by Kim Baldwin
“I look forward to meeting him.” Emery paused for another sip. “Will he guide one of my trips?”
“At least one, the fishing excursion, because he knows all the best spots. Maybe others—Dita’s still rearranging things a bit to add a few more trips.”
“Is she? That, and the fact you’ve been working your tail off since she left, must mean business is good.”
“Yup. Way more people seem to be taking vacations up here this year than the last couple of seasons. Splurging to reward themselves, I think, now that the economy’s improving.”
“Of course I’m happy for all of you, but I’m hoping you won’t be so busy you won’t have time for me between trips.” Emery set down her mug and looked at Pasha expectantly.
“We’ll have part-time help soon, and Dita rarely goes out in the field, except the first trip of the season, so I should have regular hours and weekends off.”
“Great. I’m really looking forward to spending time with you on the trip.”
“Me, too, Emery.”
“Well, knowing I’ll be doing that in just a couple days, and since you have to get up early, I’ll reluctantly say good night.” Emery got to her feet, carefully folding the papers Pasha had given her in half. “I appreciate the info about Birch Hill Lake. I’ll head out after breakfast, so I’ll be back in plenty of time for the initiation.”
Pasha rose. “And remember, you can stop by after closing and talk to Dita, if you like. I’ll leave the door open.” She led Emery outside.
“Will you be here, too?” Emery asked as she faced her on the porch.
They stood just two feet apart. Pasha trembled with the sudden surge of electrical power that roared through her as their eyes met.
“Are you—” Emery’s eyes darkened in worry as she reached for her, obviously able to discern how unsteady she felt on her feet.
Instantly reminded of the humiliation of her previous blackout, Pasha raised her hand and cut Emery off. The day after tomorrow, she would be placing her trust—and her very life—in Pasha’s hands, and she didn’t want to appear frail or vulnerable. “Don’t start that again.” She spoke lightly, teasingly, like Emery was acting like a mother hen and imagining things. “I’m just fine. Okay, already?”
Emery still looked skeptical, but she nodded. She also took the hint that she shouldn’t touch Pasha right now. Pasha’s sudden surge of power warned her that she could experience another blackout, and she couldn’t risk that. Emery might even say something to Dita out of worry. Dita knew about her gift, but still might pull her from the field until a doctor in Fairbanks cleared her. Unthinkable.
Pasha had to make certain Emery understood, however, that she wasn’t pulling away because she’d changed her mind. She had to be giving off conflicting signals. How could she explain her erratic behavior without opening a can of worms she wasn’t ready to deal with? “Emery, please don’t misunderstand. I really like you. And I know I act kind of…unpredictable around you, I guess it would be fair to say?”
Emery’s smile eased some of Pasha’s anxiety.
“You’ll understand. Soon. I promise.” She stepped back and put a hand on the doorknob, pleading with her eyes for Emery to accept the explanation.
“I can be very patient, Pasha. And I understand that some things are difficult to talk about.” Emery’s aura glowed. “Good night. Sleep well.”
“Good night, Emery.”
Chapter Sixteen
Pasha stared out her apartment’s big picture window at the lowering sun as it painted the distant mountaintops amber-gold. Later she’d regret staying up so late, but she wouldn’t see another sunset for a long while and would miss it. The sun would dip beneath the horizon for about forty minutes and wouldn’t set until mid-July. Actually, she wouldn’t see another sunset then because she rarely woke for the brief two a.m. transition.
She’d had no problem staying awake tonight, her mind churning with thoughts of Emery. Vacillating from joyous to despondent, whatever image or snatch of conversation she recalled swayed her. Once again, she felt overly sentimental and emotionally polarized, experiencing every high and low so profoundly she almost cried at both ends of the spectrum.
When she recalled Emery’s golden aura, bliss infused her once again. And she recalled so many other wonderful moments. She and Emery were definitely mutually attracted. Their intense, prolonged eye contact revealed their chemistry. Emery looked totally enraptured with their conversation, and her eagerness to spend more time together encouraged Pasha.
Though she tried to focus on the positive developments, she had to be realistic. A romantic at heart, she had learned to weigh the negatives before she leapt headlong into anything life-changing. And right now, she couldn’t push a huge, glaring problem to the back of her mind for very long.
She seriously risked having her heart badly broken. Emery had made it clear she didn’t want anything except a transitory sexual fling, and meant it. In a few months, she would move on, into the arms of another woman, and not look back.
Pasha longed to somehow connect with Emery. She told herself just to treasure each day and enjoy what she offered as long as possible. Her gift apparently couldn’t guarantee she’d find the life-long soul mate she’d always imagined and hoped for, but wouldn’t it be wrong not to embrace whatever happiness she could, despite the consequences?
*
Emery struck off toward Birch Hill Lake not long after nine a.m. She wished she could have started even sooner since she was awake at six, but decided to wait until the village store opened so she could pick up a bear bell, fishing license, and portable rod and reel. A spruce-birch forest surrounded Bettles, so thick in spots she was grateful the trail was fairly well delineated. The material Pasha had given her also contained the GPS coordinates for both the lake and Bettles, so she had those as a backup to chart her course.
In addition to her new purchases and GPS, her daypack contained food and water, binoculars, her survival kit, journal, and the PLB. She’d hooked the pepper-spray canister to her belt so she could access it quickly if she ran into problems.
She started off with her camera in the bag, too, but she found so many photo opportunities she had it out and around her neck before she’d traveled a quarter of a mile. Despite the bear bell’s constant tinkling as she walked, her presence didn’t seem to affect the birds and smaller forest creatures. She took some impressive shots of a porcupine working away at the base of a tree, a rabbit munching on willow twigs, and a pair of red squirrels engaged in a game of chase along the trunk and low branches of a black spruce. Her lens also immortalized chickadees, ravens, woodpeckers, and several birds she didn’t recognize, along with some vivid wildflowers near the path. Thanks to Pasha’s printouts, she could identify the yellow arctic poppies, pale blue forget-me-nots, and purple lupine and wild sweet pea, but she encountered a number of other varieties that weren’t listed.
Time passed quickly and she didn’t reach the lake until noon. She stopped frequently, but boggy terrain had also slowed her. In the shadows of the forest, the permafrost remained fairly solid, but the areas hit by direct sunshine had become spongy traps that could trip her up or suck her boots into a quagmire. She saw no one else, either on the trail or at her destination.
A myriad of small streams fed Birch Hill Lake, a scenic, elongated body of water. Emery had good luck casting from the shore with her fishing rod, but released the half dozen or so whitefish and grayling she reeled in. After a quick lunch, she walked the nearest shoreline with her camera and took some more wildlife snapshots: a variety of ducks, loons, and cranes she couldn’t identify, and other migratory birds passing through on their way farther north. At one of the creeks, she spotted a weasel-like marten working the shallows for food, but he scampered into the woods before she could focus on him. A moose on the far shore also eluded her—too distant even for her zoom lens.
Emery was having a wonderful time, but she started back at two so she’d reach Bettles by the t
ime Dita Eidson got back. She still wanted to meet the woman she’d corresponded with and review in more detail some of the trips she’d signed up for, but her primary motivation was a few minutes alone with Pasha before the group convened for dinner. Not that she expected any quick explanation to their puzzling good-bye last night.
Pasha had clearly suffered some sort of episode again as they stood on the porch. Her eyes had reflected the same flash of glazed confusion that had immediately preceded her blackout, all the color drained from her face, and she seemed unsteady on her feet. But Pasha had obviously not wanted Emery to know what was going on, at least not yet, and she definitely didn’t want to be touched. Considering what had happened on the previous occasions they’d made physical contact, this latest incident only piqued Emery’s curiosity all the more.
Most likely, she’d get no answers tonight, but tomorrow, they’d both be in the backcountry, with fewer distractions and hopefully ample time to discuss what was going on.
On the hike back, Emery added a few more photos to the gallery she’d already amassed: a bald eagle soaring overhead, its distinctive white head and tail feathers outlined against the vivid blue sky; a large gray owl perched on a broken birch limb; and paw prints in the mud that might belong to a wolf. She’d have taken more shots, but the bugs were out in force during her return trip, so bad she had to wear the hat with the head-net Geneva had given her. The repellent she’d liberally applied before she set off couldn’t keep the biting flies and gnats away from her face.
Her watch read four thirty when she reached the outskirts of Bettles, which gave her enough time to dump her stuff in her room and grab a quick shower. She also took one of her pain meds. The distance and boggy terrain had been hard on her joints, and sitting long hours at dinner would likely exacerbate her discomfort.
A Closed sign hung on the entrance of Eidson Eco-Tours, but Pasha had left the door open as she’d promised, so Emery walked inside. The chime of the bell over the door brought Pasha from the back room, just ahead of a woman with short, salt-and-pepper hair who she presumed was Dita.
“How was your outing?” Pasha asked as Emery neared.
“Awesome. Thanks again for pointing me there, and all the info.”
“Emery Lawson, Dita Eidson,” Pasha said by way of introductions.
“Pleasure to meet ya, Emery,” Dita said as she offered her hand.
“Likewise, Dita. How did your fishing trip go?”
“You can find out for yourself. Ellie’s going to cook up the catch I brought back for our table tonight.” Dita spoke slowly, with a soft Southern drawl that reminded Emery of something from Gone With The Wind. “We caught a mess of lake trout and grayling.”
“I had some luck myself up at Birch Hill Lake, but tossed them back.”
“Pasha’s been saying you’re making yourself right at home here, and I understand our little group is officially welcoming you tonight. Sorry I wasn’t here to greet you properly.”
“Oh, I’ve been well looked after.” She glanced over at Pasha.
Pasha’s mouth was turned upward in a smile, but her eyes betrayed an underlying current of unease and her posture couldn’t be more unwelcoming. She had her arms crossed over her chest and stood off to one side, four or five feet away. Was she worried Emery would touch her and possibly trigger another fainting episode in front of her boss?
To set her mind at ease, Emery turned her attention back to Dita. “I know you just got back, but do you have a few minutes before dinner to chat about my trips?”
“Sure. Come on back to the lounge.” Dita tilted her head toward the back room and headed that way.
Emery followed, steering clear of Pasha. As she drew abreast of her, their eyes met, and she could see that relief had replaced the disquiet.
“I’ll see you both at dinner,” Pasha called after them.
The time got away from Emery and Dita because they clicked immediately and found ample common ground for conversation. The woman’s professionalism and welcoming demeanor in their e-mail correspondence and a couple of quick phone calls had already impressed Emery, but Dita’s dry wit, gentle nature, and passion for what she did sealed the deal. Dita put her clients’ safety and enjoyment foremost. She aimed, she said, to do all she could to ensure that the people who took her trips came back from them with memories they would cherish the rest of their lives, while gaining a new appreciation for preserving the unspoiled wilderness.
Emery couldn’t have chosen a better outfitter than Eidson Eco-Tours. Dita brought out her client file and reviewed all of the trips she’d signed up for, filling in details about the locations, staffing, meals, and so on. She had endless, colorful stories about previous trips, most hysterically funny and a few describing some of the rarer wonders that clients had seen or experienced. Emery felt she was in good hands and especially looked forward to the women-only trips coming up.
“Look at the time,” Dita said when she glanced at her watch. “We best go if we don’t want to miss the fun. Bet the others are already there.”
When they arrived, the Den was busier than Emery had ever seen it. Because Geneva had worked the day shift she was supposed to be off now but was still busy bustling between tables along with the other waitress. The rest of the gang sat in the booth, with Pasha once again sandwiched between the two couples: Karla and Bryson on one side, Chaz and Megan on the other.
Emery suspected Pasha had deliberately chosen the seating to keep them from touching, even accidentally. As they all exchanged greetings, Dita slid in next to Bryson and Emery took the end seat.
Again, Pasha sat almost directly across from her, a prime location for them to make frequent eye contact without drawing the others’ attention. They did so throughout dinner, as Dita regaled them with an account of the fishing excursion and the others chimed in with stories of some of their adventures. Just as they finished dessert, Geneva joined them. They all squeezed closer so she could perch on the other end, opposite Emery.
“Finally,” Geneva said, drawing the word out as she relaxed against the seat back. “It’s been crazy. Sorry I missed dinner.”
“Least you could break free in time for our little initiation.” Bryson retrieved her baseball cap from a hook on the wall. “Shall we?”
“Where we headed?” Emery asked.
“You’ll see, soon enough,” Chaz said, rubbing her hands together like a cartoon villain plotting some evil deed. “We’ve prepared everything.” Her declaration drew giggles from most of the others.
What the heck had they planned?
Chapter Seventeen
Once they were outside, Megan pulled a long black scarf from her jacket pocket and held it up. “Stand still, Emery.”
“What’s that for?”
“Blindfold.”
“You really are taking this very seriously, I see,” Emery remarked as Megan fastened the scarf around her eyes.
“Oh, you bet we are, little missy.” Dita sounded an inch away from laughing as they spun Emery around to make her lose her sense of direction.
When they stopped, a hand gripped her left elbow as another took her right. From the left came Bryson’s voice. “Straight ahead. Let’s go.”
They walked her probably a quarter mile, warning her of bad footing ahead or a dip in the terrain. She heard gravel under her boots so she knew they were still somewhere in the village proper, or possibly at the edge of the runway. They could be marching her in circles for all she knew. They kept changing direction, giggling with every twist and turn. Now and then she heard murmured whispers. More plotting, no doubt.
Finally they led her up three stairs and into a building. They didn’t remove the blindfold until they’d seated her on a plain metal folding chair, and Megan warned her beforehand to keep her eyes closed.
“Okay, you can open them now.” Chaz’s voice, from several feet behind her.
When she did, she saw nothing but darkness. Either the room had no windows or they’d effectively blocke
d them. Before her eyes could adjust, a spotlight clicked on in front of her, aimed at her face. Then a second, a few feet to the left of the first, and a third, a few feet to the right. She couldn’t see anything in the room, like being in a bad black-and-white movie—the FBI grilling the suspected spy. The giggling, however, and the fact they’d focused the lights away from her eyes so they wouldn’t completely blind her, made the situation more fun than threatening.
“Now, ordinarily in Probing Questions, everyone answers all questions.” Megan’s voice came from behind the light on the left. “On this special occasion, however, we’ve altered the rules. You’re the only one who has to answer every question, but you can name one other person each time who must also answer. Got it?”
“Yes. Fire away.”
“We’re going to give you a break because we all like you.” Pasha stood right behind her. “So if one of these is too personal, you can get off the hook if your answer is funny or entertaining enough.”
“I appreciate the latitude.” Had Pasha suggested to the group that they allow her that alternative?
“We’ll start off easy,” Megan said. “Ever had any nicknames?”
“Mmm. Well, one. As a kid I stayed up late a lot, reading with a flashlight, so my folks used to call me Firefly.”
“That’s actually kinda cool,” Megan replied. “Who do you want to answer that question?”
“Let’s say Dita.”
“Good pick.” Dita chuckled. “I was a fiend for swimming, so Daddy called me Tadpole.”
“Next question, Emery,” Megan said. “Tell us about your most embarrassing or awkward moment.”
Emery didn’t want to share the answer that sprang to mind. The leaking-catheter story wouldn’t entertain and would require her to explain the circumstances. She tried to come up with a funny alternative and finally remembered a conversation she’d overheard. “One day in Venice at a café,” she told the group, “I was flirting with this beautiful local woman, trying to impress her with my Italian. At one point, I thought I was saying I was really discouraged I wasn’t making headway with her. ‘Discouraged,’ in Italian, is scoraggiata, but my pronunciation came out scoreggiata, which, I subsequently found out, means ‘farted.’”