Chapter Seven
“Holy shit, what the hell. Is that real? Big, look. Isn’t that crazy? Big, are you paying attention?”
Lily is looking up into the gaping mouth and yellowing fangs of a fourteen-foot-tall-on-its-hind-legs polar bear. I’m sulking
too hard to be enthusiastic about a stuffed bear on display in an enormous Plexiglas box—even if it is the grand attraction
at the Ted Stevens Anchorage International Airport.
“I can’t believe they lost my luggage.”
I’d survived the twelve-hour flight. Managed to white-knuckle my way through, counting my breaths during turbulence, eating
ginger candy by the fistful, and only checking the seat pocket for the motion sickness bag a few times. I’d even managed to
distract myself through it all by watching three movies while Lily slept like a baby, wrapped in a silk neck pillow, a lavender
acupressure eye mask, and cashmere slipper-socks, all from the Sleep on the Road collection at Sweet Dreams. I, the world’s
most nervous flyer, was not shutting my eyes for a second—lest my lack of vigilance bring the plane down. But the Travel Gods
decided to put me through one more test. They’d sent my luggage to Honolulu. Which is also where I should be.
“It happens all the time,” says my sister with a flip of her wrist. “They told you they’d deliver it to you, right? They’ve
got to; I think that’s a law.”
“Yeah, I guess. The woman at baggage claim said it would be on the next flight from Hawaii. How many flights to you think there are from Honolulu a day? Who in their right mind would leave an island paradise to come to Alaska?”
“Try not to be a downer about this. They’ll find your stuff.”
“Easy for you to say. You have clean underwear.”
“I’m sure our driver would be willing to stop at a Target along the way for you to pick up a pack of Hanes to tide you over.
If you ask nicely and give them your famous pathetic face.”
“I make a pathet—?”
“Where is this guy,” says Lily, completely over my lack-of-panties issue.
The polar bear is our meeting place, so said an email from someone called Brick Malone, whose signature included “Earth Walker,
Soul Searcher, and Owner of Grizzly Tracks Adventures.”
I scan the room for anyone who fits that description. Fifty percent of the crowd looks like earth walkers—long beards and
faded flannels and hiking boots, bedrolls secured to weather-worn backpacks. The other half reads cruise crowd; large groups
of silver-haired, impeccably dressed couples, clusters of women in visors, a few families with young kids and reluctant-looking
teens gathered around Love Boat–esque employees holding colorful printed placards over their heads that say, viking, carnival, norwegian. Take me with you, I think.
As we wait for our own colorful printed placard to make itself known, Lily pulls out a compact and inspects her beautiful
face. The twelve-hour flight left me rumpled and smelling like stale airplane air, but a quick run to the ladies’ room has
transformed my sister back into her normal magazine-cover-ready self. She digs through her bag and pulls out a bright and
cheery lipstick and adds another coat to her perfect mouth. That’s when I notice the one thing that is not normal.
“Where are your wedding rings?”
Lily holds her left hand in front of her. “Here’s the story. My husband is dead.”
“The story? Why is there a story?”
She smacks her refreshed lips and sighs. “Listen, I didn’t come all the way out here to be that woman. The one who got cheated on and now strangers feel sorry for and give me that look and pat me on the back, making me more pathetic than I already am.”
“You don’t think people are going to feel sorry for you and pat you on the back because your husband died?”
“I didn’t say when he died. It could have been years ago.”
“Okay, fine. If that’s the narrative you want for yourself. Grieving widow, got it.”
Lily drops her lipstick and compact back into her purse and pulls her sunglasses down over her eyes as if, in addition to
being the grieving widow, she is also traveling incognito. “Well, shit, never mind, I’m just single then. You’re my old married
sister, and I’m the single carefree one.”
I don’t ask why Lily gets to be the carefree one. That’s a rhetorical question. Instead, I ask, “Why does it matter? Why do
you have to pretend you are single? Who are you trying to impress?”
“Big, I’m trying to have fun here.”
“What kind of fun? Lily, what kind of fun?” Instead of answering, she turns her back on me and makes a show of looking for
our ride. “There he is,” she says.
Behind the glass bear case I see a sign that reads, grizzly tracks adventures—written in block letters on cardboard as if it’s something someone made for a protest march. The top corner of the cardboard
is bent. Holding the sign is the thin, tattooed arm of a thin, tattooed boy. Please don’t be Brick Malone, Earth Walker, Soul
Searcher, and Owner of Grizzly Tracks Adventures, and the person responsible for our lives for the next week.
I twist my mouth and give Lily what’s meant to be an I-told-you-so and a what-the-hell warning-shot look all mixed into one.
My single, carefree sister twists a strand of hair around her ring-free fingers.
I’ve seen this move before. It means Lily is suddenly anxious, and my heart thaws. We both remember why we’re here. What Lily
left behind. What will be waiting for her when we go back. Big deal if she took off her rings. What’s the harm in distracting
herself, of trading in the pain for a little while, of getting lost in the woods, for now?
I squeeze Lily’s arm, just a touch to tell her I understand. She pulls away from me, flips a chunk of hair over one shoulder,
strides toward the boy with the sign, and she is fun, carefree Lily. The transformation was that quick.
“Big and Lily reporting for duty,” she says with the laugh that makes everyone think she’s their new best friend. The boy,
who it turns out, on closer inspection, is a man with a nascent beard, a shock of uncombed blond hair under a tattered and
faded baseball cap, and the lashes of a baby deer, looks at Lily the way everyone looks at Lily and then over to me.
“It’s Bridget,” I say before he can tell me there is no one by the name of Big on his list. “Bridget Ackerman-Petty and Lily
Ackerman. From New Jersey.”
“Awesome, Bridget Ackerman-Petty and Lily Ackerman from New Jersey. I’m Jace. It’s my honor to escort you to your destination
today, yeah.” He speaks with an accent—English, Australian, New Zealand, maybe—the kind of accent that makes one attractive,
charming, and sincere whether they are or not. I see that Lily has stopped twirling her hair.
“They lost my bag.” First things first. “It’s in Hawaii.”
“That’s sucks,” says Jace, looking less concerned than I’d like. “It’ll turn up, they’ll bang it on a Piper, and you’ll be
good to go.”
“Excuse me?” I think that means I’ll never see my belongings again.
“The next bush pilot coming out to McCarthy will grab it when it gets here. Easy-peasy.” He looks down at Lily’s suitcase.
“So, then, this beast is just for one of you?”
I don’t understand. Seven days. One full-size suitcase each. It was no small feat to fit hiking outfits and boots, day clothes,
a variety of shoes, blow-dryers, Lily’s curling iron, hair and makeup and skin routines, and the “going-out clothes” my sister
insisted we’d be sorry if we left at home into the fifty-pound-per-bag limit. I’d say we performed a miracle.
“Yes,” chirps Lily as if she had a hand in not managing to lose her luggage.
“Then we’re off, yeah? Everyone’s waiting outside. You two are the last ones. We’ve got a hike ahead of us to the next airport.”
“Airport?” I squeak. “We just got off a plane.”
“You’re not going to get far without a plane in Alaska, Bridget. Bridget, right?” I nod. “Don’t look so scared. You’re in
experienced hands. Brick’s meeting us at Chitina, we’ll be in Wrangell-St. Elias by dinner.”
He turns and walks toward the automatic doors. The back of his T-shirt, dotted with holes around the neck, has the logo of
Grizzly Tracks Adventures—which is not a grizzly bear at all, but a small plane like the one the Wright Brothers flew—stretched
across his shoulders. I swallow hard. My sister needs me, I repeat in my head, my mantra for this trip.
I hear Tim’s voice: Try to enjoy yourself, Bridge, try to make this a vacation for yourself too.
If this were my vacation, we’d be following the Julie-the-Cruise-Director girl to her ship. Instead, we let Jace lead us
out into the sunshine and to God knows where else.
Once outside, something immediately feels different.
It’s beyond the cars waiting to pick up arriving passengers, the shuttle buses, the taxis, the pickup trucks—a few with dogs standing in their open cabs.
It’s above the people holding their hands to shield their eyes from the sun as they search for their ride, the excited chatter of a group following Julie and her sign.
It could be the enormous sky, the kind of sky you don’t see in New Jersey.
Here, even from the passenger pickup/shuttle bus/rental car hub of an airport, the sky stretches across the world.
Below all the blue are the mountains. Snowcapped in June.
Navies and grays. Some in shadow, some in glowing yellow light.
Seeming a million miles away and yet right on top of us.
I glance over at Lily, wanting to share this moment with her. This is what we came for, isn’t it? This is what will heal her?
The great outdoors. But Lily isn’t looking up. She’s marching straight ahead, behind Jace, toward a group of people standing
next to a shitty old van—like an Sprinter van minus the happy smiling arrow and the joy of new packages arriving at
your front door. Similar, in fact, to the one that drove my mother and the other assisted-living ladies to the market on Wednesdays,
before she got kicked out and ended up in my backyard and my care—but this one is rusted around the tire rims, covered in
decals, and splattered with mud.