"Hey, honey, did you girls fall asleep back there?"
Julie's brain was clicking on and off, constantly switching between the darkness of sleep and the vivid lights of reality. She heard her mother's voice reaching out to her in the background, but it sounded far away and faint, like the sleepy sound of waves breaking on the beach. Last thing she remembered was pulling out of the airport, her head resting against the car window, watching incoming and outgoing flights. And then her eyes just closed. She always enjoyed the soothing sensation that came with sleeping inside a moving vehicle: the icy glass squeezing against her cheek; the light vibrations absorbed through her temple; the way her teeth and car engine chattered in unison. It was almost orgasmic in a way.
For how long have we been driving?
Julie wondered dreamily
. Ten minutes? An hour?
Time and place were still a blur as she slowly detached from the realms of her dreams. When she opened her eyes, she was greeted with the sight of pale blue skies above the faded color of green. They were the colors of winter in Vermont.
"What... did you say something, Mom?" Julie asked with sleep still thick in her voice.
"I asked if you girls were asleep back there," Debra replied, already knowing the answer was yes, by her daughter's weary voice.
Julie slowly tilted her head to the left, her neck giving a soft cracking sound as she turns. She saw Bailey, with her knitted ski hat pulled down all the way to the tip of her nose, sleeping next to her. Julie balled her hand into a fist and lightly punched Bailey on the shoulder. It was a soft whack; the kind that would only disrupt the lightest of sleepers. Bailey shrugged her shoulder, but otherwise kept on sleeping.
"Bailey's asleep," Julie said dully.
Krystal, the woman sitting at the driver's seat, looked at the rear view mirror and smiled at the sight of her little girl, Bailey, cuddled at the back. Well, Bailey was hardly a
little
girl anymore. After all, they had just celebrated her eighteenth birthday last May, but it was more comforting for Krystal to think of her as one. Grown up or not, she was still her Little Hellraiser. Maybe now more than ever.
"How long 'till we get there?" Julie asked impatiently, wriggling her slender pelvis on the car seat while trying to shake that immense feeling of tiresomeness.
"About twenty more minutes or so," her mom answered. "If we're lucky."
"
If
we're lucky," Krystal repeated. It was winter season, and even worse, it was tourist season. It was a pretty calm day, weather-wise, so they weren't expecting any closed roads, but both Debra and Krystal knew that once they reach Stowe the main roads will be clogged with out-of-towners.
Julie shifted her head back to the window. The snow was piling up at the shoulders of the road. The forest was draped with a thick blanket of white, looking like the polished cover of a Christmas poetry book. Birch trees stood erect along the route, frosty and naked of leaves. The skies above, gradually turning silver blue as the morning bled into the early noon hours.
Soon enough we'll be at the lodge
, Julie thought drowsily.
No school, no papers, no exams, nothing except complete and utter relaxation
. And with her eyes hypnotically mesmerized by the view, she began to sink into another deep sleep.
Making the trip up to Vermont has been a yearly tradition in Julie's family for over a decade. Her father, back when he was alive, bought a beautiful timeshare unit at Stowe, and every year, usually a couple of weeks before Christmas, they would pack their bags and leave their home in Long Island in favor of the family trip.
Julie still remembers how every year without fail, her dad used to take down his old pair of skis from the attic (even though by looking at their polished surface, one would assume they were fairly new). He would look at her with that big smile of his that always complemented the dimple on his chin, standing tall and proud, telling her how much fun it will be at the slopes, though eventually he would spend most of his time watching football back at the lodge or going to whatever husband-wife activities her mom signed them into.
Aunt Krystal, her mother's younger sister, would usually join them on the trip. Krystal was the first of the two sisters to bury her husband. She was only married for three years, and her daughter Bailey was at the precious age of two, when her husband was involved in a horrible car accident. Sixteen years had passed and Krystal never remarried.
Five years ago, Debra suffered the same terrible loss, as her own husband, Julie's dad, suffered a deadly heart attack while he was sleeping. Much like her younger sister, Debra also remained a widow.
Today, Julie is twenty-two-years-old; she recently began her second year at Columbia Law School.
"You'll be one heck of a lawyer one day, Jules, I just know it," Debra had told her the day she got the acceptance letter from Columbia. She softly caressed her daughter's long raven hair, pride beaming out of her eyes. "And then maybe you could help your mom deal with some of these clients better than the bone-dead lawyers I now have," She told her giggling.
"Don't think you can afford me, Ma'," Julie fired back with a grin.
Debra pressed her hand over chest and gasped for hair, acting as if she was hurt, only to burst out with a gale of laughter a second later. She was indeed very proud of her Little Jules, always have been.
The group of four women took an early morning flight from New-York to Burlington International Airport in Vermont and from there they rented a Ford SUV, ("The big red one", as Bailey childishly insisted) to drive it up to the family's winter lodge in Stowe.
For the most part, it was a casual drive down Interstate 89. Krystal was behind the wheel and Debra was at the passenger seat beside her. The two sisters were mostly talking shop. Krystal was the owner of a large bookstore in Long Island and recently she launched an online version of her store with much success. Debra has inherited her late husband's successful real estate agency, where she once served as a founding partner and a secretary. Businesswise, the past five years, with Debra at the helm of the agency, had been some of the most thriving years the agency had ever known. Every once in a while Krystal and Debra would cut each other's sentences and say: "We really shouldn't talk