14. Don’t Get Too Close
Don’t Get Too Close
LILLIAN
Izip my sweater up to my chin as another chill whips through the air. It’s so peaceful out here on the rocky shore, watching boats go by, birds flying through the air without any fear, and the sun going in and out of the clouds.
Though my fingers are slow from the cold, I am too at peace to consider going back inside. And what’s the rush? I have time. Not to mention, by being out in nature, I’m studying the environment and observing other elements that could be affecting the coho salmon population.
Even if the people of Naknek don’t feel like I belong here, I can’t deny I feel like I do. At least a little bit.
A good deal of that feeling is thanks to Matt.
He’s been checking in with me over text from time to time.
Every time his name appears on my screen, I can’t deny my giddiness.
I feel like a teenager again talking to a boy I like.
I thought that was a feeling of the past. That attraction naturally became less fluttery and more pragmatic.
Not the case when it comes to Matthew Benton. Not at all.
A bird flies diagonally across the river toward me, the telltale mottled brown plumage of the willow ptarmigan, the Alaska state bird. They’re everywhere, reminiscent of pigeons in their multitude and their puffy shape.
Several more ptarmigans fly past. Some of them cry out to one another. I look in their direction to see what’s scared them.
“Holy shit,” I whisper.
Down the opposite bank about twenty feet, obscured by bramble and shrubbery, is a humungous moose. The last of the Ice Age megafauna as it were. And boy is this moose mega. Bigger than a horse with stalagmites of antlers climbing to the sky.
He’s magnificent.
The moose moves slowly toward the riverbank, bending down to get a drink. I’ve heard moose can be combative and aren’t to be trifled with. I would assume that from his size alone.
But this is a once-in-a-lifetime moment. I need a picture, at the very least.
I stand up from my chair, cringing at the way the pebble beach shifts under my shoes. As carefully as I can, I tiptoe down the bank, pulling my phone out of my pocket. I start recording, centering the moose in the frame.
“This is crazy,” I whisper as if my sister is here, because I already know she’s not going to believe me without photographic evidence.
The moose laps at the water, the waddle on its neck dangling back and forth. What a beautiful creature. How is it that something so big gives me such cuteness vibes? I just want to squeeze it.
“Don’t get too close,” a woman’s voice comes from nowhere.
I gasp as I whip around and realize she’s down the bank from me holding a fishing rod, watching me. “I-I wasn’t going to!” Great, now I’m shouting. I turn back to look at the moose.
The moose is unfazed by my yelling, simply standing at his full height and enjoying the scenery.
I guess they aren’t scared of humans.
I look back at the woman. She’s snickering, tossing her dusty blonde cropped hair out of her eyes. “Didn’t mean to scare you,” she says. “They’re harmless, but you gotta stay out of their way. You won’t outrun a moose, honey. Won’t be worth a post on Instagram.”
I shove my phone back in my pocket. “Yeah, sorry. I didn’t see you there.”
She doesn’t respond, focusing on the fishing rod again.
Guess she doesn’t want to make conversation. I smile awkwardly and start to walk away.
“It’s bad luck to have women on boats.”
I turn around. “Sorry?”
She spares me another look. A small smile, narrow eyes. I’m not sure how old she is. She could be my age with weathered skin from the elements or from smoking. Or maybe, she’s just older.
“That’s what they’ll tell you.”
“Who will?”
“The other fishermen.” Her line tugs, and she reaches for her reel, but stops. “That’s what they told me anyway.”
The line slackens again. There’s an elegance about her movements, and the awareness of the water that tells me she doesn’t just know what she’s doing, she’s an expert. “They kept you from fishing?”
The woman snorts. “Hell no. I have my own boat. My own crew.”
“Why aren’t you out then?”
The woman’s face hardens a bit. “It’s an expensive business, fishing. Can’t go out as much as I’d like. As much as I need.”
A crack forms in my heart. Isn’t that the ouroboros of it all? To make money, they need to go out on the water, but to go out on the water, they need money. And the cycle that used to work so well is starting to falter.
“I’m just letting you know why people are giving you a hard time for going out on Benton’s boat.”
It’s rare you’re confronted with the knowledge people are talking about you right to your face. “So, you’ve heard about me.”
“We all have, honey.”
I purse my lips.
“Name’s Marina,” she says.
“Lillian. Although, you probably knew that.”
Marina nods. “Yeah, Gwen told me.” Her line tightens again, and this time, she reels it in. The fish fights, but Marina doesn’t. She is even-keeled the whole time. When the fish emerges, it’s a silvery coho. She doesn’t seem surprised at all. She just knew what it was. “Bingo.”
Marina removes the fish from the hook, then reaches for a sharp object. I avert my gaze, stifling the painful flip of my stomach knowing she’s quickly putting the fish out of its misery.
“I’ll be the first to get pushed out if we start having to deal with licensing and strictures down here,” Marina says, calling my attention back with the clicking lid of her cooler. “I’ll have to stay in Anchorage all year or find some other summer fishing season.”
When I look back at her, she wipes her hands on her pants, staring me down.
And while her stare is amber and intense like a flash of lightning, it doesn’t seem like she’s trying to strike me down.
I see worry there. The only reason I haven’t seen it before is that the other fishermen all posture and puff their chests at me, trying to scare me off with their hardheadedness.
When the truth is, everything boils down to fear.
“Why don’t you stay here all year round? ”
“Natives don’t take to the non-natives around here in the off-season, and frankly, I can’t blame them. Not after all the years of white people destroying their culture.” Marina looks out at the river, not returning to her rod immediately. “Still though, Naknek is home, and I’d hate to leave here.”
“I’d hate that, too.”
She lifts her chin, sizing me up. “We’re used to empty promises around here.”
“I understand,” I say. “I really admire the work you do. Seriously, I know it can’t be easy.”
Marina smiles. “I appreciate that.”
She seems genuine. For that, I’m grateful.
Marina grabs her rod and her cooler. Done for the day. “They’re going to do their best to make you feel unwelcomed here, Lillian. But we women stick together, right?”
My lips grow into a grin. “Yes. I think so.”
“Good. That’s good.” She starts up the beach and turns back to look at me. “I’m rooting for you.”
I watch her go, unsure what to say. The relief flooding through me is so powerful tears drop from my eyes. I wipe them away quickly and look back across the river.
The moose still stands there, tall and watchful over his domain. He turns his big head in my direction. And while I’m in awe, I’m not terrified of him.
I think maybe he just sees me and accepts me. Like I belong here too.