Aurora's Gold

by K. J. Gillenwater

  My phone beeped. Kyle had texted me back.

  I’ll be there in fifteen minutes.

  Shit.

  I skipped around the living spaces, grabbing clothes, shoes, hair products, and other random items one brings over to a boyfriend’s place when she sort of moves in. I also grabbed a couple of things I identified as my father’s from the dredge: a tool box, a cardboard box full of replacement parts, and a few moth-eaten wool blankets that came in handy on the colder dredging days.

  I climbed into the sleeping loft. I couldn’t help but make the bed. That had been my ritual every morning. Made me feel more like a good girlfriend. Heaven knows I hadn’t been a good housekeeper, but at least I could make a bed. As I shook out the sheets a book fell to the floor: Seven Signs You Should Break Up.

  I’d never seen the book before. Although I suppose one wouldn’t put such a book out in public view while the object of said break up is present. I paused. Before my blow up last week, I didn’t think anything had been wrong with our relationship. And, besides, I didn’t think of Kyle as the type of man who would take advice from a self-help book.

  I laughed, picked it up, and set it on his makeshift nightstand—a stack of milk crates with a piece of broken plywood as the top and a battery-powered lantern acting as a lamp.

  I sat on the bed for a minute. This had been my view most mornings for the past eighteen months. A great view of the whole hut. Near the front, a broken down speedboat sat, all its guts spilled out on the concrete floor. A project Kyle had started before I’d arrived and still hadn’t finished. In fact, it looked identical to the day I’d moved in. One large rolling tool chest stood next to the boat, and several small toolboxes spread around it like children following a parent. A couple of garbage cans were near the side door opposite the kitchenette. Too risky to keep trash cans outside. I’d cleaned up enough animal-strewn garbage—either wild or semi-tame animals—to refrain from complaining about the stink of garbage when the cans were full and no time could be found to take them to the dump. A set of metal shelves ran from floor to curved ceiling next to the garbage cans and were filled with cardboard boxes, books, electronic parts, diving gear, industrial size containers of cereal and other dry goods. Cheaper to buy in bulk when you received the annual PFD—Alaska’s Permanent Fund Dividend. Kyle had qualified for his first PFD this year, and he’d celebrated by buying corn flakes and canned beans in quantity.

  For a long time, I’d really thought he’d been perfect. We’d been such a good diver/tender team. Seemed natural that we’d go from teaming up on the dredge to teaming up in bed. I’d been naive to think that was all it took to make a relationship work—teamwork. The quick dissolution of everything in a matter of hours, in the middle of a crisis, taught me a lot about what makes for a good relationship.

  Oddly, I hadn’t cried many tears over the break up. Maybe I’d been in shock. Maybe I’d still been dealing with my father’s accident. Or maybe I was just a cold bitch—that’s what Kyle had called me that night. “You are one cold bitch, Rory.”

  He’d said that right after my father’s emergency flight had taken off.

  Those words hurt. They were familiar words. But not words spoken to me. Words I never thought I’d hear used against me. I’d done everything—or so I’d thought—to avoid anyone accusing me of being cold or unfeeling.

  I climbed down and carried my full grocery bags to the truck. Then, I made a couple more trips with my father’s stuff. I set it on the floorboards in front of the passenger seat just as Kyle came walking up the road. He wore the Coors Light ball cap that he only took off when diving.

  I took a breath and steeled myself for whatever he was going to sling at me.

  *

  “Never did ask you for my key back.” Kyle, rangy and wearing a t-shirt and jeans, carried a six pack and a loaf of bread.

  From where I stood I couldn’t read his expression. His words came out clipped, monotone.

  “Help me load my dad’s equipment in the truck, and I’ll give it to you.” I’d been hoping to clean my concentrates here at the hut and move the equipment another day, but Kyle had derailed that plan.

  He headed toward the door and eyed the back of my truck. I knew he saw the gold buckets in there. “Need to do a clean-up?”

  “I can handle it.” I slammed the truck door and leaned against it. He knew better than to poke the bear.

  He leaned over the edge and checked out my haul. “Did I offer to help?”

  “You were going to.”

  He turned his hat around backward. A habit of his when he was ready for a verbal battle. “You don’t know me very well, then.”

  I bristled. Those were the same words he’d used when I’d heard the story about my dad. I didn’t need his crap right now. I had debts to pay. “So are you going to help me load the spiral machine and the trommel in the back or what?” I’d lug it and load it in the truck myself if I had to, but I hoped Kyle would be decent. No matter how we’d left things the last time I saw him.

  He squinted. “I heard you found a new diver.”

  Word traveled fast in Nome. “Yep.”

  “He any good? Heard he was green.”

  “Why do you care?”

  He raised his hands in a mock surrender. “Just a question. No need to get all mad.”

  “I’m not mad.” But Kyle knew me better. He’d ruined my plans to sneak in and sneak out. He knew it, too. He’d probably seen me load my stuff into the cab of the truck.

  “So, it must be some crap material, huh? That sucks.”

  “Kyle, I don’t want to fight with you. I’ve got enough on my plate. We both said some nasty stuff last week. Can we bury the hatchet for one night?” I wanted to clean up the concentrates, get home and get some sleep. Either I’d be doing it behind the apartment complex as the night got cooler and the rowdy types spilled out of the bars, or I could make nice with Kyle. “Would you let me do the clean-up here tonight? I can come get everything another day.”

  Silence settled between us. In the distance a motorcycle revved down the street.

  He shrugged. “Whatever.”

  “Thanks.”

  Without a word, Kyle climbed into the back and handed me a bucket. I lugged it to the door. Kyle followed behind me with the other one.

  We had a truce for now. Maybe he felt sorry for me. More than likely he was thinking of my father. Everyone loved Buck.

  I was a harder person to love.

  *

  I stood over the propane powered stove and dried off the gold flakes and small nuggets we’d separated from the sand and dirt.

  Kyle cracked open a beer. “I know why you came over here tonight.”

  “Oh?” Clean gold shined prettily in the cheap dollar store pan. I never tired seeing the end result of even the worst day out on the water. I stirred my finger through it.

  “A booty call.”

  “What?” I almost burst out laughing. “I’m not your girlfriend anymore.”

  “So?”

  “You think pretty highly of yourself.” I kept my eyes on the gold. “No, I didn’t come here for sex. I’m came here for my stuff. It’s in my truck, Kyle.”

  “Why else would you show up when you thought I was home?”

  He did have a point. His truck had been outside the Quonset hut when I’d arrived. I couldn’t have known he’d walked to the store. It did look rather suspicious. “I needed my equipment. That’s the only reason I stopped by.”

  He sighed and shrugged. “If you say so. I’m gonna shower and then make a sandwich. You hungry?”

  Kyle stripped off his shirt, dotted with sand and other debris, and then unzipped his jeans.

  I blushed. “Hey.” We were over, done, kaput. What was he thinking?

  Kyle had a lean, slick body. Not a hair on his chest anywhere. My gaze swept over his bare upper torso. “Keep your pants on, please.” A very distinct memory of our last sexual encounter flashed through my mind.

  “What di
fference does it make?” He headed to the free standing shower beyond my view. “You need to get over yourself, Rory.”

  I wanted to tell him off. He’d been the one to ruin things. Not me.

  I turned my focus back to the task at hand. Wasn’t worth the emotional effort to get so upset. If Kyle wanted to make a fool himself by strutting naked in front of me, then I should’ve let him do it. It would’ve been more humiliating for him to see I felt absolutely nothing. We were over. Done. Period.

  The last of the moisture dried up in the pan, leaving pure yellow gold. I turned off the stove and set the pan aside to let the contents cool. Judging by experience, it couldn’t be more than three ounces. After expenses and paying Ben his 25% that’d leave me with an okay chunk to put toward some debt and still be able to run the dredge. My heart sank a little. I had a running tally in my head that had haunted me for the last week. This had been my first opportunity to get back on the water, and I’d been hoping for a lot better.

  But what could I expect from a two-person team and one half of that team never having dredged before?

  Kyle whistled in the shower.

  For a moment I considered asking Kyle to come back to the Alaska Darling. I’d been upset when I’d found out about my father’s accident. But maybe I’d been hasty. Kyle had been a good diver. He’d learned quickly and had become a reliable gold hound. I doubted I had time to teach Ben enough before the summer gold season ended.

  My relationship with Kyle was over, but maybe I could salvage our professional relationship. He’d just helped me clean up without asking for a thing. Somewhere in there he still cared.

  The gold had cooled enough that I could pour it into a mason jar. I took an old newspaper, rolled it into a funnel and then carefully poured every speck into the jar.

  I could’ve had twice as much gold if Kyle had been with me today.

  The shower shut off.

  “Hey, Rory, can you bring me a towel?”

  I quirked a smile. Same old Kyle.

  I left the jar on the kitchen table and grabbed a towel from the laundry basket. “Heads up.” I tossed it over the shower curtain.

  CHAPTER SIX

  One would be hard pressed to find a tourist in Nome, Alaska. After more than a hundred and fifty years since the town had been first established, it hadn’t changed much. Gold seekers had lined the beaches sluicing for any ounce of gold they could find. They’d braved the wind, cold, rain and snow to eke out a living in the unforgiving landscape. The canvas tents, which had lined the beaches, gave way over the decades to rough-hewn storefronts, saloons and hotels to house the ever-growing population of gold miners, native Alaskans and missionaries. But even with the dawn of more advanced techniques and the modernization of gold recovery, the character of Nome remained rough, bleak and indifferent.

  I shivered as I got out of my truck. Even in the middle of July, Nome didn’t get much above 60 degrees on the hottest of days. Mostly we were stuck in the mid-50s. Sure, everyone adapted to the climate after about a year, but I hadn’t felt what I’d call ‘hot’ since I left Washington State.

  At 5:30 in the morning, a chill wind blew from the shore covering my arms in goosebumps. I grabbed my hooded rain jacket, one of the items I’d recovered from Kyle’s place, and headed into the Polar Cafe.

  A few older miners at the tiny counter drank coffee and gassed up for a day on the water. A couple of cops, likely eating breakfast before their shift, sat in the corner. I recognized one as Mr. Isaacs, the father of a former school friend. I waved and smiled. He nodded in recognition.

  Like most diners in Nome, the decor left something to be desired. It was a boxy space with local art hanging on beige walls, which ranged from simplistic to surprisingly good. Even a small town like Nome had its artists. The tables and chairs were the folding type. At least the seats were padded. Every time I ate here, I felt as if I were in a church basement sitting down for a potluck. A mishmash of new and stained tiles made up the ceiling, and a dingy ceiling fan gave out most of the light.

  “Hey, stranger!” Stella, my closest female friend, waved at me from the ordering station tucked up next to the kitchen’s swinging door. “Take a seat. I’ll be with you in a minute.”

  She rung up the two grizzled figures with beards, overalls and dirty boots. Hard to tell if they were dredge miners or placer miners. We had both in Nome.

  Ben sat by the window at a 4-person table. He perused the paper menu and hadn’t noticed me yet.

  I took a chair across from him. “Hey.”

  He looked up. “Good morning.” He frowned and pointed. “Can’t believe the prices.”

  “Well, then, you’re lucky I’m buying.” I set a plastic container filled with an ounce-and-a-quarter of gold on the table. “I owe you something. After expenses, of course.” Didn’t seem like much to the average person, but it was worth close to fifteen hundred bucks.

  Ben scooped it up. “We did this?” He twirled the tube between his fingers. The gold shifted in the container like sand in a snow globe. His astonishment reminded me of his reaction to the gold in the sluice yesterday—a child-like wonder.

  Before I could answer, Stella approached our table.

  My best friend, her dark, curly hair tightly bound in a ponytail at the back of her neck, tapped a pencil against her order pad. “You and—your friend—ready to order, Rory?” Stella did her best to compel me to identify the stranger with me.

  “Ben Abel, this is Stella Hansen. Stella, this is Ben, my new diver.”

  Ben’s mouth curved up in a slight smile. He reached out a hand. “Hello.”

  Stella blushed and shook his hand. “Hello, Ben.” She held it a few too many seconds more than necessary. “Do you know what you want? I’d recommend the reindeer sausage. Really good. Right, Rory?”

  A funny feeling settled in me. Maybe it was the genuine smile Ben gave to my oldest and dearest friend, but had yet to give to me. I shook it off. I was being ridiculous. Who cared what the Beast thought of me or my friend? “I’ll take the House Special with pancakes and bacon.” I’m sure my order signaled to Ben how I felt about reindeer sausage.

  “Sausage and Cheese Omelet.” Ben handed Stella the menu with a twinkle in his eye.

  A goddamn twinkle.

  “You got it.” Stella grabbed both menus and gave a toothy grin. “Coffee?”

  “Please,” I said.

  Stella raised a brow. I knew what that meant, girl code for: you need to tell me everything about this guy. She took off at a clip to enter our order.

  “She’s friendly.” Ben remarked.

  “Yes, she sure is.” My words came out laced with a bitterness I didn’t intend. To cover for it, I pulled a piece of notepaper out of my pocket and flattened it with my fingers. “Here’s the totals from last night with the expenses laid out, so you can see.”

  Ben looked it over.

  “Usually I pay in a check or cash, but I wanted to make sure you got paid for your first day. I know you just got here. Wasn’t sure what your situation was. The assayers don’t open until 9. If the weather’s good I hate to waste time in their office trading gold for cash. But I can show you how to do that, if you’d like.” I put out my hand for the vial.

  I scanned his face. Although he’d given Stella a smile, he had mostly an unreadable expression on his face. Dark, maybe. He hadn’t caused me any trouble yesterday—except for not knowing when the chop was too strong for the dredge, a newbie mistake. He’d done well for a first-time diver.

  “Gas is pretty pricey up here.” He read through the expenses list. Mostly fuel and a few spare parts I’d added to the pile of what we had on board. Lunch had been on me.

  “Did you drive past the Bonanza Express off Seppala when you came into town?” Seppala Drive would’ve been his route this morning, if he’d stayed somewhere east of town last night. “Gas is more than six dollars a gallon.”

  Ben nodded. He didn’t confirm whether or not he’d come into town. “Looks good
to me.” He handed me the slip of paper and held up the tube of gold. “This is fine.”

  “Eventually, I’d like your help with the clean-up.” Kyle had packed up all the equipment in my truck last night after we’d cleaned all the concentrates. I wouldn’t be relying on him anymore to help. It had been an unspoken moment between the two of us last night. Our relationship, not on great footing to begin with, had been irrevocably damaged by last week’s events. If I had to sit out back behind the apartment complex and refine the concentrates in a more public setting, I’d feel better having the Beast on guard with me. “Most divers like to be involved so they can keep an eye on the totals.”

  “Makes sense.”

  Stella arrived with a pot of coffee. “I know you take it black, Rory. Ben, how do you like your coffee?” She flipped over the mugs and poured steaming coffee into each.

  He grabbed two packets of sugar from the little bowl by the window. “Been trying to cut back on the sugar, but can’t seem to keep it out of my coffee. Takes like dirt without it.” Ben glanced across the table.

  His hooded gaze penetrated me. Those eyes of his. Brightest of blue one moment, black the next. I took a long sip of my very black, very strong coffee. I shivered, but brushed it off as a reaction to the hot coffee entering my slightly chilled body.

  “You don’t look like you need to worry about sugar.” Stella’s gaze roved over Ben’s muscular build.

  Ben said nothing, ripped open both sugar packets simultaneously and dumped them into his coffee. I could feel the weight of his gaze on me. Something about this man made me want to run away. Yet, on the dredge he’d been nothing but helpful. Sure, he’d gotten my dander up, but nothing worrisome. And, besides, the whole thing hadn’t really been his fault.

  “He’ll burn it off today out in the Bering.” I wanted to lighten the mood. I didn’t like how he made me feel exposed with just a look. I needed to remind myself I was the one in charge here.