by Jolene Perry
Once we pass the abandoned-mining-house-turned-abandoned-lodge, it takes me a few minutes to find the exact spot. As his machine sprints in front of mine and then waits, I know he’s impatient.
Boys.
Finally, I find the entrance to the old mine and turn off the machine. It’s dark out now, and I’m really glad I know the way back home because there will be no light left.
“What is this?” he asks as he pulls off his helmet, eyeing the black hole that is the mining tunnel entrance. The only reason we can see it this late is because the snow always finds some light to reflect, and there’s obviously no snow over a man-sized gap in the mountainside.
I toss him a small flashlight as I turn mine on. “Come on.”
Bishop grins in the faint light, which is the exact look I wanted to get from him after I saw him frowning on his porch.
The temperature warms drastically as we step inside. “Caves stay constant, so they’re warmer than outside in the winter and colder than outside in the summer.”
The gray walls are rough, wet, and close. I can touch both sides when I stretch out my arms, and can just barely stand upright. Even our flashlights don’t push away much of the darkness.
“Is it safe?” he asks.
“Are you scared?” I lightly punch him in the chest, suddenly very aware that it’s only the two of us, and he’s a bit close. And has one sexy smile. Flits of nerves hit again, and I step back, not having any idea what to do about them.
He makes his scoffing noise, but I’m not totally buying his bravado. “No. I just don’t want to die inside a mountain in Alaska, that’s all.”
I spin and light up his face, making him squint. “So, where do you want to die?”
He laughs and pushes my flashlight away. “Warm, happy, on a beach, with a hot girl. Or a few.”
A bubble of happiness fills me because I got Bishop laughing. “Of course.”
We’re in about fifty feet in from the entrance now and the rusted rails for the mining cars appear out of the dirt.
“Holy shit.” He looks down. “Is this an old mine?”
“Yeah. I love this place. It hasn’t been used since the forties, but they did tours when I was little. The lodge we passed was open when I was a kid. We used to snowmachine up here with my dad to get burgers.”
Bishop opens his mouth, I’m sure to ask about Dad, but closes it again. I don’t realize I’m holding my breath until I let it out. Bringing up Dad isn’t a good idea in front of someone I don’t know well. Or, really, anyone.
“Anyway. It makes me sad that the place shut down.” I sit on the dirt, which feels bizarre after snow being on the ground for so many months.
“This has to be a big party spot, huh?” he asks continuing to walk ahead.
“Too far out.” I shake my head. “And a kid got lost in here about four years ago, so it turned into one of those crazy ghost stories that scares the shit out of everyone.” I shine my light on Bishop’s back as he keeps walking. “And after that first kid disappeared, every time we came out to party, we lost someone.”
He stops. “Really?”
“No.” I laugh which sounds sort of like a weird, girly giggle before I make myself stop. “I’m messing with you, California Boy.”
He shakes his head and turns toward me. “You can’t help yourself, can you?”
“Nope.” I stand. “Wanna see the lodge?”
“Can we get in?” He starts to move back my way.
I’m biting my lip again to hold in my smile knowing what his reaction will be. “Garrett’s the realtor, and I know him, so I know where the key’s hidden.”
“Of course you do.”
…
I both love and hate walking through this old place. I see my dad in here, laughing with Mom, feeding her fries over the table. Ten is too young to lose your dad.
Our flashlights make crazy shapes on the walls as we move through the tables and chairs covered in dust. The windowpanes are so filthy that our light barely reflects off them as the beams follow lines on the walls.
I’ve never gone to the rooms upstairs—the empty place is a bit creepy—especially in the dark.
“This could be so cool.” Bishop turns around, letting his light shine across the wooden bar, the chairs, and tables.
“Could be,” I agree. “It was.”
“You could have a small stage over here, you know, musical talent and stuff.” He’s picturing it all right now. Differently than I am because I’m thinking about what it used to be, and he’s thinking about what it could be.
I turn to see where he’s looking. There used to be a jukebox there. An old one.
“And rooms upstairs?” He points his flashlight at the ceiling and looks up.
“Yeah. And then”—I point to the far wall—“there’s an owner’s house back there. It isn’t much, but it would be awesome.”
“Another piece of Penny Jones falls into place.” Then he looks confused like he doesn’t like that he’s figuring me out. “You really love it here in Alaska, don’t you? I mean, I know you said you wanted to stay, but it’s deeper than just a want for you.” His flashlight beam hits me in the eyes, blinding me.
I cover my face until he points it away.
He gets it. It’s so crazy how he understands what people I’ve known my whole life don’t. “I do love it here.” I nod. But I’m getting this edgy feeling in my chest, like our conversation might go too far. Maybe I could just redirect. “So.” I turn to face him in the dusty dining room. “Who are you?” Maybe he’ll answer a direct question since all my sideways ones don’t seem to work.
“I’m Bishop.” His voice sounds serious, and his eyes don’t leave mine. And even in the dim light made by our flashlights, and the odd shadows moving around between the chairs, his dark brown eyes are deep. And I bet he feels deep, too.
“Yeah. I got that part. Bishop Ripe from California.” I’m settling into the fact that this guy is a bit of a mystery, and it doesn’t bother me as much as it should. Maybe it’s that he’s temporary, so it doesn’t matter. Maybe I’m actually mellowing out.
“Yeah,” he answers.
Or maybe I’m not mellowing because I really want more information and everything’s turning up in dead-ends. “That’s it?”
“There’s not a lot to know.”
This cool tension in the air has become an interesting part of being around Bishop. “There’s more to you. And once I decide I need to know, I’ll figure you out.”
Whatever hint of a smile he used to have is gone. “I don’t doubt it.”
I spin and move back toward the exit, feeling a bit like we’ve talked a step too deep on both ends, and I don’t think that’s what either of us wants today.
“But Penny?”
When I turn to face him, he actually looks vulnerable. I stop and suck in a breath, afraid to speak.
“Don’t dig, okay? Not yet.” He swallows once and the air between us is so still that I hear his weight slowly shift. “Please.”
I wasn’t expecting the “please.” The look on his face softens everything in me. What could be so bad? Why is he hiding? I want to make some smart remark, but even I know now’s not the time. “Okay.”
“Thanks.”
The sudden seriousness between us isn’t what I wanted tonight. The handle is still frozen cold as I pull open the door. I need to do something to lighten things up, but I don’t know what to say. Not after he laid himself out like that.
I glance over my shoulder, suddenly knowing exactly how to handle this. “Now you can try to keep up on the way back.”
“Or since I know the way—you can try to keep up with me.”
Despite his grouchy exterior, I think I’m starting to like him.
Chapter Nine
BISHOP
Penny is nuts.
Badass and gorgeous, but she’s totally nuts. It’s wild that I like that about her, but she’s fun in a way I don’t ever remember having. Things are simp
le with her, and even though I didn’t realize it before, I think I might need simple. When were things simple for you, Bishop Riley?
Working with Gramps pops into my head. And riding with Penny. Even my lame nature walks with Gary. If he asked me that same question in this moment, I think I would tell him right now. Right now is when things are simple.
Thoughts like that send shivers down my spine. Easy, yes, but easy isn’t better. L.A. is fun. I like fun.
The only reason I’m doing okay here is because I like giving Penny shit. I don’t know who else I would have enjoyed beating as much as I liked winning our race back to the house the other night.
Yeah, that’s right. I won. Not by much, but a win is a win. And damn it felt good. As good as I can remember feeling in way too long.
My mind flashes back to the lodge—watching her practically break into the place. Key or no key, I’m pretty sure we could have gotten into trouble for being in there, but like everything else, she pushed in with no fear. I wonder if she’s scared of anything. Well, except maybe leaving home.
My cell rings and I hit the button without looking at who it is. “Hello?”
“Bishop. Hey, sweetie. How are you?” Mom’s voice sounds uncertain, and nausea replaces the calm I just felt. Every time I talk to her, I feel like shit. Hate that even though things aren’t as bad as she seems to think they are, I’m disappointing her. She always believed in me, and it sucks that she doesn’t anymore.
I could have almost died…Would Dad still leave her alone if I wasn’t around?
I shake those thoughts from my head. I didn’t die, and they were probably exaggerating. “Hey, Ma. What’s up?”
“Nothing. Do I need a reason to call my son?”
“No.”
“That’s what I thought.” There’s laughter in her voice. “I miss you, Bishop.”
“Then let me come home.” The words automatically pop out of my mouth, and then I feel guilty. I don’t want to take anything out on her, plus, well, I’m actually having a little fun right now. The thought of going back to Don’s demands, the band, all the traveling…Maybe I can look at this like a little vacation. But then considering Dad called before everything went down, I should be with her instead. Relax, Bishop. Don will help take care of her, like he does when you’re on tour. “Sorry. I didn’t mean that. I just woke up from a nap, so my head’s a little foggy.”
She sighs. “That’s okay. I talked to Gary. He says you’re doing well. That you’ve made some friends there and you’ve been snowmobiling. That’s good, Bishop. You could use that. Friends, fun.”
Snowmachining. It’s snowmachining. I scratch my head, not sure what to say. “I have friends and fun at home.”
“Do you?” There’s no doubt in my mind what she means by that question. She’s asking if Maryanne is really a friend. The guys don’t seem to think so. Are they really my friends? I mean, we’re cool. We’ve been tight for a year and a half, but none of them except Blake came to me before telling Don they thought I had a problem. Blake was always calling and checking in with me.
“I wonder if I did the right thing.” Mom’s voice is soft, unsure. “If I should have let you join so young. If it would have been better if you finished school first instead of just getting your GED. Maybe things would have been different if you’d been older.”
My chest tightens. “Everything’s fine. I would have fought you over it if you tried to stop me. You didn’t do anything wrong. Plus…it helped. It got Dad off our backs.”
She makes a soft sniffing sound, and I know she’s crying. I hate that sound. The need to wipe it away takes me over. “And this? The Alaska thing? I’m actually having fun. You did good, Mom. You did good.”
…
I’m a little on edge after my conversation with Mom. On reflex, I pick up my phone and call Pat. I called him to ask about some drumsticks, and we’ve kind of kept talking since. His love of music is unreal. He’s pretty cool for not telling anyone who I am.
When he doesn’t answer, I toss my cell on the table. My package from Maryanne still hasn’t come, and I’ve been out of pills for a couple days. Which has been okay. I’ve been so busy with Gramps and snowmachining and stuff, I haven’t even thought about it. Much. And I’d still be okay now if it wasn’t for talking to Mom…and the game tonight. I’m sketchy that someone’s going to recognize me. I don’t want to, but I know I need to go to Gary.
It takes about thirty seconds to get to his cabin. “Hey.” He pulls open the door. I’m surprised when I walk in and see Troy’s here. Nice. Gary’s getting a booty-call while he’s supposed to be helping me. And maybe I should hate Troy, because he’s the reason I’m in Alaska instead of a beach for my vacation. But then I think about Penny and the snowmachining and Gramps, and I realize I might not be as pissed as I used to be.
“What’s up?”
Troy nods his head at me from the couch. “How do you like my hometown?”
He’s always been quiet, and I’m wondering if this is the first time I’ve heard him speak.
“Yeah…It’s good…I…”…have no idea what to say to him. I heard you like to climb trees doesn’t sound real good.
Luckily, Gary saves me. “Bishop Ripe. How are you this fine day?”
I shake my head. “Funny. Listen, I’m…” I look over at Troy to see if he’s watching us. It’s embarrassing as hell that I can’t even take my doctor-prescribed anxiety meds without my babysitter’s permission.
With a lowered voice, I lean toward him, “I’m not feeling too hot. Can I get one of my pills?”
Gary looks at me, his eyes crinkling a little around the edges. “Yeah…sure. Come with me.” I follow him to his room, and he shakes one pill into my hand. I put it under my tongue and it starts to melt. It tastes like shit but works a lot faster this way.
“Thanks, man.” I pause for a minute, words struggling to come out. “So you really used to do this? Help people who have a problem? I mean, I don’t. I think that’s pretty obvious, but it was your job?”
Even though Gary and I walk daily, and we have our weekly chats, he doesn’t talk about his job. All the articles he writes are about his experiences in helping people. Up here, it doesn’t feel like he’s really working, sometimes.
He nods, studying me. I think it’s the most serious I’ve ever seen Gary. “I did. It didn’t last very long. It’s tough work. Rewarding and I loved it, but hard. It suits me better to write about it, I think. Listen, I know there’s more going on in that head of yours than you’re sharing. I’ve been easy on you, but maybe we should dig a little deeper next time we talk. It will help. I want to help—”
I cut him off. “I’m fine. I’m heading over to work on the Corvette with Gramps for a while, and then I’m going to Penny’s hockey game.” I’m eighteen years old, and it’s ridiculous I’m practically asking for permission.
“Do you want Troy and me to go with you? Or Troy wouldn’t mind staying here and you and I could hang. It’d be fun.”
Nope. Definitely not my idea of a good time to have my babysitter go with me. “No. I’m good.”
More eye crinkles before I get a simple nod. “Check in with me before you go and when you get home. I’ll also be calling you, and I expect you to answer within two rings. And what I said about our next chat—it’s important and it’s happening.”
Anger pulls and tugs at my insides, but I bite my tongue before nodding, then I turn. I’m almost to the door when Gary calls out, “Hey, Ripe. I’m proud of you. You’re doing good.”
I give him a nod before walking out. He’s the second person who said that to me. I actually feel guilty. He wouldn’t be saying it if he knew about the beer I drank and that I’m waiting for a package of fucking pills to come in the mail.
…
I’ve been working with Gramps for a few hours when he thumps me on the forehead.
“What the hell was that for?” I jerk back, rubbing the spot.
“What’s going on in tha
t head of yours today, Rookie? You’re not being your usual charming self.”
I almost crack a smile at the nickname. Instead, I stand, crossing my arms, not caring that I’m getting grease all over my clothes. “Me? Charming?”
Gramps doesn’t laugh the way I want him to. He’s right. I’m feeling on edge, and I don’t know why. I keep thinking about Mom, Gary, pills, hockey, Penny, the band, Alaska, Maryanne, and whatever else I can jam into my over-packed brain. My thoughts are being tugged in a million different directions, and it makes me want to crawl out of my own skin.
“You might fool some people, but not me.” He walks over, falls into a chair, and I do the same. “How you doing, kid?” It doesn’t bother me, like it does with Don, when he calls me kid.
I shrug. “Okay, I guess. I mean, I’m good, I…” I what? I don’t even fucking know what’s wrong with me.
“Did I ever tell you I was in two wars?”
He has, but I don’t want to embarrass him by pointing out we’ve talked about it a lot. “No, but being as old as you are, I figured.”
This time, Gramps laughs.
“Smartass. Like I was saying, I was in the war. Tough shit, it was. People think they know, but they don’t. If you weren’t there—in any war, there’s no way of knowing what soldiers go through. I think that’s the way it is about most people. It’s easy to sit back and think you know what they’re dealing with, but you don’t. Not unless you walk in their shoes, and most people aren’t willing to borrow someone else’s.”
I nod, wondering where this is going, but knowing he’s right.
“When I came home, I was all screwed up in the head. Drank a lot, trying to deal. Of course, that never works, does it? I wasn’t nice to a lot of people. Blamed a lot of people. It was a hard coupl’a years. But then I met a woman—no, not just a woman, the right woman, and she woke my dumb ass up. I got better, not just for her, but for me. I know what it’s like to struggle, Rookie.”
My leg is bouncing up and down like crazy. My vision goes blurry. He knows. Well, not that I have a problem, because I don’t, but he knows why I’m here. That everyone thinks I need it. Fear that he’ll ask me to leave scrapes at my spine.