Call Elizabeth today! 207.885.5568 or visit ScarboroughTerrace.com 600 Commerce Drive Scarborough, ME 04074 “As Mom aged, we thought it best if she stayed in her house, but, we were wrong. Even with hours of expensive home care, Mom wasn’t thriving. She needed more. She especially needed more socialization - not isolation. And more affordable and reliable access to care when she needed it. So she made the move to Scarborough Terrace. She truly loves her elegant new home! Life is more complete in a community with lots of friends and activities, chef-prepared meals, daily care, medication management, and even transportation to appointments and outings. I visit her often, so I know Mom is happier and more relaxed now... and I am too. We only wish she’d moved sooner.” “We are so happy Mom is thriving again.” STJ7674 Mom Thriving 4.75x7.5_PM.indd 1 9/26/18 10:30 AM w i n t e r g u i d e 2 0 1 9 9 5 bounced down from the cab and said, “Je- sus, I about pissed myself.” “You, too?” Hibs said. Took half an hour to pick up. The stars were strewn across the sky like the broken bundles of bamboo and so bright we skied down without our headlamps. At the Competition Center, Hibs said, “Pru, we just cheated the devil. We could get loaded, drive to Kingfield doing a hun- dred, and be fine.” We’ve each told that story, alone or in concert, hundreds of times. Among old- timers, it’s a legend. The story we don’t tell is about Sharon Cleaves. She and Hibs had been together for two years. Then one weekend in June of ’95 she shows up by her- self on my raft. “Dumped me,” she said when I asked about Hibs. “We’re living in the same place, so it’s really hard.” I found Sharon a gig at our base camp as a replacement for a girl who blew out her knee. At a fourth of July party, we started making out. In August, we rented a place at the mountain. The first problem was, Sha- ron left Hibs. He came home from a late shift at the restaurant and found a note. The second problem was, he believed I was obligated to find out what happened from him. At orientation that November, Hibs wouldn’t speak to me. When I asked why, he said, “Ask Sharon.” When I did, she paid the rest of the sea- son’s rent and bolted the mountain for good. Two nights later at the bar at The Bag, Hibs sidled up and said, “She say goodbye or just leave a note?” “Stormed out, said what happened be- tween you two wasn’t my business.” “What’d you say?” “Don’t like being lied to.” Hibs smiled. “Let’s have half a dozen to celebrate.” “I’m two and a half in,” I said. “I’ll catch up.” I nursed half a beer while Hibs killed two and ordered a third. “Been thinking about the night the sled slid,” he said. “We could have died, man.” “Eddie hadn’t gained traction we might well have.” “Even so, you probably saved my life by jumping on me.” “You’d have done the same.” “Yeah,” Hibs said. “You’re right about that, anyway.” n