Bear

Chapter 10

Sam’s next day off was spent taking her mother to the medical center in Friday Harbor. Her mother wanted to sit every time in the doctor’s office alone, but it was Sam’s responsibility to drive her to and from, to wait through the length of the appointment. Sam spent those hours walking in town from shop to shop. She held her cellphone in one hand. The receptionist at the clinic always called eventually to tell her to bring the car around.

It was a Tuesday morning, warm and clear. Getting into June at last. In two weeks, the ferry would switch to its summer schedule, and Sam was preparing for busy boatloads of people, tourists crammed in front of her register and out on the decks. Before the pandemic, she sometimes worked doubles on summer weekends, which meant time and a half. Enough money to save. Elena kept the papers that tracked their finances piled on the kitchen table; Sam wanted to make enough in this peak season to see that stack decrease.

But today Sam wasn’t working. Over these brutal past couple years, she’d become her mother’s chauffeur, and even now, after her shifts had started again on the ferry, she needed to coordinate her schedule with her mother’s doctor appointments. Elena’s regular hours had supported them through their tightest times, as the boats stopped sailing, the tourists stopped coming, and the virus spread. They couldn’t disrupt Elena’s work—they depended on it. Sam had to be the one to handle anything that came up during the day at home. So someone else was getting paid to be on concessions this morning. Sam was wandering for free through town.

She ought to be doing surveys, making her time count, but she couldn’t concentrate. Instead she spent a while looking at the art, carved wooden fish and ocean watercolors, in the window of Pearl Studios. Her reflection was sharp in the glass.

During the drive that morning, her mother had asked for details about Elena and the bear. “She saw it again?” her mother said. Sam didn’t know how their mother had gotten this information—her bedroom was a place that seemed insulated from the rest of the house. The television played at all hours in there, keeping out other noise. The oxygen tank blasted away. Their mother, fatigued, napped much of the day, and called out at night, and kept her own hours. She had taken them through childhood; now she needed them to take her the rest of the way.

“What, Elena told you that?” Sam asked.

“I heard you two talking about it.”

Sam kept her eyes on the road. Yes, she told their mother, Elena had, but then Sam massaged the story to ease its telling: they’d been farther from each other and moved on more quickly. The sighting became an instant, a blip. Two beings squinting at one another from opposite shores.

Still, the details Sam did give surprised their mother. Worried her. “Right there on the trail?” she asked. The long fence surrounding the airport streamed by their car windows. In the passenger seat, their mother was quiet, thinking, almost certainly, about her older daughter’s brush with destruction. She looked worn out. Too thin. Her lips were cyanotic, touched blue.

When Sam and Elena were little, their mother was stunning to them. Even recalling that time, Sam could not see her as anything else. To a stranger’s eyes, maybe she had been just some young woman who flat-ironed her hair for dates and wore low-rise jeans that were tight around her thighs, a woman who was poor and stuck and aspiring, who wore brown lipstick in the style of the times but was really no different from Sam and Elena today. Yet Sam thought of her as a goddess. Their mother was so lovely back then. That sleek hair, those mascaraed lashes, that tiny waist.

Her smile. Sam, who in seventh grade had been caught shoplifting bleach strips from the drugstore, and who’d stared after the symmetrical mouths of movie stars on tabloid covers and the orthodontics worn by girls at school, longed for a smile like that. Their mother’s top six front teeth were straight and white and dazzling—perfect—courtesy of a bridge after a series of extractions in her teens. “You don’t want these,” their mother said, tapping on her false teeth. But Sam did. Their mother explained it—the bad appointments with a mainland dentist, promises made and teeth pulled and money handed over to fix nothing. “That guy didn’t know what he was doing,” their mother said, “and neither did I.” Except their mother had a way of making even mistakes look gorgeous. She turned dentist visits and long labors and two kids and chest pain into the glamorous world of adulthood.

Their mother had been young. Impossibly young. By the time she was Sam’s age, her children were already in first grade and kindergarten. Sometimes she would surprise them at school pickup, and the other kids would whisper about how pretty she was. Sam and Elena were delighted to go with her. They would’ve followed her anywhere. At home, when she laughed, she tilted her head back far enough that they could see where her bridge ended and her real teeth began, those secret dark spots at the back of her mouth. She was the woman they wanted to grow up to be.

Elena’s plan had made them into that, in a way. And Sam had agreed. They’d done it together: stepped into their mother’s shoes, in their mother’s house. Their mother, in her turn, moved into the bedroom that their grandmother had occupied. They were playing the roles set out for them generations earlier.

In the car, her mother said, “Do you think it’s safe for her to walk to work and back?”

“She’s getting rides,” Sam said. “With Kristine.”

Her mother exhaled at that. “Growing up,” she said, “we used to have so many foxes by the house. Did you know that? Mimi would leave out treats for them. They were adorable. Sweet as cats.”

It was good to watch her mother’s mood lift. “Are cats sweet?” Sam asked.

Her mother laughed. “Sweet ones are.” Her shoulders, beneath the strap of the seatbelt, looked so fragile as to be breakable.

Was Elena actually getting a ride every day? She certainly said she was. Sam had seen her come home on foot on Sunday evening, though; when Sam questioned her, Elena said Kristine had been dropping her off at the corner.

Elena said, too, that she’d called the sheriff after her sighting in the woods, but Sam had looked on the Journal’s website for what details Elena would’ve had to provide and found nothing. Maybe the sheriff’s office didn’t share information with the newspaper. Or maybe reporters were tired of the same old bear-spotting stories. Maybe, probably, everyone else was ignoring what Elena said.

After their brush with Social Services in high school, Elena had accepted, immediately, that authority couldn’t be trusted. The fact hadn’t seemed to disturb her. She simply adjusted her behavior—no time spent after class with teachers, no visits with the guidance counselor, no unhappy truths revealed to social workers or well-meaning neighbors or even their own mother—and moved on. But Sam, in the years since, had trouble sticking to her sister’s good example. Some na?ve piece of Sam still wanted an authority to take care of things. A police officer or a school principal, a boss, a leader. Sam wanted a grown-up to step in, so she could step back and be a child again.

Well, no one was going to do that. Sam and Elena were the grown-ups now. With her mother dropped off, Sam was free to gaze through the glass of Pearl Studios, lose herself in the blue brushed landscapes, and let her worries about her sister go. Elena knew what she was doing: she’d contacted whomever she needed to contact; she had her commute under control. There was nothing in the newspaper because the bear, and everyone around them, had moved on.

And now that it was gone, and she was safe, Sam let herself, deliciously, enjoy it. There, standing on the sidewalk, as early-summer tourists brushed past, she remembered: she and her sister had seen a brown bear. At their front door! And it had thrilled Elena, made her voice hiccup and rise. Sam didn’t want to forget that happy sound. The bear had done that for them, with its wet dark nose, its long snout, all its hair drawing back from its face as if combed. It delighted them. Let them laugh together. Its yellow eyes set into black-streaked fur, glowing there, lighting its watch.

The bear had brought them to the edge of disaster, then left them in peace—what a gift. Massive and inconceivable, its presence. That dreadful, holy sight.

Cars rolled and slowed and turned on the street behind Sam’s back. In the gallery windows, she stared through her own reflection, phone in hand.

The phone rang. She picked it up.

On the other end, a woman said, “Hi, Samantha?”

“Yes,” Sam said. “She’s ready?” The caller paused. Sam prompted her: “Michelle Arthur?”

“I may have the wrong number,” the woman said. “I’m trying to reach Samantha Arthur.”

Sam winced. “Who is this?”

“My name is Madeline Pettit. I’m calling from the Washington Department of Fish and Wildlife. This is Samantha?”

“Oh,” Sam said. “Okay. Hi. Yes.” She’d thought it was a debt collector—had been kicking herself for answering instead of letting it ring through. Elena always told her not to pick up unknown numbers. Sam had just been drifting, waiting for the medical center to call.

“I understand you had quite the encounter the other day.”

“My sister did. Yes.”

A keyboard clicked. “On June second at your home. On Portland Fair Road? That was your sister?”

“Oops,” Sam said—the first one, the woman was talking about the first one—“Right, yes, no, we were both there. We both saw it. At the house.”

“I see. Well, I’m calling to follow up. Is now a good time to talk?”

Sam turned away from the gallery. A line was forming at the ice cream stand next door. “Yeah.”

“I’m sure you’re busy,” Madeline Pettit said. “I’ll keep it brief. It’s not unprecedented for black bears to come through the San Juans. We’ve had two in the last five years.”

“Right. The police told us.”

“Not unprecedented,” Madeline said, “but unusual.”

“Special,” Sam said.

The tiniest pause. Then: “Rare. Certainly. So when there is a visit, we want to understand what, exactly, it consists of. We want to make sure everything’s all right.”

“Okay.” Sam was ready to answer. The bear’s face, its hair and its eyes, was fresh.

“The report I have here says it approached your door. I’m assuming there are some attractants on your property. Do you keep bird seed outside? Pet food? A grill?”

“No,” Sam said. Kids stepped out from behind the ice cream stand’s line. They weren’t from here; the way they looked made it obvious. Their fists were coated in sprinkles.

“How secure are your garbage cans?”

Sam didn’t know how to measure that. She guessed: “Pretty secure.”

Madeline didn’t believe her. Sam could tell by her voice. Madeline went on, tone firm—“The issue is that once a bear’s found food around one home, it’ll go, in the future, to other homes in the hope of finding more. That behavior endangers the bear’s life. We therefore ask Washingtonians to store their garbage inside sturdy enclosures. Never leave it outside overnight.”

“We don’t. It didn’t touch any of our garbage.”

“Do you keep chickens? A chicken coop can be a feast of calories.”

“It just sat there. That’s all.”

The keyboard clicked again. “That’s great,” Madeline said. “Please do continue to do your part to keep our bears wild. It’s mating season, so they’re on the move. Usually, they show up in a few backyards, turn over a garbage can or two, then pass out of an area relatively quickly.”

Sam said, “This one was hanging around.”

When Madeline spoke next, her voice was sharper. She was awake. “Was it?”

“Yeah.”

“How so?”

“I guess…” Sam, childish, wanted Madeline to have a second report in front of her. Elena’s call from the Friday before. The second approach.

“Do you mean that it was at your home for a long time that day, or that you saw it again after?”

Across the street, Danny Larsen’s mother, getting out of her car, saw Sam, gave a wide smile, and waved. Sam waved back and turned toward the gallery. She preferred the privacy: her face toward the glass. She doubted whether Elena would approve of what she was saying, so this position was better, a place where secrets might be kept. “Saw it again,” she said.

“When and where?”

“On the trail,” Sam said, “on Cattle Point Road, on Friday…around five-thirty…”

The typing noise had started again and wasn’t letting up. “Five-thirty in the morning or evening?”

“Evening.”

“And what did you see?”

Sam had to stop, then. She could see herself in the window—her posture. Her phone was pressed to her ear, her head was lowered, and her shoulders curved in, making a shelter around this call, trying to keep the knowledge of her betrayal out. Elena wouldn’t like this. Wouldn’t do this. Sam was doing something she knew was wrong.

So she tried to back up. “I actually didn’t see anything.”

“Uh-huh. You said before, your sister did?”

“She”—Sam stumbled over herself—“Yes.” How had the woman guessed that? Sam couldn’t remember—she’d told her already? What had Sam said?

Madeline’s typing barely hitched. “This would be Michelle?”

“No. Elena,” Sam said. Trying to think back to the beginning of their conversation. Distracted, she added, “Michelle’s our mom.”

“Ah. I have her here in the original report.” Madeline read out Elena’s cellphone number. “Is that right?”

“Right.”

“Same residence?” Sam confirmed it. “Then tell me. To the best of your understanding. What exactly happened the second time around?”

The discomfort that had been rising and falling in Sam since she’d picked up this call—the anxiety and guilt, the flush of relief, the readiness followed by surliness, the suspicions and suggestions and doubts—and under those, all of them, the desire to find out exactly what had happened from this scientist’s view, the nature of the visitation they’d received—that discomfort peaked. Sam felt like shit, to be precise. She was demanding the attention, yet again, of a stranger with power. Someone who could punish or fine or hurt them. The sort of person Elena said would never act to help.

Why couldn’t Sam just practice accepting, like Elena did, what came to them each day? The long list of obligations. Sam complained about those, but Elena didn’t; Elena went back and forth to work, quietly managed their finances, and shrugged. Or the short, shocking visions of beauty—the bear—Elena confided in no one but Sam, Elena kept their household confidences. While Sam could not. Sam told everyone, from the deckhands to random government bureaucrats. She had fantasized about alerting the newspaper. She couldn’t seem to satisfy herself, even temporarily, with their lot.

One day, they would leave San Juan. Their world would expand, grow richer and more stable. The happinesses would come constantly, and the rest would drop away, but Sam would never make it to that point with her sanity intact if she didn’t start trying, right now, to match the equanimity of her sister. They had a plan. They were going to get out of here. Beyond that, nothing mattered. Everything else, the tedious and the glorious, could be borne.

Sam had gotten this far into this call by being desperate, practically begging for intervention. But they didn’t need it. Didn’t want it. These lives would soon be behind them. She had to channel Elena, the clearest, calmest person she knew.

“Not much,” Sam said.

Madeline waited for her to continue. When Sam didn’t, Madeline prompted, “She saw the bear.”

“Right.” The line was silent. Sam said, “That’s all.”

“I’m interested in the details,” said Madeline. “Was it eating? Was it moving? How close was it?”

“I don’t know.” Sam had already told Madeline too much. The rest was theirs.

Madeline sighed. “That’s fine. Thank you. I’ll reach out to her to ask.”

A middle-aged couple brushed by Sam on their way into the gallery. Sam recognized them from the ferry: hot chocolate, black tea, complaining because the milk tasted sour. The husband had told her she didn’t know how to do her job. They didn’t recognize her.

Madeline said, “I’ll be on the island tomorrow to meet with the sheriff’s office about the situation. Is there a good time after eleven for me to visit your home?”

“I’m not sure about that,” Sam said. “You should coordinate with Elena.”

Madeline pressed on. “Will you be home then? I’d like to assess the property.”

“Talk to Elena,” Sam said. “You have her number or whatever. But I’m afraid I’m expecting a call so I have to jump off the phone.”

And the medical center was calling, then. It was an excuse, but it was the truth, too, Sam’s mother required her. Madeline was asking something else but Sam had to go. She ended their call without mentioning that Elena was at work now and wouldn’t pick up the phone from this number anyway and would never respond to a government office’s voicemail. The fish and wildlife team could go on a bear hunt without them.

“Your mom is ready for you,” the receptionist said. “And please do come into the office when you get here. We would like to have a word.”