Chapter Nine #2
barn—sammies from the Yeti and seating on bales of hay. I couldn’t be more wrong. We approach the open sliding barn doors
and see golden light spilling out of the building. Inside, a long farm table is set for dinner, with white plates, vases of
wildflowers, and candles that reflect off the glasses and cutlery. Twinkle lights drape the rafters. For a second my breath
catches—it’s magic. And, just as suddenly, the reverie is broken as Lily makes a beeline to find a seat next to Just Normal
Dane.
“Excellent, you’re all here,” says Brick as we take seats.
The table is flanked by two long benches with cushions that match the cloth napkins. Through another door, Jace and a woman with a long braid and a bandana around her head enter carrying large trays of food.
“This is the best grub you’re going to find in Wrangell-St. Elias, folks. And I’m not just saying that because the chef, Heidi,
is the owner of my only drinking establishment,” says Brick.
“Ha, and your sister who used to beat you up when we were kids. And still can.” Heidi says.
“She’s not wrong about that,” he says, holding up his hands in mock defense. “Folks, you’re all in for a treat.”
“Now, don’t oversell it, Brick. It’s only burgers and fries and a salad from the garden.”
The burger turns out to be a gourmet stack—a fat patty, a melting slab of cheese, and a pile of sautéed-to-a-crisp mushrooms
and onions on a golden bun. The fries are thick and doused with coarse salt. The salad is filled with greens and herbs and
tiny yellow and red cherry tomatoes. My mouth waters and my stomach gurgles a cheer as I realize how truly famished I am.
Stress, tension, exhaustion, and, yes, losing one’s lunch build an appetite. Jace and Heidi place the plates of food in front
of the ravenous crowd and return moments later with trays of sloshing pitchers of beer and bottles of wine. The sight of the
dinner puts us weary travelers at ease, and we chat and laugh as if the long drive from Anchorage and the plane ride from
Chitina were the equivalent of us all having gone to college together.
I decide on the IPA Brick is recommending over my go-to chardonnay, and the strong beer and the twinkle lights lighten my
mood about finding myself at the ends of the earth, in a twin bed next to the sister I barely recognize right now, and the
latrine frying pans sitting at the front door of our cabin. Some of the tension in my upper back slips away. Usually, it takes
two appointments at Massage Envy to work that out.
“Holy shit!” shouts Dane, his mouth full of burger. “Excuse my French, kid,” he adds for Xavier—who smiles as if someone is finally speaking his language. “This is the best thing I’ve ever eaten, and I’m a regular at In-N-Out Burger.”
With that Michelin-starred review, I wrap my hands around my own beefy, cheesy goodness and take a huge bite, and holy hell,
Dane is not wrong. My mouth waters; I might start crying. I will speak to no one until I’ve finished every single bite of
this deliciousness. Forget getting out of Dodge—or McCarthy—I might be moving to Alaska for the food alone.
“Yeah, Heidi makes the best moose burgers in the state.”
I try not to gag. One bout of vomiting per day should be enough.
“Fantastic,” says Ian. “Not gamey at all.”
I was looking forward to seeing moose, not eating them. It feels like a violation not to have been told before we chowed down. I quietly spit what’s left into a napkin and
take a long swallow of the IPA. I see Luna and Mimi haven’t taken a bite yet and are instead picking at the fries and salad.
Lily, on the other hand, is diving right in.
“Moose is one of your leanest meats. Low in fat and cholesterol—not that anyone here has to worry about that. The number of
calories you’ll be burning out there, starting tomorrow, is going to be significant, folks.”
I don’t care how healthy moose is. And I’m not going to enter into a debate about my hypocrisy of eating beef and factory
farming and methane and the ozone. But I draw the line at woodland creatures. I’m not eating Bullwinkle. I glare at Lily,
who deflects my sister radar. The sane Lily would agree with me.
The affront is enough to swing me back to my original thinking. My sister is laughing along with Ian at something Just Normal
Dane is saying. She’s fine. Totally fine. I’m only going to slow her down, anyway. Besides, I’m not the best person to be
burning significant calories out there.
“Excuse me, Brick,” I say, burying the masticated blob in my napkin under the table so I won’t hurt my host’s feelings. “Can we talk after dinner?”
He’s sitting next to me at the head of the table, watching conversations take flight. Brick puts down his beer glass and turns
to me. I notice for the first time that his eyes turn down at the outside corners, making him appear wise and sad and thoughtful
all at the same time. I suddenly want to confide everything to him. I want to tell him why we are really here, about Eric
and Willa, and the rings in Lily’s pocket, and how this is the last place I’d ever choose to be but how I’d follow my sister
to the ends of the earth to protect her, and how right now I also kind of want to kill her. Brick strokes his beard and places
a hand gently over mine. It’s only for a second, like he’s making a momentary connection, in a way that says, I’m really listening to you.
“Of course, Bridget.”
After we’ve eaten, we move to a firepit surrounded by large, downed logs meant for seating. Jace hands out blankets to use
for cushioning or warmth. I take two—needing them for both. Flames leap into the air, and embers dance up into a still-light
sky. Between the beer and the blankets and the hypnotizing fire, the long day hits me, and I wonder if I can convince Lily
to come back to the cabin with me now. I need to sleep, but before that, I need to tell her about my plans.
Lily takes a seat on the other side of the circle, next to Dane and the rest of the boy band. Their faces are turned to Dane,
who runs his free hand through his hair and then gestures into the air. Xavier, separated from Dane by his father’s body,
leans forward, his eyes wide. What could have caught this reticent child’s attention when everything so far (except for my
gross behavior on the plane, thank you very much) has been met with apathy. All I can hear from Dane is, “It was the longest
thirty days of my life, but at least it was better than the last time.”
“Do you think he means jail?” I whisper to Luna.
She laughs; her new friend Bridget is so funny. She doesn’t realize I am not kidding. If my sister is hanging around with
an ex-con, I need to put a stop to it. She’ll be pissed at me for not being chill. My maternal nagging is not part of her
reinvented Lily plan—but she’ll thank me when we’re back to reality.
Brick interrupts Lily and the Jailbird with an announcement. “We start bright and early tomorrow, folks, with a ten-miler.