24. Forget Me Not
Forget Me Not
MATTHEW
Icouldn’t wait any longer to get Lillian home, so I struck a deal with Marina: if she took Gwen, Winnie, and Tuma’s family back to Naknek, I’d pay for her plane’s next fuel up.
Once everything was set, Lillian and I jetted back to Naknek, went straight to my house, and locked ourselves inside to take full advantage of being alone together.
The next morning, I have to pinch myself when I wake up and see Lillian in bed next to me for the second time. I still can’t believe it’s real.
But when I pull her into my arms and she awakens with a sharp intake of breath, I know I’m not dreaming.
After breakfast, we take advantage of the clear morning and head out for a walk along the river.
The crisp air carrying the earthy scent of damp soil, wild sage, and the quiet murmur of the water is almost meditative.
The sunlight filters through the trees, casting dappled shadows across the path as our footsteps crunch softly on the gravel trail.
Ahead of me, Lillian stops and crouches down.
She reaches out her hand and strokes the flowers in front of her.
Little blue Forget-Me-Nots. “You can find those things everywhere,” I say, distracted.
Lillian glances at me. Her makeup is gone from her face, save for some mascara rubbed into her lower lash line. “They are so pretty,” she says. “Your state flower.”
“Another fun fact,” I say, crouching down next to her.
She smiles, her fingers still tenderly caressing the tiny petals. “The name is almost like a prayer. You know, all of you being so far north and so?—”
“Forgettable?” I offer.
“I wouldn’t say forgettable,” Lillian says, her shoulder lifting. She touches my knee, her knuckles curled softly like she’s afraid to grab me fully. “Far away, maybe.”
I tip her chin up and give her lips a soft kiss. “Not so far away,” I murmur.
“No, not anymore.”
I clear my throat and divert my attention back to the flowers. I pull a sprig off and tuck it behind Lillian’s ear. “Now, you can’t forget me.”
“Flirt,” she says, pushing me on the shoulder and jumping back to her feet.
My heart expands in my chest. This is so dangerous. I keep forgetting the reality of our situation. Lillian makes it too easy. “So, um, how’s the research going?”
She laughs. “Research talk? This early in the morning?”
I look at the toes of my boots as we walk. “We don’t have to talk about it now. But I’m curious.”
“I know you are.” She squeezes my arm. “I like that about you. It seems genuine.”
“Well, I do have a vested interest in what you’re studying,” I say, taking her hand in mine. “But I’d listen to you read the phonebook.”
Lillian giggles as I press a kiss to the back of her hand.
“I assure you, that’d get boring after a while.
But anyway—” Her tone shifts away from sweet and sappy to a more businesslike tone.
“Nothing about my research is exactly surprising. I mean, we’re seeing this story play out around the globe.
Pollution and environmental stressors are causing declines in fish populations, combined with fishing habits of the past century?—”
My ears go deaf for a moment. It’s one thing to be confronted with the reality of what pollution does to our environment, but the impact my livelihood has on it is uncomfortable to sit with.
“Of course, I’m interested to see how the changing of the season might impact my data, and contrast it with studies of other species,” Lillian goes on. “Observe the conditions that may or may not harm populations in autumn versus summer, compare fishing behaviors, and?—”
“You seem to think fishing is a big part of the problem,” I say. I don’t mean to sound as edgy as I do, but it’s hard to ignore the knot in my throat this conversation caused.
“I—” She pauses. “That’s not what I mean to imply. But nothing exists in a vacuum.”
I’m quiet.
“Yes, it’s unfortunate how much Alaska and the more remote locations suffer from the impacts of metropolitan areas. It’s unfair, to put it plainly. The ecological impact here isn’t proportional, I suppose,” she says.
“Suppose?” I press.
Lillian’s touch slips away from me, and she puts a gap between us. She tries to laugh, but it comes out raspy and unsure. “You asked for my theories. I’m just indulging your curiosity.”
“And I’m asking questions,” I say.
“If you give a mouse a cookie . . .” she mutters, looking up at the overcast sky.
I shove my hands in my pockets. I know I’ve made it awkward. I just can’t ignore the feeling that I’m tangled up with . . .
The enemy.
“What happens when your research is done?” I ask, my voice gravelly.
“Matt—”
“I’m just asking a question.”
“I know, but I don’t want to think about leaving,” she says.
I can tell she’s trying to bring the conversation back to us. “We should think about it, though,” I say. “Because you’ll go back to Los Angeles, to your life at PMI, and relay all your research—and then what happens after that?”
“With us?” Lillian asks.
“No,” I answer too quickly. “I mean, I guess, yes, but?—”
She stops walking. “You want to know what’s going to happen to you and Naknek.”
I stop a stride ahead of her and let out a heavy sigh. “Yeah, I do.”
Lillian licks her lower lip, her eyes falling to the river. “If I were to hypothesize what kind of recommendations I’d be making, which would be based on a shaky foundation mind you, I’d probably encourage the state and local governments to start making more mandates around clean energy.”
I laugh. “You can’t be serious.”
“Why wouldn’t I be?”
“That’s expensive. You think anyone around here can afford solar-powered anything?”
Lillian’s expression doesn’t change, which for some reason, makes my blood boil. Her recommendations don’t impact her. Not on a personal level. Not when she’ll be thousands of miles away in sunny fucking Los Angeles.
God, how was I so stupid? So na?ve? We’ll always be too different.
“That’s why PMI tries to get involved on a governmental level. We can introduce grants and bills and?—”
“That’s all well and good, but what do we do right now? The government takes forever anywhere, but this is Alaska, Lillian.”
Lillian blinks. “Matt, I don’t think this is a productive conversation.” She starts off down the beach, faster than before. The crunch of her shoes double-times.
“Come on, don’t walk away.”
“You’re asking me questions that I don’t have good answers for. And I can’t help but feel you’re trying to play some sort of ‘gotcha’ game.”
“Gotcha? No gotcha. I’m just?—”
“Curious. Right. Except people don’t act like assholes when they’re genuinely curious.”
I’m stunned by her choice of words. “I’m not trying to be an asshole, Lillian. I swear. But this is my life. You can’t blame me for wanting to know as much as I can.”
“It feels like you just want to be upset with me the way everyone else has been. I don’t know what I did between last night and this morning to deserve that,” Lillian says, her eyes fixed ahead. Hardened, and . . . maybe trying not to cry.
I don’t say anything. I know she wants me to apologize, but I just can’t. Not when I’m so uneasy about everything she’s said thus far.
“So, what do you want me to say? That I’d recommend fewer fishing permits? That the only immediate course of action to increase fish populations would be controlling the fishing until we get some movement on the government level?” she rambles, words clipped and quick. “Is that what you want?”
“Of course not,” I grumble.
“Well, then, sorry to disappoint you, but with everything I know and given that I’m being forced to make predictions based on the scant information I have, that’s what I’d say.”
Ice runs through my veins.
“If you don’t start making sacrifices now, it will destroy the bay. That’s the truth,” she goes on.
“People won’t survive if they?—”
“You’re being shortsighted,” she snaps.
“So are you,” I return. “Does the community mean nothing to you?”
Lillian rubs her forehead. “You’re twisting my words. I never said that. I know how important fishing is for all of you, but you won’t be able to fish much longer if drastic measures aren’t taken.”
“Your idealism is showing, Lillian. You can’t just swoop in here and act like you know better.”
“Then why the hell did you ask?” Her voice bounces off the water, disturbing the peace of this morning.
I stare at her. “Because I need to know if I’m making a mistake.”
Lillian’s jaw drops open. The insult landed right where I wanted. It doesn’t feel good though. Not like I hoped it would. “Well, fuck you for that.”
I scrape my hand through my beard. I can still smell her there, her essence deep in the wiry hair, despite washing my face. Fuck. Fuck.
“I can walk myself the rest of the way,” Lillian says, then turns on her heel and heads off down the beach. “I’ll take my chances with the bears.”
I stand there, wanting to chase after her and apologize. And knowing it would be hollow. Unearned. Because while I care for her, I’ve known her for a fraction of my life. This town, these people, Alaska, has been mine since day one. And I owe something to all of that, don’t I?
I owe Naknek much more than I owe a scientist I met in July. A woman who comes from a completely different world, who sees this all as a novelty, rather than a reality.
As Lillian walks away, I back up, step by step, until the distance between us is great enough to justify turning around and going home.
Maybe that distance was too great from the start.