Squinting through the blinds of her hotel bedroom, Summer Sumner watched a Zamboni crawl across the ice of the lodge’s outdoor skating rink, leaving behind a wide swath of clean ice like a glistening silver ribbon, mirrorlike in the morning sunshine.
The bedside CD/iPod/clock radio read 10:34. A fairly typical rising time for her, but-and she was certain of this-unacceptable to her early-bird-gets-the-worm father. He’d have been up since five A.M. negotiating some deal with someone five time zones away. She felt sorry for him: he could never turn it off. She assumed that, even at the wine tasting the night before, he’d been talking up some film or television deal, a deal that would never get off the ground.
She wondered what he’d thought of the note she’d left him. Certainly, he’d seen it: she’d placed it front and center on the table just inside the door. Impossible to miss.
As she crossed the bedroom, she happened to glance into the living room and see her father’s laptop up and running on the desk, alongside a pile of papers and his BlackBerry. There was also some pocket change lying there and… his keys.
But he was nowhere to be seen.
She heard the toilet seat clunk down, the rustle of newspaper, and knew he’d be a while.
Wearing nothing but a T-shirt and briefs, she hurried across to the desk, nervously glancing back toward the suite’s powder room.
His key chain required unscrewing a tiny sleeve that sealed it shut. She squeezed and turned the sleeve, but it held tight. She tried again, and this time it gave. She spun the sleeve out of the way, then sorted quickly through the keys to find the strangely shaped one to the jet. She freed it and was screwing the sleeve back in place when his BlackBerry rang.
Summer heard the toilet flush.
Impossible! she thought, panicking.
“I’ll get it!” she called out, trying to buy herself an excuse for being caught hovering over his things.
He came out the door, fastening his belt.
“I’ve got it,” he said.
But she answered it.
“Hello?” she said.
Silence.
“Hello?”
Her father crossed the room.
“I’ve got it, Summer.”
“I’m calling for Teddy Sumner,” said a man’s voice.
She’d heard the caller’s voice before and tried to place it. Her father would be proud if she presented herself correctly.
“This is Summer speaking. Whom may I say is calling?”
Her father stood there, his hand out, wanting his phone.
“Is your father there?” The voice was vaguely familiar, but she couldn’t dredge up a face to go along with it.
She handed her father the BlackBerry.
“Thank you,” he said, though he didn’t mean it. He didn’t want her answering his calls.
“Sumner,” her father said into the phone, sliding down into the chair.
Summer stood there, her eyes on the key chain, which she’d set down, but not where she’d found it. She shuffled closer to her dad, putting herself between him and the keys, wanting the chance to slide them back toward where they belonged.
“This is a business call,” he said, cupping the phone, clearly wanting privacy.
Her hands behind her back, she moved the keys back in place.
“Sure,” she said, wondering what was up with him. He was constantly on the phone. He never gave a damn about what she overheard.
“We have a court in twenty minutes,” he said, wanting her out of the room.
“I know, Dad,” she said, heading back to her room, glancing at the keys on her way out to confirm that she’d left them where she’d found them. Gripped in her right hand was the key to the jet. As she shut the door to her room behind her, she was already celebrating her triumph.