Melt

by Robbi McCoy

  “Nej tak. I’ll be going home.”

  Mrs. Arensen withdrew from the doorway.

  “What’s wrong?” Pippa asked. “You look like you’ve been stabbed in the stomach.”

  “Pickled salmon?”

  “You don’t like it?”

  “I have no idea. I’ve never had it, but to do that to a beautiful, fresh piece of fish, it’s just criminal. I mean, holy cow, we’re going to eat it tonight, not for Christmas! I know you can’t get fresh fruit and vegetables, but you definitely have fresh fish. So why go and do that to it?”

  “The Danish like things pickled. You might like it too.”

  Kelly shook her head dejectedly and looked at the window where the rain still blasted against it. “When do you think you’ll be back to work?”

  “A few more days. In the meantime, as soon as the weather lets up I’m going back to the cave.”

  “What?” Kelly was alarmed.

  “I have to go back to finish Asa’s story. I don’t think I can connect with her anywhere else.”

  “I hope you’re not serious.”

  “I am serious. If I go by boat, I can get close enough for a short walk. It’s less than a kilometer inland, don’t you think?”

  “Your father will let you take a boat out alone?”

  “He gave up a long time ago trying to force me into a traditional mold. I’m a modern woman.”

  “But your ankle,” Kelly objected.

  “It’s a lot better. It’s a short hike. I can take a walking stick. I’m fine, really. Don’t worry.” Pippa peered earnestly into Kelly’s eyes. “I’ve just got to go back. I have to find out what happened to Asa and her daughter.”

  Kelly could tell she had her mind made up. “Then I’ll come with you. Even if your ankle’s okay and you’re a modern woman, nobody should take a boat out alone.”

  Pippa nodded her assent as they heard the front door slam shut. Kelly glanced at the antique-looking cuckoo clock on the wall to see that it was five thirty.

  “Must be Annalise coming home from work,” she said.

  Annalise, who taught a business course in town, was the only person in this house who could go to work on a day like this. A moment later she wandered past the open doorway.

  “Hi, Annalise!” Pippa called.

  The young woman stopped to look in, blinking through her water-spotted glasses. She wore a navy blue skirt, pale stockings and black flats. She was short and plump and extremely conservative looking, especially for a woman in her early twenties. She wore no makeup, no jewelry, and looked a lot like a Catholic schoolgirl. Kelly knew almost nothing about her, except that she lived in Nuuk and would be returning there at the end of the summer.

  “Hi, Pippa,” she responded, smiling. The rest of their conversation was in Greenlandic, a hasty dialogue of small talk before Annalise retired to her room.

  “She’s nice,” Pippa remarked.

  “Yes, and very quiet. No trouble at all. I think Mrs. Arensen is in love with her.”

  Pippa giggled as Chuck came in and grabbed his heavy coat off the rack.

  “Hey,” Kelly called, “why’s everybody going out tonight?”

  “Aren’t you coming?” He put on his worn Panama hat. Like his Van Halen T-shirt, it was a treasured part of his wardrobe.

  “I think I must have missed this memo. What’s going on?”

  “Oh, sorry. I was supposed to tell you. Slipped my mind.” He pulled on his coat, wrapping the muffler around his neck. “It’s a birthday party for Waddell. He’s thirty-five today. We’re all invited. Come on. We’ve got the hotel van coming to pick us up. You too Pippa. I’ll go tell Elsa we’re all going, then I’ll meet you out front.”

  Kelly sprang off the couch. “The good news is that the pickled salmon will still be edible tomorrow.”

  “And the bad news?” Pippa asked.

  “The pickled salmon will still be edible tomorrow.” Kelly laughed and extended a hand to help Pippa off the couch.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Out of utter frustration, Julie half screamed, half growled and let go of the corner of the plastic tarp she was trying to tie down. It flapped wildly in the wind. The rain pelted relentlessly down on them as they worked to cover the supplies and equipment. Jordan hugged the hood of her parka closer around her face, feeling chilled through.

  “I’ll do it,” she offered, stepping in and grabbing the rope. “Go inside.”

  While the rain bombarded her, she managed to tie the corner down over their food supplies. Everything that could be damaged by water was now either inside or covered. But the camp was a sloggy mess and all of them were wet and cold. The sky was still dark gray and the rain showed no sign of letting up. It was going to be a miserable night.

  “Fuck!” muttered Brian, standing in front of her with his arms laden with blankets.

  “What’s the matter now?” Jordan asked.

  “Our spare blankets are wet. All we’ve got is what’s already in the tents.”

  Jordan observed his grim expression, then looked at her bedraggled group. Water dripped from the tip of Malik’s nose and Sonja bounced up and down on the balls of her feet trying to generate warmth.

  “We’re going to town!” Jordan declared. “Three weeks of cold, dirt and mosquitoes and we deserve a vacation.”

  “What?” Sonja asked, stepping under the tarp. “We’re going to a hotel?”

  “Yes. There’s a gorgeous, modern hotel with a great bar and restaurant.”

  “How expensive?” Julie asked.

  “Don’t worry. My treat. Let me call and see if they have rooms.”

  “We can’t leave all the equipment,” Malik interjected.

  Jordan glanced around the camp, realizing he was right. It was extremely unlikely that anyone would happen along and take anything, but they couldn’t risk it. For a brief moment, she had felt buoyant, contemplating a long soak in a deep, hot bubble bath.

  “No, of course we can’t,” she agreed. “I’ll stay. The rest of you can go.”

  She moved toward her tent to call the hotel.

  “I can stay,” Malik called after her, his voice buffeted by the wind. “It will not bother me. This is just a balmy summer rain.”

  Jordan turned to observe his reassuring smile. He nodded his encouragement. One woman’s freezing monsoon…, she mused.

  “Yes!” he assured her. “You go enjoy yourself. I used to camp out here all the time. This is nothing to me. It is just rain. Atka will keep me company and we will have a good time.”

  She hugged him gratefully. “I owe you one, big time.”

  She called the hotel and reserved three rooms, one for the girls, one for Brian and one for herself. It was an expensive indulgence, but she knew it would be worth it.

  After hastily packing overnight bags, they piled into the boat. Malik untied it from the dock and tossed the rope on deck. He waved as they pulled away, his face in shadow under the hood of his parka, his dog sitting calmly beside him as shimmering sheets of water covered them both.

  “Don’t you get the feeling,” Julie said, “that as soon as we’re out of sight, he’ll turn into a wolf and the two of them will go running over the mountains howling at the moon?”

  Jordan chuckled. “I don’t know about that, but I do think he’ll enjoy the solitude.”

  An hour and a half later, Jordan was alone in her hotel room. She drew a hot bath and sank into it, the chill in her bones gradually dissipating. She washed her hair, working up a rich lather and enjoying the long, sensuous experience of both abundant hot running water and privacy. She washed herself all over with a soapy washcloth, slowly and thoroughly, then she shaved her legs and underarms until they were silky smooth. She finally and reluctantly left the bathtub, drying herself with a thick towel, rubbing lotion into her arms and legs, then drying her hair with the hotel blow-dryer.

  This luxurious ritual took nearly two hours from start to finish. Afterward, she finally felt civilized. She enjoyed f
ield camp, but among the things she missed most was clean hair. What the others missed most, she imagined, was their families, friends and lovers. It seems a little pathetic, she thought, that the main thing I miss is clean hair. But there was no one waiting for her at home.

  During these summer sojourns, that was usually the case. Even when she was dating someone, it wasn’t the sort of situation that left anyone yearning for nightly online video chats like Brian and his wife. Her relationships were often casual and short-lived. If the length of a relationship was a measure of its success, then hers were all failures. Luckily, she had her career as a measure of her success.

  Through the course of these several short, unsatisfactory relationships, one important lesson she’d learned was never to date someone you couldn’t afford to lose from your life. Like a close friend or a great doctor or your favorite barista—all people she had lost after a brief love affair. These people were hard to replace. The barista more than most, she lamented, recalling that she could no longer stop at The Jumping Bean on her way to class because of Absinthe. Going there had been one of life’s simple pleasures. Absinthe had seemed a little odd to Jordan at first, somewhat edgy with her numerous tattoos, intimate piercings and her in-your-face insolence, but she made a damned good cup of coffee and never failed to swirl a cheerful image on top of her latte. Originally it had been the letter “J,” but after she started her romantic pursuit of Jordan, it had been the shape of a heart, touchingly perfect in creamy beige foam.

  Maybe it was Absinthe’s appearance of hardness that had appealed to Jordan in the first place. After her humiliating love affair with Teresa Marquette, she had avoided dating completely until she had obtained her doctorate and secured a position at Boulder. Even then, when she ventured out again, she did so with extreme caution. She eventually learned something that Teresa had demonstrated well, that one could enjoy the company of a lover and the intimacy of lovemaking without the debilitating component of love. In Jordan’s experience, being in love was too much like being insane, and she had no intention of inviting that disaster on herself again.

  For all her outward show of bitterness, Absinthe had turned into a too saccharine refreshment. After a few weeks, she began to voice the usual recriminations. “Don’t you have any feelings for me at all?”

  “Of course I do,” Jordan had answered. “I think you’re fun and sexy and good in bed.”

  “That’s not what I mean,” Absinthe replied, shoving Jordan into that uncomfortable corner that she dreaded, where anything honest she could say would be a disappointment.

  These sorts of questions or their counterpart statements, like, “I love you,” always signaled the end of a relationship to Jordan. Those three words were a blaring alarm, an attack, like a torpedo sent to blast her out of the water, calling for evasive maneuvers.

  Since Teresa, she had never said those words to anyone. She didn’t think she ever would. When she had said them to Teresa, her response had seemed one of triumph. So Jordan had interpreted it later, the satisfied smile, the sigh of contentment, and the anticipated echo of, “Oh, my darling, I love you too!” At least Jordan had never said it falsely, nor would she consider it, even as a patch over the insecurities of someone like Absinthe.

  “Because of you,” Jordan had said, trying to lighten the mood with Absinthe, “I now know the unique joy of metal as a component of lovemaking.” She had drawn Absinthe close and sucked on the ring through her bottom lip. “Before you, it was all feathers and silk and leather. Now, the cool sleek sensation of steel quickens my pulse.”

  Absinthe had pulled away, saying, “I’m serious, Jordan.”

  Seeing that the question had to be answered, Jordan relented and told the truth. “I like you,” she said. “We have fun together and I enjoy your company. I hope that’s enough.”

  But it wasn’t enough, as Jordan knew it wouldn’t be as soon as Absinthe had asked the question. If it had been enough, she wouldn’t have asked.

  Absinthe and The Jumping Bean were part and parcel, so there was no going back there now. Jordan sighed. She missed Absinthe. Not Absinthe the lover, but Absinthe the barista.

  These days dating just didn’t seem worth it anymore. The pleasure of having a woman in her bed was erased by the emotional demands that inevitably emerged as predictably as thunder after lightning, usually by the third week. She was beginning to think that she preferred being alone. Life was so much easier that way.

  She finished dressing in a lightweight sweater and casual pants, luxuriating in the feeling of real cleanliness, and went upstairs. At the entrance to the bar she noticed Julie carrying two brandy glasses toward the restaurant. Normally in a ponytail, her hair was loose tonight, flowing over her shoulders, giving her a decidedly softer than usual look.

  “That looks good,” Jordan remarked, tapping one of the brandy glasses.

  “Oh, hi. We were beginning to wonder if you were coming out at all tonight.”

  “The truth is, I could easily just crawl into bed until morning and be happy.”

  “We’re in the restaurant having dessert. Come on in.”

  “I will. Let me get one of those first.”

  After ordering a brandy, she entered the restaurant, searching for her group. Just as she spotted them, a noisy table distracted her and she glanced over. The first person she recognized was Kelly. Jordan caught her breath. She’d already forgotten what Kelly looked like in this older incarnation. The image in her mind the last few days had reverted back to the twenty-one- year old. The thirty-year-old, unaware of her admirer, sat so her reflection in the window provided a three-dimensional view of her face. She wore a long-sleeved topaz-colored blouse over brown pants. Her legs were crossed at the knee and she appeared relaxed and engaged with her friends.

  Sitting next to her was a petite young woman, a Greenlander with incredibly beautiful blue eyes and long brown hair. The girl bumped playfully against Kelly, smiling happily at her. She looked all of sixteen, the picture of joyful innocence. Pippa, Jordan presumed. Not what she had expected. She had thought she’d be more sophisticated, that she would transcend her physical age in bearing and appearance. But it was just the opposite.

  Chuck Lance was also present, accounting for the boisterousness of the group, and a couple of young men Jordan didn’t know. She proceeded to her team’s table and put her glass down at an empty spot, noting their half-eaten desserts.

  “Hi, Jordan,” Brian said. “Do you want something to eat?”

  “I’ll have one of those brownies.” She pointed to Julie’s plate. “Can you order that for me when the waiter comes by? I’ll be right back. There’s someone over here I want to say hi to.”

  She walked back to the other table and laid a hand on Chuck’s broad shoulder. He turned and looked up, his cheeks blazing red from the alcohol, heat and excitement of their celebration. As he recognized her, his eyes opened wide with delight and he sprang up, hugging her enthusiastically.

  “Jordan!” he cried. “So good to see you again. What are you doing in town?”

  “It wasn’t planned,” she said. “We decided to get out of the rain for the night.”

  “Sure. Nasty day. Good for you, then. Did you get my message?”

  “Yes. You can come out any day it suits you. We’re always there.”

  “Except for tonight,” he pointed out.

  “Yes, right. Hopefully, we won’t see any more weather like this. Just send me a message before you come and I’ll be prepared to give you a tour.”

  Chuck moved aside to open her view to the rest of the table. “I know you’ve already met my photographer, Sheffield, during that crazy hike gone wild.”

  Kelly smiled politely.

  “Yes,” Jordan said. “Hi again.” His phrasing suggested he hadn’t been told they’d known one another before. It didn’t really matter. It was none of his business and Kelly wasn’t the sort of person to go blabbing about her private affairs. Jordan suspected she maintained a mostly professi
onal relationship with Chuck.

  “And this is Pippa,” he continued. “Pippa, this is Jordan Westgate, the woman responsible for your rescue.”

  Jordan reached across the table to shake the girl’s small hand. “I’m not responsible. All I did was make a phone call. I’m glad it turned out so happily.”

  “We’re so lucky you were there,” Pippa said gratefully, then smiled warmly at Kelly.

  Chuck proceeded around the table, introducing Jens Arensen, a pale young man with a thin face and two days’ worth of a sparse blond beard sprouting on his chin.

  “Arensen?” Jordan asked, shaking his hand. “Any relation to Elsa Arensen?”

  “She’s my grandmother,” he answered. “I’m staying with her this summer.”

  “That’s where we’re holed up,” Chuck interjected.

  “I’ve spent a few nights at the boarding house over the years,” Jordan said. “How is Elsa?”

  “Same as ever,” Jens said, a tipsy smile on his pallid face. “You should stop in for a visit.”

  Next, Chuck turned to the man to his right, a tidy fellow in a satiny blue shirt and striped tie, who stood as he was introduced. “This is Trevor Waddell. He’s with JPI Petroleum.”

  Jordan reached over to shake his hand. “Looking for oil, Mr. Waddell?”

  “We’re in the early exploration stage. JPI is negotiating for a contract with NUNAOIL. I’m here to determine drilling sites for us to bid on.”

  “Drilling sites? I didn’t think oil drilling had begun in Greenland.”

  “Oh, it hasn’t begun, not yet, but negotiations for licenses are ongoing. Everyone is jockeying for position.”

  “I see. You’re all lining up offshore with your drills at the ready, waiting for the starter pistol to go off.”

  Waddell smiled. He was probably used to that sort of mockery.

  “Are you a geologist?” Jordan asked.

  He nodded.

  “Oh!” Chuck blurted. “I’d completely overlooked that. Dr. Westgate is a geologist too. You two are in the same field!”