Karen tells them on the phone that it is beautiful there. She says it to each of them, all six of her college friends, individually. Her voice is steady, sure, even happy, as she relays to them all, “Guys, it’s perfect, just perfect.”

And then before the end of each conversation, she doesn’t forget to add it: “Can’t wait to see you.”

They just have to believe her.

At the Zurich airport she steps out from the crowd impeccably coifed. A black skirt, smoky blue top, blonde hair curved around her ears. They haven’t seen her natural hair color in years and never this short. And her belly, so huge and round. Sophie puts a hand on it laughing and asks, what is this thing, and Karen responds, this is eight months. A lot can happen when you disappear for a while. It must be such a shock really, as they gather their traveling-light things from the carousel. She tries to grab one of Sophie’s bags only to get heckled. It is still tight between them, not a beat missed, even with all the time passed and the extra little person growing inside her. A decade is a long time to be friends, after all, of course they should come and see her and her new life. It’s been too long.

Benny and Jack are able to pile a lot on their wide shoulders with the help of Paola, and Leo and Steph make a good showing with the remaining luggage as Sophie and Karen, free of baggage, walk arm in arm ahead of the group, sweeping around the slower moving people in the terminal like they are bare trees on a ski slope.

It is a two-hour trip through the Swiss Alps to Karen’s house. The group takes two cars, one a rental and one that is Karen’s. She has her own car. Karen owns a car, they joke. I do, she says.

“Well, you and your husband,” Leo says from the backseat.

Karen looks at him in the mirror and stares at his eyes and laughs and scrunches her nose. She forgot about those eyes. And she had forgot too about her new husband after she saw her friends at the airport, hadn’t even mentioned him since they arrived and neither had they, the Swiss-German no one had met.

“Oh yeah. He’s gonna die when he meets you all.” Karen cracks a window. There is snow over everything. “He can’t get enough stories about us. He’s wrapped everyone up in this sort of American myth.”

“You tell him everything? I mean, because he’s your husband?” Sophie says.

“Sure, mostly.”

“Even about you?”

Karen smiles. “Well, not everything, sweetie.”

During the trip, Karen points out to the friends in her car, to Sophie, Benny and Leo, various points of interest. She explains to them why the roofs on the houses are sloped the way they are, the snow, why the hydrants have striped colored poles behind them, the snow, why the roads in places are actually heated, the snow. Each grows more silent, returning fewer and fewer responses. Eventually the jet lag catches up to the travelers and all three dose off, and with this Karen turns on the radio, low with the fade set to the front. She listens to a classical music station, which she is sure they would make fun of her for, as she steers the mountain roads and keeps an eye on the following car that holds the rest of their group. She can see Jack driving. He has the bags next to him in the front seat. Steph and Paola must be asleep in the back.

As she approaches her house, right before it, there is a crest in the road and a turn, the one turn that always makes her mind pause. The edge is steep, with no rail. She sees this turn, the drop off, every day before she sees her own house. And every day, her mind is still on the turn well after she is in view of her home.

The cars pull up and they file out. As Karen looks on, her six friends breath in the crisp air, take in the setting sun, remark on the majesty and beauty of the mountains, the sky, her new home set in the snow. It’s remarkable Karen. We love it, they say. She smiles, happy they love it.

The new husband comes out, and he is gracious and beautiful as well, blond and rugged and striking. He hugs the girls, each beaming, and offers firm American-style handshakes to the boys, each stoic. We love him, they say. Karen is still happy.

The house is big enough, quite large actually. They seem blown away. Everyone sets their bags down and claims a room. Sophie and Benny take the nursery because of the view, Jack and Steph the more private spare room, Paola gets the office to herself, and Leo volunteers to take the soft couch cushions in the open great room.

There is so much to catch up on, and she knows it’s been a long trip for them, but she gets to work anyway, pulling out some food and uncorking some bottles. She gets the new husband to work as well starting up a fire in the large circular fireplace that dominates the middle of the sunken great room. It is getting dark out, and it would be so nice to have one.

Later, when they have all settled in around the cracking fire, bellies and glasses filled, shoes off and finding new comfort in the plush, built-in sectionals that surrounded the hearth, everyone finally appears relaxed to Karen. They look content and she is able to sit down next to her new husband, leaning forward to them in the same position as him.

Someone asks if there is downhill skiing close by, and she points to the large blackened picture windows that cover the west wall and face out to the valley, and says, all around, everywhere, above and below us.

“It’s a part of life here. It’s very normal.”

And then she takes a sip of her wine—they’ve already told her it’s okay to have a glass with food—and recounts to everyone how she used to night ski drunk as a high-schooler in Colorado. They would hide the peppermint Schnapps in their backpacks and lazily glide down the mountain. She herself relaxes as she relays how they would ditch the empty bottles in deep drifts and narrowly miss the trees. Their reaction time was slow and pleasant, as were the effects of the snow, both the cold and the way it would slowly fall on the soft land in a scattering of spotlights.

Leo kicks in. “Oh, I remember this story. The birth of the famous backpack. I did always think it brilliant when we were in college and you’d carry your booze on your back.”

Then Sophie: “Yeah, it never seemed to dry up. You were like a pied piper, everyone following you around from party to party.”

Leo again: “I know I followed you.” He looks down to his glass. “But I still like the Colorado story.”

And finally the new husband: “I didn’t know this of you, this skiing drunk. It’s dangerous, no?”

He looks amused, smiling a little, going with the flow, but also concerned. She can tell he is trying to be sporting, but she can also see that he really needs an answer. She tilts her head to him and in a low voice assures him it wasn’t as bad as it sounds. Maybe only a couple of times is all, she says. That’s what she says, although she thinks, quite a few would be more accurate. And then with her husband looking comfortable once more, she certainly doesn’t add the part about lying in the snow after falling with no chance of standing up again on the spinning slope. She had to crawl the rest of the course on her hands and knees, done it many times, totally lost in the snow but still at least knowing down. Nor does she mention those fumbly high school encounters in the dark trees between the trails trying to figure out all the layers of clothing with a boy, trying to work through them until finally her skin would meet the shock of cold air, completely enthralling until the sensation was bested by the warm hiss of another’s skin against her own. She can’t remember the names of all the boys, barely their faces.

“Well, it’s settled then,” Sophie says. “We’ll break out the backpack again tomorrow for the cross country trek. We’ll need something to warm us up, right?”

Rights all around.

The rest of the evening Karen and her new husband take turns as they talk about and point to spots beyond the large blackened picture windows.

“In the spring a stream runs to the left,” she says.

“You can see the Montessori school I teach at over there,” he adds.

And her: “There’s a barn over here that’s really a camouflaged artillery battery for the military.”

The friends are mostly quiet, nodding to the points and looking at the windows even though only the faintest outline of the mountains could be seen on the moonless night. What could be seen other than the snow curling at the edges of the windows is a reflection of the gorgeous great room with its open beam ceiling, roaring fire, and warm natural wood on the walls, cabinets, and floors. And there they are, the reunited friends, reflected and sitting on her couches, on her thick rugs, among her matching linen pillows, and living and breathing again alongside her and her new husband and having no problem finishing off, by her count, seven bottles of wine. She likes the scene. This is very nice, she thinks. I deserve this, all of it.

As the night wears on, the conversations showing no sign of lagging, even though some dangle loosely on the edges, Karen grudgingly gives in to her husband and allows her guests to take their lingering jet lag head on. Sheets, pillows, and towels are made available, and Karen’s husband seems to take pleasure in setting the guests up for the night. Leo has already claimed by way of a wine-induced sleep his spot on the overstuffed chair closest to the fire. She carefully slips a half-empty glass from his hand.

As everyone else unzips their bags, looking for toothbrushes, pills and slippers, Karen walks over to the large windows. She clicks the lock on the sliding door and leans against the jam. She can feel her baby moving, little hiccup-like jerks. She places her hand on top of her stomach and looks out the window, past the reflected images of her moving friends in the direction of the points of interest she and her husband had alluded to earlier. She realizes that she can’t really see anything in the darkness. She had been talking about these things and they can’t be seen or confirmed in any way. And her friends had all just nodded and looked on. She feels stupid. She feels like a fool. There are some distant lights spread out over the valley. Little shimmers of life that must be something. She sees these. She thinks they could be windows, or door lamps, or maybe even street posts, possibly even belonging to the things she had talked about. But she can’t say for sure.

She sets Leo’s glass on the counter in the kitchen and goes to bed.

The next day they are all up early, eager to get going. Some have cigarettes and mimosas for breakfast, others bread and jam. They’ve rented cross country skis for everyone. Karen and her husband get theirs from the garage. Karen owns skis.

They ask if she’s sure it’s okay for her to go, and she says of course, it’s good for me actually, I go all the time, it’s good for the baby.

All go and everything is great. The new husband takes the lead through the trails and shows them the views which they all admit are stunning. This is where he grew up. He knows the whole mountain intimately. Karen is glad her husband is a good host. And she’s so happy to see them all: her good friend Sophie, even the still tender eyes of Leo. She can forgive him for breaking her heart when they were both too young. He’s forgiven her. And after all, she’s happy now.

On their way back, close to the house again they pass a toboggan trail. Her husband stops the group and explains how these bobsled troughs run the whole length of the mountain and how some rides can take over two hours to descend. He says the starting point to one of the longer rides is near their house. There’s a little hut at the beginning and the village leaves the sleds out all winter, stacked and ready to go on the honor system. If any one of them wanted to try, it was just a short hike down to the hut, he tells them.

This is one of Karen’s favorite thoughts. She has an image of herself riding these long toboggan trails with her daughter—she already knows it’s a girl, but she’s kept that to herself. They will sit together, her little girl about four or five, nestled between her knees, bundled up and singing together while they gently ride down the mountain on a sled for hours. No decisions to make, no need to react, the turns and twists are all laid out by the track. She clings to this idea. It’s a goal for her.

They get back to the house, beat and exhausted, and have lunch and discuss what they can do for the afternoon. Karen feels a bit sweaty and gets up to use the bathroom. She has a dizzy spell and sits for a while on the toilet collecting herself. She over did it. There’s some spotting on the tissue, but that’s normal, or rather it can be. She feels okay, otherwise.

She tells the others she feels like taking a nap and then goes off by herself and falls asleep in her bedroom. When she wakes it’s much later and she lays alert in bed as the sun goes down and listens to the sounds coming from the rest of the house. She can hear music. She can hear her friends talking and laughing in the great room. She can hear her husband too mixed in, adding here and there to the conversation. She thinks, I am happy they like him.

Around the fire it’s a repeat of the night before, although maybe a couple have swapped seats. Karen’s stomach aches. It feels tight and weird. She’s hungry maybe. She pours herself a small glass of wine, picks at the hors d'oeuvres and then sits down with the group. She enjoys her time.

“All I’m saying is that everything is pretty damn perfect here. Too perfect. Didn’t you guys see the airport? I mean not a stitch out of place,” Leo was saying to everyone.

“I’ll take that over that shit stack of an airport they had back in Detroit when we were there,” Benny says.

“Yeah, or over LAX any day,” Steph adds.

Leo picks up his drink. “Actually, LA isn’t too far off. It sort of reminds me of Disneyland here, designed like that, you know.”

Benny is getting a little agitated. “It’s just set up, Leo. They’ve had time. They’re neutral. No wars. And rich. No poverty or heartbreak. They’ve had time to fix everything, to finish things. I don’t understand how you can knock something for being good and clean and finished. Wouldn’t you like some time, Leo, to finish a couple things?” He had gotten a little loud.

Sophie puts a hand on Benny’s arm and adds, “Yes, I agree. It’s just finished.”

“What, as a country? The whole place is finished,” Leo says.

“Yes, finished. The country is completed. It’s complete.”

Leo is standing, serious but smiling, looking confident in his position. “I guess I just like a little grit in my life is all... Just a little.” He looks over at Karen. “But it’s still very beautiful here. I love it.”

Karen looks at him and notices that he’s wearing prescription glasses. “When, in dear life, did you get glasses, sweetie?” she says to him.

“Few years ago. I think you were in Texas then.”

There’s a lull in the talk. Might have been a natural one, but Karen sees her husband thinking. She doesn’t remember if she ever mentioned Texas. Or maybe it was the sweetie, a term she’s slipped into again which she certainly doesn’t use in German. He gets up and grabs his coat and keys.

“Where are you going?” she asks.

“We need a couple things for dinner. And I think we’re almost out of wine.” He smiles a genuine smile. “Anyone want to come?”

Benny and Jack are eager to see the village, so the three of them take off in the car. Steph and Paola then get up and retire to the kitchen table and start to pass between them some recent photographs they’ve brought. This leaves Leo and Karen alone in the great room, and he sits down again in the same overstuffed chair near the fire. Karen brings a bottle over and pours him another and then refills her own drink for her second glass of the night.

“How many is that for you?” he asks.

“Shut up and drink.”

They sit and sip and are quiet as Steph and Paola carry on about the pictures and their recent lives. Karen and Leo don’t talk. And she doesn’t hear a word of what the other two are saying.

She wants desperately to have Leo’s knee wander over and touch hers. They sit silent. They sit still.

The music stops and Karen gets up to change the CD. She hits play and walks over to the window as the music starts. It’s classical music and she put it on out of habit.

“This is nice,” Leo says. He has his eyes closed.

There are those lights again, distant and lonely across the valley. She still doesn’t know what they are exactly, which landmarks they belong to. She feels queasy. Her head is thick. Maybe she’s had too much to drink. She can’t look at the lights. So she looks at Leo. Steph and Paola have disappeared somewhere and Leo has his eyes closed. But he’s not sleeping. He’s smiling, and humming to the music. He knows about Texas and Colorado and all the places she’s been. He knows about all the things she’s done, what she’s put into her body, into her veins. He knows who she’s been with, the different things that get her going. He knows how to do them. He has his feet up next to the fire. It looks so nice. She loves the fire.

Karen feels worse. Her stomach hurts. There’s a wave of pain. She’s only had a little of the cheese and a couple olives and not much at lunch. She knows she should eat something. She looks again at Leo reclining in the chair. She wishes she could curl up on him and have him rub her stomach the way he used to. She wishes she could straddle him in the chair and have him rub her sides and front the way he used to.

She feels hot, overextended, but she doesn’t want to sit down. Somehow that would be too much. She knows she wouldn’t be able to get up after. The pain comes again. She wants to believe it’s her empty stomach, that there’s a simple explanation for the hurt. She wants to believe that it isn’t happening again. Leo was there for the first miscarriage. He knows all about it, the only one who does. He could help if it’s happening again, the way he did before. But she stays quiet. For all his help it still happened. They still lost it. The wave of pain recedes and she feels a little better, but also very tired. He’s laying right there. She looks at his face and mouth. She looks at his hips and his crotch. She moves her hand over her breast and lets her fingers touch her nipple. She closes her eyes. When she opens them she looks back out to the lights in the valley. They’re still there, in the same damn spots. A sharp pain hits her and she winces and grabs her belly. She starts sweating and breathes harder. She looks at the lights and they shimmer in place. And she doesn’t even consider the possibility that this pain might be normal, even if it’s coming early at eight months. It never crosses her mind.

The lights blink at her and Karen sees them and then she slides open the door and quietly moves outside. The cold air is wonderful. She immediately cools down. She walks into the snow. It feels great. It’s not too cold. The pain in her stomach is still there, throbbing and getting sharper, but she’s felt worse. She’s been through a lot worse. She continues to move into the snow. She moves further away, across her yard and down the steep hill her house sits on, through the deeper and deeper snow. She walks calmly around obstacles she knows are hidden under the surface. She quickens her pace, moves faster, shuffling on her knees when she drops through the drifts. Her house is getting far away. It’s getting smaller. The lights in front of her stay the same.

She only stops and looks back once to get her bearings, and when she does, she sees the car pull up to the house. She turns back to her course and starts to move faster. She moves quickly, stumbling and falling through the snow. She’d run if she could. She slides down the steep mountain and uses her hands to help as she scoots along on her backside. She covers a lot of ground. The pain in her abdomen is intense. She’s sweating again. She’s breathing harder. But she’s smiling too and singing softly. She thinks it’s coming. She thinks it’s going to happen any second. But she can tell her destination isn’t far from where she is now. She knows where it is. “I fucking know where it is, for Christsake,” she says.

Then she hears them behind her, far behind, calling her name in the dark. They’ve just come out of the house and they call her name. Their voices are tiny and far away but she knows too that her trail through the snow will lead them, all of them, Sophie, her husband, Leo, everyone to where she is now. She claws at the mountain, sliding down as fast as she can. She can’t let them get to her. She doesn’t want them. She only wants to be with her little girl right now. No one else. She only wants a couple hours, just a couple measly fucking hours, alone with her. Just a couple hours while it happens, she says, for her and her little girl so they can start a toboggan trail, so they can ride just once and sing and laugh and giggle like schoolgirls as they glide down the mountain together. A couple hours is the only thing she asks for.

“Just give it to me. Please. For Christsake, for once, just give me what I fucking want.”

She finds the trail. She sits down.