7. Those Little Planes Are Dangerous
Those Little Planes Are Dangerous
LILLIAN
When we touchdown in Naknek, wheels sloughing against gravel, I get a swell in my chest of exhilaration combined with terror.
I realize I’ve forgotten all my nerves. I didn’t even blink when we got back on the plane in Dillingham.
Something about being up in the sky, seeing Bristol Bay from above, and talking with Matthew took me out of my head completely.
Once the plane has slowed down to a cruising pace, Matthew throws me a look. “All in one piece?”
I smile, pulling my notebook closer to my chest. “As far as I know.”
He chuckles, a sound that lives low in his chest. It’s a sort of primal sound, something that feels untouched and unjudged that makes my heart flutter.
Which isn’t great, all things considered. I’m already at a disadvantage when it comes to respect and power here in Naknek. The last thing I need is to start crossing the streams and flirting with Matthew. Okay, flirting more.
Matthew slows the plane to a stop and gets up, opening the cabin door and pulling the stairs down. He lifts his hand toward me when I’m at the top of the stairs. “Watch your step,” he says.
I take his hand, roughhewn with calluses and hard work. If I let my hand linger in his, I’d run my fingers over all the divots and ridges and learn the labor of his palms. But I want something more than my hand in his. I want his boat. And that’s not a euphemism.
Once I’m standing on the gravel, I pull my hand from his. It’s more difficult than I’d like it to be, but I manage it. No more of that, Lillian. “Well, that was certainly enlightening. Thank you for offering your time and your plane.”
“It’s no trouble. Nice to have company,” he says, diverting his gaze.
“I’d like to pay you for your time.”
“No.”
“Or the gas?—”
“I already told you, that’s not necessary.”
I let my shoulders slump. “You went out of your way to show me the bay. You bought me lunch. It’s the least I can?—”
“Like I said. Nice to have company.”
Our eyes catch for one moment, just a moment too long. Then, we both look away. I try to laugh at myself because I’m getting all flushed when the reality is the awkwardness comes from the fact he knows I want something from him. And I know how this town feels about me.
“Anyway . . .” I check the time on my phone. “I have to get home and call my family.”
“Ah, well, don’t let me keep you.”
“Oh, no. It’s fine. They just want to hear about how things are going and if I’m surviving up here in the great wide . . . North.” Is that a thing? Is that what they call it?
Matthew snorts and runs his hand over his head, pulling off his beanie and revealing his thick head of hair.
It’s all tousled and mussed from being covered, like someone’s just ran their hands through it.
I wish it had been me. “Yeah, I’m sure you have to tell them all the details about what a different world it is up here. ”
“No, not a different world, that’s not—” It is different, but that’s not meant to be a judgment. I’m fucking this up royally. “That’s not what I meant, Matthew.”
“Relax. I didn’t take it like you were being rude.”
“Good. Because I have nothing but admiration and respect for the way things operate up here. There are a lot of differences, but I think there are more similarities than anything,” I say. “Don’t you think?”
Matthew purses his lips and rubs them together.
“I mean, we both like pickled kelp,” I add. Dammit, I’ve said too much. He probably thinks we’re not similar at all. After all, I’m the do-gooder Californian, and he’s trying to keep things the way they’ve always been up here.
To my surprise, he finally gives a soft nod. “I think you’re right.”
“Good. Good.” Chill, Lillian. Don’t freak him out. “I mean at the very least?—”
“I’m still not sure about the boat,” he says.
I stop, my eyes widening. “Okay. That’s okay. I didn’t expect . . .”
I didn’t, but I hoped. I really hoped spending some time with me might show him I’m not a jerkoff from California who wants to ruin Naknek in the name of environmental virtue.
If I knew him better, I’d say his whale-eyed look was apologetic. Don’t want to get my hopes up, though.
“It’s not a no. I’m just not sure.”
“That’s understandable. You’ve got a lot on your plate.
A lot of pressure, probably.” If everything he says is true and all my interactions are evidence enough, people around here can’t stand me.
He’d be taking a huge risk helping me out.
Potentially othering himself from his community.
And this isn’t LA. There aren’t millions of people.
There are a couple hundred. So, I respect it.
Even if it hurts a bit. “I’ve got to go. ”
“Lillian—”
I back away toward my truck. My stupid, humongous truck. “Thanks again. This was so enlightening.”
“Lillian, wait, I?—”
“Thank you for lending your expertise,” I say, flashing a final smile, before climbing into the truck.
Thankfully, Matthew doesn’t try to call after me or run over and knock on the window to continue the conversation. However, when I give him a final look, he’s standing at the tail of the plane, worrying his beanie in his hands and staring after me with concern riddling his brow.
Not concern. Pity. It doesn’t matter if he likes me. We’ve known each other for a day and change. That is nothing in comparison to a life built in Naknek where everyone knows everyone, and everyone understands what this world means to them.
I’m just an outsider.
I drive off before I hurt my own feelings.
“Those little planes are dangerous, Lil,” Dad says, looking down his nose at me through the camera of the computer.
My parents still live in Michigan at the house Sarah and I grew up in.
Their faces are scrunched into one window and Sarah is in her own, the lowlights of her lush West Hollywood apartment glowing in the background.
“Dad, that’s how you get anywhere around here,” I say through a laugh. “There aren’t a lot of official roadways, and, besides, a flight takes twenty minutes, and driving would take like a whole day in some cases. Planes are like everyone’s second car.”
Mom shakes her head more in awe and disbelief than any sort of judgment. “It really is the Last Frontier up there, isn’t it?”
“I guess,” I say with a shrug. “I mean, it’s like anywhere in small-town America, just a different kind of culture than a Podunk town in Indiana or something. Although, they don’t have chai. Can you believe it?”
“Yes, I can,” Sarah says, swirling a glass of wine in the frame.
I roll my eyes and lean back on the rickety bed. “Well, I’ve been having to drink regular tea, and sometimes even coffee.”
“A tragedy,” my father says wryly.
“No oat milk either. That’s a tragedy,” I say with a pointed finger.
“Anything else, princess?” Sarah asks.
Mom scolds Sarah softly, but I just roll my eyes. “I mean, could you send me a boat? My connection fell through, and the fishermen around here are . . .” I try to find the right word.
“Are they giving you a hard time, Lilypad?” Dad asks.
“I mean with a town called Naked—” Sarah starts.
I smack my hand against my forehead. Not in front of the ‘rents, Sarah.
“Naked?” Mom scoffs, taken aback. “What on earth?—”
“It’s a joke, Mom!” I cry out to intercede.
Mom sniffs, lifting her chin. “Well, where does a joke like that come from unless people are being too forward, or . . .”
My attention flicks to Sarah’s frame. She’s snickering behind her hand. Little sisters are the worst.I decide to ignore it. Explaining the whole autocorrect thing will be more trouble than it’s worth. “I mean, other than an errant ‘sweetheart’ here and there?—”
Sarah snaps out of her laughing fit, her brow hardening. “Now that’s unacceptable!”
Ah, my sister. Always righteous and strong-willed. I love her for that. “It’s patronizing, sure, but they’re not all?—”
“I’ll come out there and whip them into shape, just say the word,” Sarah says, then gulps some more wine.
I shake my head. “It’s not all bad. I mean, the guy who took me up in the plane is a fisherman. He’s probably the only one even considering taking me out on his boat.” Even if that chance is slim to none at this point.
“I don’t like the idea of you going out alone on a boat with a man,” Mom says, shaking her head.
“Matthew is a gentleman, I promise.” A gentleman who has my pheromones on high alert.
Sarah’s expressions are strong enough to read through the gritty connection. Her eyebrow rises, and her lip twists into a smirk. “A gentleman?”
I don’t like where this is going.
“How old is he?”
“Sarah!” I whine, voice pitching up like it did when I was a kid and wanted her to get out of my room.
“I’m just asking.”
Dad takes off his glasses and rubs the bridge of his nose. “Girls?—”
“Like is he a gentleman in a kindly older grandpa type way, or a gentleman in a young and eligible way?”
I cringe. “Sarah, that’s not important.”
“So, he’s young and eligible, got it.” Sarah’s smile turns wicked.
I throw my hands up. “You were just saying how you were going to come out here and give them hell for calling me sweetheart, so?—”
“Look, I’m not an idiot. I know there must be some hunky fishermen out there. I’ve always liked blue-collar men. The kind who knows how to fix a sink, you know?”
Dad pushes himself up from the kitchen table where my parents have been smushed together in the frame. “I don’t want to hear this.”
Sarah laughs while I just shake my head. “You’re ridiculous,” I tell her.
“And you’re blushing!”
I am totally blushing now that I can’t get Matthew off my mind. I get a flash of his knee knocking against mine at lunch today, and my stomach swoops. “I’m not!”
“I’m just saying, Lil. You might be there for work, but that doesn’t mean you can’t be there for pleasure too.”
Mom gasps. “Sarah!”
I snap my laptop shut and collapse into my pillows. Well, that was nice until it got out of control.
It’s late afternoon here in Alaska. I could stay in and lounge since this day had more than enough excitement with my plane ride, lunch, and all the information I got from Matthew.
But I don’t want to waste any time in Naknek, especially since I still don’t have a boat.
Maybe if I get out of the cabin, I might stumble upon something or someone that can help me.
So, I head out in my truck. The hulking mass of metal is a knife to the heart every time I drive the thing.
I follow the main road, the “highway,” until I see a sign for Red Salmon Cannery.
There’s no gate or anything, so I figure it’s safe for me to check out.
Might be good to get a lay of the land and get an impression and understanding of all the parts of what makes fishing so important to Naknek.
I turn down a side road, looking for someone, anyone who might be able to lend me some information. I spot a man walking past the outbuildings toward me.
I drive to catch up with him and roll down my window to call out, but recoil at not only the smell, but the taste of fish in the air. I’m used to fishy-smelling things, being in marine biology, but this is stronger than strong. “Excuse me?”
The guy jumps, and I realize he can’t be more than twenty years old.
“Do you work here?”
“Yes, ma’am.” He has a thick Southern accent.
I smile. “You’re not from here.”
“No, I’m not,” he says with a sheepish smile. “Neither are you.”
I shrug. “Guilty. You working here for the season, then?”
He leans on the open window. “Yes’m.”
“Could I ask you some questions?” I ask. “I’d love to hear about your experience.”
The kid looks over his shoulder. “I was just walking into town for some cigarettes. You give me a ride? We can talk?”
My heart thumps with unease, but then I remember what the owner of the rental place said on my first day. That people hitchhike around here, and it’s not something I should be scared of. Still, it goes against everything I’ve ever been taught. “Sure. No problem.”
The guy, Peter, turns out to be as harmless as anyone could be. He almost always ends his sentences with a polite “ma’am” and does his best to take up as little room as possible.
As we drive, he tells me his story. “I’m from Cape Girardeau, Missouri. Misery.”
I laugh. “Even you guys call it that?”
“Yup. I guess it works for some people, but if you don’t fit into what people expect . . . well, that’s why I struck out on my own. Follow the work, that’s what I do.”
I nod. “You’re far from home, then.”
He laughs. “Yes, ma’am, but I don’t mind. I like being able to live in new places and meet new people.”
I shift my hands on the wheel as we drive. “You don’t ever feel like an outsider around here?”
“Oh, sure, I do. I mean, you knew I was an outsider the second you heard me talk, right? But so many people at the cannery are people like me. You know, just . . . different. From different places.”
“That must be nice.” I pause. “Why do you work in the cannery instead of on a boat?”
Peter gives me a double take. “Pardon me for saying so, ma’am, but you have to be a bit of a lunatic to do something like that.”
“To go out on a fishing boat?”
Peter points to the side of the road toward the Trading Company Store to direct me as he says, “Fishermen are their own breed. And I’ll admit, they all seem really fond of each other. Like a family. We all get close at the cannery, but we’re not risking our lives like they do out on the water.”
I pull the car to a stop. “Do they lose people often?”
“They lost two this year from around here. I overhear things, you know,” Peter says, then slides his hands down the front of his jeans. “This is a small town. Everyone knows everyone. But out there, you have to be close because out there you have to fight.”
“I never thought of it like that.”
Peter smiles kindly at me. “They can be surly and mean lookin’, but . . . I think they love harder than they let on. I think they have to.”