Chapter Twenty-One
When I wake up, with my tongue thick, my eyes blurry, and those shots screaming to make a return appearance one way or the
other, Lily is gone. Her bed is a tangle of twisted sheets and blankets that immediately sends an image to my brain I want
no part of, even without a hangover. I pull my own bedding up to my chin and stare at the bleached moose antlers. Pieces of
my own indiscretion last night come back to me. Me, giddy and giggling, throwing back shots like a frat boy, and, shit, yes,
spilling Lily’s beans. I told Brick that Lily is married, I betrayed her trust. Some great big sister I am. Although maybe
she deserves it after that crap she pulled. I’m still so pissed off at her. My head pounds, and I think about those gifts
Brick talked about. If Alaska is giving me gifts, so far they are all stockings of coal.
I wish I could stay in this tiny bed all day and not face anyone. Not Brick, not Dane, and certainly not my sister. My wish
will not come true; today is the last day in camp. We are driving north this morning—all of us together, shoulder to shoulder
in one beaten-up van—to a little town called Talkeetna and then onto Denali State Park, where we will spend the rest of the
time before we go home and I can start to forget about this disaster of a trip.
I’m on my way to the barn to see if there is a way to take my coffee intravenously, when I run into Heidi.
I’ve decided to stop asking about my luggage.
Probably somewhere in Bora Bora right now.
Besides, I’m hoping to learn to finally appreciate Marie Kondo—fewer possessions, only the ones that spark joy, means a simpler, happier life.
I could use one of those: a simpler, happier life.
Although a couple more pairs of underwear would be nice.
“Here’s the woman I’m looking for,” Heidi says. “Follow me. I’ve got a surprise for you.”
“You found some extra socks?”
“Better.” She stops at her pickup truck and opens the tailgate and there, next to Koda, who stands guard as if it’s a case
of gold bullion, is my luggage. “Ta-da! Just came in on the sunrise flight.”
“Oh, wow,” I say with less enthusiasm than is warranted for all the effort Heidi’s put into finding my lost luggage, but right
now, this fifty-pound suitcase it lighter than the weight of my mood. No clean underwear, or fresh leggings, or “going-out
outfit, just in case” is going to fix that.
“This thing has seen more of the world than I have,” she laughs.
I force a smile and laugh. “I should probably put it straight into the van. No point in unpacking anything now. And thank
you, Heidi. Above and beyond, really.” I think of her brother, who worked overtime last night for a client who has proved
to be nothing but trouble.
I’d like to absorb everything he said to me about accepting what the universe has in store and Alaska’s gifts and all that,
but responsibility is hardwired in me. Especially out here, where, despite what I promised Tim about having my own adventure,
Lily is constantly reminding me of my real role. It’s time to talk to Lily about last night—we need to discuss how we’re going
to maneuver our way through the rest of this trip.
I find her in the barn, her hands wrapped around a mug of coffee, a plate of eggs going cold in front of her.
She is chatting with Mimi and Luna as if she hasn’t a care in the world.
Dane is with Ian at the far end of table.
He glances over at my sister but quickly goes back to his conversation.
They think they are so clever. I press my lips together and grab a coffee.
Not the place or time for a confrontation.
I go back outside and sit on the bench by the trees.
It would be lovely if Merlin paid me a visit before we go; I’d like to say goodbye.
“Finish up, folks,” I hear Brick say from inside the barn. “It’s a long ride today.” I dump what’s left of my coffee into
the grass and go back inside to return my mug. “Seven hours to Talkeetna, but lots of gorgeous scenery along the way.”
Seven hours of close quarters and no chance of hashing things out with Lily, but a huge chance of getting carsick? I’m going
to need my ginger candies, Mimi’s wristbands, her pills, a few of the motion sickness bags from the plane, and a lot of patience.
I will not last seven hours watching Lily and her new boyfriend without wanting to take a swing at someone.
“Dibs on the back seat!” We all turn to the speaker, and it’s not, as one would expect, the teenager. It’s Dane. He smiles
at Lily and winks. Gross, as said teenager would say.
I expected my sister to blow him a kiss, but instead she turns on her heel and walks out of the barn. I try and fail to catch
her eye as she marches right past me.
When we pile into the van, Dane does take the back row. Lily sits next to Luna and Mimi in the first one. That leaves me with
nowhere to go but directly behind my sister and in front of her paramour. I count my breaths and think about Alaska’s gifts,
which had better be damn good when they finally arrive.
After we wind our way out of McCarthy, Brick and Jace do their best to entertain us with the local color.
“There you see a full view of the Wrangell Mountain Range, with Mount Blackburn in the foreground,” Brick says.
“And down to your left, that’s the Chitina River down there.
You all saw it from the air on our first day.
Are those otters? Yes, take a look at that, folks. ”
No amount of ginger candy is going to save me from the queasiness craning and turning my head back and forth would cause.
While I’d love to search for otters, I would also like to make it all the way to Talkeetna without incident, so I rest my
chin on my fist and stare out the window at a point in the horizon. Whatever scenery passes me at this eye level is going
to have to be enough.
Soon we are on open road, but surprisingly, the van slows down to a crawl.
“It’s like the GSP at rush hour,” I say. “The Garden State Parkway,” I add for those not familiar with the notorious New Jersey
highway.
Inching along, we start to see cars parked on both sides of the road.
“This,” says Brick, “is what we call an Alaskan Traffic Jam. Someone spotted an animal, and now everyone is rubbernecking.”
“Or moving in for a photo op,” adds Jace. “Which is bloody stupid. If you like living, that is.”
People are indeed leaving their parked cars and heading up the side of the road. Many of them have cameras with long lenses.
Some are letting their young children run ahead. My mom anxiety meter rises, and I fight the urge to jump out of our van,
grab the kids by the arm, and chastise the parents for letting them run into harm’s way.
“Why?” I ask, hearing the alert in my voice. “Why ‘if you like living’?”
“It’s probably a moose,” says Brick. “They like the tall grasses by the side of the road, and they aren’t spooked by anything.
When you are twice the size of a pickup, you don’t have to be.
Their nonchalance fools people into thinking they’re domesticated.
Like a cow. But believe me, they are wild animals.
People without the sense they were born with surround them and crowd in.
Like I said, nothing scares them, but annoy the crap out of them?
Or make ’em think you’re threatening their calf?
I’m telling you, you do not want to be trampled by a pissed-off fourteen-hundred-pound animal.
Their hooves are the size of a man’s head. ”
We roll past a crowd of people, and in a moment, we see what’s got their attention. Brick was right. Seeing a moose from this
distance—so close to the road as it chews on the grasses among purple wildflowers, its jaw moving sideways to grind the vegetation,
its large, brown doe-like eyes batting away flies—is a different experience than seeing one from the air. I can see why people
would name her Bessie and want to give her a pat on the head.
Jace scoffs. “Get a gander at that nob taking a selfie. Yeah, turn your back on it, ya pillock.”
Eventually, we roll past the chaos and the road opens up. “I can’t bear the thought of those children out there so close to
a wild animal,” I say. Normally, this is where Lily would spin around in her seat and give me one of her “Big, you’re not
their mother” jabs. But today, nothing. I return to my original position, chin in fist, count my breaths, and listen to Brick
give us a lesson on the history of the southern sea otter and their near extinction by early fur trappers and then from more
modern-day disasters like oil spills.
“Something stinks,” announces Xavier, cutting off the otter’s comeback story.
“It does stink, son,” says his father. “But if you wouldn’t interrupt Brick, you’d hear they’ve made almost a complete return
in this area.”
“No, it really stinks. Like something’s burning. Does anyone else smell that?”
“Oh shit,” yells Dane. “Are we on fire?”
Suddenly, thick, gray smoke is billowing out of the old van. The group collectively gasps and grabs their loved ones, including Dane, who leans over me to put a hand on my sister’s shoulder. “I’m right here,” he says. Lily shrugs out of his grip.
Brick turns back to us all and pats his hands toward the ground with what is meant to be a calming motion as Jace quickly
pulls the van to the side of the road. “Just a little engine trouble. No need to panic. Let’s all get out of the van. Not
take any chances, eh.”
We file out onto the roadside. It’s lined with a narrow valley of tall grass and, behind it, a forest of evergreens rising
uphill. “I, for one, don’t mind stretching my legs,” says Luna, trying to put a positive spin on us being stranded, maybe
for hours. She and Mimi stroll along the side of the highway, moving slowly.
“Don’t go too far. We could be on the move soon,” Brick warns. Luna gives him a thumbs-up as the couple head down the road.
Jace pops open the hood of the van, and Brick leans in. Ian and Dane stand behind them watching as if they’re at a barbecue
inspecting how the steaks are going. Now might be the right time to get Lily alone. She and Xavier are standing on sandy gravel
between the grass and the asphalt, goofing around and kicking at the stones.
“Well, this sucks,” I say to them both.
“Yeah,” says Xavier without taking his eyes off my sister. He doesn’t seem that bothered.
“Lil, can I talk to you?”
Lily stops smiling but doesn’t answer. Her arms cross her chest, and she glares at me with pressed lips. Wait, she’s mad at me?
“Zave and I are in the middle of a conversation,” she says. From the look on Xavier’s face, that’s news to him.
What did I do? See I knew this was going to end badly, I want to say. I’d love to wag my finger at her about now. Instead, I shrug and walk away, ever the grown-up, and go to
stand around the engine of the van with the men as if I could add something to the conversation about carburetors and crankshafts.
“It’s the fan belt,” Jace says to Brick. “She’s going to need a tow, yeah.”
“That’ll take a while. Closest truck is in Glenallen. I’ll call Frank and see if he can come and run us up the rest of the
way to Talkeetna.”
“Are we going to make it today?” I ask. “We’re not going to have to stay out here tonight, are we?” I had strict mandates
about coming to Alaska, and no sleeping on the ground was one of them. Of course, all my other rules have been broken. Is
this one next?
“No, we’ll be all right, Bridget. My buddy, Frank, is in Wasilla, it won’t take him too long if he’s available. We’re here
for a while, though, so let’s make ourselves comfortable. Tell the others that Jace and I need some time to clean this all
up and then we’ll scout out a place to set up the lunch Heidi packed, and we’ll eat while we wait. Sound good?”
“Sounds good to me,” says Dane. “I’m starving. This Alaskan air works up an appetite.”
I glare at the actor, knowing full well how his appetite got “worked up.”
“I’ll go tell Lily,” he adds.
“No, I’ll tell my sister,” I say and walk off before he can. First, I deal with her, then you, I think.
I stomp back to where Lily and Xavier where goofing around, the gravel crunching under my feet, but all I find is the teenager,
sitting on the ground, his head bent to this phone. “We have service!” he says.
“Xavier, where is Lily?”
The boy shrugs but doesn’t look up. “Gone.”
Of course she is.