and Beau stay here tonight for a while if we want to go out for a bit?”
Red flags wave. “If we go out, you’ll get recognized, won’t you?” I don’t want the weekend spoiled.
Andrew puts on the tea kettle. “If we went through the McDonald’s drive-thru, I bet no one would notice.”
“That sounds fun.” I watch his face for a clue about what’s brewing.
“I’m just saying, there are ways for us to go out without, you know, going out .” He pulls out two mugs for tea.
“I’ll let the boys know they aren’t to pound on one another for a couple hours tonight. If we hook them up with Chinese takeout, it’ll buy us some time.”
He nods. He’s up to something.
A few hours later, we say goodbye to the boys after outfitting them with provisions and movies. As we walk out the door, he takes the keys.
“You’re the driver tonight?” I ask.
“If it’s okay with you. I’ve got a plan.”
I’m at a loss. This is supposed to be my turf. “I have to say I’m intrigued. Where’re we going?”
He hustles around to the passenger side and lets me in. Only then does he answer. “We’re just going on a drive. Go with it.” Then he’s in the car.
He smiles devilishly. I’m in for it. It doesn’t matter where we’re going; with a smile like that, it’s got to be trouble.
“All right. I’m in.”
He pulls out of the driveway and turns north. Then we head into the foothills.
The road winds its way up through the sage. I look out over the city as the dusk deepens. Boise is a flat, twinkling blanket. The Owyhee Mountains are turning pink in the near distance, their tips frosted with snowfall.
“It’s so pretty.” I have been known from time to time to say really deep things, but now is not one of those times.
Andrew puts his hand on mine for a moment. “You picked a great place to live, Kelly. I like it here. It suits me more than LA, I think.”
This makes me happy. I’m not sure why it’s important, but if someone doesn’t get Boise, chances are he might not get me.
By now we’ve climbed far enough up the Boise Front that our options for destinations are narrowing.
“There aren’t a lot of restaurants up this way, you know.” I look at him suspiciously.
“Another demonstration of your lack of faith in me. Trust me.” He slows the car and pulls off on a logging road.
I stay quiet for a minute. How does he know his way around up here? Has he been doing reconnaissance? When? “I’m very impressed, Mr. Pettigrew. How are you doing this? Or are you totally lost and just a really good actor?”
He doesn’t look at me, just keeps driving. “I have friends. And I am a really good actor, but I don’t need that right now, thank you very much.”
The car comes to a stop. We’ve come in the back way on Mores Mountain. We’re sitting in front of the Nordic Lodge at the ski resort. It’s not open for the season yet. But the lights are on.
“Andrew, what did you do?”
He turns off the car. “I asked the boys to tell me about a cool place you liked. They said you liked the mountain. I did some calling around. And then I had a friend call and set this up for me.”
We’re standing at the front porch. “I smell food.”
“You’re an observant one, you are.” He takes my hand and pulls me up the steps. “It’s cold out here. Let’s go in.”
The door is open. I’ve always liked this lodge. It sits at the trailhead of the very unassuming cross-country area above Boise. It’s a small log building, but the main floor has a huge A-frame main room. The windows open to a sparkly view of forest and the valley below.
The river-rock fireplace is lit. Most of the tables are still turned on their sides and pushed to the back wall. One is out, set with a white tablecloth and candles.
“This is awesome. I’m impressed.” It’s been a long time since I’ve had a fuss made over me. I remember now that it feels good.
“You might want to reserve judgment until you try the
Red flags wave. “If we go out, you’ll get recognized, won’t you?” I don’t want the weekend spoiled.
Andrew puts on the tea kettle. “If we went through the McDonald’s drive-thru, I bet no one would notice.”
“That sounds fun.” I watch his face for a clue about what’s brewing.
“I’m just saying, there are ways for us to go out without, you know, going out .” He pulls out two mugs for tea.
“I’ll let the boys know they aren’t to pound on one another for a couple hours tonight. If we hook them up with Chinese takeout, it’ll buy us some time.”
He nods. He’s up to something.
A few hours later, we say goodbye to the boys after outfitting them with provisions and movies. As we walk out the door, he takes the keys.
“You’re the driver tonight?” I ask.
“If it’s okay with you. I’ve got a plan.”
I’m at a loss. This is supposed to be my turf. “I have to say I’m intrigued. Where’re we going?”
He hustles around to the passenger side and lets me in. Only then does he answer. “We’re just going on a drive. Go with it.” Then he’s in the car.
He smiles devilishly. I’m in for it. It doesn’t matter where we’re going; with a smile like that, it’s got to be trouble.
“All right. I’m in.”
He pulls out of the driveway and turns north. Then we head into the foothills.
The road winds its way up through the sage. I look out over the city as the dusk deepens. Boise is a flat, twinkling blanket. The Owyhee Mountains are turning pink in the near distance, their tips frosted with snowfall.
“It’s so pretty.” I have been known from time to time to say really deep things, but now is not one of those times.
Andrew puts his hand on mine for a moment. “You picked a great place to live, Kelly. I like it here. It suits me more than LA, I think.”
This makes me happy. I’m not sure why it’s important, but if someone doesn’t get Boise, chances are he might not get me.
By now we’ve climbed far enough up the Boise Front that our options for destinations are narrowing.
“There aren’t a lot of restaurants up this way, you know.” I look at him suspiciously.
“Another demonstration of your lack of faith in me. Trust me.” He slows the car and pulls off on a logging road.
I stay quiet for a minute. How does he know his way around up here? Has he been doing reconnaissance? When? “I’m very impressed, Mr. Pettigrew. How are you doing this? Or are you totally lost and just a really good actor?”
He doesn’t look at me, just keeps driving. “I have friends. And I am a really good actor, but I don’t need that right now, thank you very much.”
The car comes to a stop. We’ve come in the back way on Mores Mountain. We’re sitting in front of the Nordic Lodge at the ski resort. It’s not open for the season yet. But the lights are on.
“Andrew, what did you do?”
He turns off the car. “I asked the boys to tell me about a cool place you liked. They said you liked the mountain. I did some calling around. And then I had a friend call and set this up for me.”
We’re standing at the front porch. “I smell food.”
“You’re an observant one, you are.” He takes my hand and pulls me up the steps. “It’s cold out here. Let’s go in.”
The door is open. I’ve always liked this lodge. It sits at the trailhead of the very unassuming cross-country area above Boise. It’s a small log building, but the main floor has a huge A-frame main room. The windows open to a sparkly view of forest and the valley below.
The river-rock fireplace is lit. Most of the tables are still turned on their sides and pushed to the back wall. One is out, set with a white tablecloth and candles.
“This is awesome. I’m impressed.” It’s been a long time since I’ve had a fuss made over me. I remember now that it feels good.
“You might want to reserve judgment until you try the
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