Authors: Addison Fox
Laughter shook his shoulders. “Nah. It’s an old communications system, Grier. It was set up before satellites so they could get some sort of reliable communications in the state.”
“I know.”
“And old antenna systems attract both zombies and virgins? Clearly I hung out in the wrong places as a teenage boy.”
“When I read about them, it sounded like something cool to see. Especially from the safety of the air. Zombies can’t get at you from the air.”
“I’ll keep that important tidbit in mind. That said, don’t lose any sleep over it. A good number of them have been demolished and most of the ones that are left are considered disaster sites.”
Grier had read the same and she couldn’t help but
think that was the truly scary part of it all. The sites might not be infected with literal zombies, but the mess left behind wasn’t easy to clean up. “I’d actually say that’s scarier.”
“Fair point. It’s taken a lot of nasty stuff to civilize us up here.”
She didn’t miss the disgust in his voice. “Does that bother you?”
“I wish it could be different. Don’t get me wrong—I’m not against progress. Not at all. But maybe not everything’s meant to be conquered. Part of what makes it beautiful up here is that it is so barren. Wild and untouched.”
“I’m sure spending your day in the air gives you an even better perspective on that. You can see it on the ground, but up here”—she couldn’t resist a look out her window again, even if all she could see was black sky—“it’s vast and awesome.”
“And there are days when the only thing I can think is that we’ve spoiled it.”
“I do believe you have the soul of a poet, Mr. O’Shaughnessy.”
He actually blushed at that and she enjoyed the slight sputter as he looked for something to say. “I’m no poet. Just a guy who spends way too much time living in his head.”
The thought struck without warning and was out of her mouth before she even thought to censor herself. “Have you ever been to Manhattan?”
“A few times to visit Roman.”
“Well, that’s not a real visit.”
“Why not?”
“You went to visit Roman Forsyth, the hockey god. I bet you spent the entire time you were there with a gaggle of virgins, just lined up and waiting for you to deflower them.”
“What the hell is it with you and virgins today? And for the record, Roman has a very nice penthouse overlooking Central Park, which has been virgin-free each and every time I’ve visited.”
She couldn’t resist poking him a bit more. “I’ll ask Walker. He’ll give me the real dirt.”
“The brotherhood sticks together.”
“What happens in New York—,” she said.
“Stays in New York,” he finished for her.
“Did you like it?” Subtlety had never been one of her stronger suits and now that the question was out there, she was anxious for his response.
“Is this a quiz?”
“Consider it a curiosity.”
“It’s nice enough. Big and crowded, but invigorating, too. The food’s great. And it was fun to get lost in the people for a few days. No one knows your name, which means no one knows what you did the night before or who you did it with. You certainly don’t get that in a small town.”
Grier heard the tinny voice in her ear, alerting Mick through the headset that he was in the proper flight pattern and could begin his landing into Barrow.
“I’ll let you focus on the landing.”
“It’s all right. I can talk and fly at the same time. Anything else you want to know?”
Did you like it enough to consider living there?
burned the edges of her lips, but she held back.
In the same way humanity’s march toward progress had spoiled parts of Alaska, Grier knew in her heart of hearts New York would do the exact same thing to Mick O’Shaughnessy.
So what was the point of even asking?
I
n a move that had become pleasantly familiar, Mick helped her out of the car. He’d made arrangements with a guy he knew at the airport to borrow his SUV for the afternoon in exchange for a discount on a run of goods back down to Anchorage.
Grier thought there was a lovely sort of practicality to life in Alaska. People helped one another out. Maybe it was something that naturally happened when so few people lived under such isolated conditions or maybe they were just nicer than she was used to people being.
Would Brett Crane be nice?
She glanced up at the bright lights blazing in the windows of his small house and hoped so. He’d been nice enough over the phone the other day. A little caught off guard, but he warmed up quickly.
“What time is it? Do the clocks change this far north?”
Mick held her arm as they walked down a snowy sidewalk toward a small row of clapboard houses. “It’s three minutes after the last time you asked me and no, the time’s fine. Alaska’s all on one time zone except for the Aleutians.”
“The darkness throws me off. And I thought it was dark in Indigo.”
“It’s because we’re inside the Arctic Circle and technically still within polar night. They’ll come out of it in another week or so and be on the upswing toward the midnight sun.”
“What must that be like?” Grier asked, as a stab of regret struck her square in the stomach at the knowledge she’d not be here to see it. “To see the sun at midnight?”
He squeezed her hand where their gloved fingers were intertwined. “It’s pretty incredible.”
She wanted to ask him to bring her back—in the summer—but they were at Brett Crane’s front door. The small stocky man had a kind smile and he had his door wide-open, welcoming them in.
“You must be Grier.”
She dragged off her glove to shake his hand, not surprised when he quickly embraced it in a firm grip.
“I’m Brett Crane. Come on in and get out of the cold. You picked a tough day to head up here.”
Grier was confused at the comment. “There’s no snow?”
“But it’s about thirty below,” Mick added for her benefit before extending his hand to Brett’s.
Brett ushered them into his small living room and Grier was immediately captivated by the warm, cozy feel. A fire crackled in the fireplace and thick throws layered the surfaces of a couch and two overstuffed chairs. “How’d your plane do in this?”
“She’s used to it.” Mick shrugged out of his coat. “But no one will be sorry to see spring roll around.”
“No one ever is,” Brett added with a wink.
The two men exchanged a few war stories about frozen transportation equipment before the three of them settled into chairs.
“First things first.” Brett rubbed his hands. “Maeve gave me a heads-up you were going to call. I didn’t expect it would happen so quick, but there’s no time like the present.”
“You know my aunt?”
Grier had a momentary twinge at the question, seeing as how
she
didn’t actually
know
her aunt, but it didn’t seem like the time to try to explain that.
And then any sense of worry vanished as she took in the blush that suffused Brett from his ruddy cheeks straight down his neck and on down past the neck of his frayed sweatshirt.
Maybe her aunt wasn’t so reclusive after all.
“I take it you and Maeve know each other pretty well?”
“Well enough.” He coughed. “Anyway, she told me what she was going to do. It ate at her a bit, seeing as how it feels a little disloyal to Kate and all.”
“Mr. Crane—”
His dark eyes crinkled and his smile was warm when he interrupted her. “Don’t get all mister-mister with me, hon. It’s not a judgment; it’s a fact.”
Grier sighed and knew he was only being honest. She had a right to her father’s things, but her sister had the relationships. And to assume people would simply go against that was asking a lot.
But she didn’t have to like it.
As if on cue, Mick reached for her hand, lacing their fingers in a tight squeeze.
“But because I knew, I’ve had a chance to pull a few things together. So first, I need to thank you. I hadn’t expected to enjoy a trip down memory lane quite so much.”
Brett pointed to an album on the coffee table and a small box of photos that sat alongside it. “I’ve known your father since the first day I started up here. His family was from Montana, but he wanted to see Alaska, he said.”
The startling revelation that her father wasn’t actually from Indigo was yet another tidbit to file away. Were there other family members out there somewhere?
Would Kate tell her about them if she asked? Maybe other aunts or uncles. Nieces or nephews.
Family she never knew she had. People related to her, yet as distant as strangers.
Because they
were
strangers.
Mick squeezed her fingers again and it was enough to bring her out of her thoughts. Brett held the album out to her. “Go on and take a look. I think you’ll like what you see.”
Grier opened the book and was immediately struck by the bright smiling faces that stared back at her. Two men bookended the photo. Brett, stocky even then, was on the left and a taller, thinner man stood on the right. Both had women under their arms and all four of them laughed with carefree abandon.
“That’s my father?”
“Yep. He was about twenty-six years old in
that picture. Cocky as a rooster and as sure of himself as a grizzly bear. I swear, that man was a pistol. Nothing scared him.”
“Who are these women?”
“The one with me was my late wife.” His tone grew quiet—speculative—as he tapped the plastic cover. “You don’t recognize the other woman?”
Grier leaned in and studied the grainy photo.
And nearly dropped the book off her lap when the image registered.
“That’s my mother?”
Patrice Thompson tapped the Montblanc pen on her blotter in a hard, staccato rhythm. She was torn between the horrifying feeling that she’d just been visited by a ghost and the exhilarating acknowledgment that things were going to change.
She was headed back to Alaska.
The summons had been more than clear. In fact, she had to admire the tone with which it was delivered as it was one she’d employed on more than one occasion herself.
Harsh. Implacable. And layered with the honeyed sweetness of well-bred manners and a spine of steel.
The trip would be different this time. Jonas wouldn’t be at the other end of it.
But their daughter was.
A stab of regret arrowed through her as she thought about what Grier had endured for the last few months. It had nearly broken her to watch her daughter struggle to deal with her father’s inheritance, but a cold,
slithery fear had kept her from saying or doing anything that would possibly bring Jonas—even his ghost—back into her life.
And look where it had gotten her, she thought on a rueful laugh.
He was back anyway.
She’d lost him once and the thought of going through that agony once again sliced at her heart with deadly precision. But it wasn’t to be helped.
Her daughter needed her.
And it was about damn time she proved she was up to the task.
With one final, indulgent sigh, she stood up from the desk and moved to the walk-in closet in her bedroom. She did a quick scan of her clothes and acknowledged she needed to do some shopping to prepare for the trip.
And in exactly one week, she’d take all those new clothes, board a plane and head back to the one place on Earth to which she’d sworn she would never return.
Avery folded and refolded the brochure in her lap and waited for Julia Forsyth to arrive. She’d selected the most remote section of the Jitters and dropped her purse on one of the overstuffed chairs to ensure no one took the seat.
Would Julia really do it? Would she run interference for her with Susan?
Avery hoped she would, but thinking and doing were vastly different things.
She should know.
She’d
thought
about the exchange opportunity for a year. When she’d first heard about it, she’d researched it and asked some questions of other travel and tourism professionals she knew. They’d all raved about the program and promised not only a well-run experience, but the chance of a lifetime.
So she’d applied on the sly, never thinking her application would be accepted. Or that she’d be chosen.
And here she was eleven months later with the proverbial golden ticket in her hands.
Julia swept into the coffee bar and headed straight to the back. “Hello, my dear. It’s good to see you.”
Avery kissed her cheeks and gestured to the chair. “I got your favorite. A full-fat mocha.”
“Oooh.” Julia’s eyes closed on an expression of ecstasy. “Don’t let Dr. Cloud know I’m drinking this cup of sin.”
Avery had often thought Roman’s grandmother and Dr. Cloud should actually get up to a little sinning together, but she’d kept it to herself. For one thing, you just didn’t say that to an older woman.
And second, well, it was Roman’s grandmother for God’s sake. Talking to her about getting it on with the town doctor—no matter how appealing he still was well into his seventies—just wasn’t done.
Brushing off the odd notions, she took her seat and lifted her own steaming mug of coffee. “Thanks for coming to meet me.”
“Is everything all right?”
Julia had been one of the few people she’d confided in over the years about her mother, and the woman had
an uncanny ability to read her. “Fine. Good, actually. Really good.”
“You look excited. Has Ronnie finally gotten up the gumption to ask you out?”
“Ronnie?”
“That hunky hunk at Maguire’s. He’s always had a thing for you. I thought this would be the winter he’d finally do something about it.”
“No, no he hasn’t. And that’s probably a good thing.”
“Why?”
“Grier and Jess asked me the same question,” she muttered before she caught herself.
“What, dear?”
“Well, for starters he’s like a decade younger. And I babysat him as a kid.”
“He’s not a kid any longer.”
“No, I can see that.”
Okay, time to get
off
Ronnie. Literally
and
metaphorically.
“So, what I wanted to talk to you about was something a bit different.”