Just leave me here. I’m not going out again.”

“Thanks for the coffee. If you want, call me. We’ll schedule a make-up time to ski on our own. No charge, just to make up for the lousy weather today.”

He stood up and handed Ginger her scarf. “Actually, I’m not entirely thrilled about the whole skiing thing anyway. I do want to ask you something, though.”

“What?”

“Would you have dinner with me one night? Maybe go see a movie?”

“Yeah. I’d like that.”

Ginger skied back down to the office, but she didn’t notice the rain. All she could feel was the wide grin on her face.

Only when he was in the car, driving down the mountain, did Fender realize he had set a date for the same old thing: dinner and a movie.

Who am I to be inventive at this point?
Of course, there was a reason for this kind of date. It limited the amount of talking he’d be doing, which was never a bad thing. Talking was usually how he got into trouble.

Actually, as he thought about it, it seemed that as soon as women got to know him a little better…well, that was usually the thing that ended the relationship for him.
Hell, the more
I
know myself, the less I like me.

Oh, but there were so many other ways to screw this one up. Like, for instance, the fact that he was already keeping secrets from her. He hadn’t even slept with her yet, and he was already lying.
I may have broken my own record on that one
.

He was sure there’d be a time to tell her Dead Boyfriend had wanted to give the ring to her and propose. That he, Fender, had been given the opportunity to tell her all about it months ago and didn’t. That her new date now was trying to sell the ring again to get rid of it. Oh, and that he still had the check Brad had written him for it in the top drawer of the desk in the back office of the shop.

Yes, this was a recipe for success if he knew one. But he didn’t care. He loved the way she made him feel. She made him feel like he could even figure a way out of all of this, eventually. She made him feel handsome and clever. And a little less like a total asshole.

So, one night the next week, he found himself standing in front of the display cases, looking at his reflection. He was going to the house to pick her up for their first date.

He’d been smart enough to remember to ask for directions, even though he already knew where she lived.
Stalkers never get a second date
, he reminded himself. The bells above the front door tinkled.

He didn’t turn around. “We just closed. Come back tomorrow.”

The customer responded by slapping him on the back, hard. “God love you, quality is job zero around here.” It was Sam. “What’re you doing? I came to see if you wanted to go have a beer.” Sam was always up for a beer.

“I’ve got plans.”
This isn’t going to be easy. Sam is the Jedi Master of secrets
. He could always tell when Fender had one.

“No, no, no, you’re not getting off that easy.” Sam closed in on Fender, circling like a buzzard in the desert. “You even smell good. Who is she? What’s up with the CIA action?”

“It’s no big deal.”

“It must be a big deal; I think you’re even wearing clean socks!” Sam leaned back against the counter.

“I just don’t want to jinx it. And you’re getting huge palm prints on the case.” Fender started looking for his keys. Sam took a step away from the counter and smoothed the glass with the hem of his T-shirt. Fender could practically see the little gears turning in his brain.

“You haven’t met anybody lately—oh my God!” Sam chased Fender behind the counter. “I know exactly who it is. You haven’t met any chicks lately except one: the ski girl! Dead Boyfriend’s girl! You asked her out? You dog! Well, how’d she take the news about roadkill and the ring?”

The jig was up. He couldn’t lie to Sam. Fender just looked at him.

Sam’s smile was as wide as the Rio Grande. “You didn’t tell her. I knew the new-and-improved Fender would be short-lived. You didn’t tell her, and now you’re hornin’ in on the dead guy’s territory.”