Brenna huddles under the overhang of the Ski Wee cabin. Grinder, followed by Coola, glances at her as they amble past on the other side of the fence.
“I know,” she says to them. “It’s gross. Go into your bear den and stay dry. No tourists are going to be crazy enough to come out today.”
As if they understand, they continue across the enclosure through the drizzling rain and finally disappear into the fog. Brenna shivers as a gust of wind drives the rain straight at her.
A human figure emerges from the fog on her side of the fence, carrying a cup in each hand. As soon as she recognizes him she adjusts the ballcap she pulled on when it started raining.
“Hey,” she says as Ryan joins her under the overhang. He hands her a cup. She can smell the hot chocolate even though the cups have lids. “You read my mind. I was just thinking I needed something to warm me up.”
“Yep, I heard your thoughts clear across the mountain.” He leans back against the building and takes a sip. “Where are the boys today?”
“They just walked by. With no tourists to entertain, they’ve probably decided to have an early nap. And maybe they wanted to get out of the rain, though I never really thought it bothered them much. Their coats are so thick.”
“Yeah, it’s a really nasty day. Only Grouse employees on the tram today. Lots of prep to get the mountain ready for the ski season.”
Brenna takes a long swallow. The hot chocolate is rich and creamy. She thinks about the approaching ski season. It will mean that the bears’ habitat will become smaller as the fencing is taken down and stored until spring. The bears will eventually go into their man-made bear den for winter hibernation, oblivious to the skiers, snowboarders and snowshoers.
“So what’s new with you?” Ryan asks after a few moments of comfortable silence.
Brenna continues to warm her hands on her cup. “I got up the nerve to write to my biological aunt and ask her what had become of my mom,” she blurts out.
“Kia.”
“Right.”
“And?”
“That was Wednesday night, and she still hasn’t responded.”
Ryan doesn’t say anything. He’s watching a whiskey jack that has landed on the fence beside them. It fluffs up its feathers, trying to shed the raindrops.
Brenna reaches into her pocket and pulls out a couple of peanuts. She stretches her arm toward the bird. He tilts his head, regarding her, and then flies off the fence, perches on her hand for as long as it takes to swallow the peanuts and flies off.
“Cool!” Ryan says.
“The tourists love it,” Brenna tells him.
“Did you train him to do that?” he asks.
“No, whiskey jacks are really bold. My mom used to feed them when we went camping. I was too scared to in those days.”
The memory is bittersweet. Every time a new one surfaces, she feels a pang of sadness. Will she ever stop missing her? It seems like the more time that goes by, the worse it gets. So much for the theory that it will get easier with time.
“You’re not afraid of them anymore?”
“No.” She smiles. “I can’t even remember why I was so scared of them.”
“So…” Ryan pauses and then says, “How are you going to feel if you never hear back from Angie?”
“Rejected. Again.”
“Again?”
“It feels like Kia rejected me by not staying in touch. Though actually,” she adds, “Dad told me that it was really me who rejected her in the end. I was too shy to go on outings with her.”
Ryan nods.
“But she was the grown-up. I was just a kid. She could have kept trying.” She takes a deep breath and sighs. “I guess I could call Justin, the minister, and see what he can tell me.”
There’s a movement in the bear habitat, and Coola reappears through the mist.
“I guess it isn’t naptime after all,” Brenna says.
They watch as the huge grizzly lumbers past. “He’s gotten fat!” Ryan comments.
“Yeah, they’ve been getting a lot more food these last few weeks. They need to put on a couple hundred pounds each before hibernation.”
“Whoa. That’s so cool.”
“I know.”
“What do you do when they’re in hibernation?”
“I’ll take the winter off and come back in the spring when they wake up.”
“Good thing you’re my hiking partner then.”
She glances at him.
“So that I still get to see you.” He glances at his watch. “I’ve got to go. Same time tomorrow?”
“Yep, and thanks for the hot chocolate. I really needed that today.”
He crumples up his cup and drops it into a garbage bin as he walks away. Brenna expects him to head back across the mountain, but he turns and walks toward her instead. He pauses in front of her and then pulls her into a hug.
“Angie may have good reasons for not wanting to talk about her sister. Try not to read too much into it,” he says.
Brenna is so startled by the hug that she doesn’t return it. After a moment he releases her but quickly kisses her cheek and then runs back into the bank of fog. He turns once to wave before he disappears.
Brenna sinks into the scented bubbles. She’s still chilled to the core from her day on the mountain, but the warm bathwater immediately brings relief. She sighs and closes her eyes. Her thoughts return to Ryan, and she smiles. She’d missed his tram on the trip down the mountain, but she’d seen him in the one going up, which was empty except for him, as the two trams passed each other. She’d waved and he’d waved back, and he kept waving until she couldn’t see his tram anymore.
Sept. 14
It was just a hug and a kiss on the cheek.
It probably means nothing.
I know it means nothing.
I haven’t felt this good in months.
Brenna checks her Facebook messages, hoping to find one from Angie that she might have missed, but there is nothing. She scrolls through the posts from her friends. Most of them contain links to other sites, and she can’t be bothered to open them. She’s about to shut it off when a new message appears.
Hi, Brenna,
Here’s my email address. Write to me here and then I’ll have yours, and we can communicate that way. [email protected]
Thanks,
Angie
As quickly as she can, Brenna copies the address, opens her email account and pastes it in the To field. In the subject line she types My email and then hits Send. She sits back and stares at her inbox. Five minutes pass. Ten minutes. She realizes how fast her breathing has become. What if Angie doesn’t get back to her tonight? Not able to sit still any longer, she gets up and stretches, then bends into a forward fold. She raises her arms, stands and flows into a sun salutation. After five of them she glances at her computer, but there are no new messages. She drops to the floor, lies on her back and moves into a twist, first on the right side, then on the left. She holds them as long as she can. When she looks up at her computer again, she sees that there is a new message in her inbox. Scrambling back into her chair, she clicks on the message.
From: [email protected]
To: [email protected]
Hi, Brenna,
This is better. Thanks.
So, you asked about Kia. She works for an organization called Aid-A-Child International. Her job is to supervise volunteers working in orphanages in Africa. She has a passion for children. Most of these kids have AIDS. She’s been in Uganda for over a year.
I should tell you, I don’t think Kia would be very happy to hear that we are connecting this way. I really only wanted to write to tell you how sorry I was about your mom and couldn’t see the harm in that. I didn’t anticipate that we’d stay in touch, but I’m glad we have.
Tell me a little about yourself, Brenna. What school do you go to? What do you like to do when you’re not at school? I’m finishing up my university degree this year. I took time off
after high school to work and travel. I hope to teach high school in the near future.
Angie
Brenna reads the letter twice. Kia? Working with orphans? She quickly googles Uganda and brings up a map of Africa to locate the country. It is on the east side of the continent and straddles the equator. Kia couldn’t get much farther away. Then Brenna looks up Aid-A-Child and reads about the work it does. It would be difficult, in hard conditions. Working with orphans, especially the ones with AIDS, would be especially hard.
Brenna shuts off the computer without responding to Angie. She lies on her bed and stares at the ceiling. Eventually she picks up her journal again.
I should be proud of Kia.
I’m not.
She’s so far away, doing important work.
She’s probably forgotten me.
I know those children need her.
But I need her too.
Brenna lies in bed on Sunday morning, still trying to absorb the new information about Kia. She picks up her pen and continues to write.
Sept. 15
Why would she be unhappy that Angie has contacted me? That hurts.
She’s not going to step back into my life. I am so stupid.
Everything sucks. What’s the matter with me? And I am not going to be Ryan’s project. I’m so pathetic.
She picks up her phone and texts Ryan.
Hey, Ryan. I’m not up to hiking today. Actually, I don’t think the hikes are working out. Thanks anyway. I’ll probably see you on my next shift.
nine
The cure for anything is salt water—sweat, tears, or the sea.
(ISAK DINESEN, OUT OF AFRICA)
Brenna slams the fridge door. “There’s nothing good to eat in this house.”
Naysa and their father glance at each other. “Put whatever you’re craving on the grocery list and I’ll pick it up next time I’m shopping,” he says. “You know the deal,” he adds quietly.
“Are you hiking today?” Naysa asks. She’s doing homework at the kitchen table.
“No, I gave that up.”
“Oh.” Naysa glances at her father again. He shrugs.
Brenna stomps back to her room and checks her phone. There’s a message, a sad-face emoji, from Ryan. She throws the phone onto her bed.
The weather has cleared overnight, so she grabs her biology textbook, Kia’s journal and a soft blanket and goes outside to the sundeck. Pulling a lounge chair into a sunny corner, she snuggles down under the blanket, opens the textbook and turns to where she left off, but even though her eyes skim the lines of print, nothing reaches her brain. She leans back in the deck chair and closes her eyes. The sun is warm on her face.
An hour passes. She’s aware of the doorbell ringing but has drifted into a dreamlike state. It’s probably a neighbor dropping off yet another casserole. Or brownies. She’s grown tired of casseroles—they still receive a few each week. But she also knows that when they stop coming, she will wonder if it means people are beginning to forget her mom. She’d happily continue eating casseroles if it kept her mother’s memory alive. Gifts of comfort food are symbols of love—
“Hello, Brenna.”
A deep voice startles Brenna out of her light nap. Sitting up, she swivels around and finds Ryan standing on the deck behind her.
“Your dad let me in.”
“Oh.” Brenna slumps back down in the chair, embarrassed. “Hi.”
“Can I join you?” he asks.
She nods and uses a foot to push a chair toward him.
“I came to see if you’re okay,” he says, “and to find out why you suddenly quit hiking.”
“I never actually liked hiking—you know that.”
“Maybe not, but you were willing to give it a try, and you liked being on the mountain.”
She doesn’t answer, and for the first time since he’s arrived she looks up and meets his eyes. He’s studying her face.
“Was it something I said?” he asks. “Or something I did?”
She knows he’s referring to the hug and kiss on her cheek. “No,” she says, quickly looking away. “It’s just too hard. I don’t have it in me right now.” She closes her eyes again.
“Is that Kia’s journal?” he asks, referring to the small book on her lap.
“Yeah.”
He doesn’t respond. After a moment Brenna opens her eyes to see if he’s even still there. He is.
“We could do a different hike today,” he says. “An easier one. I was probably being a tyrant about doing the Grind so often when you haven’t worked up to it.”
Brenna shrugs.
“There’s a really nice one just down the road. Quarry Rock.”
“I’ve done Quarry Rock. The whole world has hiked Quarry Rock.”
“Then you know it’s not hard. Come on. We could be done in an hour and a half and you could get back to your book.” He takes the biology textbook off her lap and scans the cover. “Obviously a riveting read.”
She smiles a little despite herself.
“So, what do you say?”
She hesitates but then looks into his face. The warmth of his smile melts her resolve. “Okay. I’m not getting much studying done anyway.” She climbs out of her chair. “Let me get changed.”
Ryan holds up his hand for a high five. “Attagirl!”
She smacks it, but her hand is limp.
After sliding into some yoga pants and a T-shirt, Brenna finds that Ryan has joined Naysa at the kitchen table. “Your little sister is a math genius,” he tells Brenna. He hands her a sheet with 10/10 scrawled across the top. “This is her first math quiz of the year, and she nailed it.”
“Yeah, Naysa got all the brains in this family,” she says, then realizes how stupid that is. It isn’t like they share the same genes.
At the Quarry Rock lookout they find at least a dozen other hikers sprawled across the flat outcrop, enjoying the view. Ryan takes Brenna’s hand and pulls her closer to the cliff edge. “Want to sit here for a bit? Soak up some rays?”
She nods but she hardly notices the rays. A pulse of electricity had jolted her entire body at the touch of his hand.
The sunlight sparkles on the water far below them. Indian Arm, as the fjord is called, is speckled with recreational boaters enjoying one of the last Sundays of the boating season.
Ryan lets go of Brenna’s hand as they sit down, but he takes it again and squeezes gently. “I never get tired of this view,” he says.
Brenna wonders if her hand is sweaty or if she should squeeze back. Why did he even take her hand?
“It’s so different than the view from Grouse,” he continues. “Up there, you see the city with the high-rises and bridges, all the engineering genius of humankind. Here you see only ocean, sky and forest.”
“The engineering genius of Mother Nature.”
Brenna senses, rather than sees, Ryan’s smile. “Or God’s genius,” he says.
“Different names, same thing.”
He squeezes her hand again. “That so sounds like something your mom would have said.”
She laughs. “She did. I stole the line from her. I’ve been waiting years for the chance to use it.”
Ryan lets go of her hand and wraps his arm around her shoulder, pulling her against him. “You’re too funny, Brenna.”
She leans into him and tries to relax, noticing how her dark mood has lifted. All her senses have heightened, and she can practically feel the endorphins bouncing around in her bloodstream. Breathing in a lungful of fresh air, she watches as a sailboat comes about in the water below the lookout. It seems to be heeling precariously low in the water.
Ryan leans his face against her hair. She senses him inhaling deeply, breathing her in. “Did something not so good happen this morning?” he asks.
Brenna feels those same endorphins scramble back to where they came from. She sits up straighter. “Not really.”
Ryan remains quiet.
“I got an email from Angie last night,”
she admits finally.
“Oh.” Ryan doesn’t say anything for a moment. His arm begins to feel heavy on her shoulder. “You didn’t like what she said?”
Brenna shrugs. She feels her eyes begin to well up with tears, but she blinks hard, forcing herself to remain in control. “Apparently, Kia, my birth mom, works for Aid-A-Child. She oversees volunteers who work in orphanages.”
She feels Ryan sit up, and he pulls his arm off her shoulder so he can turn to look more closely at her. “Is that a bad thing?”
“No. But she’s working in Africa. With kids who have AIDS.”
“Whoa! That’s so cool!”
Brenna shrugs. “And Angie didn’t think Kia would be happy that she had contacted me.”
“Did she say why?”
“No.”
“It could be for a lot of reasons.”
“I guess.”
Ryan picks up her hand again and cradles it in both of his. She stares at the white crescents at the base of his nails.
They continue to watch the boating activity in silence. A breeze sends little ripples across the water, while a shiver ripples up Brenna’s spine.
“You’re cooling off,” Ryan says. “We should head back down.”
Brenna nods, but she’s reluctant to let go of Ryan’s hand. Sometime in the last few minutes their fingers have intertwined. She likes the feel of his strong fingers squeezing hers, and she no longer cares if hers are sweaty. Ryan doesn’t seem to mind.
As she follows him down the twisting trail she wonders about his life, feeling a twinge of guilt that they’re always talking about hers. “Did you say you never actually finished high school?” she asks.
“No, not actually.” He smiles at her over his shoulder. “Another reason I appreciated your mom for hiring me. It’s hard to get a job without a high school diploma.”
“You didn’t want to go to school in Vancouver?”
He shrugs. “I never intended to stay in Canada this long. I always thought I’d go back and finish school at home.”
“But you haven’t.”
“Not yet. But I will.”
Dancing in the Rain Page 8