He was right.

“Maybe a little,” I said.

“The thing you have to understand,” Adeline said, “is that in our community, sexism isn’t an issue. We strive for—and come very close to—total equality. Everyone’s equal, but that doesn’t mean everyone’s the same. Suzanne and I had a gift for preparing food, so it only made sense that that gift was utilized. We could have rejected that notion, under the guise of feminism, but in the community, we were unthreatened by our male counterparts. Feminism isn’t necessary, because we’re already equal.”

“And of course,” Vince said, “it wasn’t only women.”

“Of course,” Adeline said. “The men would routinely help us with preparing meals, given the time. And we would help with outdoor and shop projects from time to time. In fact, there were women who did those jobs full time. Not a lot, but a few.”

“It’s how the community works,” Vince said. “We’re looking forward to you learning more about it, and expanding your role.”

They both looked at me. I nodded my head. This felt like a recruitment, but I was already in. One of Vince’s mind games, maybe, or maybe he really was just trying to build trust. The more and more we talked, the more and more it seemed he really did just want me to buy in.

“Okay,” I said.

“But Suzanne,” Adeline said. “You’re wondering about Suzanne. After being in the community for a while, Vince and I began our relationship. This of course changed things, and Suzanne never dealt with it very well.”

“How do you mean?” I asked.

“My role changed,” she said, “I had different responsibilities as Vince’s companion.”

“And she didn’t like that?” I asked.

“It was hard for her, I think. She and I had been together for so long, the move kind of took us apart. We still saw each other plenty, of course, but not in the same capacity. I moved on, and she stayed as a chef for a while, before bouncing around to other, similar tasks.

“Part of it was jealousy, I think. She’ll never admit it, but she’s never completely gotten over it.”

“Which brings us to today,” Vince said. “Suzanne’s been unstable for a long time now. Between her inability to cope with Adeline’s changing role, and her general disposition, things have gone the wrong direction. She was able to mask it for a while, and be a productive and positive member of our community. But lately this has not been the case. She’s been angry, distant, borderline violent.”

“She bounced around between a number of men,” Adeline said. “I apologize for bringing that up, but it’s important.”

“Don’t worry about it,” I said.

“We were hoping you would be the stabilizing force she needed,” Vince said. “For whatever reason, that has not happened. It’s unfortunate, but not surprising. No one’s to blame.

“For obvious reasons,” he continued, “someone in such a destructive state of mind cannot operate in our community. It’s bad for everyone. The negative energy coming from one person is enough to slowly erode everything we’ve worked for. So when it comes to this, generally the community member in question is asked to leave. It’s happened a few times, and it’s always for the best. Suzanne has been with us for a long time. She’s generally beloved, and for those reasons we’ve given her much more leeway in this regard. But it comes to a point when you have to do what’s necessary.”

I nodded.

“That point is tonight,” Vince said. “Suzanne has been very close to leaving on her own accord for a long time now. She hasn’t worked in some time, and generally avoids the conversation. We’ve given her the benefit of the doubt due to her longevity, but increasingly it has seemed she is no longer interested in being a part of our cooperative effort. Adeline, others with an interest in the matter, and I have agreed, if she chose to leave, we’d honor that choice. That is what happened this evening.”

“How do you know that?” I asked. “How do you know she’s not just blowing off steam?”

“She made the choice,” Vince said. “She has to live with it. She won’t be invited back.”

“That’s how it works?” I asked.

“That’s how it works.”

I thought about it. Adeline sat straight-faced, ready to answer any questions or spit more information about the “community” and Suzanne. She was remarkably adaptive, able to pivot from provocative touches and batting eyes to cold businesswoman, the first lady of Colorado heroin smuggling. Each time I met her, she surprised me in some way.

“She’s not getting hurt or anything?” I asked.

“No,” Vince said with a wave of his hand. “Julian, no. Of course not.”

“We’d never hurt one of our own,” Adeline said. “Even though Suzanne may not be a fit for the community anymore, we still consider her a friend. We would never hurt a friend.”

I asked more questions, and each of them was answered. I asked about the dealings with the local police, and was told it was a necessary relationship that was brokered long ago, and again was assured it was nonviolent. I asked about the drugs, how much the others knew, and who was using. Vince told me a very small percent of the community members knew what was being shipped—only those who worked directly with the product—and zero percent used heroin.

“Not a single one,” he said. “It’s strictly a way to support the community. It’s very important to us that our members don’t use. A few have gotten caught up over the years, but those cases are extremely rare and immediately dealt with.”

“So no heroin,” I said, still uncomfortable with the word and keeping my voice low, “but I’ve seen plenty of weed smoked.”

“Marijuana is fine,” Vince said. “We treat it the same as alcohol. Psychedelics are okay on occasion, with approval, but that’s it. Our policy beyond that is zero tolerance.”

I asked about the future plan for me, and was told I was in control of it.

“Of course,” he said, “we’re constrained a little at the current time. Right now, we can’t have you leave the community completely. I understand how this sounds, and I need you to understand why it is, and that it’s a special case.”

“I get it,” I said. “We went over it.”

“Of course,” he said. “Past that, your role is up to you. You can be as involved as you’d like. If you just want to continue doing runs and live on your own, that’s perfectly acceptable.”

“But,” Adeline said, “Vince and I both agree, ideally, your role would expand. Despite some bumps in the road, he sees your value. We’d like to see where you could go within the community.”

I looked her in the eye and tried to see the other side of her. The other sides of her. The girl who showed up at my apartment drunk and slept over. The one in the coffee shop who expressed uncertainty about her relationship. The knockout at the ball with a tight dress and flowing hair, making small talk with her friend. I looked in her eyes and tried to find these people, but saw nothing but a calculated CEO. I saw my former bosses, I saw Wall Street, I saw emptiness.

We finished dinner, Vince picked up the check, and I drove home. Despite everything, I still expected Suzanne to be waiting at my apartment, but she was not.

40

Months passed and winter came. Snow came in sheets, blanketing the hills around Otter Ridge in white. The town moved slower. Temperatures dropped. The canyon was quiet during weekdays, roads packed with snow and ice. Chimneys bellowed smoke from fireplaces. On weekends, the roads were abuzz with tourist traffic, cars and SUVs motoring through town with skis and snowboards strapped to the tops. Bars were full. It snowed every third day. It was a good time.

Snow in Otter Ridge was not snow in New York. Or Boston, or D.C. Snow in Colorado was welcomed with open arms and stuck-out tongues. Back east, the snow was a sign of depression, of winter, of the dark season, or inconvenience. Snow made life harder, the commute longer, and the locals ornerier. It fell as white flakes and turned immediately to black slush, dirtying up slacks and dress shoes and making roads slippery. Snow in New York was dreaded.