Читать книгу Past Lies - Bobby Hutchinson - Страница 9

If Alaska’s all they claim it is, maybe you and I and the sprout could homestead up there, make a claim on a piece of land. This guy on the boat who’s going up there to do that says land’s still cheap in Alaska. I’ll know better after I get there.

From letters written by Roy Nolan,

April, 1972

BACK IN THE RESTAURANT Frances’s shoulders slumped in defeat. She’d thought that things were going well for once, that she and Ivy were actually connecting. And then, without warning, her daughter did that closing down thing she’d perfected as a young teen, eyes shuttered, mouth set, face like a thunderbolt.

Frances hadn’t even had a chance to hint at what she really wanted to discuss with her daughter. She’d asked Tom if he’d break the news to Ivy, but she couldn’t fathom what had ever made her think he’d take the initiative. When it came to emotional issues, avoidance was Tom’s only coping technique. That, and projection. He found fault with other things to avoid looking at himself. She’d only realized that recently.

It was always easier to see the mistakes someone else was making. Several years of good therapy had at least given her some insight into herself, but it was still difficult not to blame Tom for the gaping holes in their marriage.

Sally appeared, setting down the lemon meringue pie and pouring coffee.

“Thanks.” Frances forced a smile to her lips. “Your hair looks wonderful, by the way.”

The girl had attended one of Frances’s night-school classes, and her plain face lit up at the compliment. “Oh, thank you, Ms. Pierce. I had it cut in Anchorage. There’s a new salon there, it’s called Suki’s.” Sally’s smile made her beautiful. “Enjoy your pie.”

Frances had no appetite for the dessert now, or coffee, either. When Sally moved away, she messed up the pie with her fork, stirred cream into the coffee, and gazed blindly out the window, not seeing the Norman Rockwell harbor.

After years of depression, which at times left her inert, she was finally taking control of her life. She had a chance at a job in New York, teaching aspiring models. She was leaving Valdez. Leaving Tom, leaving her marriage. The decision had been a long time coming, but once she’d made up her mind, she couldn’t believe she’d stayed here so long.

But she knew why she had. Fear. Depression. The conviction that all she’d ever had to offer was youth and beauty. And for years, she’d thought that she and Tom might still resolve their differences, recapture the connection they’d once shared. It had been powerful in the beginning.

Outside the window, a couple walked past with a small blond girl holding their hands. Every couple of steps, she drew her legs up, and the man and woman laughed and swung her between them like a pendulum.

Had she and Tom ever swung Ivy that way? She doubted it.

She’d been ill when Ivy was that age—it was only now, years after the worst of it, that she recognized depression as an illness. Before, she’d seen it as shameful weakness. Tom had taken over Ivy’s care. And she’d become her father’s girl, devoted to him, fierce in his defense.

Ivy would blame Frances for the marriage ending. She wouldn’t understand why Frances had to leave, any more than Tom did.

She’d already lost a son. Jacob had died twenty-five years ago this month, on a rainy, cold Tuesday night. But the dimpled little boy was as fresh in her mind as ever. The pain of his loss had dulled with time, but it was still there. Was the price of freedom, of leaving Tom, to be the loss of her daughter as well?

“Ms. Pierce?”

Frances jumped. Sally was standing beside her.

“Sorry, I was daydreaming.”

“Ms. Pierce, that man over there…” Sally tipped her head and rolled her eyes toward a balding man wearing a Western-style shirt, sitting alone at a nearby table. When Frances looked over, he smiled, gave a little bow and a wave.

“…He says he’s buying your lunch, Ms. Pierce. I told him you were married, but he’s real determined. Said you were the prettiest thing he’s seen since he came up here.” She bent over and hissed, “He’s had a snootful, you want me to get Mike?”

“No need, I’m going now. Ivy left that.” Frances pointed over at the money, more than adequate for their bill and a generous tip. She gathered up her coat and bag and got to her feet, conscious that the man was watching her every move. “Thanks, Sally. See you again soon.”

Attracting men wasn’t unusual. Ordinarily, Frances would walk away, careful not to look at the man, hideously self-conscious.

Today, however, some impulse made her stop at his table. Flustered now, he shoved his chair back and started to get to his feet. Frances said in a pleasant tone, “Please don’t get up. I just wanted you to know that my husband is large, insanely jealous and violent. You really don’t want to make him angry, do you?”

She walked out, aware that his bloodshot eyes weren’t the only ones following her progress. She was trembling by the time she climbed in her SUV. She closed the door and rested her head on the steering wheel, and then she started to giggle.

She’d been afraid of going to New York, living on her own. She’d relied on Tom for so many years, she had no confidence in her ability to fend for herself. She knew the way she looked attracted unwanted attention. How would she deal with that?

Now she knew exactly how. She’d remembered some of her New York chutzpah, and she was going to do just fine. She’d made the right decision after all. She found her sunglasses and started the engine.

THROUGH WATER-STAINED glasses, Alex Ladrovik watched the green wake foam past the bow of the small aluminum boat, anxiously wondering if he’d made a huge mistake. He’d agreed on the spur of the moment to go to some remote fishing lodge to build two cabins before finding out the place was only accessible by floatplane or by boat. He’d had to entrust his beloved Jeep to a questionable parking garage in Valdez, and he was having second thoughts about the whole undertaking.

The boat ride was a rough one, waves slapping against the hull, salt spray half blinding him, but he was fine in boats, even those loaded to the gunwales like this one. It was only airplanes he had a phobia about.

“Raven Lodge is just around that next bend,” Oliver Brady called out. The young fishing guide had met Alex on the dock promptly at noon, just as Theo Galloway had promised. They’d loaded Alex’s gear, stacking it on top of lumber, cases of canned goods and boxes of fresh produce. They’d been chugging through the waves for a good half hour. It was a relief to know they would soon reach their destination.

Almost there, Anne Marie. Not that I have the vaguest idea where there is. Alex touched the breast pocket of his waterproof jacket, checking to make sure his daughter’s photo was dry and tucked well down. He’d fallen into the habit of talking to her picture, which he’d clipped to the visor of the Jeep two weeks ago when he left San Diego.

The trip north had been long, and commenting out loud to Annie about the landscape and the day’s events made it somehow less lonely. If it also made him a total whack job, well, there was no one to judge him except himself.

“There’s the lodge,” Oliver yelled as the boat rounded the point.

Alex caught his breath at the spectacular view, and he whistled long and low. “Now that’s impressive.” He squinted through salt-spattered lenses, and then took his glasses off and wiped them on a bandana he kept in his pocket for exactly that purpose. He shoved them back on his nose and sat forward, studying the place where he’d be spending the next few weeks.

Raven Lodge was on a spit of land that extended out into a narrow bay. The majestic, snow-covered Chugach Mountains rising from Prince William Sound formed a dramatic and formidable backdrop for the rustic two-story, rambling log structure and its impressive assortment of outbuildings. The whole place looked tidy and well cared for.

A long dock extended into the water, and several large boathouses undoubtedly sheltered numerous fishing boats, like the one they were riding in, which were needed to carry guests out into the Sound to catch the fabled king salmon, halibut and Chinook native to these waters.

Some distance from the buildings was a large cement pad.

“That’s where the copter lands,” Oliver explained. “Lots of skiers staying at the lodge, they get shuttled up the mountain in the morning and brought back at night.”

Cabins were scattered among thick stands of Sitka spruce and western hemlock, and Alex caught sight of another, smaller log house, also two stories, some distance from the main building.

“That’s where Ben Galloway and his wife live. Ben’s one of Theo’s boys,” Oliver explained as they drew closer to the dock. “He’s got a twin brother in Seattle, a lawyer. They’re both nice guys.”

Alex appreciated the input. “That’s where Grace and I stay.” Oliver pointed out two long, white clapboard bunkhouses nestled in a grove of pine trees. “You can bunk in with us or use one of the small cabins. Most of the guests stay right in the lodge this early in the season.”

Oliver had told Alex how he and his longtime girlfriend had come north hoping to homestead. “We need a grubstake, so we’re both working as fishing guides for the summer. Grace is a real smart woman. Can turn her hand to almost anything. I’m real lucky, finding her,” he’d boasted with a grin that made Alex lonely for an instant.

“So, Alex, you think maybe you’ll stick around?”

“I think I lucked out,” Alex said. “Looks like a great place to work for a couple weeks.”

“It is. And you couldn’t have a better boss than Theo,” Oliver declared. “Fair as they come. His wife Caitlin is a fantastic cook. Best grub I’ve ever had at a fishing camp. And they pay well and on time. A lot of places up here only offer minimum wage. The Galloways are good to work for.”

Alex was relieved to hear it, although his reasons for taking the job hadn’t been financial. Money was the least of his concerns. Idleness was his worst nightmare. He needed something to do, something physically exhausting and challenging enough to dull the sense of failure and loss that plagued him when he tried to sleep. Hard work was the only cure he’d found for insomnia.

Oliver pulled smoothly up to the dock and tossed a rope to Theo, who’d come hurrying down the walkway. Theo was a stocky, middle-aged man. Clean-shaven and ruddy-faced, he had a shock of snowy hair. The pipe stuck in the corner of his mouth looked as if it grew there.

He secured the rope and called out, “Welcome to Raven Lodge, Alex.”

Alex clambered up to the dock and shook Theo’s work-hardened hand. “It’s a pleasure to be here, sir.”

The other man laughed. “Theo is fine. We don’t stand much on ceremony in these parts.”

Alex helped the two unload the boat, and when all the supplies were stacked on the dock, Theo said, “Come on up to the lodge and meet Caity, then later we’ll bring your gear up and get you settled.”

Alex walked beside the older man, breathing in the sharp odor of salt water mingled with the smell of pine tree resin and wood smoke. Halfway up the long flight of stairs he tapped his breast pocket.

We’re a long way from San Diego, Annie. He looked past the buildings at the dark, thick forest that surrounded this small patch of civilization. That’s where he’d be heading soon. Into the wilderness. He shivered with a sense of foreboding.

So this is where it begins, where I find out once and for all what I’m really made of. He followed Theo up the wide wooden steps, noting with a carpenter’s eye that they were each hewn out of one huge log.

Or maybe this is where it ends. Had he come up here to die? The thought wasn’t frightening. Rather, it held the promise of peace.

Whichever it was, Alex knew that his life was once again abruptly changing direction.