Riley sat on a wooden stool near the heater and watched him work. She noticed his hands first, the way they moved with complete certainty, no hesitation, no second-guessing. He replaced the fuel line with the careful attention of someone for whom this was not a job, but a practice, like a musician running scales. He didn't talk to fill silence. He didn't seem to need her to respond or approve or engage.
He simply worked. It was, she realized, the most relaxed she'd felt in four months. "You're not from Aspen," he said at some point, his back to her, threading a new line. "No. " "Denver. " "Long ride for December. " "I wanted to get out of Denver. " He nodded once, like that was an entirely sufficient explanation. The door to the interior of the building opened, and a small girl appeared in the gap, seven years old, maybe, with dark hair in two uneven pigtails and her father's direct, unhurried eyes.
She was wearing pajamas with foxes on them and carrying a stuffed rabbit by one ear. She looked at Riley with the frank, uncomplicated assessment of a child. "Hi," the girl said. "Hi," Riley said. "I'm Sophie.
Why are you wet? " "I was outside in the snow. " "Dad says you should always dry off fast or you get sick. " Sophie looked at her father. "Dad, she's wet. " "I know," Daniel said. "Sophie, it's past 9:00. I heard the door. " Sophie came fully into the garage and stationed herself beside the stool, studying Riley with continued interest. "Do you want hot chocolate?
I know how to make it. Dad showed me. " Riley blinked. "That's very kind. Yes, actually, I'd love that. " Sophie looked at her father with triumphant satisfaction, as though she had solved a problem he hadn't gotten to yet. He didn't look up from the fuel line, but the corner of his mouth moved.
"Use the good mugs," he said. Daniel Carter had lived in Aspen for 11 years. He'd come from Tucson originally, following a girl Lauren, who he'd loved since they were 22 and who had wanted to see snow. They'd driven up in a truck with everything they owned in the bed of it and arrived in February, and Lauren had cried a little when she saw the mountains for the first time, and Daniel had decided on the spot that he'd stay here as long as she wanted. They'd been married 4 years when Sophie was born.
They'd been married 6 years when Lauren was diagnosed. They'd been married 7 years, 3 months, and 12 days when she died. Sophie had been 4, old enough to understand that her mother was gone, too young to understand anything else about it. Daniel had kept the garage. Lauren had always said it was the thing he loved most, even when he pretended otherwise, and had reorganized his entire life around the axis of his daughter.