exhaled before saying, âI have to get out of here. My family belongs in a city â not in this frivolous ski town.â
Chopper and Wade exchanged glances again.
âFrivolous?â Wade said.
âZoe needs a real cello teacher, someone worthy of her talent. My wife needs an intellectual community. Do you know that her book club in Pemberton actually chose a murder mystery for last monthâs discussion? And I need . . .â Norris picked at his fraying cuff. âI donât know what I need. A new jacket, for starters.â
Wade took a sip of coffee, which heâd laced with cherry brandy to take the chill out of his bones. It was a cold winter, difficult to keep the office warm.
Chopper said, âWhatâs really eating you, man? Youâre not deep-throating that cigarette because of cellos and literature.â
Norris cast his eyes around Wadeâs office like he didnât trust the Grateful Dead posters on the walls. âI hate my bosses.â
Wade was tempted to laugh but held back. âYou sound like you did when we were seventeen. Remember the first time we wanted to hit the road with Avalanche Nights?â
âOf course I remember. My parents said no, as usual. Trying to keep me boxed into life as they knew it.â Wade watched Norrisâ fingers curl as he spoke, clenching like he wanted to form a fist. Odd that he was still so angry, twenty years after leaving home. Odd, too, that he couldnât bring himself to form that fist.
Wade turned his gaze to Chopper. âDo
you
remember? When we got to Stuâs place, the truck loaded up with all our road gear, Stu came storming out of his house and said in
exactly
that voice he just used, âI hate my parents.ââ
Chopper gave Wade a sideways smile. âHow the hell do you remember that?â
âI remember that whole ten years,â Wade said, âfrom age sixteen to twenty-six, probably verbatim. God, I even loved the hangovers.â
âMy wife calls those the lost years,â Norris said. âI tend to agree. You and Georgia should have a child. I guarantee youâll stop pining after ten years of musical failure.â
Wade wouldnât call it failure, exactly. The band had had some good reviews. They just couldnât make a living. âDid we really plan to be thirty-eight and still living within half an hour from the shit-hole where we grew up?â
âWould you guys stop trashing our home?â Chopper looked at both of them sternly. âSome people think this is the most beautiful place on Earth.â
Wade took a deep breath and said, âRichie suggested reviving the band, getting together for an event here in Avalanche.â
âYeah.â Norris snorted. âHe said that to me, too. Whatâs in it for Richie?â
âCome on, Norris.â Chopper waved his hand in front of his face to move the cigarette smoke away. âRichieâs on our side.â
âSo was Sacha,â Norris said. âUntil everything went so fucking wrong.â
They were all quiet. Sachaâs death had messed them all up, in very separate ways.
Chopper said, maybe to deflect tension, âI like the band revival idea. Iâm game for another night onstage.â
Norris shook his head and muttered, âAre you two done reminiscing? We have grown-up issues here, problems that live in the present.â
âSo kill the suspense, Stu. Why the hell would we have to stop production of Mountain Snow?â
âSacha Westlakeâs mommy,â Norris said through clenched teeth, âdoesnât like my suicide verdict. She wants the FBI to come investigate. So instead of having my back, telling the Americans to stay at home because they trust their man in Whistler, the RCMP says sure, come play in our sandbox. Letâs share the investigation.â
âCanât you just give them what they need?â Wade didnât see the big