Riley
They say the best way to process grief is by allowing yourself to feel it. Acknowledging your pain rather than bottling it up. Leaning on your friends and family for support.
But what if there’s no one around?
For me, processing my grief looks like settling my dad’s estate, packing my car with what little I own, and—against the advice of my former therapist—moving with my dog to the Last Frontier.
I realize relocating to an Alaskan tourist town on the cusp of winter isn’t a healthy coping mechanism, but I need this. I couldn’t take another day of living with my father’s ghost and mourning the one person who said he would always be there for me.
Yet here I am.
Alone.
Well, not technically alone.
Nikki, my three-year-old Akita, is curled up on the makeshift bed I rigged up on the passenger seat.
We’ve spent the past two days on the road, surviving off greasy cheeseburgers and gas station snacks, listening to my perfectly curated indie-country playlist, and stopping only for sleep and bathroom breaks.
If I never see a truck stop again, it will be too soon.
To most people, this whole thing might seem impulsive, but I didn’t pick Alaska on a whim.
I came here with a purpose.
For as long as I could remember, there’d been a postcard from my great-uncle stuck to our refrigerator with a Chuck E.
Cheese magnet. It was from his stop in Skagway while on an Alaskan cruise.
A massive bright white cruise ship sat in the foreground, juxtaposed against the lush mountains that stretched toward the sky in the background.
Nestled in between them was a tiny town composed of brightly colored vintage buildings, giving total Main Street, USA, vibes.
From the moment he’d laid eyes on that postcard, Dad had been obsessed with the picturesque scene, swearing we’d make the trip together. But life had other ideas.
I wasn’t going to let that dream die along with him.
The GPS notifies me—in Liam Neeson’s voice—that the exit for Skagway is coming up on the right. From where I am on the highway, I can already see the Skagway mountain range, but when I turn onto the exit, the mountains part and the sky opens up to a valley.
I grab the postcard from the sun visor, glancing down at the yellowed image, then back up at Skagway with tears in my eyes.
We made it, kid. I can almost hear the words in Dad’s raspy voice. The one from all the videos and voicemails I kept so I’d never forget.
“We made it,” I tell Nikki. Or maybe I’m telling my dad, wherever he is in the afterlife. Or maybe I’m telling myself, confirming that I can do things I set my mind to. Because life is too short to let your dreams slip away from you.
It’s like Nikki can sense the weight of the moment.
She perks up in her seat, smudging her nose against the window, adding to the drool she’s painted all over the glass.
After this road trip, my old Subaru is going to be in desperate need of a deep cleaning.
If I’m being honest, it needed a deep cleaning way before the trip.
I steal glances at the businesses lining Broadway Street as we drive past. Bars, restaurants, and gift shops; they’re mainly targeting the tourists that visit Skagway during the cruise season.
It’s mid-September and things are winding down for the winter, but tourists still wander up and down the street, their eyes wide with wonder and their hands full of shopping bags.
The locals are easy to spot. They walk with their eyes forward, totally unaffected by the grandeur they experience day in and day out.
Even when my dad was alive, I’d never felt at home in Oregon. My body thrums at the prospect of finding my place here in Alaska.
In what feels like the blink of an eye, downtown fades in the rearview and the mountains swallow up the road.
Skagway gets a little over twelve hours of daylight this time of year, and the mid-afternoon sun sits high in the sky.
The rays catch on the fog shrouding the mountains, making them glow a hazy orange.
It’s been maybe ten minutes, and I’ve spent the entirety obsessing over how gorgeous it is here.
Having lost my sunglasses three truck stops ago, I lean over the steering wheel and squint against the blinding sun, keeping my eyes peeled for the access road that leads to our new place.
Renting from a stranger I found on Craigslist goes against everything I was raised to believe about internet safety, but my options were pretty limited.
The little camper cabin might not be the most spacious or glamorous, but it works for my meager budget.
It’s not like Nikki and I will be spending a ton of time inside anyway.
By some miracle, I spot the access road and follow it to where the cabin sits at the base of the mountains. A new Ford truck is parked out front, and an older-looking man leans against it, casually scrolling his phone while he waits for me. John. My new landlord, and hopefully, my new boss.
At the sound of my tires crunching on the gravel, his gaze snaps up. He gives me a friendly wave and tucks his phone into the pocket of his faded jeans.
I park and give Nikki’s neck a little rub. Her body is tense beneath my fingers, her eyes locked on John while the back half of her body wiggles with excitement. “You behave yourself, okay? If we don’t make a good impression, we’re shit out of luck.”
Nikki is friendly, especially by Akita standards, but even for seasoned dog lovers, her enthusiasm can be a little much.
I remember when she was a puppy and chewed through the drywall in the laundry room because I’d left her alone for too long.
Dad gave me an ultimatum: Either give her the time and attention she needed or return her to the rescue I’d adopted her from.
I put more effort into training her after that.
Now, I couldn’t imagine life without my crazy girl.
I manage to slip out of the car without Nikki escaping behind me and head over to greet John. He looks older in person, about mid-fifties, with wrinkles creasing the corners of his eyes and a beer gut that’s just starting to drape over his leather belt.
“You must be Riley.”
“Yes, sir.” Flex those manners, Riley. Land that job.
“John.” He gives me a warm smile, and we shake hands.
His eyes sweep up and down my body, but not in a way that makes my skin crawl.
There’s nothing but kindness in his gaze.
“Glad you made it in one piece. That’s quite the drive, especially by yourself.
Certainly wouldn’t have let my daughter do it. ”
Ah. It all makes sense now. He’s giving off dad vibes because he is one.
There’s a stabbing feeling in my chest because my dad wouldn’t have wanted me to make the trip alone, either.
John must see the hurt flash across my face. “Shit, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—”
When I first emailed him about the cabin, I explained my circumstances and the reason why I was making the move, but he must have forgotten. Can’t fault him for that.
“It’s totally fine.” I wave him off and force a wobbly smile. “I had Nikki with me. She’s enough to keep the creeps at bay.”
He stares around me to where Nikki has her face pressed against the window. Her lip is stuck to the glass, pulled back to reveal her tiny incisors, and her body continues to sway with her butt wiggles.
“I’ll bet,” he muses.
Some guard dog.
John tilts his head toward the cabin. “Come on. Let me show you inside.”
The door opens with a creak, and the sharp scent of pine mixed with cleaning products hits me the moment we step inside.
The camper cabin looks just like the pictures: one big room, covered floor to ceiling with wood paneling.
One half of the room serves as a kitchen and dining area, and the other half serves as a bedroom and living space.
A tiny bathroom is tucked in the back corner, complete with a shower stall that looks like it’s just big enough for me to turn around in.
One of the perks of this place is that it’s fully furnished with a makeshift dining set, queen-size bed, couch, and coffee table.
There’s even a woodstove to keep the place cozy during the Alaskan winter.
The only things missing are a washer and dryer, but John assured me there’s a laundromat in town.
Hopefully, I can stay on top of my laundry, because even when I had a washer and dryer, it was a real struggle.
“It isn’t much,” John says thoughtfully, “but it’ll keep you warm and dry.”
“It’s perfect.” Honestly, it’s more than I was expecting to find this far out of town.
“There’s a trail behind the cabin that leads up the mountain a ways. You might run into some of your neighbors on the trail, but they’re good folks.” He cocks a brow and pins his stare on me. “If there’s any trouble, you give me a call.”
It warms my heart to know I have someone to call if I need something, even if we just met. “Will do.”
John starts for the door, but he stops to grip the frame and looks back at me. “Oh. The job. It’s yours if you want it.”
When I emailed him about the rental, I also picked his brain about employment opportunities in Skagway, hoping he would have a lead. I didn’t expect him to offer me a job. He owns a bar outside of town and happens to be looking for a bartender. It just so happens I have bartending experience.
Back in Oregon, I took a job at the neighborhood dive bar when my dad got sick. We needed the extra cash, and they were willing to hire me without any experience. Within a few months, I was one of their best bartenders. Until Dad needed more care and I quit, that is.
It isn’t exactly my dream job. I’ve dealt with enough drunk assholes to last a lifetime, but a paycheck is a paycheck. Plus, given that it’s the tail end of tourist season, there aren’t a whole lot of other options.
“That would be great.” I try not to seem too desperate, but I’m broke as a joke.
After paying for Dad’s funeral, and given the fact that he was upside down on his mortgage, there wasn’t much left over from his life insurance. I need this job.
“I’ll text you the address. Come on by Friday evening around six. It’ll give you some time to get settled in.”
“Sounds good. And thank you,” I tack on.
I follow him outside, giving him a little wave as he pulls down the drive. His truck disappears between the trees, and an unexpected playful bark from Nikki makes me jump out of my skin.
“I didn’t forget about you,” I huff, trudging over to the passenger side of the car.
I open the door and she hops out, looking regal as her fluffy coat ripples in the mountain air.
“What do you think?” I ask, rubbing the thick mane of white fur that wraps around her neck.
She drops into a sit and squints her eyes, letting her wide pink tongue loll out of her mouth in what I take to be the dog version of a smile.
God, she’s cute.
I haul a box out of the trunk and hobble toward the cabin with Nikki on my heels.
She follows me through the doorway, takes two sharp sniffs, and gives me what I swear is a look of disgust.
“Hey.” I set the box on the kitchen table and put my hands on my hips. “I know it doesn’t have all the creature comforts you’re accustomed to, but I promise you’re going to love it here.”
I can already see it, Nikki barreling down the mountain through the snow, the two of us running along the rocky inlet with the bay in the background. Well, maybe her running. I’m not a big fan.
It doesn’t take me long to unload the car. I didn’t have much to my name to begin with, but I sold off whatever I could when I decided to make this move. I needed the cash, and the weight of the past was too much to carry anyway.
After spending the past two days on the road, I’m eager to stretch my legs. If we hurry, we can sneak in a hike before the sun sets.
It’s what I’m here for after all.