by Beth Orsoff
"That’s great," I said, snapping my wireless headset onto my ear, leaving my hands free to e-mail and IM. "Who are you going to send?"
"Sydney, you know what a small operation we are. Can’t you find someone?"
"No." I had the authority to send our interns to Starbucks and the dry cleaners, not to Alaska.
"Are you sure? Because this is our only hope. And I already got the guy at wildlife to agree. The refuge is owned by the state so he can’t give us official permission. But he said since you’ll only be shooting for a few days, he can issue camping permits for you, Blake, and your cameraman and tell the refuge’s manager to look the other way."
I leaned back in my chair and rubbed my temples to try to get rid of the massive headache that four aspirin had been unable to cure. "Okay, let me see what I can do."
"Just hurry," she said. "They have strict limits on the number of visitors they allow each season. If we don’t decide soon, he’ll find another volunteer and give the permits away."
I ran down to Rick’s suite and had to swear on my life it was an emergency just to convince his assistant Cheryl to let me in.
"I’m sorry to interrupt," I said nodding at Steve Goldberg, our in-house counsel.
Steve smiled. "It’s okay. We’re done anyway."
I’ve always liked Steve, but I had no time for pleasantries. "Rick, I need your permission to send one of the interns up to Wilde Island."
"For how long?" he asked.
"Just the summer."
"Are you out of your mind?"
"Where’s Wilde Island?" Steve asked, as he stood up and stretched.
"Alaska," I said, before I turned back to Rick. I recounted the latest developments and waited for his reply.
"I don’t think that’s a good idea," Steve said before Rick had even offered an opinion.
"Why not?" we both asked.
"Because the interns aren’t employees. They’re not covered on the company’s insurance. If anything happened to them while they were up there, the firm would be liable."
"What do you think’s going to happen to them? It’s a walrus refuge, for God’s sake. They probably have a greater chance of getting hit by a bus on a coffee run than getting injured on some stupid island in the middle of nowhere."
Steve and I both turned to Rick. "Sorry, Sydney, you’ll need to find another way. One that doesn’t put the firm at risk."
I knew I’d never convince him with Steve in the room. "What if we sent an employee?" I asked Steve. "Would that be okay?"
"Yes, we’d be covered for that."
"Absolutely not," Rick said before I even proffered a name.
"What if it’s not for the whole summer? What if it’s just for a few weeks, a month at the most?"
"And who would we send?" Rick asked.
"Me," I said, without thinking.
They both burst our laughing.
"What’s so funny?"
"The only thing funnier than the thought of you in Alaska," Rick said, "is Lindsay there too," which started Steve snickering again.
"So I can go if I bring Lindsay?" That’s how desperate I was!
"No," Rick said, suddenly serious. "Sydney, the firm has other clients besides Blake. You can’t abandon them all to produce his movie."
"I’m not abandoning them. I’ll bring my laptop and cell and work from there. C’mon, Rick, you know I spend most of my day on the phone anyway. What’s the difference if I’m making calls from my office or from thousands of miles away?"
I tried persuading, cajoling, and when both failed, begging. Eventually Rick relented. "Only because I think your idea has merit," he declared. "Otherwise I’d never allow it. And so long as you understand if this thing goes south, it’s your head on the chopping block."
At that moment I was so happy I could’ve kissed him, but I restrained myself. It was only later that night when I was lying in bed, alone and unable to sleep, that I realized the enormity of what I’d gotten myself into. Having to go to Alaska for a month was the least of it. The worst was that I’d left myself no room for error. If I couldn’t make this documentary a success then not only would I lose Blake, I’d lose my job too.
Chapter 9
I tried to communicate that to Jill, that my only reason for being on the island was the documentary, and between that and my day job, I really didn’t have time to "volunteer" for the refuge too.
"I see," she replied, but I wasn’t sure she did. I was about to try again when she said, "Sydney, let me explain something to you. As you’ve probably already noticed, the refuge has limited resources."
A massive understatement.
"We don’t have the budget to hire a staff for the summer, so we rely on volunteers to fill the gap. Though as you can see," she continued, gesturing to the small kitchen, "our space is quite limited. So we have to make the most of what we’ve got."
"I understand." And I did. I just didn’t see how that changed anything.
"Do you? Because I want to be clear. Since you’ve come up here as a volunteer, I need you to actually be a volunteer, as in work."
"Of course I’d be happy to help out in whatever way I can." I’d write her a few press releases extolling the virtues of Wilde Island if it would get her off my back.
"I’m glad to hear that," she said. "As I explained earlier, our biggest priority this summer is replacing the damaged sections of the trail and then extending it to the north side of the island. We’ve also got some other maintenance projects that need tending to."
"Other maintenance projects?" Was I unclear about my time constraints, not to mention my abilities?
Jill smiled. "Don’t worry. Nothing too strenuous. We’re not here to exploit people. Obviously you came to learn about the walruses and the other wildlife on the island, and I’ll make sure you have plenty of time for that too."
Despite my conviction that P.R. was my calling, I was clearly failing in my attmept to communicate. But I kept my mouth shut and the smile pasted on my face until she’d finished describing all the jobs she had planned for me.
"So we understand each other?" Jill said.
"Absolutely," I replied. "Can you just direct me to an outlet so I can plug in my sat phone? I’m not sure if the battery’s charged." I’d let Hillary Troy be the one to explain to her that my volunteer services would be limited to whatever I could squeeze in between my day job and prepping for the documentary.
Jill just looked confused. "Sydney, you do know we have no electricity?"
"Since when?"
"Forever."
"What about the computer?" Desktops don’t run on batteries.
"It’s plugged into a solar converter, and we have a back-up generator for when the storms kick in."
I stepped out into the main room of the cabin. That’s what was missing—lamps. Even modern houses with lots of recessed lighting always have a fixture over the dining room table. But not this one. No TV either. I returned to the kitchen and scanned the counter. No microwave, no toaster, not even a coffeemaker. Just the old-fashioned percolator sitting on the stove.
"But you have a refrigerator." It was taller and narrower than most, but it was definitely a working fridge. I’d pulled the condiments out of it myself.
"It runs off propane," she said. "The stove and the water pump too."
"You can’t be serious?"
"I assure you, Sydney, we have no electricity."
"What about at night? What do you use for light?"
"Propane lamps," Jill said, lowering the flame on the burner before the water could boil over. "Or we use candles. Although we normally don’t need them until August when the sun starts to set a bit earlier. For most of the summer, we get by on natural light."
That explained why there were no blinds on any of the windows. I’d assumed it was because there were no nosy neighbors to worry about. "This is like living in the nineteenth century."
Jill laughed. "Except for the computer, the phone, and the hot water heater."<
br />
Well, at least they had hot water.
I arranged my laptop and satellite phone on the office’s unoccupied desk. Thankfully the battery was already charged, and I still had some power left on my computer. It was too late to call the foundation, the offices would surely be closed, but I could still send Hillary an e-mail.
It took me twenty minutes to compose a message that got my point across ("I trust you’ll explain to Jill that my day job is integral to the success of the documentary, both of which take precedence over volunteer work") without sounding shrill (I deleted all the curse words and exclamation points). After I saved the draft, I pulled out the sat phone manual and followed the instructions for connecting to the internet. Then I pointed the antenna toward the window, dialed the access code, and waited. Nothing.
"Mother fucker!"
Which was followed by a sharp intake of breath, not my own.
Chapter 10
I spun around to find Jake standing in the doorway to the office, wide-eyed, both hands covering his mouth.
"What’s wrong?"
He lowered his hands long enough to tell me, "You said a bad word."
It took me a second to figure it out. I wasn’t used to spending time around little kids. "Sorry, Jake. I shouldn’t have said that." Note to self: No more cursing (at least not in front of Jake).
"Don’t worry, Sydney, I won’t tell. Mommy said you should come inside for dinner."
I looked at my watch and was surprised to see it was eight-thirty. The dark clouds that had been hovering over the island all day had finally blown out, and it was actually lighter outside now than it had been this morning when I’d arrived. "When does it get dark here?"
"Late," Jake said, and bounded out of the room like a puppy. I found him hovering over Sean, who was sitting on the living room floor with Tony, Brie, and Duncan, a Scrabble board between them. Ethan was the only one not playing. He was lying on the recliner with his eyes closed and a thick book opened in his lap.
"Something smells good," I said, continuing on into the kitchen where I found Jill pouring dirty oil from a frying pan into a metal can. "Need any help?"
"Sure," she said. "Why don’t you take the chicken to the table and get everyone to sit down."
"Dinner," I called, as I set down the platter. Jake ran in and sat in his preferred seat next to the head of the table, but nobody else moved. I walked the ten feet into the living room. "Did you hear me? Dinner’s ready."
"We heard you," Brie said, without looking up from her tiles. "We’ll be right there."
I turned to the recliner, which was when I noticed Ethan’s headphones. "Ethan, dinner’s ready," I said, a little louder this time.
His thick lashes fluttered open, and he looked up at me from dark blue eyes. "No need to shout."
"I—" before I could finish, Jill yelled "dinner," and they all stampeded to the table.
Since I was the last to sit down, I ended up with the wobbly metal folding chair on the end. Ethan was second to last, so he ended up with the non-wobbly metal folding chair next to me.
"Anyone want to switch places?" I asked, directing my gaze at Duncan, who seemed like he might be the most receptive. He’d been the nicest to me since I’d arrived.
"Sorry, love," he said, grabbing a drumstick as Jill passed him the platter, "maybe next time."
"Haven’t you heard?" Ethan said, twisting the cap off his beer bottle. "Chivalry is dead."
Maybe, but I still had manners. When I poured the last of the water into my glass, I went to the kitchen to refill the pitcher. I was just about to stick it under the faucet when Jill yelled, "Sydney, no!"
I jumped back, dropping the container onto the floor. Luckily it was plastic and survived the fall. "What’d I do?"
"The tap water’s not safe to drink. There’s another pitcher in the fridge."
"You mean this was bottled water?" It should’ve tasted a lot better.
Jill shook her head. "No, it’s from the tap, but I boiled it, so it’s safe."
It was like being trapped on an island in Mexico, except it was cold and rainy and everyone spoke English.
After dinner, Brie and the "boys" as she called them returned to their Scrabble game, Jill went up to the loft with Jake, and I tried again to get my satellite phone to work. After three failed attempts, I was reduced to smacking it on the desk, hoping the problem was a loose wire I could knock back into place.
"They say violence never solves anything."
I looked up and found Ethan in the doorway, a beer in one hand and his book in the other. "The odds are better with electronics." At least with TV remotes.
"You do know satellite phones don’t work indoors."
"Since when? The manual says all you need is an unobstructed view of the sky."
"And do you have one?"
"Did you not notice the antenna aimed at the window?" I left out the "asshole." I hadn’t yet forgiven him for the remark about my father wanting a son, probably because I knew it was true. My mother denied it for years even after my father left, but it slipped out one day while we were arguing over the length (or lack thereof) of my mini-skirt.
"And what’s on the other side of the window?"
I glanced outside. Even at ten o’clock at night the sky was streaked with bands of pink and the occasional pocket of blue. "You mean besides cold air?"
"Tall grass," he said. "It doesn’t take much to block the signal." Then he grabbed the phone from my hand.
I followed him all the way to the cabin door, but he was still wearing his boots and I was down to one pair of socks, so I watched from the doorway as he walked in a circle holding the phone out in front of him. I had just pulled on my second boot when he’d gotten it to beep and the red light to turn green. By the time I’d zipped up my jacket, he’d lost the signal again.
"They’re like that," he said, tossing the phone at me as I stepped outside and he headed in. "The satellites are constantly moving, so you have to catch them when they’re overhead."
I managed to lock onto a signal long enough to send my e-mail, but by then the Scrabble game had broken up and everyone had gone to bed. With nothing else to do, I did too. Although Jill had convinced me to sleep in the tent (she swore she’d never seen a spider on Wilde Island, and this was her fourth season), she told me the platform needed to dry out and I’d have to spend my first night in the cabin anyway.
I grabbed my pillow, sleeping bag, and sweats from the pile of luggage I’d stacked in the corner of the living room and climbed the ladder to the loft.
"I guess I’m bunking with you," I said to Brie, who was cocooned in a blanket, reading a book in the dwindling gray light.
"As you can see, it’s party central around here," she said, as she rolled over to afford me some privacy while I undressed and tucked myself in. After a while she shut her book but she kept shifting positions, so I knew she was still awake.
"So what have you been up to for the last sixteen years?" I asked, too wired to even attempt to fall asleep. "Do you still live in Grover’s Point?"
"No, Seattle. I’m finishing up my Ph.D at U.W."
I was impressed. "Let me guess—marine biology?" I was pretty sure that’s the category walruses would fall into.
"Pathobiology. I’m part of a research group studying host factors for HIV and AIDS. Once I finish my degree, I’ll move onto field work—either Kenya or Peru—I haven’t decided yet. They both have a great need."
Wow, now I was really impressed. And feeling a bit shallow too. The only needs I fulfilled were the ridiculous demands of pampered celebrities. "And you think walruses can somehow help cure AIDS?"
"Oh no, the walruses have nothing to do with it. I’m just here to work on my thesis."
Now I was confused. "Couldn’t you do that back in Seattle?"
"Yes, but there are less distractions here."
Undoubtedly true, but almost certainly an excuse. There were only two possible reasons any sane person would come to
Wilde Island—for the walruses, or for a significant other. If she wasn’t there for the walruses . . . . "So how long have you known Duncan?" It had to be him. Her eyes never left him whenever he was in the room.
She let out a laugh. "That depends. Are we counting from when we first met or from when he actually remembers meeting me?"
"How big’s the difference?"
"Over a year," she said, then explained. "The first time was when I stuck a three-inch needle into his butt."
"I’d sure as hell remember someone who did that to me. Although not fondly."
She let out another laugh. "Duncan knew what he was in for. Mine wasn’t his first drug trial."
"Duncan’s sick?" I had no idea. He looked perfectly healthy to me.
"No, he was part of the control group. Lots of students volunteer for drug trials because they pay hundreds of dollars and require very little time."
Aaah, that made more sense. I wished I knew about this when I was in college.
"I stuck him three times in six months, although he never remembered my name," she continued. "Then I ran into him at a bar near campus."
"And that’s when he remembered you?"
"No," she said. "That’s when he asked for my phone number, then never called. Then six months ago I was standing in line for coffee at a teaching assistant’s orientation when I heard someone order tea with a charming Irish accent."
"And that’s when he remembered you?"
"At least he pretended to," Brie said. "Although I didn’t really believe him. But I still said yes when he asked me out to dinner the next night."
"And you’ve been together ever since?"
In the last rays of gray light filtering through the loft’s window, I saw her smile disappear. "Not exactly."
"Oh." My big mouth strikes again. Although it was clear there was something going on between them, or she wouldn’t be here. "So you dated for a while but now you’re taking a break?"
"Something like that," she said, and rolled over so she had her back to me.