“You look exquisite tonight,” he says.
“Come with me,” Aylen says, a hint of a smile surfacing. Raye leaves to relight some candles that have extinguished, and Wyatt follows Aylen up the stairs, to her room with the muted yellow light and sweet smell of lavender, to sheets warm from her last romp.
“Let me just tidy up,” she says, but he stops her.
“This is all I have.” He holds out the two twenties. “I made it at my new job.”
She puts a hand on her hip. “That won’t get you much.”
“How about a story?”
“I could blow you.”
“I don’t know what that is. A story will suffice.”
“Any story?”
“About you, your history…I saw part of my history the other day, and it was magical.
Where do you come from?”
She exhales deeply, tugs the knots out of her long curtain hair.
“There’s an Native American reservation on the outskirts. Born there. Parents died so young that I was raised by whoever felt like it. Aunties and uncles, cousins. It could have been a sad childhood, insular, lonely, but I was loved by many. The reservation is not the same now.”
He takes off his boots and lets his feet air. “How so?”
“Taken a hard hit due to drink and drugs like a lot of them throughout the country.
And then with the layoffs at the oil refinery over the last two years, there’s little opportunity in Laner. That’s why I’m doing this kind of work.”
“You shouldn’t be ashamed.”
“Who said I was ashamed?”
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to upset.”
“You haven’t. You’re kind, I guess. Most don’t want to know anything about me.”
“I want to know everything.”
“That’s a little creepy.” This time she exhales a slight laugh. “So you said you saw a part of your history?”
“Yes, my progeny.”
She scrunches up her face.
“My great-great grandson, he’s alive. Lives here. Travis Barlow.”
“Unless he’s come through these doors, I don’t know too many people outside the reservation.”
“We look exactly alike.” He tugs at his beard. “Except for this old thing.”
“I could trim that for you.”
His eyes light up, but he is not ready to be an exact duplicate of Trav yet. So he shakes his head.
“That story I told you is not worth forty bucks,” she says. “Let me do something else for you.”
She gets on her hands and knees, crawling and unzipping his pants, pulling him out.
Massaging his penis, he instantly grows hard.
“You don’t have to—”
“I want to.”
She takes all of him inside her mouth, something Adalaide had never done, at least he doesn’t believe she ever did. The sensation like rolling waves, a delicious ocean, rocking him soundly. He leans back, hands tucked behind his head, Aylen bobbing up and down.
When he’s ready to release, he goes to pull away but she stays glued, swallowing him whole. She stands and spits him into a garbage bin, dabs her lips with a tissue. His own tongue salty from tears.
“You are so kind,” he says, twiddling his thumbs.
She lifts up her head, tickling his chin with her fingernail.
“I’m here if you need me. Do not hesitate. I can listen. I can perform. I can bring you back from whatever hell you’ve been to.”
His eyes go wide. “How did you know I’ve been there?”
“Because this is heaven,” she says, as if she’s told other men this before. “Most come to us after they’ve been to the other side. Because we’re good at putting out the flames.”
She lies on the bed, directing him to come to her. He slips inside, burrowing his nose in her chest.
“Just a few minutes, baby,” she coos, stroking his chaotic hair. “Just till I feel your heart is ready to go back out into the wild.”
The heater spits a chorus of steam, his bones no longer brittle and cold. The ice man melted, a new form waiting to emerge once all the frigid crystals get shaken away.
19
Travis tries to finish up work early on Smitty’s the day prior so he could stop by Elson’s, but it’s night when the boat pulls in, and the fish need to be sorted, and by that time Elson has already let Wyatt go. He drives past the abandoned goods store. The hole in the window boarded up with bags and no sign of his lookalike. He heads home, swearing to get off earlier the next day so the two won’t miss each other again.
That night he dreams of fishing from an ice hole with his newfound friend. The two sharing frozen brews, talking of their wives, their sons, waxing philosophical. A tug on his line forces him to peer inside the hole, a swell of dark water and nothing else. But he finds there are no fish unless he wants to dive in to claim his prize, so he does. The water like knives cutting through flesh. A scream muffled. He can visualize the ice sheet above him, a way to freedom, but he’s sinking too low. His breaths stop but he can still feel a tiny beat of his heart, unwilling to let go.
He wakes with a start, sweat pouring, enough to rile Callie who puts a hand to his forehead to check for fever. He tells her he’s all right, then disappears into the bathroom.
Runs the shower but doesn’t step inside. Waits until he stops shivering and is ready for the day to begin. The air moist on Smitty’s boat, the fish biting unlike in his dream. They finish up earlier than usual and he skins and scoops out the guts with a mad dedication, so fast that Smitty’s eyes bug. Travis is in his pickup and headed to Elson’s before the sun even sets.
Chewing on a Mondo Burger, shooting the shit with Tuck and Jesse, he’s eyeing the kitchen door. It swings open and he sees Wyatt by the dishwasher. He goes to wave but the doors swing shut before Wyatt can see. He sips beer after beer until Tuck and Jesse ask if he figured out how he and Wyatt are related yet. Then they head home and there’s only a few regulars left slumped at the bar. Wyatt emerges from the doors with a dishrag over his shoulder.
“Trav,” he says, a genuine smile creeping up his face. “You staying? Lemme wash up and join you.”
Travis orders another round for them and remarks to Elson about his double. But Elson’s watching a hockey game and cursing at the tube. Elson brings over two brews without taking his eye of the puck. Wyatt pulls over a chair, his hand on Travis’s arm.
“Wondering when I’d see you again,” Wyatt says. “This for me?”
He scoops up the beer and chugs half of it down.
“I couldn’t get off work yesterday. You had already gone.”
He’s about to say he swung by the abandoned goods store but doesn’t want to come off like a stalker.
“I was hoping you’d stop by tonight,” Wyatt says, and raises his half-empty beer stein.
“To my brother from another mother,” Travis says, but Wyatt looks confused. “Just a saying.”
“Well, okay.” They clink and sip, each with a million things to ask the other, but nothing comes out. Finally, Travis begins.
“I’m curious. What makes you think there’s gold in this area?”
“It’s complicated, but it’s here. Just a question of where. That something you’d be interested in?”
“Money has sure been tight. Hell, though, gold, it’s probably a fantasy, right?”
“Let’s say you find a windfall, Trav. What would you do with it?”
Travis rubs his chin in the exact same way Wyatt rubs his beard, the two synchro-nized. Both stop at the same time, share a laugh.
“So I got this dream. I wanna open a fish shack right on the docks. I know it would do well.”
“What’s stopping you?”
“Pretty much everything. No savings. No bank that would give me a loan. So it stays a dream.”
“For now, but that doesn’t mean forever.”
Wyatt gulps the beer until the suds outline his beard. Travis feels lik
e he’s speaking to an prophet, eager to tap into more answers.
“And I assume your dream is to find your gold?”
“Part of it. But there’s more. I lost two people close to me. Don’t know where they are.”
“This your wife?”
Wyatt lowers his eyes. “And my son.”
“Oh, man. Oh, wow, I’m sorry. Really, Wyatt. That’s horrible. She took your kid?”
“No, I…I left them. And now I don’t know where they are.”
“Ever just Googled?”
“What?”
“Looked them up online. People move all the time, but everyone could be found. Do you not understand what I mean?”
Wyatt shakes his head.
“The internet, like, you can find anyone.” Travis pulls out his phone. “Here, type in her name, see what comes up.”
Wyatt stares at the phone looking completely overwhelmed.
“What’s her first name?” Travis asks.
“Adalaide.”
Travis shows Wyatt how to type, then he hands over the phone for Wyatt to fill in the rest. With shaking fingers, Wyatt conceals the screen and types. He thrusts back the de-vice.
“Didn’t work.”
“Yeah, I guess not everyone’s in Google. Actually, I’m not either. You gotta really do something to have your name there.”
This is a lie, since Travis’s name would come up in relation to Bobby. A quick byline, connecting them as brothers after Bobby’s death. His only claim to fame excruciating.
“Could it be that you don’t really want to find her?” Travis asks. “Like, you’re afraid of the outcome if you do? How much things might’ve changed?”
Wyatt nods, his eyes glazed over, delving back into the past.
“She’d be ashamed of the things I’ve done.”
“Gotta give her more credit than that, Wyatt. Sometimes I can’t believe what Callie, my wife, puts up with.”
“Is that true?” Wyatt asks. “Tell me about her.”
“Callie? She’s amazing. She’s from California, she’s a waitress at Pizza Joint a couple of stores over. She’s an awesome mom, really patient with Eli and everything. I’m not, I get upset with him when he’s not behaving. And she likes crystals a lot, that’s her new thing. Says they have certain energies. That our entire planet has good and bad energies and it’s important to go after the good and stay away from the bad. I used to think it was rubbish, but I dunno, who’s to say?”
“All of us are capable of good and evil,” Wyatt says, and something about the way this man utters those words sends a liquid chill down Travis’s spine, as if the devil goosed his flesh. The lights have dimmed at the bar, the swish of the hockey game the only numbing sound, and this stranger at the stool beside him. “Another?” Wyatt asks.
“What?”
Wyatt calls over Elson. “Two more for me and my friend, my good friend.”
The liquid chill has dissipated as Wyatt kneads Travis’s shoulder. The beers arrive and the men sink in, sobriety long gone. After they finish, Travis walks Wyatt back to where he’s sleeping while he sobers up. Flakes of snow spiral down, even though it’s nearing May, Alaska too stubborn to relent.
“When are you setting out to search for this gold?” Travis asks, the two walking in step.
“Still have some work to do to find out where it is,” Wyatt says, and taps his mind.
“But you want in?”
“What have I got to lose?”
“This is me,” Wyatt says, as they stand in front of the abandoned store. The bags taped to the window flapping from the rough breeze.
“What do you make of this?” Travis asks, tasting snow on his tongue. “Of us?”
“You mean our likeness?”
Hesitantly, Travis nods.
“Another time, Trav,” he says.
“Do you know something—” Travis begins, but stops himself. Shakes his head in disbelief, the uncanniness morphing into incredulity.
“Another time, Trav,” Wyatt says, his prophet’s voice more in full effect. This man knows beyond what is tangible; he has access to the unexplainable. Travis too frightened and exhilarated to peel back more layers. They are meant to have met, he decides. This is no coincidence.
Travis closes his eyes to settle his nerves. “When?” he asks. After he opens his eyes, Wyatt has already disappeared inside like he was never there, an apparition mimicked by the strong wind.
20
Callie’s hesitant about this forced meeting between Lorinda and Grayson. Knowing Lorinda, she’ll get pissed at Callie for setting it up. But Travis seems certain it could work so Callie picks up a bottle of citron vodka after her shift finishes and convinces Lorinda to end hers early.
“You work too hard anyway,” Callie says, pulling the bottle out of a paper bag.
“C’mon, place is dead tonight.”
Lorinda gives Pizza Joint a once-over, counts two tables left. She goes to Roy and asks if he can cover. Roy, a man of few words, shrugs with the same hang-dog expression he always has. Julia, who picks up shifts after school lets out, should be fine to clean up.
“You two got something fun planned?” Julia asks. Callie thinks how the girl is nothing like Callie was as a teen. Callie usually came home, packed a bowl, did a little homework and then went to clubs with friends. She guesses that Alaska forces you to be more responsible, since there’s little distraction compared to L.A.
“Drinks at my place?” Callie says. “Miss Evelyn’s gonna be watching Eli till late.”
“You had this all figured out?” Lorinda asks, bumping Callie’s waist with her butt.
“You got me.”
Back at Callie’s, they get right to the vodka. Lorinda known to drink anyone under the table, maybe why she’d gotten along with Grayson so well.
“Are you dating again?” Callie asks, pouring the tiniest dollop of orange juice into her vodka.
“I think I’ve been through most of the men in Laner,” Lorinda says. “What happens when you’re single in tiny-town Alaska in your thirties. I should go to Nome.”
“Don’t leave me here,” Callie says, desperate. She even takes Lorinda’s hand.
“Girl, I’ll be running the Joint until I’m in adult diapers. I ain’t going nowhere. Some Nome guy better come to me.”
She cackles and Callie’s loves her uninhibited laugh, already feeling guilty for the set-up about to occur. And with perfect timing, the door swings open to her husband and an as-sober-as-possible Grayson, kicking snow from their boots.
“Oh, no,” Lorinda says, jumping up. She cuts Callie with her eyes, but Callie just plays dumb.
“Lor,” Grayson says, going in way too soon for a hug.
“What did you all think this would accomplish?” Lorinda asks, pointing at each of them. “It’s dunzo between us. Ain’t nothing could bring it back.”
“He just wants to talk to you,” Travis says.
“Hear me out,” Grayson says, hands locked together in prayer.
“Fine,” Lorinda says, plopping back in a chair and pouring another massive drink.
“Let’s leave the two of you to…” Callie begins to say, but Lorinda grabs her wrist.
“No way, sister. You all are in this with me. Sit.”
They take a seat and wait for someone else to be the one to speak first. When no one does, Travis jabs Grayson.
“Okay, to start, I owe you an apology, Lor.”
She crosses her arms and turns so she doesn’t have to look at him. “It’s too late.”
“I love you, I really do. But I got scared. We fight a lot.”
Lorinda blows her bangs away from her eyes. “That’s true.”
“Raye’s was just a way for me to blow off steam. The girl there meant nothing.”
“That supposed to make it better?”
“No, but you need to see that I was always thinking of you when I was there.”
“Shit, Gray,” Travis says, as the women shake their head
s in embarrassment.
“So, you fucked whores but pictured me the whole time?” Lorinda asks.
“No, what I meant was I knew we were solid even when I was there. I wasn’t trying to replace you.”
“Gray, I put up with your police bullshit, strange hours and such, and hell, I dealt with your drinking too. I shut up about it all. But Laner’s so small you had to know I’d find out, which means you did it to be cruel.”
“I told you I was scared. I want to marry you, but the thought of forever…”
“I would’ve been a great wife and a great mother, but that will never be.”
She hops up and knocks over her chair before running off to the bathroom as Callie follows.
Travis squirms. The last thing he wants is to be here right now. After last night, he feels like a drug addict without his fix—needing a hit of Wyatt. All day on Smitty’s boat, he fantasized about trekking into the wilderness for gold, returning with a bounty, and starting life anew by doing what he loves.
“I really fucked up,” Grayson says, taking a swig right from the bottle.
Travis grabs the vodka from him. “Yep.”
“Don’t tell me you weren’t scared shitless to marry Callie, to never stick your dick in anyone else?”
“Jesus, Gray, why do you have to be so crude?”
“Ah, I’m sorry. I’m an asshole because I hate myself. I really do.”
Grayson begins crying, wipes his nose on Travis’s sleeve.
“You’re the only one who never leaves me,” Grayson wails. “Everyone else finds a reason to walk away.”
“I ain’t going anywhere,” Travis says, but he’s stilted as if he had to wrench those words out.
“No way she’ll take me back?”
“Don’t think so, buddy.”
Callie and Lorinda return. Lorinda’s eyes surprisingly dry.
“I think you should go, Gray,” she says. “Callie and I are having our girls’ night, and I don’t want it ruined.”
Grayson stands, a shriveled version of himself. “I understand.”
Callie’s rubbing Lorinda’s back as Grayson makes for the door. Travis doesn’t want to drive him home, but he thinks that maybe Wyatt’s still at Elson’s so he’ll take him there.
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