She’s seen the girls at Raye’s too, nothing special. In Laner, Alaska, she’s as good as it’s gonna get for a guy like Travis. When her cruise ship pulled into this nothing town, she added a spark to his life—while now she realizes, he mostly dulled hers.
Since infidelity is a sickness, she decides over an overflowing glass of red wine that this won’t get any better. She’ll bring Eli back to her parents in California while she figures out the next step. Travis won’t let her go easily, and while it’d be nasty to take Eli from his father, Travis hasn’t been holding his own as a parent these last few weeks anyway.
She boils as the clock ticks away, the sun sets, and she forgoes giving Eli a bath because she wants to pounce on Travis when the door unlocks. After an hour of simmering and staring, she hears his car churn through the packed snow.
“Go play in your room,” she tells Eli, the circles around her eyes reddening.
“But Daddy’s home.”
“Go play!” she roars, a lion rumbling, and Eli’s wise enough to saunter away.
Travis gets halfway through the door when she’s upon him with a slap, a white handprint forming on his jaw.
“What in the hell?”
She hits with a fury, saying everything she wanted at once, too much for him to decipher. The word “cheater” floating between curses.
“Woah, woah,” he says, backing away and scooting around the couch. “Cheating?”
“You were at Raye’s, that filthy place.”
She gives up now, collapsing into the couch and removing a sopping tissue from her sleeve. She hates to act so vulnerable but doesn’t know how else to behave.
“Callie, I was just looking for—”
“If you say Grayson, I swear to God I’ll hit you with a pan.”
“No, not Gray.”
“You were not driving around with him last night either. I called his place and he’d been in bed for hours. You were fucking some brainless whore while your wife was at home worried sick.”
“I know I was there, but…”
“Honesty,” she says, flinging her hands. “Finally. And for how long has this been going on?”
“I met someone.”
“Oh God, Travis.” She’s shaking and he wants to hug her close but he’s too afraid to move.
“It’s not like you think. His name is Wyatt.”
“What? A man?”
“No, no, no. Not like you think. He’s homeless. Jeez, I don’t even know where to begin. Will you just let me explain?”
She sits up and swipes her glass of wine for comfort, then gestures for him to begin.
“So a few days ago I pass by this guy and, this is crazy, Cal, but he’s looks exactly like me, a dead ringer. ’Cept he’s got a big bushy beard.”
“Really, Travis, this is gonna be your excuse?”
“C’mon now, just wait. So we pass each other, and I dunno. Have you ever had an out-of-body experience? That’s what it was like. I watched from above as these two identical men passed by each other, and I have to say the moment stuck in my mind, like I couldn’t shake it. And then we met again at Elson’s and he’s this prospector, a genuine modern prospector come here looking for gold, he’s convinced it’s here, and we talked about the fish shack, and I dunno, he’s listened to me, like working on Smitty’s is fine and all, but you know my dream. So it got me thinking, what if he’s in the know about gold in these parts and I could find some too?”
Callie dips her nose into the glass as she sucks out the rest of the red wine.
“What the fuck are you talking about, Travis? What does this have to do with that whorehouse?”
“So this guy, Wyatt, he’s been going there. He’s staying in the abandoned goods store, but it’s cold, like it’s been unseasonably cold so it’s warmer there I guess. I got him a job at Elson’s, you can even ask Elson, and I stopped by to see if he was there. You always talk about your crystals and energies and things that can’t be logically explained, right? A current of energy is drawing me to him and I need to see it all through.”
“Well,” she says, her mind spinning. His explanation so outlandish, it couldn’t have been made up on the spot. Yet still, she’s wary. It could be true, but so could his cheating ways.
“Baby, you could ask down at that place. I spent five minutes talking to the owner and that’s it.”
“I’m not going there.”
“I need you to believe me!”
“All right, I believe you. Don’t get hysterical.” She grabs the bottle and sees it’s empty. “Shit.”
He moves in for a hug. For a second, she fights it but then gives in.
“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you before. It’s all hard to put into words.”
“So you’re gonna follow some homeless guy into the wilderness for gold?”
Callie’s speaking but really thinking of California receding further and further away.
All day, she’d been making plans. Needing its beaches, its closer sun, and even her chilly parents’ embrace. They’d call her a fool, but only for a little. She’d have her old room back and Eli in the guest room until she got work and could move out. It’d only be for a while, then she’d ease back into an L.A. lifestyle, reconnecting with friends, even joining Tinder, a solid reason to leave Travis, when now, in a span of seconds, the fantasy has shattered. The walls in her Alaskan home with traces of water damage, the mallard painting over the mantle she hates, the insulation covering the window that began to peel forcing her to wear sweaters inside, the fact that beyond Lorinda she has no one else to confide in. In all her time here, she’s never felt more trapped.
But Travis seems so excited. He’s babbling about this fucking gold he’s sure exists.
And the conversation veers to his wants and needs, leaving hers at bay. Okay, he wasn’t cheating on her, but since she thought he had, it’s hard to completely extinguish that notion. She hates that she might’ve been more relieved to know that he had. The door closed now.
“Bring him for dinner tomorrow,” she says, hand on her hip. “Your new friend.”
“Okay, I’ll ask him. Thank you, Callie. I know this is a lot to absorb.”
“You’re a lot to absorb,” she says, under her breath but it’s audible. She’s finds another bottle of whatever and wanders down the hall toward the bathroom.
“You deal with dinner for Eli,” she says. “I’m getting in a bath and I don’t want to emerge till I’m pruned good.”
“Of course, baby.”
“I ain’t your fuckin’ baby,” she says, louder this time so it bounces off the walls and sinks into his skull. “I ain’t your fuckin’ anything right now.”
In the bath, she bobs underwater, a layer of suds coating the surface. All she can see—
whiteness, like a tundra, like the story of her life.
23
Wyatt’s surprised to find Trav pop his head into the kitchen before the morning rush even arrives. He’s spent the night at Aylen’s since her cousin never returned home, cramped in her twin bed with his feet dangling off the edge, yet he’s slept more deeply than he had in some time. He was doing a double-clean on the dishes from last night, which Elson liked, when his great-great grandson gave a booming, “Hello.”
“Wasn’t expecting no one,” Wyatt says, starting the noisy dish machine.
“Thought I’d catch you before I headed on the water. My wife wants to invite you for dinner when your shift ends.”
“That’s mighty kind.”
“We’re on Elk Road.” He hands Wyatt a slip of paper. “Address plus directions.”
“Should I bring anything?”
“Just yourself, man.”
The rest of the day passes with a hummingbird fluttering in Wyatt’s chest, a rapid beat of excitement. All night with Aylen, he hadn’t thought of Trav’s wife, or even his own.
They made love and she didn’t charge him nothing. He was content. But now, with the idea of Trav’s wife on the horizon, A
ylen gets shuttled to the back of his mind, forced to wait in purgatory until she’s needed again.
Elson lets him off early and donates a bottle of wine to bring to the Barlows. He offers to call him a cab, since the walk is far, and Wyatt pretends like he doesn’t know. The cab costs a quarter of his day’s wages, but it’s worth it to not show up all disheveled and sweaty.
California opens the door, a smile so wide he can see her molars.
“Welcome,” she says, with a hug and kiss on his cheek. “I’ve heard a lot about you.”
The sensation of her touch—incandescent. He’s soothed and swaddled and mystified by her charm. She’s wearing dungarees, a sweater that looks made of snow, her red hair pulled back into a ponytail. He wonders if Adalaide ever did that, but decides it wasn’t the style at the time.
He steps inside and the home has a beefy smell like they’re living in a great pot of stew. He thrusts the wine at her to give his hands something to do.
“This red will go perfect with the meat,” she says. “Come, let me take your coat.”
She kicks aside some scattered toys and hangs up his coat. He tugs on his beard, a ball of nervous energy.
“Travis is chopping wood for the fire.” She indicates the fireplace, a bed of soot, ash, and crumpled newspapers. “I heard by the end of the week the weather’s supposed to take a turn for the better. We might even be able to have an outdoor barbeque.”
He has no idea what a bar-be-que might be, but nods as if he’s familiar.
“Wyatt,” Trav says, as he comes through the back door with an armful of logs and dumps them in the fireplace. “I see you’ve met Callie.”
“Actually, I didn’t introduce myself.” She extends her hand, and it’s like silk when he shakes it. He doesn’t want to let go. “Callie.”
“Wyatt,” he says, and then with a laugh: “Well, thank you both for hosting. Looking forward to a home-cooked meal.”
“Been some time for you?” she asks.
“Longer than you can imagine.”
“The little one just went down for sleep so I’m afraid you missed him,” she says. “But this way we can have a night of adult conversations. So rare.”
“How old?”
“He recently turned three.”
He’s about to speak of Little Joe, but clamps his mouth shut. He’s not ready. And he doesn’t know how he’ll react.
“Let’s pour this wine,” Callie says, disappearing into the kitchen and coming back with three glasses. She pops the cork and fills each one, passing them over.
“To new friendships,” Trav says, and Callie looks between him and Wyatt, assessing how closely they resemble each other.
“It’s uncanny,” she says, like she just realized. “The two of you. Have you ever had family in these parts?”
“I don’t know,” Wyatt says. “Only know of my father’s origin, but he was from Washington State. No one in Alaska.”
“Travis’s family goes back for generations in Alaska,” she says. “Your great-grandfather came here, right?”
“Yup, although Papa Clifford rarely talks about him. He was so young when he died, I don’t think he has any memories.”
“And you?” Wyatt asks her.
In mid-gulp, she responds, “California. I’m the first, and nuttiest in my family, to come all the way to Alaska.”
“They say Alaska is a place for new beginnings,” Wyatt replies.
“Who says that?”
“I don’t know, but I’ve certainly heard it.”
“It was a new beginning for you, Cal,” Trav says.
With lips stained wine-red, she nods. “What’s your last name?” she asks.
“Langford,” he quickly says, before he might blurt out Barlow by accident and cause them to think he’s insane. Langford was the name on his tongue because it had been locked in his mind. The man he killed never truly died, only became preserved.
“Wyatt Langford,” Callie says. “Sounds like a character out of the Wild West.” She fires a round of shots at him with her fingers.
“Smells delicious in here,” Wyatt says, wanting any discussions about his name to end.
“Are you hungry? We can eat now.”
“I’m always hungry, ma’am.”
In the dining room, Callie serves a stew from a giant pot and seats herself across from the two men, these twins separated by a beard.
“When Travis told me,” she begins, pouring Wyatt another glass of wine, “I didn’t believe. But the resemblance is remarkable. Maybe Cora had twins and gave one up?”
“Cora would’ve had quadruplets and been delighted,” Trav says.
“Okay, I have a theory. Read something similar somewhere.” She clears her throat.
“Everyone has a duplicate on this planet and our whole lives are about coming into contact with this double.”
“Success!” Trav says, holding his hand up for a high-five. Wyatt doesn’t know what to do so Trav picks up Wyatt’s hand and slaps it. Wyatt looks at Callie, confounded.
“Maybe that’s what’s taken me to Alaska?” Callie asks, already slurring. “To meet my own twin?”
“No, I see what you mean,” Trav says. “Like it was destiny for us to meet.”
Wyatt’s enraptured by her, his double nary a thought. “What’s that?”
“You spoke of gold, man. I want to find it with you.”
“Gold?” Wyatt asks, spiraling back down to Earth. “Yeah, of course. I just need to remember where it is.”
“Remember?” Trav asks.
“I mean, remember where I was told it might be. You know the wilderness around here well?”
“Been trekking out there since I was kid. The meat you’re eating is from caribou I hunted.”
“Finally, the last of it,” Callie says, crossing her eyes.
“That boo fed us real well for a month.”
“Yeah, we ate everything down to the lips and asshole.”
She lets out a gush of a laugh. And Wyatt laughs as well, tears blurring the edges of his eyes. Adalaide would make him guffaw like this, too. When she wasn’t worried about Little Joe running too cold. They had good times around a table with spirits like he was doing now.
“So it’s set then?” Trav asks, more serious now. “We go on this adventure together?”
“What’s that?”
“The gold, bro. We attack that gold.”
“Of course, Trav. We’re partners.”
“Trav?” Callie asks, scrunching up her face. “Never really heard you called that.”
Trav shrugs. “Never had a twin before. And Gray’s called me that before.”
“This food is mighty fine,” Wyatt says, shoveling it in his mouth until the plate shines white again.
Trav takes her hand from across the table and the two hold onto each other, a locked unit. It makes Wyatt bubble with jealousy.
“My girl’s an amazing cook.”
She’s an amazing everything, Wyatt wants to say.
“Mommy?” In walks a little child in footed pajamas rubbing the sleep from his eyes.
“Hey, buddy, did we wake you?” Trav asks, scooping him up. The child twists into Trav’s chest, a string of drool connecting them.
“I smelled food,” Eli says, turning to the stew now.
“But you had dinner.”
“Not dinner like that!” he yelps, and then giggles.
His giggles like glass shards to Wyatt, the mirth of a child stabbing his soul. The room goes in and out of focus, his chair tilts and he nearly falls back, but he manages to maintain.
“Eli, can you say hi to Mr. Langford?”
Eli gives a tired wave. “Hi, mister.”
“Hi, child,” Wyatt says, the lump in his throat bulging like a tumor. The tears well up, his face blanches, and he gets faint again.
“Are you all right?” Callie asks, concerned.
“I’m not feeling so well.” He rises on shaky knees.
Callie leaps up, read
y to catch, but Wyatt squares himself.
“Possibly too much to drink,” Wyatt says, heading toward his coat. But that’s a lie, since it’s from the sight of the boy, a direct and cruel link to his own. He cannot even look at him anymore. “I must go.”
“No, maybe just lie down,” Callie says, jumping over to the couch and fluffing a pillow.
“Very kind of you again, ma’am, but I’m not right.”
He pulls on his coat, the sickness lurching into his mouth like acid.
“Can we…” He blinks his tearing eye. “Do this another time? You are so kind, but I really must go.”
“Of course, of course, Wyatt.” She goes to rub his back, but he doesn’t want that either. Every sight of them, every possible touch, an implosion in his heart. Better to shut his eye to only darkness.
Trav puts down Eli. “Lemme drive you back at least.”
Wyatt’s already at the door. “No, no, Trav.”
“It’ll mean five minutes as opposed to hours walking. And it’s still so cold.”
Wyatt has his fingers on the doorknob that radiates an icy chill. “Okay.”
“Lemme get my coat.”
Trav shoots out of the room, Wyatt left alone with the very people he was dying to meet but now can’t bear.
“I’m sorry,” he says, about to start weeping.
“No,” Callie replies. “Can’t tell you the amount of times I’ve drank too much for my body.”
“It’s not the drink, it’s…” He catches sight of Eli, peering around from behind his mother.
Trav rushes back before Wyatt can respond. “C’mon, man.”
Wyatt’s out the door without looking back at either of them, the snow an assault on his senses. In the pickup, Trav speeds, the winding roads of the woods sloshing everything around in Wyatt’s stomach.
“It was from seeing your son,” Wyatt says.
“Yeah, I figured.”
“I miss mine.”
That’s all the two men say because silence trumps an attempt at comfort. Trav allows Wyatt to truly weep, the tears collecting in his bushy beard. And when he reaches the abandoned goods store, Wyatt doesn’t say goodbye, wanting only the deafening roar of all the demons inside his head, the last moments of his family he’s held onto and nothing else. He keeps them rattling as he assumes the fetal position indoors, but this time, he takes down the picture of Callie and Eli that he stole. Maybe soon he’ll be able to be in a room with them again. For now, the darkness of closed eyelids is all he can handle.
The Ancestor Page 14