Or sometimes he pictured her dressed like a native in her parka and boots with the sunlight turning her brunette hair to red.
Even once he got home, he’d lie awake and think of her. Think of her instead of paying bills. Or even now, as he replaced shingles on his grandmother’s roof.
Damn! Max cursed long and loud. He’d just smashed his thumb. Thinking of her instead of paying attention.
“Are you all right, grandson?” His grandmother stood below, looking up at him, shading her eyes from the cloud-covered sunlight.
“I’m all right, Aanaga.” He picked up another shingle, laid it in place and swung the hammer.
“You are a liar, Maximilian White Wolf Taggert.”
He jerked his gaze to his grandmother just as he swung down and hit his thumb again. This time his string of curse words were cut off and then he murmured under his breath. “How am I a liar?”
“You are not ‘all right,’” his grandmother called up to him.
Max squinted down at her. “I’ve hit my thumb before. It’ll heal.”
“It is not your thumb I am worried about healing, grandson.”
He looked away and shoved his hair out of his face. He did not want to have this conversation.
“Please come down so we can talk.”
“When I’m finished.” Concentrating on the nail he’d missed twice already, he swung the hammer and drove it in clean this time, then reached for another shingle.
“The last two times you were here, you do not give me time. You work. You leave.”
“I’m busy this time of year.”
She laughed and swatted the air with her hand. “You do not come down. I will go up.” His grandmother grabbed the rails of the ladder and lifted a foot onto the bottom rung.
“Aanaga, I’m not falling for your tricks this time.” He pretended to ignore her but watched from the corner of his eye. She lifted her other foot and climbed to the next rung.
“Aanaga…” He drew out her name like a warning.
She lifted another foot.
“All right! I’m coming down.” He left the shingles and nails, determined to keep the discussion short, and climbed down the ladder, complaining the whole way. “You are the most stubborn, meddling, blackmailing—” He jumped down the last two rungs and twisted as he landed to see her grinning at him, mischief twinkling in her eyes.
“A grandmother does what is best for her grandson, even when he curses her.”
Frowning, he gripped her shoulders. “I would never curse you, Aanaga.”
Her smile dropped. “When you curse yourself, you curse me.”
Max lifted his hands to his hips and sighed. “No one is cursing anybody.”
“You do not let the Searching One heal you.”
“Aanaga, please. I can’t talk about her.”
“Just like you would not talk about Shelley. Or the accident.”
He opened his mouth to explain, but what could he say?
“Yet you spoke of Shelley, and your baby boy. And the accident with Serena. And you are not ashes.”
True. Telling Serena about his wife and the accident had made him relive every unbearable second, but the pain hadn’t crippled him as it had just thinking about it in the past.
His grandmother placed a tender hand on his arm. “After I was attacked, I could not look at any man, nor let him touch me.”
Max put his arm around her. “Who could blame you?”
“Then I met your grandfather. And if I had not sent my heartbreak to fly off with the white owl, my tragedy would have become your grandfather’s tragedy too.” She moved her hand to cover his heart. “And yours.”
Something shifted inside him. “What about my mother?”
“Ii. Your father broke her heart. She could not let her heartbreak fly away with the white owl. That is her tragedy. But it does not have to be yours, loved one.”
Max’s vision blurred. A lump formed in his throat he couldn’t swallow past. What Aanaga said made sense in this moment. But living it every day was different. Could he let go of the past? And more importantly, could he risk the pain of heartbreak again?
“Serena is the Searching One, Max.” His grandmother thumped his chest, hard. “She will bring your wandering soul home.”
“Yeah, well.” Even if he wanted to take such a chance, there was still the logistics of managing the relationship. He cleared his throat and stepped away from his grandmother. Pretending to wipe his temple, he swept his sleeve over his eyes. “I need to finish your roof.” He swung up to the second rung of the ladder.
“One more thing, grandson.”
Max stopped and looked back. “What?”
“I’ve been thinking of moving south. Perhaps to Fairbanks or even San Francisco.” Her lined face broke into a smile and she clapped her hands, threw back her head and cackled.
SERENA HAD a couple hours siesta time before she had to dress to record tonight’s segment. She pulled out the papers Max had put in her purse and read over them again, looking for inspiration for the closing paragraph of her article.
The main paper was a report from the FAA dated a couple of months ago. They’d ruled that Max’s plane crash was not due to pilot error and he’d been cleared of all charges.
Behind those papers were two letters written on stationery from the survivor, Beau Ramsey, the first dated almost nine months after the crash. He thanked Max for saving his life, and told him he’d taken care of Max’s legal bills and secured his loan for a new plane. And another, more recent letter, telling Max that he’d given a deposition to Max’s defense attorney in the civil suit brought by Kevin’s and Mike’s wives and parents and the suit was being dropped.
He might not have been capable of relinquishing all his demons, but at least he didn’t have to worry about a lawsuit taking away his livelihood.
She fired up her laptop and opened the file: An Unsung Hero.
The article was about a certain man from Barrow—a hero who’d been falsely accused but ultimately exonerated. But she was stuck on the perfect ending.
She planned on submitting it to several Alaskan papers and magazines as a freelance writer.
It might not get published. And even if it did, Max might never see it or know about it, but she hoped if he did, he would have no doubt how she felt about him.
She saved the file, closed her laptop and went to shower. She was going to learn to dance the tango tonight.
A WEEK AFTER FIXING his grandmother’s roof, Max made his monthly supply run to Anchorage. One of the things he’d always loved about his job, besides being his own boss, was the hours spent alone. No dealing with other people’s crap. But a six-hour commute also gave a man a lot of time to think.
Which wasn’t always a good thing.
Refueling in Nome reminded him of when he’d left Serena here. Checking into the crappy little motel by the Anchorage airport reminded him of that first kiss. And ordering a hamburger next door reminded him of how uncomplicated his life had been before meeting her.
Eating his crappy hamburger and drinking his very good Jameson whiskey only made his thoughts more morose. He thought about what his grandmother had said about moving. San Francisco? Was she finally getting feebleminded? She’d never expressed an interest in living anywhere else but Barrow. Did she think he didn’t know what she was getting at? Both were major cities with international airports, where a person who traveled on business might be able to make her home base?
He couldn’t care less where he lived, but he couldn’t believe his grandmother would want to leave Barrow. Still, it’s not like she had any family left there. Except him, of course. And she didn’t have any close friends she visited every day. But what about her role as shaman to the Iñupiat of Barrow?
It was crazy to even wonder about any of it. He’d ruined whatever opportunity he might have had with Serena—if he’d wanted one, which he didn’t.
He drank more than usual, and for the first time, thought about the elder native sittin
g in the back booth. He pictured himself an old man, alone, sitting in that back booth like the elder there now. Drinking his empty nights away…like his mother.
The thought made his stomach roil with disgust. He slid off the stool with half a tumbler left of his drink and headed outside. Once he got to his room, he left Mickey inside and then hailed a taxi. “Spenard and First,” he instructed as he got in.
The closer the taxi got to the address, the grungier the neighborhoods became. Prostitutes, pimps and drug dealers were out in plain sight around here. Max had come here twice before. He’d sat in the cab wondering if she was home. Imagining what she would say if he knocked and she answered.
This time he got out. He paid the cab, then walked up to the third-floor apartment on the right.
All he had of his mother were a few vague memories. A stuffed whale toy. His mother’s voice singing an Iñupiat lullaby to him.
For a long time after she left him with his grandmother, he used to ask her about his mother. She would shake her head and say, “She is lost right now, Max. Her soul has gone wandering.”
As a child, he’d had nightmares about his mother being lost at sea and he would take a boat to try to find her. But he never could save her. Every once in a while they would receive a letter or postcard from her saying she hoped he was okay and always apologizing. She was always so sorry.
But not sorry enough to come back for him.
After he got older, he quit asking about her. Hate filled him. If she didn’t want him, he didn’t want her either. But after he came back to Barrow with his pilot’s license and got his business going, he grew curious and started looking for her on his trips to Anchorage.
Until he’d finally found her a few years ago.
Twice he’d watched her leave this apartment and come back, usually with a man. But he’d never spoken to her.
He raised a hand to knock, his fist suspended in midair, his knuckles an inch from the door. Did he really want to do this? Then he saw himself sitting in that back booth getting drunk every night. And he knocked.
After a long minute, he turned away. Guess she was—
The door opened and he swiveled back to face…his mother.
She looked older than her forty-nine years. Her hair was disheveled and graying at the temples, her skin was sallow, and she wore a ratty robe that she tightened around her and clutched at her throat when she recognized him. “Max?”
“So, you know me?”
Her dark, tired eyes narrowed and she whispered, “You look just like him.”
“My dad?”
She nodded. “What are you doing here?”
“I need to ask you something.”
Shaking her head, she looked down. “I did what was best for you. There’s nothing else to say.”
“It’s not that. Can I come in?”
Her eyes flared wide and she hesitated, then stepped back and opened the door.
The apartment was tiny, but neat and clean. Max wandered in and glanced around while she shut the door behind him. The television was turned on to some black-and-white movie. A gray cat lay across the back of the couch. And on one wall hung a collage of photos. Of him. As a baby. As a boy. As a teen. When he graduated high school. One with Shelley. Another in front of his first plane. His grandmother must have sent them.
He spun to her. Her eyes were filled with tears. She wiped her nose with the back of hand and he noticed her hand trembled before she folded her arms across her chest.
“No pictures of Dad?”
She frowned. “Not anymore.”
“Aanaga says your soul went wandering.”
She raised her brows. “Mom’s always been old school.”
“And you never were?”
“No.” She studied the floor. “Maybe if I had believed…”
“Before he died, Dad told me you were both just too young and couldn’t handle a baby.”
Heaving a sigh, she grabbed a remote, turned off the television, then sat on a dilapidated couch. “I was only seventeen.”
“And that’s when you started drinking? Because you were heartbroken over Dad? When he left us?”
“Me. When he left me.”
“And you couldn’t ever get over him? And be happy without him?” Be happy with just me?
She hunched her shoulders and closed her eyes. “It’s not that simple. I was mad at the world. And by the time I realized I wasn’t anymore, I’d already made a mess of my life. Made you hate me. Then it was too late.”
“Aanaga says it’s never too late for a wandering soul to return.”
She grabbed a soda can off the side table and began wiggling the tab. “Return to what? You’re both better off without me in your lives.” Her voice wavered. Tears spilled down her cheeks. Something about the way she wouldn’t look at him and kept messing with the tab reminded him of Serena peeling the label off her beer bottle the night he met her. She’d been hedging then. Maybe his mother was too.
“If you’re still drinking, that’s true. If you’re not…” He turned to look back at the photos of him framed and hung on the wall. “Maybe we could…see each other sometimes.”
“I’m not drinking anymore.” Her voice was tinged with hope. He met her gaze. So were her eyes. “You can check with my sponsor.”
“Okay.” He nodded. “I fly into Anchorage every month.”
“I know. A pilot. Like your dad. I—I’m glad he finally did right by you.” She rose from the couch and stepped over to him. “Tell your grandmother…” She bit her trembling lip and took a deep breath. “Thank you. For raising such a good man.”
He hadn’t expected this. Wasn’t sure if he wanted it. He nodded and reached for the doorknob, but she grabbed his arm.
“Maybe if I had known I had the power. To choose hate or love. I would have chosen love. Not hate. Yes, I wished I’d known that.”
He stared at her briefly, then left the apartment before he got all mushy and hugged her. He wasn’t ready for that.
Setting off on foot for his motel, he strode faster and faster until he was jogging. What had he done? Did he really want to see her again? Had he gotten the answer he was looking for?
Hell, he didn’t even know why he’d gone, now. What difference did any of it make? How could he choose love when he had lived and not his wife and baby? Or his buddies?
He finally got to a part of town where he caught a cab back to his motel. Exhausted and shaking, he was putting the key in the lock of his room when he heard a soft thudding sound above him.
Max hesitated, then stepped back and looked up.
Hairs rose over his neck and arms.
Sitting on the roof just above his room was a snowy white owl.
It seemed as if the owl was staring straight at him with his huge golden eyes.
Max shivered. He remembered the owl and the wolf in the woods that night. Now this.
His body started quaking as he stared back at the owl. His vision blurred and the world seemed to swirl around him. What was happening?
In that instant, a sense of surrender beckoned to him. He closed his eyes, dropped his head back and opened his arms.
All right. I give in. I send my heartache away with you, Owl. I let it go.
Peace filled his soul. The world all around him calmed. Shelley, the baby, his buddies. All were at peace.
And clarity sharpened his mind. He’d always had a choice. To choose love or hate. Even when love is taken away. One can choose. He’d hated himself for a long time now. For not saving his family. For surviving.
His grandmother had chosen love. His mother had not.
But she had given him the secret to finding a wandering soul. It was to choose love.
He blinked as the owl shook out his feathered wings and took off into the night sky.
Aanaga. You knew. His soul wandered no more. It had come home when love returned to his heart. Love for Serena. She was his future.
And he wanted his future to start right now.
14
“OUR TIME in Buenos Aires has gone by too fast. We’ve marveled at centuries’ old architecture, tasted the outstanding cuisine, taken in the nightlife with sultry tango dancing and immersed ourselves in the exciting and exotic flavor of life in the ‘Gateway to Argentina.’”
Serena turned, following the camera’s movement to pan the cityscape behind her from the roof of their hotel.
“But now we must say adios, amigos to the friendly people of Buenos Aires. Be sure to join us again next fall when we’ll begin a whole new season. This is Serena Sandstone, with no reservations about making reservations. And remember, no matter where you go, you can always Travel in Style!” She held her smile while the camera lens zoomed out to the azure waters of the South Atlantic Ocean.
“And cut!” Roberta yelled. “Okay, Serena, that’s a wrap.” Roberta turned to speak to her assistant, and the crew began disassembling lighting and sound equipment.
Serena wandered back to her room, grateful to be left alone. If Roberta needed anything she could have her assistant call her cell.
As she packed her bags and checked out, she let out a deep breath, glad to be going home. She would enjoy hanging out in L.A. for the summer.
She still hadn’t come up with a decent ending for her article. If only she could finish it, submit it and move on.
Once she was on the plane, she opened her laptop and tried again to write the ending. One lousy paragraph. That’s all she needed. She stared at the blinking cursor and bit her lip. She needed something inspiring, or something catchy. Or preferably both.
After a movie and two chapters of a book, she gave up and tried to sleep. She’d just gotten to a light doze when the plane landed.
She dragged herself to her condo and fell onto the sofa.
And stayed there for three days.
Friends called and asked her out to parties she normally would have jumped at the chance to attend. Her mom called and expressed concern that she hadn’t let them know when she got home, and was she coming for the Fourth of July barbecue?
Serena let all the calls go to voice mail. She just couldn’t deal right now.
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