Authors: Kim Baldwin
Karla followed Bryson’s eyes to the other end of the bar, where the man who’d been staring at them out by the plane was buttoning up his filthy overcoat and preparing to leave.
“Told him I’d do his next delivery freebie.”
“Pretty hefty price tag.”
“Not so much.” Bryson glanced her way. “Take it you two’ve met. You get a room?”
“No, not yet,” she replied, looking uncertainly toward the bartender. “You’re the proprietor?”
“Grizz.” He folded both large hands around hers in a warm, extended greeting. “Sorry to say, though, we’re full up tonight.” He looked to Bryson. “Lars snagged the last couple of rooms for you two when he realized you wouldn’t be able to make it home before dark.”
Oh crap.
“I should’ve called ahead. Any suggestions?” She glanced from one to the other.
“I’ve got a solution.” One of the waitresses materialized on the other side of Bryson, the curvaceous brunette who’d lingered by the Cub and followed them inside. “Bryson can bunk with me. That frees up a room.”
Bryson took a long swig from her beer and seemed to consider the suggestion. She turned away from Karla to face the waitress. “No ulterior motives, right, Gen?”
“That’s entirely up to you,” the woman answered. She was smiling at the pilot with a look full of mischief and promise. For some reason Karla didn’t expect to find lesbians so far out in the boonies, and she was so absorbed with other matters that it hadn’t crossed her mind that her hunky pilot and she might have that in common. Though perhaps it should have. That gate clerk back in Fairbanks had given Bryson a similar come-on smile.
On the surface, anyway, she could understand their interest in Bryson Faulkner. She was easy on the eyes, with her natural beauty and athletic build. And Karla imagined some women might be attracted to her adventurous lifestyle as a pilot. But give Karla kind and sweet over daring and detached any day.
However, this revelation might be a positive development in terms of the reception she might get from the Rasmussens. If they were close to Bryson, they obviously had no issue with her being gay. At least Karla apparently didn’t have to worry about that.
“All right, then,” Bryson told the bartender. “She can have my room.”
“I don’t want to put you out…” Karla began, but in truth she was grateful for the opportunity to crash for a while. And she didn’t imagine Bryson would feel too inconvenienced, considering the enticing alternative.
“Oh, she’ll be comfortable, don’t you worry,” the waitress interjected. “Not like we haven’t done it plenty of times before, right, Bryson?”
Bryson turned to meet Karla’s eyes. “We’re old friends. It’s fine.”
“Thanks.” Addressing the bartender, she said, “I’m pretty beat. If someone can show me to my room now, I’d be very grateful. And maybe I can get a bottled water and a bowl of your reindeer stew sent up?”
“Done.” Grizz wiped his hands on a bar towel and snagged a key from a rack behind the cash register. “Right this way,” he said, rounding the bar and stooping to retrieve her duffel bag.
She followed him toward the door that led upstairs, then paused to glance around the bar. Lars had disappeared somewhere. It was just as well, because the time had come for her to figure out what the heck she was going to say to them.
The room was comfortable, if modestly furnished. A queen-sized bed, small dresser, and twin nightstands with matching lamps. Two padded chairs flanking a small round table faced the one large window. The truly eye-catching feature was the array of photographs on the walls—spectacular blowups of the northern lights. “Bathroom’s down the hall at the end. You’ll find fresh towels in the cabinet there. You here just the one night?” Grizz asked as he set her duffel bag on the bed.
Good question. “Um. Not sure. I’ll probably be here at least a couple of nights, maybe more. Are you booked up?”
He laughed. “Naw. Tonight’s an exception, because so many backcountry folks came in to meet the plane. This time of year, we almost always have a fair amount of rooms free.”
“Great. Can I kind of play it by ear, then? Let you know?”
“Sure. Come find me tomorrow, and we’ll get your credit-card info and all that done.” He started toward the door, but stopped with his hand on the knob. “Anything else I can get you?”
“Just the food, thanks.”
“Coming right up. Enjoy your stay with us.”
He left her alone, and she unpacked her bag. At the bottom was a copy of the letter her mother had written, along with a small photo album. She sat on the edge of the bed and studied the pictures of her mother, arranged chronologically from when she was just a girl in pigtails to the last one taken just before her death.
She paused when she came to an Easter snapshot that could have been a Norman Rockwell painting of the idealized American family. She and her parents were about to dig in to a feast of ham and all the trimmings, the table set with their finest china and linens. Her father sat at the head of the table, still in his navy suit from church. Her mother wore a pale yellow dress, and Karla sat opposite, in pink, her basket of candy eggs and chocolate rabbits on the floor beside her chair. Her father had bought a tripod so they could capture every holiday together, and there were dozens of similar photos in a box at home.
But though she’d looked at this picture countless times, Karla only now noticed that the smile on her mother’s face seemed forced, and the look in her eyes was melancholic. Had she been thinking about the child she’d given away, wondering what her daughter’s life was like, imagining how she might be spending the holiday? Surely on occasions like this, her mother must have had some regrets about her decision. Karla was eleven in the picture, so Maggie would have been fifteen or so, already in high school.
The photo allowed Karla a glimpse of the anguish her mother endured. She’d never fully realized how difficult it must have been to keep that terrible secret.
I miss you so damn much, Mom. I wish you could have told me.
She felt ashamed that she’d focused entirely on her own feelings of betrayal when she learned about Maggie. She had to respect her mother’s decision; she’d done what she thought best for her firstborn child and had suffered the consequences of her actions. Maybe her sister would somehow remind her of the woman that gave birth to them both.
Do you look like her, Maggie? Will I see her in your eyes?
Two sharp raps brought her out of her reverie. When she opened the door, Bryson stood on the other side, holding a tray with her stew, water, and a basket of fresh rolls.
“Didn’t expect to see you again,” she said, stepping aside.
“I was headed up here anyway, and Grizz asked.” Bryson set the tray on the table by the window and turned to go.
“Hey, you mind hanging around for a couple of minutes?”
Bryson’s eyes narrowed suspiciously. “What for?”
“You said you were friends with Lars and Maggie, right? Would you mind answering a few questions for me?”
“I guess not.”
Karla took one of the chairs, and Bryson the other. “Would it bother you if I eat while we talk? I’m starving.” Not waiting for anything more communicative than Bryson’s shrug, she reached for one of the rolls and dipped it into the thick gravy. The rich, savory stew, filled with chunks of lean meat, quelled the ache in her stomach. “What’s Maggie like?” she asked between bites.
“Maggie? Independent. Strong-willed. Bright. Funny.” Bryson smiled at some memory, but didn’t offer details. “Protective of people she cares about. Just about fearless—she’s had a couple of pretty close encounters with wolves and grizzlies and always kept her cool.”
Wolves and grizzlies? The huge stuffed bear at the entrance to the Den was intimidating enough. She couldn’t imagine coming face to face with one in the wild.
“Maggie can be kind of particular,” Bryson continued, still staring out into the night. “Wants everything in its place.” She grinned to herself. “But not so much, these days.”
“Why? What’s different ‘these days’?”
“Don’t think I should answer that. Maggie and Lars are like family to me, and I don’t feel right volunteering a lot of private information about them. Especially since I don’t know why you’re here, why you want to know all this in the first place.”
Bryson probably wouldn’t answer most of her other questions, either, but
she had to try
.
“Okay, I can respect that. Can you at least tell me how to get to their place?”
“I’ll tell you this much. This time of year, only two options. Boat and plane. By skiff, it’s a good two or three hours or more. And that’s not a trip you’d ever try to make alone, unless you really know the territory. Lars usually gets here and back hitching a ride with me. I live a few miles downstream of them, and he boats from there, which is an easy trip.”
“In other words, I can’t exactly just drop in on them and say hello.”
“No. Not so much.” Bryson tried unsuccessfully to stifle a yawn.
“I’ll let you go get some sleep. I guess you can’t really answer my questions, anyway. But I appreciate you staying.”
Bryson got to her feet. “No problem. Can I offer you some advice?”
“Sure.”
“Lars is stuck here until I get back from Fairbanks tomorrow, probably some time in the early afternoon. He should be easy to find, either downstairs or hanging out with Skeeter in the FAA hut at the edge of the airstrip. Be a good time to talk to him.”
She followed Bryson to the door. “Thanks. I’ll do that.”
Bryson met her eyes. “Good luck. Hope you find whatever you came here for.”
Karla woke to the faint sound of an engine, a steady but choppy cadence that took several seconds to recognize as Bryson’s plane
.
The room was dark, but she could dimly make out the silhouette of the chairs and table. She threw back the covers and shivered; it was several degrees cooler in the room than the seventy degrees she set her thermostat at home. Her thin flannel pajamas were inadequate and she hadn’t packed a robe, so she put on her down jacket and an extra pair of socks, and went to the window.
Dawn hadn’t broken yet, but it wasn’t far off. A thin line of faint gold light illuminated the eastern horizon, to her left. Far below were the runway lights, stretching nearly parallel to the horizon. A white aircraft, slightly bigger than Bryson’s and with a painted tail logo that read
Bettles Air,
was parked on the first half of the airstrip beneath an overhead light.
Bryson’s red Super Cub sat at the beginning of the strip, poised for takeoff, its propeller a faint gray blur. Its large tires began to turn, and the plane gained the sky seconds later, not yet sixty feet down the runway.
A life that entailed facing down the weather and deadly terrain of Alaska every day, year round, in such a fragile aircraft was unimaginable. Like a sparrow trying to navigate the perimeter of a hurricane. Bryson Faulkner was certainly a braver woman than she was. Or more foolhardy.
She headed toward the door, desperate to pee, and was shocked to discover it was already nine forty-five. Back home it was already full light out by eight, when she left for work.
A male singing loudly off-key already occupied the bathroom at the end of the hall, so she retreated to her room cursing under her breath. The first time in ages she was able to sleep like a rock would be the morning she didn’t have a private bathroom.
Her annoyance faded instantly when she opened her door. The scene outside the window stunned her. The rising sun cast a vivid pink light across the mountains that filled the glass, highlighting their sheer facades and snow-peaked tips, and painting the shadows at the base of each one an ethereal shade of blue, almost turquoise. The sunrise looked like a watercolor painting. She walked slowly forward until her face was inches from the pane. The mountain range, some ten or fifteen miles distant, defined the northern horizon, extending as far as she could see in either direction.
Karla held her breath briefly. The light had a magical quality, a photographer’s dream. She rummaged through the dresser drawers for her pocket digital camera and took a few shots, knowing they would never capture this splendor.
Bryson’s words came back to her. “Have to be able to breathe fresh air, see the stars, hear the wolves howl at night. Wake up to a view that always stuns me.”
She was beginning to understand at least some of Bryson’s reasons for choosing to live in Alaska. What were Maggie’s?
It was time to tell the Rasmussens who she was and why she was here, but how to begin? After she learned that Maggie existed, she was able to keep her grief tolerable by preoccupying herself with planning, organizing, and researching. Tying up all the loose ends so she could travel halfway around the world, return date undetermined.
But she was
here
now, and the challenge ahead was suddenly all too
real.
Imminent. Ominous. Ordinarily, she planned life in detail to minimize surprises.
This time, though, she hadn’t allowed herself time to consider exactly what she would do and say. Perhaps if she’d thought about it too carefully, she wouldn’t have come. It was completely out of character for her to just drop in unannounced on anyone—even a good friend, let alone a long-lost sibling—armed with a bombshell.