The Season’s Siren Song
Can Love Outlast the Snow Melt?
The ski season kickoff party was underway. Full-time employees and the new crop of seasonal workers drank craft beers and cocktails together at the bar, and devoured fries, burgers and kale salad at the buffet. Music pumped, signaling the start of something new.
This was Hank’s fourth year as a seasonal worker. The night shift job at the hotel front desk helped pay for college and gave him time to study. Only one more semester and he could graduate and move into a office job in logistics or purchasing, something with numbers. He was eager to sleep at night instead of during the day, and dreamed about having enough spare income to go out to dinner or buy new ski equipment.
As the party swirled around him, he leaned against the wooden bar, content to chat with Dirk the bartender, about the Bill’s Super Bowl chances, and the upcoming snow season forecasts. Dirk offered Hank a fresh drink, but Hank knew he needed to be sober when 7:59 PM rolled around and his night shift began. He nursed his Lawson’s beer and watched the scene before him.
Caro was new to the resort, a seasonal worker on a J1 work-visit visa from Peru. Her job of running the giant snow-making guns meant she traveled to mountain resorts around the globe, moving every season as the weather changed. She loved the physical power of the big guns, but she knew that on a warm night in mid-November, she didn’t need to go to work tonight. It was far too warm to make any of the white stuff.
She ordered her favorite pisco sour cocktails for herself and her new roommate. She loved the taste of the bitter liquor and bright lime that reminded her of her home. They toasted the upcoming season and downed the drinks. Caro felt the liquid warm her throat and course into her blood. Emboldened, she started impromptu salsa lessons on the dance floor, first teaching a few women and then gesturing for them to pull guys out of their comfortable chairs to join them. Soon the floor was gyrating with beautiful bodies. No one could resist Caro’s smile, dark eyes, and persistence.
Hank and Dirk observed the dance floor with wry amusement. The J1 workers always brought fresh energy to jumpstart the season. But as Caro approached Hank, beckoning him to join her on the dance floor, he pushed himself against the bar.
The vivacious brunette smiled at dark-haired Hank, and said, “I’m Caro. Let’s dance.”
If Hank did dance, he would want to dance with her. Her skin sheened with light glitter and sweat, her stomach showing taut muscles under her crop top and low jeans. His lips bent into a smile.
Caro reached out and grabbed his arm, but Hank shook his head no. She pulled again. He shook again. A frown creased her eyes, “You don’t dance?”
“Never.”
“Even with me?” Caro beat her eyelashes for effect.
“Tempting, but not even for you.”
“Tu te lo pierdes,” she dismissed him and strutted back to the dance floor.
Dirk shook his head at Hank. “Now that was a missed opportunity. Go and dance with her. It’s a new season after all.”
Hank pushed his empty glass back across the bar. “Me dancing would not make any type of good impression.”
“True that. You are terrible.” Dirk laughed and turned to serve another patron.
Hank checked his watch: 7:50 PM. Enough time to change into his uniform and get to the front desk of the hotel. The night shift was generally quiet, and certainly this early in the season, with only a handful of guests, he should be able to get some studying done. Exams were coming up, and the amount of school work felt crushing. Accounting he could handle, but he had no idea why a 500-page Dostoevsky novel was a good idea for a finance major. He waved goodbye to Dirk and headed across the patio courtyard and into the hotel. As he moved into the building, the music faded, as did thoughts of Lawson’s beverages and the lovely Caro.
He helped a late arriving couple with their bags, answered a few phone calls, and monitored the emails. Routine stuff. Everything was sleepy as he toured the building on night rounds until he approached the pool and hot tub.
He could hear them before he saw them, and groaned as he stalked toward the loud, laughing group clad mostly in their underwear. As he neared them, he could see they were a bunch of the employees from the courtyard party who had jumped the fence to enjoy the hot tub. He made a mental note to tell Dirk to serve only one drink per person next year.
Hank gave a piercing whistle and said, “Let’s go, people.” A few folks snapped their heads toward him and then sheepishly hauled themselves out of the tub, but three people ignored him completely.
Hank’s annoyance grew. As he got to the edge of the tub, he could see the faces. Sure enough, there was Caro. All dark eyes and flashing smile. He tried not to look at her red bra peeking above the water. “People,” he said loudly. “Come on, don’t make me report this. You don’t want your season to end before it begins.” He stood up straight to look more commanding.
Caro swung around. Smiling, she splashed water onto the tips of his toes. “Just one swim with us?”
Hank extended his hand to help her. “Come on, Caro, out of the tub.”
She placed her hand in his and pulled him hard toward her. Surprised, he jerked forward, almost toppling into the pool before regaining his stance. “Not funny.” He pulled back. The tug of war went back and forth as the other two partiers slunk away. Hank tried to give one last pull, but Caro’s hand slid out of his grasp and she fell backward into the pool, creating a geyser of water that arced diamonds of water drops into the air.
She stood up in the center of the tub, the water rushed down her body, streaming down her tan skin. Her high laugh sent music into the mist. “I love a new season.”
That’s when Hank knew he was in trouble.
He tried avoiding her for the whole next week, but they were both on the night shift and often left work at the same time, or bumped into each other in the breakfast cafeteria line before going home to sleep during the day.
Finally, one morning, Caro sat next to Hank and swiveled his chin with her hand to peer into his eyes. ”Why are you avoiding me, carino? We could be friends, you know.”
Her smile melted Hank. He stammered, “I’m just really busy and...”
“And you need some fun,” she said.
He noticed her dimples.
And then, their own season began. They met every day for breakfast, taking seats in the far corner of the cafeteria so they could talk and laugh alone.
Hank learned Caro spoke Spanish, English, some Portuguese, and a smattering of German picked up when she spent time working in the alps. She loved not just samba, but tango, disco, and hip hop. Her mother lived in Peru, but Caro traveled every season with a nomadic life that moved her from place to place. Maybe someday she would move home with her mom, but not now, not while she was young and had so much to explore.
Caro learned Hank grew up in the Vermont mountains, could hunt, fish and ski any trail, woods, or cliff band. He had a large extended family with deep roots to the land and he was always celebrating someone’s birthday, anniversary, or engagement. He shared his plans for a steady job and sleep schedule after graduation in a few weeks. Caro teased that him that he was old before his time. It made Hank wonder if there were other choices to make.
As January started, Hank asked Caro on an official date. She flashed her smile. “Are you sure you’re ready for me?”
“No,” Hank said. “But, I’m gonna try. Tomorrow after work?”
She smiled a yes.
He called in a few favors and the next morning, they rode a snowmobile up to the mid-station lodge where Hank unpacked a breakfast feast of buttery croissants, soft Mt. Alice cheese, warm coffee in a thermos, and a fresh fruit salad with her favorite mangos.
“Oh, Hank, I can’t believe you did all this for me.”
“Hey, I get to eat, too, you know,” he blushed.
She threw a croissant at his head.
When they finished and repacked all the leftovers, he took her hand, brushed away some flaky crumbs, and then raised it to his lips. As they walked toward the door, she stopped, turned, and kissed his mouth. “I could get used to this,” she said with a wink.
After that, when the nighttime temperatures dipped below zero, Hank worried about her out on the dark cold mountain. Caro assured him that too cold was better than too warm. Too cold meant the water from the snow-making guns froze on her jacket immediately, forming an insulating ice layer. Too warm, however, meant everything just got wet, and wet and cold was really cold.
Then Hank worried when it got too warm.
The season ticked away. Snow fell, Martin Luther King weekend came and went. When snow-making stopped in February and Caro’s job was finished, Hank held his breath. But Caro decided to stay a little longer, and she found another job with a night schedule, filling in for a snowcat groomer driver, moving the big trucks up and down the mountain. The two kept meeting for breakfast in their cafeteria corner. Hank even came in on his off days. Eventually, they held hands on the way to the car to sleep back at Hank’s apartment. By March, they were inseparable.
The calendar page turned again. Then April came. And with it, the end of the winter ski season and the conversation they had avoided for months.
“I have to leave, Hank. You always knew that,” Caro said. “I’m already late for Australia snowmaking; they really wanted me a few weeks ago to get everything ready for May...”
“You could stay for the next season,” Hank urged. “There’s lots of summer jobs, weddings, catering, grounds...”
“You could come with me for another winter season,” Caro countered as she took his hand.
“My life is here, Caro.”
She nodded and squeezed his hand.
With nothing left to say, they held each other.
***
The dreaded day of Caro’s departure arrived. Hank drove her to the airport and walked with her to the security gate. He kissed her, and merely nodded as Caro held back tears and promised to do her best to return next year. After a last passionate hug, he watched her long hair swing away from him as she went toward the gate.
As Caro settled in her seat on the plane, the tears started to flow. She wanted to choke them back. She was a nomad. That was her life–the life she wanted. She was used to leaving things behind, but the tears told her this one was different. She looked out the plane window and silently said goodbye to the mountains in the distance as the boarding announcement droned on.
Without warming, a warm hand squeezed her shoulder, and she swore as she turned to snap at her seatmate for daring to touch her. Her mouth opened and stayed open. She blinked. She couldn’t talk.
“What? You don’t remember me? It’s only been a few minutes.”
She looked at him, the tears still rolling down the tracks on her cheeks. Hank reached over and wiped them away. “I wasn’t even sure until I saw you walk away. Then I knew. I need to be with you. I want more time.”
“It won’t be easy,” she sniffled through her enormous smile. “I move around a lot. Never sure about the next job...”
“One season at a time,” he said and leaned down to kiss her.