Six: A Little Faith

As the pilot of Thunderbird Two, Virgil knew that a heavy snowpack after a few days of above-freezing temperatures was a recipe for disaster. Time and again he'd rescued hapless climbers and skiers from entombing loads of white, all his senses poised to feel the rumblings of another avalanche. However, that was now, after years of training and all the advanced gear Tracy money could buy.

When Virgil was eleven years old, his father had decided to take them all to Lake Tahoe for a winter vacation. They'd had a wonderful white Christmas in the little cabin, snug and cozy as they opened presents and drank hot chocolate and watched the snow fall steadily outside the windows of the A-frame. However, four days indoors, and everyone-even John, usually content to stay by the fire and read-was feeling a little stir crazy. Out into the snow they'd gone, wrestling and rolling and slapping each other in the face with handfuls of white fluff as the sun sparkled overhead in a crystal-blue sky.

He couldn't recall the last time he'd seen his mother alive that day. Alan had been playing near a stand of pines at the base of the hill behind the house, his mother following close behind. He'd been about to call out to her when Gordon had dumped a handful of snow down the back of his neck, and the battle was joined.

Then the mountain came roaring down on top of them, sweeping her out of their lives forever.

He didn't see her again until the mountain rescue team dug her out. He would never forget the sight of her, blue-white and stiff, arms locked around Alan's small frame. Alan was also blue with cold, but where she was still, he was crying, his tears freezing on his freckled cheeks. She had saved him. She had protected him with everything she had, and she was gone.

The woman standing before Virgil now looked just like the woman who'd helped him zip up his coat and find his hat before sending him outside that late December morning. Her hair was burnished auburn; her sea-green eyes shone. She reached down and took his hand in hers, and her skin was warm.

"Mom," he breathed, not a question this time.

She smiled. "My beautiful, strong boy, grown into a man." She reached up and touched his face. "How I've missed you."

Virgil tentatively reached out to touch her hair as it lay over her shoulder. "I've missed you too," he echoed. "We all have."

"I know." Lucy stood and looked at him for a long moment, then blinked as if remembering herself and gestured to the two chairs by the window. "Sit down, son. Let's talk."

He sat in one of the antique chairs as she retrieved the cup he'd dropped, searching for words to say as she sat in the opposite chair and filled the cup with fragrant brew, adding milk and sugar just as he liked. She placed a cookie on the saucer and handed it to him. It was all so normal, just the kind of afternoon he'd longed to spend with her, and it took his breath away.

He frowned into his caramelly tea. He'd come here for a reason, he needed to talk to her about...something. What was it? He tried to think, but all he wanted was to sit here with her, to be with her for as long as he possibly could.

"Son, we need to talk about Scott." Her eyes were clear but grave, and urgency slammed back into him. Yes. That's what this is about. He put the cup down untouched, all his attention focused on her.

"He's going to need your help to get through this," Lucy continued. "You can't let him down. Do you understand?"

"I'm trying to," he admitted. "I'm always the one who's prepared for everything, but this-" He shook his head. "I'm at a loss."

"No, you're not," she soothed. "He wouldn't have trusted you with it if he didn't think you could handle it." She was silent a moment. "You just don't want to, that's all," she added, not unkindly.

Virgil shot his mother a wry smile. "You always could see through me. You're right, I don't want to." He shrugged. "Am I being selfish?"

She took his hands in hers once more. "Absolutely not. This is a big responsibility, and it's okay to feel less than adequate-just don't stay there."

"It feels like admitting that he's never coming back." He raised his head to search his mother's face. "He has to come back. We can't do this without him."

Lucy squeezed his fingers. "Did you think you could do this without your father?"

Virgil blinked at her, drawing a long, slow breath, realization dawning. "This is-"

"It's just the same, sweetheart. You boys do everything he could have wanted and more." She gave him a sad smile. "He wouldn't have been around forever, you know. You'd have had to face that someday."

He uttered a mirthless chuckle. "Yeah. We just didn't think 'someday' would come so soon."

Her eyes went to their clasped hands. "'Someday' is never far enough away for those we love."

He nodded, tears pricking his eyes. "I know."

"Remember: This is going to be hard for Scotty, too," said Lucy. "You might find he's upset with you just for doing the job he gave you." She reached up to stroke the hair at his temple. "Go easy on him. He's so proud."

Virgil's brows rose. "So you're saying he's going to make it? We…" he swallowed to loosen the ache in his throat. "We won't lose him?"

She smiled and turned his hand over to stir the beads in his palm, then closed his fingers over them. "Have faith, sweetheart. Just a little faith."

OoOoOoOoO

He was cocooned in safety, as if a pair of warm arms were wrapped around him, and he reluctantly slipped from those arms back into an air-conditioned space that tasted of disinfectant. He opened his eyes to see Scott lying unchanged, still deep within his medicated sleep. Virgil reached for his elder brother's hand, twining the limp fingers in his own.

"I won't let you down," he murmured. "I promise."