Banff

WWDILBanff

Echoes in Eternity

What We Do in Life …

Part Six - Banff

by

Reagan Kavanagh

This work of adult fiction, loosely based on characters portrayed by Russell Crowe, includes adult language and experiences; you have been warned. No copyright infringement on the original work is intended. ©Reagan Kavanagh 2006.

REAGAN
“Damn!” I sat there on my butt, watching as he glided over to me, turning his skates on the side and gently flexing his knees as he swooped to a stop and squatted beside me, concern clear on his face. I grinned at him …I couldn’t help it, even with my bruised posterior. He’s so damned graceful that it almost defies belief. It suddenly occurred to me that his life had depended as much on his natural agility and grace as on his proficiency with a blade. He’d not have survived a week on the battlefield – much less in the arena – if he’d lacked natural grace.

“Have you done yourself an injury?” I shook my head.

“Nothing but my pride, and that will heal.” He smiled, shaking his head at my demonstrated lack of elegance and stood, offering me his hand to hoist me to my feet …again. That was the …oh, Hell. I don’t remember how many falls I’d taken that morning, and Maximus was still on his feet. He’d had a few dicey moments early on but had remained upright. He put his arm round my waist and skated me over to the edge of the ice rink, and we sat on one of the benches.

“Why are you so good at this? Have you ice skated before and been holding out on me?” He shook his head in negation.

“Never …but I did spend a goodly amount of time crossing frozen rivers in Germania whilst wearing hob-nailed boots. Unlike on soil where they offer firm footing, hobnails fail miserably on ice. I had many occasions to skid across frozen rivers and lakes, flailing wildly in an attempt to keep my balance. I suspect the experience was not that dissimilar to skating on ice.” He grinned at me, the arm that had now moved to my shoulders pulling me close to his side. “Do you wish to stop for the day?”

“Not on your life, but I could go for a cup of coffee.” We got to our feet and – with his arm once more round my waist – skated over to the little coffee bar at the far edge of the rink, got cups of steaming coffee, and sat at one of the small tables. This was our fifth day in Banff, and I didn’t recall ever having had so much fun. Though we’d done the business travel thing, Maximus and I had never actually taken a holiday together, and we were making the most of the occasion. We’d flown from Dallas to Vancouver and taken the train east to Banff, a two-day trip during which the scenery had taken our breath away. I’d lost count of the digital film cartridges we’d tucked away in our camera bag for uploading to my desktop computer when we got home. We’d be able to bore our friends senseless for the next ten years with photos from this trip.

We were staying at the Caribou Lodge in one of their deluxe loft suites. The suite had two levels, dining/sitting area and fireplace downstairs with the bedroom and bath in the so-called loft. Frankly, the loft looked to me like a second floor, but I’m not into quibbling semantics. The hotel can call it whatever they like; the important thing was Maximus and I loved it. We’d made love from the front door to the upstairs balcony and back again twice. There likely wasn’t a surface in the place that didn’t have our DNA on it …a crime scene technician going through the suite would have thought Christmas had come early for the overtime hours needed to ‘process the crime scene.’

We hadn’t actually discussed it before the wedding, but when we’d used the last condom in the last box Maximus had bought, he hadn’t bought more; I’d used my diaphragm until the night before our wedding. I hadn’t included the diaphragm when I packed for the trip. On arriving in Banff and unpacking for the ten days we’d be there, my cosmetics’ bag – which is where the diaphragm lives when we’re travelling – was open on the bathroom counter. Maximus, who had been standing at the bathroom counter that first night as I’d brushed my teeth, stopped me when I’d finished and turned toward the bedroom.

“Have you not forgotten something?”

“Nope, don’t think so …why?” He gestured toward the bag and raised an eyebrow at me.

“I left it at home.” He smiled as he crossed the room and took me in his arms, whispering into my hair as he held me close.

“Thank you, Cara.”

MAXIMUS
Following the day at the office when young Dolores had asked our intentions regarding family planning, I had thought much on how to delicately approach the subject of starting our family with Cassandra. I am not good at such matters and finally determined to wait and see if she would broach the subject. She did not. A week prior to our marriage and following a particularly vigorous episode in our bed one evening, she followed me to the bathroom, watching as I stripped off the condom and disposed of it, following its toss into the rubbish bin with the now empty box. It had been our practise since that event in the spring after we met to be very cautious, thus we both employed barrier devices when coupling. I looked at her as I closed the waste bin, and she smiled.

In the past, it had been her custom on realising the box was empty to immediately make a note on the white board in the kitchen to replenish our stock. Instead, she completed her own ablutions and returned with me to the bedroom, placing her diaphragm carefully in its box in her bedside table. We made no further mention of the matter, and I dismissed it from my mind, though she continued to use her own device until we parted on the eve of our wedding. I did not know if she made use of it whilst on the train between Vancouver and Banff. Our sleeping car did not have a private toilet, and we had to make use of one at the end of the car. I am aware that some men claim to be able to feel such a device inside a woman, but I cannot. I did not ask at that point, assuming she was employing it, as she always made a trip to the bathroom following our relations in order to tidy herself before dressing again or retiring for the night.

On this night – our first in the hotel in Banff – she did not take the box from her cosmetics’ bag before turning toward the bedroom. I asked if she had forgotten something and was overjoyed with her response. Though it remained unspoken between us, we were clearly in accord in our decision to begin our family as soon as possible and took every opportunity to further that goal. Three mornings following our arrival in Banff I followed her into the large shower and noted with concern that she bit her lip when cleansing her intimate parts. I felt a stab of guilt, as we had been more active than usual the preceding day and night, and on two occasions I had been less than gentle with her. She had not objected at the time, and whilst I had asked afterward if I had caused her discomfort, she assured me I had not. In truth, my own so-called intimate tissues were somewhat the worse for wear. Condoms offer lubrication both inside and out. Tissue against tissue creates friction that eventually eradicates lubrication with irritation as the result.

“Cara, though you said when I asked last night if I had hurt you that I did not, your behaviour now makes me ask again.” She turned to look at me.

“No, you didn’t hurt me …not at the time, and not now, but those are sensitive tissues, and we’ve overworked them a bit.” A bit …I stifled a laugh at her diminution of the frequency of our coupling.

“Then we shall not indulge ourselves for a day or so and allow your tissues …and my own …time to heal.” She sprayed me in the face with the handheld shower, laughing as she did, and then glanced down at my cock, shaking her head on noting its reddened and somewhat chapped appearance.

“No, we won’t ‘not indulge ourselves.’ We’ll just walk to the chemist’s down the street and buy a bottle of lubricant.” Ah. My education grows with each passing day.

“There is a lubricant for use with this activity?”

“Absolutely.” I did not think it appropriate to inquire as to how she came about this knowledge. An hour later we walked into the chemist’s, and I followed her to the aisle marked ‘personal products.’ I looked about at the amazing array of intimate products …tampons, sanitary towels, condoms of an infinite variety, douches, gels, sprays, suppositories, and finally, lubricants. She picked up a box labelled ‘Astroglide’ and handed it to me, nudging me toward the woman at the checkout counter as she followed. I stopped and looked at her, then read the label on the package.

DESCRIPTION:

Astroglide Personal Lubricant provides whisper-light lubrication for enhancing the comfort and ease of intimate activity. Developed to mimic natural body fluids, Astroglide not only lubricates, but also acts as a moisturizer for vaginal dryness. Astroglide's long-lasting super-slick formula is pH balanced, water-based, water-soluble and petroleum free. Astroglide will intensify the pleasure and sensitivity for both partners. It is the perfect ingredient for increased sexual fun.

I could feel the flush move up my face at the thought of making such a purchase from a woman and looked at Cassandra. I should have known she was reading my thoughts.

“Oh, for Heaven’s sake, Max (she is always careful to call me Max when we are in a public setting), give your modesty a rest. I can promise you she’s sold sexual lubricants to men before today.”

“She has not previously sold such products to me. I believe it would be more appropriate were you to make the purchase.” She raised an eyebrow at me.

“Can’t. My wallet’s back at the hotel.” I reached into my pocket for my money clip, and she put her hands behind her back, clasping them as she did.

“Cara ….”

“Sorry, Max. Either you front up at the cash register, or the playpen’s closed until our tissues have healed.” I frowned at her though it availed me nothing. Five minutes later we were back on the street, and she gave way to laughter.

“You should have seen your face! Jesus, Max, I wouldn’t have thought it possible for a man of your experience to be so modest. You’ve bought your own condoms 95% of the time as long as I’ve known you.”

“I have always made sure the clerk from whom I would make the purchase was a man.”

“Yeah, right, and what if there wasn’t a male clerk in the store?” Why was she doing this to me? I sighed, resigning myself to the inevitable, and answered her.

“If there was no man available, I went to another shop.” She laughed so heartily I feared she would do herself an injury. In the face of her mirth, I began to realise the humour of the situation. The woman at the chemist’s had been no blushing maid; she was 60 if a day and had not raised an eyebrow when I placed the box on the counter, merely ringing up the purchase, putting it into a bag, and returning it to me along with my change. She had wished us a nice day as we left the shop. We laughed our way down the street to a small café where we stopped for breakfast.

REAGAN
He never ceases to amaze me. The man has likely been in every possible sexual situation known to humankind, and he still blushes at the idea of talking about it to anyone other than me. God help us if he had to make a sexually related purchase from a woman, as I’d just discovered. That along with his admission that he’d gone to another shop to buy condoms if there wasn’t a man at the register just about did me in with laughter. He’s unbelievably erotic and imaginative in bed …he’d indulged every fantasy I’d ever had and made them more than worth the waiting before adding to them with a few ideas of his own. He had taken me to heights I’d never dreamt existed over and over again, in ways that I’d never thought possible. His hands, his lips and tongue, his cock …he could use any or all of them to take a woman to ecstasy and back as often as she could physically bear. The ancient Romans were totally uninhibited when it came to sex, and Maximus was an exemplar of that lack of inhibition. I could only imagine what we’d get up to at home once we set up the sex swing the guys gave us before the Hucks’ Night dinner. Yet, to publicly acknowledge that he was having sexual relations with me – or probably with anyone – embarrassed him in the extreme. I looked at him as the waiter left with our breakfast orders.

“Max …what are you going to do when I get pregnant?” That got me a confused look.

“What do you mean?”

“As uncomfortable as you seem to be when our sexuality comes up in public – as in the purchase you just made and the condoms – and as it obviously embarrasses you silly, I’m a bit worried. Are you going to expect me to stay at home once I get pregnant, and it becomes obvious I’m pregnant? Are you going to be embarrassed to be out in public with me? The fact that I’m pregnant will make it glaringly obvious that we have had sexual relations at least once.” I wasn’t jerking his chain. I was truly concerned about how he would deal with a very public display of the result of our sexual activity. If he was going to expect me to stay at home from my fifth month until I delivered our child, we had a major problem to overcome.

“Why should I be embarrassed to be in public with you whilst you are carrying our child in your womb? Fecundity is to be rejoiced and respected. When you become with child, it will be proof to all of our love and commitment one to the other. Man’s significance on earth pales in comparison to a woman’s ability to bring new life into the world. Giving life is the most glorious gift the Gods can bestow.” The dichotomy of the man’s thought processes gives me whiplash at times.

“So you don’t mind people knowing we have sex, you just don’t like being put in the position of purchasing the necessary accoutrements. Is that it?” He nodded and gave me another of those Gallic shrugs.

“When you’ve done the shopping for us, did you find a male check-out clerk at the supermarket when tampons were on the list?”

“Of course not.”

“Why not? What’s the difference in buying tampons, Astroglide, or condoms?”

“Women bleed with the phases of the moon. Everyone knows that. It is nothing of which to be ashamed and of no consequence. Products that speak to our intimate relationship are a different matter entirely.” More whiplash.

“Are you ashamed to publicly acknowledge our sex life?” Now he was on the receiving end of the whiplash effect.

“No …but I am uncomfortable with purchasing products – from a woman – that speaks of my sexual congress with you. That – our intimate relationship - is a private matter, and one I do not wish to share with others. Prior to our relationship, I did not care whether I bought condoms from a man or a woman, as I had no attachment to the women I used to gratify my sexual needs. I had no relationship with them …they used my cock to obtain their satisfaction in the same manner I used their cunts to obtain my own. I had no reason to protect them from public scrutiny, as they made no effort to protect themselves.” It wasn’t as if I hadn’t sorted out his feelings on the women preceding me in his bed, but he’d never elaborated on them until today. “Does this distress you, Cassandra?”

“No, but I do find it a little confusing. It seems to me that our relationship – sanctified as it is by the Church - would be the one that you wouldn’t mind being noted.” His hand reached across the table to take mine.

“It is because our relationship is sacred to me that I wish to keep it private, away from the prying eyes of others. It is because I honour you and our commitment to each other that I do not wish to have others - men or women - think of you in the way I think of the women who preceded you.” I gave in to his logic - contorted though it was in my estimation - rubbing my thumb over his; it wasn’t necessary for me to say anything. He looked down at our hands, then back across the table and into my eyes.

“Though some things make me less than comfortable, there is one thing you may always be quite certain of and never doubt. I love you, Cassandra, with all my heart and my soul. I would risk anything, give anything, sacrifice all I have and all that I am to be at your side, to be your husband and the father of any children you may bear. I ask nothing more in this life than to love you and be loved by you in return.” I felt the same way about him, and I don’t think it gets better than that.

“Are you quite sure you will not join me?” We had taken the ski lift to the mid-range slope – the instructor seemed to think Maximus had sufficient agility not to kill himself up here – and had bypassed the beginners’ stop where the so-called ‘bunny trail’ began. Maximus was wearing skis that looked half a mile long. This was his first time skiing, and though I don’t ski, I do know that newbies start with very short skis because they give the wearer more control. The skis he was wearing were as long as he was tall. I appealed to the instructor, Mike, who was employed by the resort and he and Maximus had hit it off in conversation earlier in the week. When Maximus decided to take skiing lessons, he'd asked for Mike as his instructor.

“Mike, do you think this is wise? He’s told you he’s never skied before.” Mike smiled, the self-confident one of total idiots.

“Come on, Mrs. Espan. I’ve been watching him skate for the past three days, and he glides across the ice as if he’s been skating since he was a kid. He told me he’d never skated before this week, but he’s really got the hang of it now. He can do this.” I sighed. I couldn’t very well give him the hobnails-on-ice routine, even though that might make for an entirely new approach for the Disney on Ice team. Maximus made one last try.

“Cara, join me. It will be most entertaining.” Right. I looked down the slope to the waiting phalanx of ambulances and wondered if they were always there or just this time of year when the lame-brained flakes gathered in Banff to show off their new powder pants before their one dowhnill run and spending the rest of their visit comparing casts in the bars of the various lodges. I pointed down the side of the mountain and made one last appeal.

“Max, doesn’t the fact that there are ambulances down there give you pause?” His gaze followed mine, and he turned back to me. His response, though soft, was final.

“No, it does not.” If he was determined, I could only pray that his life insurance would be sufficient to pay off this trip. Mike put in his two cents worth.

“Okay, Max, here’s what you want to do.” I crossed my eyes and genuflected, getting a curious look from Mike and one of thinly veiled displeasure from my husband.

“Keep your skis together …balance on your right foot, and use the left one to push off and steer. Move your skis back and forth, like you’re walking.” I crossed my eyes as Maximus followed Mike’s example. Apparently Mike liked what he saw because he nodded and smiled. “Okay …now listen up. One of the first things you need to do is learn to make short turns.” One of the things? “You balance on your uphill foot – that’s your stance foot – and your free foot – the one supporting the least of your weight – is the foot you’re going to move and use to tip the ski.” Maximus nodded, watching as Mike demonstrated. “Short turns are a more advanced move, but I think you can do it. You’re a lot more agile than most of my students.” I rolled my eyes in frustration. “Now listen carefully, Max …there are a couple of things you DON’T want to do when making short turns.” I was back to praying.

“You don’t want to twist your skis, don’t try to steer, and don’t push on the tail of your stance ski. If you do any of those, you may make a couple of short turns, but your skis aren’t going to hold, and you’ll start picking up speed. That’s when you get in trouble.” Maximus nodded again, as if he knew precisely what Mike was talking about, and this was just a refresher course. I couldn’t do this – the watching bit – any longer without chemical assistance.

“Excuse me, Mike?”

“Yes, Ma’am?”

“You two aren’t going to be rushing off the cliff anytime in the next ten minutes are you?”

“No, Ma’am …you need something?” I smiled, fished in one of my pockets, retrieved a pack of cigarettes Maximus didn’t know was there, and lit up, walking about ten feet away as I inhaled. That got me a full-on scowl from my adoring husband.

“Cara, I thought we were in agreement that you would cease smoking until ….” He didn’t finish his sentence. This was obviously an instance in which he thought the soft sell would work for him. I smiled and took another drag, blowing smoke toward Mike.

“Well, yes …I did agree not to smoke whilst we’re trying to get pregnant in order not to run any unnecessary risks with our child. I know we didn’t actually discuss this next bit, but to me it was implied that neither of us would take any untoward risks with our future child’s destiny. In my book, that includes not putting his or her father at risk of breaking his bloody neck on a ski slope and leaving him or her without said father. Of course, I’m probably not pregnant yet …we won’t know for another week …but I could be. I may have the wrong idea here, but it does seem to me that this skiing lesson might fall into that unnecessary risks category.” I stood there smiling, puffing away, and was enormously gratified to see the dark flush spread up his cheeks …ooooh. I think the general is pissed with me; I’d just spilled the ‘sexual secret’ to Maximus’ ski instructor. I waved the hand holding the cigarette at them. “Just wanted to toss that out for consideration …but don’t let me stop you, if you think this is something you need to do.” If looks could kill, I’d have been six feet under. I glued that smile I’d used as a model back in the dark ages on my face and kept it there. Mike looked at me, then at Max, and back at me. Trust the fool to keep going. I know there’s a village somewhere that’s missing its idiot.

“Well, Mrs. Espan, we’ll just have to make sure your husband doesn’t get hurt, now won’t we?” I kept smiling, but shook my head in the negative.

“Not my job, Mike. This one is all yours.” His smile faltered a bit but came back when Maximus spoke.

“I agree with Mike. I am confident in my ability to accomplish this with a minimum of accident potential.”

“Okay, then! Now, a few more pointers and off we go!” Mike was so cheerful that I wanted to slap him off the side of that frigging mountain. “Max, keep your feet about six to eight inches apart and aim your skis straight downhill.” My darling husband complied. “Here’s what you’re going to do. As you begin to slide, lighten one foot – that’s going to be your free foot – and real fast, tip it outward, toward your little toe …you want the edge of the ski to just barely brush the snow. As soon as you do that, put that foot back on the snow and balance on it – it just became your stance foot. Now do the same with the other foot. Once you do that, set that foot down and balance on it and lighten the load on the other foot. That gets you into the turn. Now your stance foot – the one with most of your weight on it – is going to be passive through the turn. Don’t twist or edge it, and don’t push on the stance ski because if you do any of those things, the stance ski won’t engage right with the snow. If you do a good job of keeping your feet close together, you shouldn’t have any problem making those fast little balance transfers. Got all that?” Real fast? Don’t twist, edge, or push? SHOULDN’T have any problems? I was going to be a widow before my first month anniversary. My soon-to-be-departed husband nodded in agreement with Mike’s last question. I say soon-to-be-departed because if Maximus didn’t kill himself in this little escapade, I was going to take matters into my own hands.

“Okay, then …let’s give it a try.” I held my breath as Maximus managed a couple of quick little turns and turned to give me a brittle smile of accomplishment. I lit a second cigarette and smiled back as Mike encouraged my husband to further acts of self-destruction. “Looking good, Buddy! Let’s try it again.” Maximus repeated the procedure half a dozen times, and I moved a bit closer to them. Thinking that would be it for the first lesson, I was ready to be conciliatory …until Mike chirped in again. “All right! I think we’re ready for our first downhill run. You take off, Max, and I’ll be right behind you.”

“Mike, I’m not sure he’s ready. Don’t you think ….” The little shit cut me off at the pass.

“Sure he is, Mrs. Espan! Let’s go, Max!” I tried not to snarl when I answered the little prat but doubt I succeeded.

“That’s Dr. Espan-Kavanagh, if you don’t mind.” Mike had the good grace to at least pretend embarrassment. It was childish and I know it; if I couldn’t convince Maximus not to do this, I could at least be pissy to Mike.

My much beloved and soon-to-be departed partner in this life and the next aimed his skis downhill and off he went, with Mike about 20 yards behind him. I couldn’t watch. I heard a joyous whoop from Mike. “Way to GO, Max!” I dared a breath. Unfortunately, the next thing I heard was from a man who had just walked up behind me.

“That your husband?” I nodded, giving him the barest of sideways glances before returning my full attention to Maximus. “Looks like he’s doing pretty good …oh, Christ, he’s pushing on the tail of his stance ski.” I turned to look downhill just in time to see Maximus shoot forward as if he’d been launched from a catapult. Now I couldn’t turn away. The man who had spoken those informative words put his arm round my shoulder. “He’ll probably be okay, Honey. There’s not much down there for him to hit …he’d probably just come to a stop at the bottom of the hill. The kid did show him how to stop, didn’t he?” I’m sure my eyes must have been as big as dinner plates as I turned to look at him

“I don’t think so ….” He grimaced before I’d finished speaking. My eyes had returned to Maximus, and now everything was reduced to agonising slow motion.

“Well, then we’re probably gonna get to see a yard sale.”

“Yard sale?” I didn’t want to know, but I had to know.

“Yard sale …shit scattered all over the place. If he hits something, he’ll probably lose his skis, his poles, and go end-over-end until he stops rolling. At least there aren’t any cliffs down there for him to go off and down into a crevasse.” I can’t even imagine the horrified look that was on my face. The man looked back down the hill. “Oh, shit …he’s gonna hit that rock …he’s going too fast to miss it.” I turned back to look at what I was certain would now be my late husband, just in time to see his skis hit the aforementioned boulder, and he flew over it. It was the aforementioned yard sale; his skis came off and flew in opposite directions followed by his letting go the ski poles …they flew equally wide. He was catapulted into the air and seemed suspended for an eternity before flying further and finally pulling his knees against his chest and wrapping his arms round them, tucking his head as far down into his arms as possible. Clearly the man still has some instinct for self-preservation. He must have learned to fall from riding horseback; Mike sure as shit hadn’t told him anything about surviving a fall.

Maximus landed hard, throwing snow into the air, and his carefully constructed body posture opened from the force of landing. I stood there watching in horror as Maximus rolled – arse over teakettle, arms and legs flying – for about 40 yards before losing his momentum. He lay there sprawled out in the snow, and I knew he was dead. Mike swept to a stop beside the remains of my adored husband, kicked out of his skis, and knelt in the snow. Three seconds later, he stood and waved up the hill at me, grinning and giving me a pumping motion with his right arm. The man with me laughed.

“Well, at least he’s still breathing. Come on …I’ll get you into the lift and take you down.” My hands were shaking as I lit another cigarette – I’m not sure if that was from rage and fury or fear or both - as I let him lead me toward the gondolas.

Maximus was unconscious when we got there. I say ‘we’ as the man who had appeared out of nowhere hadn’t left my side, and I was so grateful to him. Not just for his apparent concern for Maximus but because his presence very possibly kept me from physically attacking Mike. The paramedics were loading Maximus onto a stretcher and taking him to one of the waiting ambulances as I sprinted toward them. Mike was talking a mile a minute as I took Maximus’ cold hand in mine.

“I don’t know what happened …he was doing great, then BAM! Off he went and couldn’t stop in time to avoid the rock.” I turned on him, probably sounding like the twin harpies of mythological fame.

“You don’t know what happened? You bloody, fucking fool! He’s never been on skis before in his life, and he told you that …and you started him on an intermediate slope! I hope to Christ your personal injury insurance is paid up and the resort has good coverage because the law suits for reckless disregard and endangerment will be filed before we leave Banff!” My voice was rough with rage and fear, and I was shaking like a leaf. I felt the hand of the man who’d brought me down the slope on my shoulder.

“You can kill the little shit later, Reagan. You get in back of the wagon with Max, and I’ll ride up front with the driver. You can beat the crap out of this bastard tomorrow …if Max is badly injured, I’ll hold your coat.” As I climbed in with the mutilated remains of my husband, I saw the guy flash a badge at the driver before getting into the cab on the passenger side, and we took off for the hospital. We were pulling in at the emergency entrance of the hospital when it registered that the man knew both our names.

Three weeks earlier

TERRY
“Thanks, Mate. I appreciate it.”

“Glad to do it, Terry. The last thing we need is for someone to think they recognise him, and since Crowe did that film in and around Banff, that’s a possibility. With me there as distraction – and to shut down any rumours – that becomes less of a problem.”

“My thoughts precisely. I’ll reserve a room for you at the Caribou Lodge …no need to use an assumed name, is there?”

“No. I don’t think anyone will realise who I am.”

“Right. Charge everything you can to the room, and I’ll have the bill put on TEO’s account. Keep your receipts on anything else and forward them to Dino. Do you need upfront operating capital?”

“Nah, I’m good. There’s always my AmEx card – I’ll send you a copy of the statement if I have to use it - and I’ll get the Bureau to put me on vacation for the duration …I’ve got more acquired than I’ll ever use before I lose it. I don’t have anything in the pipeline in that time frame other than riding the desk.”

“What about a live-in sitter for Eric?”

“Oh, yeah …she’s paid for days, but when I’m on assignment I move her into the apartment 24/7. Yeah, I’ll have to pay her double.”

“Keep a record and submit it along with everything else.”

“Will do, Terry, and thanks for thinking of me.” I laughed. Who the hell would I ask for this sort of favour?

“No wurries, Mate. Call when you get there and checked into your room.”

“Count on it.”

ZACK GRANT
Windfalls are great, particularly with Christmas on the horizon. I make good money at the Bureau, but when you’re a single father and have to pay for a live-in sitter every time you’re on an out-of-town assignment or stakeout, the bills pile up, and I don’t get compensated for having a kid. I’d just gotten Eric settled for the night and had crashed in the living room. I’d flipped on the TV, cruising through the channels to see if there was anything worth watching. Jesus. Everything on TV these days was some cops show …Law and Order, CSI, Criminal Minds, or something to do with hospitals and doctors. It seemed that no matter how far inside my shell I retreated, I couldn’t get away from my job or memories of Eric’s mother, my Sam. I finally found Jon Stewart on the Comedy Channel. He’s always good for a laugh with those pokes he takes at the President. I got up to get a beer, and the phone rang as I walked back to my chair. Looked at the caller ID …not a number I recognized, but I did know the Dallas, Texas, area codes. This was from the ‘burbs. I picked up the phone.

“Grant.”

“Zack, me old mate …Terry Thorne here.”

“Hey, Terry. How’re they hangin’?”

“Still hanging, and there are days that’s a bloody miracle.” I laughed.

“Glad to hear it. What’s on your mind? You didn’t call me after hours to discuss your sex life.”

“No, I didn’t. I need a favor.” That’s how I ended up in Banff, keeping an eye on Max and his new wife, Reagan.

We’d been here for almost a week, and I’d watched them learn to ice skate. Max seemed to be a natural, but Reagan spent more time on her ass than her feet. To be as graceful as she is on terra firma, she’s a disaster waiting to happen on the ice. I laughed every time she took a fall because she always looked surprised, kind of like Eric did the first time he hit a home run. I’d seen a couple of the locals give Max a look a time or two, but no one approached him. I wasn’t worried about anyone recognizing me; I’d lightened my hair to a reddish shade before leaving LA, and I don’t think Crowe’s ever played a redhead so I felt pretty safe.

I’d been on the rink with Max and Reagan every day there were there – I’m a pretty good skater – followed them back to the lodge, had drinks in the bar when they did, and ate at whatever restaurants they did. They never saw me; I’m good at blending into the crowd.

Yesterday this kid – Mike – approached them about skiing lessons after Max had signed up and requested him. He’s new here; I know because I’d seen him watching them on the ice rink the preceding day, figured he was the one Max asked for as his instructor, and checked his background. Nothing remarkable, but he had the reputation of being high pressure in getting people to take lessons from him, often talking people into signing up for lessons when they didn't seem all that interested. I was about ten feet away when he talked Max into starting on the intermediate slopes and winced. Max may be good on the ice, but there’s a hell of a big difference in moving on a flat, relatively smooth surface and going downhill at speeds of up to 125 miles an hour. I doubted Max would get over 50, but I wasn’t happy and stayed on their tails like a burr under a saddle.

They took the lift to the intermediate slope – I was two gondolas behind them – and got out. I stayed within earshot, farting around and listening. I considered keeping my own skis on but knew that if Max got hurt, I’d need to be up here with Reagan and get her downhill in the gondolas. I took off the skis and checked them at the rental shop outpost.

Max was enthusiastic and did his best to get Reagan to go with him; she wasn’t having any of it and let her displeasure be well known. Sam was pretty good at letting me know when she didn’t agree with me, but Reagan’s penchant for getting her point across in a low voice was way beyond what my girl could do. Max dug in his heels - literally and figuratively - and off they went, Max first and Mike behind him. I’d moved over to stand just behind Reagan, and there was a lot more than concern on her face. What I was seeing was raw, naked fear.

I turned in my seat in the front of the ambulance, looking back through the windows as the medics assessed Max’s injuries. They didn’t seem concerned, and one of them turned to Reagan, patting her hand and smiling at her. One of the medics started what I recognized as the obligatory IV – the one that runs the charges up about $150 for the emergency services contractor – and both men sat the rest of the way into town and to the hospital. The driver radioed the ER but said only that he was bringing in another skiing accident victim …no apparent injuries other than a probable concussion. Max would be conscious by the time we got him inside the hospital. I looked back over my shoulder again as we pulled into the ambulance bay and sure as shit Max was looking at Reagan, holding her hand, obviously trying to calm her down a little because she was mad as Hell. I climbed out of the front of the bus and fell into step behind the gurney.

They whisked Max into a trauma room, stopping Reagan at the door. I walked up and stood beside her. “How’s he doing?”

“His cognitive functions don’t seem impaired, though he says his head hurts like a bastard …my term, not his. He didn’t ask what happened and seems confused …I suspect he’s got some retrograde amnesia going on there.” She finally turned to look me full in the face, and I could see the light come on in those golden brown eyes. She grinned and held out her hand.

“Reagan Espan-Kavanagh. Nice to meet you, Zack.” Busted. I smiled back, and met her hand with my own.

“Nice to meet you, too, Reagan.”

“I surmise Terry and Dino are responsible for your being here.”

“Caught in the act. Terry called me the first of the month and asked if I could take some time off the job and tail you two while you were here. Crowe made a film here a few years back, and Terry was afraid some of the locals might put two and two together.” She nodded.

“That’s entirely possible, though I hadn’t thought about it, and I’m sure Max didn’t either. To the best of our knowledge, none of you have ever been recognized, but there’s always a first time.”

“That’s why I’m here.”

They had Max in a room within an hour, having already taken him to radiology to do a skull series. No fractures, but I’d bet they’d want to keep him overnight to monitor any potential increase in intracranial pressure. He had one bitch of a headache, and that means a concussion. No one wanted to take the chance of a brain bleed not being caught in time to deal with it. I sat with Reagan while Max was in radiology and got to know her a little better. She’d been with the BAU, and Ted Ackerman had been her lead investigator. Ted and I go way back; he was my partner when I first joined the Bureau, and I couldn’t have found a better mentor. We compared war stories, and she could match anything I had to tell. She seems to have a whacked out sense of humor, and I’d bet she was a shitload of fun to work with on a case.

By the time Max got back from having his skull series done, he was getting sleepy. We followed the gurney up to his room and let the orderlies get him settled. I started to leave, and Reagan stopped me.

“No, stay, Zack, please. Since Max is asleep, I could use the company.” I nodded and parked my ass in a chair beside the window, looking out at the snow that had begun to fall. Tomorrow’s early skiers would enjoy the new powder. Reagan pulled a chair to the bed and sat beside her husband, taking his hand in hers and twining their fingers together. He’d been asleep but roused slightly; I could see his fingers grip hers momentarily. I stood, and she turned to look at me.

“I’m going to grab a coffee …want one?” She nodded.

“Yeah, thanks. Black, no sugar.” Coffee, my ass. I wanted to talk to the doctor who’d accompanied us upstairs, and I knew he’d probably still be at the nurses’ station. I’d get coffee after talking to him.

He was standing at the desk when I walked up, took at look at his name tag – Benjamin Morris - and spoke.

“Zack Grant, Doctor Morris, friend of the family. I need to know how Max Espan is doing.” He smiled; they always do.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Grant, but I’m not at liberty to divulge that information other than to a member of the immediate family.” I smiled back.

“Could you step over here with me for a minute, Doctor? There are a couple of things you need to know.” He raised his eyebrows but followed me to the waiting area. I pulled my badge from my pocket. His eyebrows went a good deal higher.

“Doctor, the man you know as Max Espan – and his wife – are in the Federal Witness Protection Program. I’ve been assigned to keep an eye on them. I can make this embarrassing for you by pulling a federal judge back in DC out of a dinner engagement and getting a court order, or you can just tell me his condition now. Your choice, Doc.” It’s amazing how cooperative most people get when they see the FBI shield. I fucking love it, always have. Along with great health insurance, it’s one of the few fucking perks my job actually has. He blinked a couple of times before looking back at me.

“I see …do I need to check this out, or can I actually believe you?” I reached into my hip pocket and pulled out a business card, handing it to him.

“Be my guest.” He nodded once but didn’t take it.

“All right. I’ll accept that you – and the Espans, whoever the Hell they are – are who you purport to be. Come with me.” We walked down the hall to a door with a Physicians’ Lounge sign on it. He pulled a key from his pocket and opened the door, closing it behind us. “Help yourself to coffee.” There was a coffee maker on the counter at one end of the room, and I got a cup before sitting on the couch, making a mental note to snag a cup for Reagan on my way out of the room.

“Okay, Doc. What’s his condition?”

“Mr. Espan has a Grade Two concussion. We consider that a moderate concussion …it can mean a couple of things ...loss of consciousness for no more than a minute or thirty minutes to 24 hours, and the patient likely suffers some degree of posttraumatic amnesia (PTA). Mr. Espan actually falls between those two criteria, and that’s not unusual. Mrs. Espan indicated that when he came to in the ambulance he didn’t ask what had happened …that’s often representative of confusion and fear because the patient can’t recall the precipitating incident.” I’m so glad Sam was a doctor, and I got used to ‘doc speak’ and can decipher it. “We’ll know more when he wakes fully. I plan on keeping him here at least over night.”

“Is there any indication of a bleed on the films?” He looked at me, a question in his eyes. “My late wife was an emergency room physician …I know a little.” He finally smiled.

“He has what we call a contracoup injury. That means when he hit his head, his brain not only sustained a bruise – that’s what a concussion is – at the point of impact but a second in the position exactly opposite the point of impact. The brain just bounces around inside the skull …these injuries are common in high velocity or high impact situations, and as long as we monitor him and catch any swelling immediately, there shouldn’t be any problems beyond a headache that lasts for several days.”

“So he should be good to go tomorrow?” He nodded again.

“Unless he develops a problem overnight, I’ll release him tomorrow morning.”

“He and Mrs. Espan just married last week. I don’t think she’s going to want to leave him alone tonight.”

“I’ll have facilities put a cot in the room for her. There’s only room for one, so you’ll have to bunk in the chair.”

“Fine with me. I don’t plan on sleeping anyway.”

“Am I correct in assuming you’re carrying a sidearm?”

“Always, Doc. Glock 23, 13-round clip. Locked and loaded.”

“I’ll notify security. If you have to use it, please try not to hit any innocent bystanders.”

“I’ll do my best.” I refilled my cup – the coffee was actually fresh – and grabbed one for Reagan before heading back to Max’s room.

MAXIMUS
It was clear I had been in some sort of skiing mishap; I could discern the antiseptic hospital odour before ever opening my eyes. She was furious with me, and not without reason. I cannot place the blame for my folly on Mike’s shoulders; it was entirely my own doing. In truth, I doubted I could safely navigate the course the instructor placed me on, but something deep within me bade me attempt it. It has always been difficult for me to walk away from a challenge.

I had awakened moments earlier and lay quietly; her hand was in mine, her fingers clasping mine tightly. My head ached as if a thousand demons were inside it, poking my brain with blazing knives. I opened my eyes to see her face only inches from mine. My right hand came up to caress her cheek.

“Cara ….” Her eyes had been closed and now flew open.

“Maximus …how do you feel? Can you remember anything?”

“My head aches …I remember beginning the downhill course, nothing more.” I looked round me. Clearly, I was in hospital. “What happened?”

“In a moment. Do you know where you are?”

“Apparently, in hospital.”

“Do you know what day it is? Can you tell me who’s President?”

“Unless I have been asleep longer than I think, it is Saturday, and George Bush is still President.” I smiled at her. “And I trust you are still my wife.” Her smile told me I had passed the most important of her tests, answering the unasked question.

“Do you know how you got here?”

“I remember skiing downhill …there is nothing after that.”

“You crashed into a boulder and went flying over it. You lost your skis and poles and landed in a heap. Do you recall the man standing close to me at the top of the slope? He got me down in the lift and came with us here.”

“Zack Grant …yes, I saw him. He has been here since we arrived. I assumed he had been asked by Terry and Dino to watch us and assure our safety and anonymity.” She smiled again.

“You don’t miss much, do you? I never saw him and should have done.” The door opened as I spoke.

“My life has often depended on not missing much, as you put it.” Though it made my head ache more, I turned to see who had entered the room. Zack. He walked to my side and looked down at me.

“Max …how you doing, Pal?” I smiled at his familiar form of address. I suppose all of Crowe’s incarnations have somewhat of a feeling of knowing the others.

“As well as might be expected under the circumstances. Reagan tells me you accompanied us to hospital. I thank you for your concern.”

“No problem.” He pulled a chair to the bedside and sat. “I just talked to the doc. You’ll be here overnight, and if you don’t have any problems, they’ll release you in the morning. The doc’s having a cot brought in for Reagan – I told him I didn’t think she’d want to leave you, not even in my capable care – and I’ll bunk in the chair she’s in now.”

“Thank you.” I closed my eyes and again fell asleep.

REAGAN
Maximus was released shortly before noon on Sunday, and Zack drove us to the hotel in his rental car. We got Maximus upstairs and into bed, albeit grudgingly. He wanted to sit out on the terrace and watch the skiers. I suspect the only thing that convinced him not to do so was my telling him that the glare off the snow would make his headache worse that it already was. I got him into bed – he asked me to draw the blinds, so clearly the sun was a problem – and settled. I think he was asleep before I got to the door. I went downstairs; Zack was in the kitchen, standing in front of the open refrigerator.

“You up for a beer, or should I make a pot of coffee?” I held out my hand for the beer he was holding.

“Beer …I’ve had enough coffee the last 18 hours to last me for a week.” We both twisted caps off the bottles of McNally’s Irish Style Ale, clicking the bottle necks together before tipping them back. Maximus and I had sampled our way through a variety of the local beers and ales and settled on McNally’s. It was the closest we’d found to Guinness without actually being Guinness. Zack seemed to like it, grinning when he put his bottle on the counter, and hoisted himself up to sit beside it.

“So, what’s on the agenda for the afternoon and evening? You don’t need me to baby sit you now that Max is out of the hospital. Have you thought about dinner? I know the hotel does room service, but if you’d like something they don’t have, I’ll be glad to go grab take-out for you. I know the Silver Dragon is good, if you two like Chinese, and Melissa’s has great seafood. I was here when Crowe did Mystery, Alaska - self-appointed guardian - and had plenty of time to check out the local restaurants. Guido’s and Giorgio’s are good for Italian. Any of that sound interesting?” I snagged two more beers from the refrigerator for us, nodded toward the lounge, and Zack followed me, flopping on the couch as I sat in one of the chairs.

“I hadn’t even thought about dinner, but we all need to eat. Maximus would be better off with something light …maybe Fettuccine Alfredo and a salad?” Zack nodded.

“What about you? Excuse me for saying so, Reagan, but you could stand to put on some weight.” I stuck my tongue out at him, and he laughed.

“Yes, so everyone has been telling me for several months now. It was a difficult summer, and then with all the wedding preparations ….” My voice trailed off, and he reached over to take my hand and squeezed it.

“I know …got an phone update from Ted when he got home the week after the wedding.” I looked at him.

“You know Ted Ackerman?”

“He was my first partner when I joined the Bureau. We worked a couple of interstate sex crime sprees, and Jack Marshall over at BAU liked the way Ted pulled the psychology together …probably wouldn’t have caught the perps if he hadn’t. At the start of my third year, Jack made the offer to Ted to join the BAU, and he did. You came in a year after that. You know the story from that point forward; I moved to the LA Field Office shortly after you came on board.” I looked at him.

“Ted never mentioned any of his former partners to me …I wonder why.”

“My guess would be he didn’t have time. Seems to me that the BAU is all consuming.” He had me there, and I nodded.

“It is …and if you aren’t careful, it will eat you alive. It almost did me.” He took a long pull at his beer and looked back at me.

“So I’ve heard. Ted told me about the little girl …Brenna …wasn’t that her name?” I closed my eyes.

“She’s the one who will always haunt me.”

“She’ll haunt Ted for the rest of his life, too, Reagan. You don’t get over one like that.” He took my now empty bottle and his own to the kitchen and returned, standing as he spoke.

“I’m gonna head back to my room …grab a nap and a shower. I’ll be back at six. Decide what you want for dinner, and I’ll make the run.”

“Only if you agree to join us. Maximus and I’d both enjoy that.” He smiled as he opened the door.

“So would I.”

The rest of our stay in Banff was uneventful. I sought out Mike-the-idiot-ski-instructor and told him I’d not file suit if he agreed to pay the ambulance and hospital bills. He was so grateful that it was pathetic. I think he’d seen his life - as well as his current and future employability - flash before his eyes when I’d made the threat after Maximus’ accident. I suspect he’ll be a good deal more careful from here on out and will likely start everyone on the bunny slopes, even if they tell him they do know how to ski.

We bid Zack farewell at the airport in Calgary, having extracted his promise to bring Eric and visit us when he got some time off next summer. For all his rough exterior, Zack’s a very gentle man underneath the façade. It’s been 11 years since Samantha died giving birth to Eric, and he’s never remarried. Clearly, he loved her as much as I do Maximus and rather than settle for second best, he’d rather go it alone.

Maximus and I were back in Dallas on the fourth of November, and both of us back at work on the following Monday. We began settling into married life.

NOTES

Grade Two Concussion

For discussion of concussion severity, see http://www.teamsofangels.org/research/head_injury_info/concussion_grading.shtml

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