It was also a challenge to do her usual guest lecture.
“The eagles migrate once a year,” she recited to her customers, angling the copter so they could get a good look at another nest. “As many as 3500 gather along the Chilkat River north of Haines, usually in late October. They come to feed on the chum salmon run. It’s a spectacle that now attracts almost as many tourists as there are birds.”
The more she thought about it, the more Ivy suspected her aunt and uncle, her cousins—maybe the whole town of Valdez for all she knew—were privy to secrets that had been kept from her. She was outraged.
Keep your mind on the job, Ivy. “Bald eagles are on the endangered species list everywhere else, but here in Alaska, they’re thriving.”
She’d had a right to know, too, hadn’t she? She wasn’t a child, needing protection. And with that sense of outrage came a strange new loyalty toward Frances. Her mother had been a victim, and that brought out a protectiveness Ivy hadn’t felt before.
She realized suddenly that she was getting dangerously close to a snow-capped mountain peak, and she lifted the copter up and over in a stomach-dropping maneuver. The tiny woman sitting beside her gripped the handhold above her head and gave an involuntary shriek, her eyes filled with terror.
“Sorry about that.” Damn. She’d lost concentration, and that was inexcusable. Hadn’t Tom always told her that a pilot had to leave personal problems on the ground?
She was going to take a couple days off, Ivy decided. It had always been easy for her to leave her problems on the ground, but it wasn’t working this time. This time she needed to get her head together before she could safely fly again.
There was a storm coming. The ominous dark clouds were still off in the distance, but it was time to head back to Valdez.
TOM WAS FINISHING what he called the weekly milk runs, dropping off groceries, liquor and supplies to three isolated fishing camps along the Katalla River. In the past two hours, the weather had deteriorated, just as the weatherman had predicted. The sky was now heavily overcast and rain pelted on the Beaver’s windshield as he lifted off the water and banked in a slow turn. He’d told Kisha he’d stay in camp if the storm socked in, but he figured there was enough of a window to get back to Valdez.
The nagging concern over Ladrovik had grown more acute than ever the past two days, and impulsively he turned up the river, following it toward the general location of the first public cabin.
He’d just do a quick reconnaissance and see if there was any sign of Ladrovik yet. It was probably too soon. Wouldn’t hurt to look, though. Maybe he’d land, do some fishing, wait out the storm there. Kill two birds with one stone.
After ten minutes of flying, fog began rolling in along with the rain. He ought to turn back and try again when the weather cleared. But according to reports, the storm was going to last several days. Flying would be dicey, maybe impossible.
Would Ladrovik do the sensible thing and hole up in the cabin? Tom had no idea. He only knew that one more sleepless night was more than he could face.
Ivy hadn’t been in touch, and when he called her house all he got was the answering machine, even though he suspected she was home. He needed to make things right with Alex before he could begin to mend his relationship with his daughter.
The fog was growing thicker. Dropping low, he spotted the lake and cabin.
Steering the plane downward, he made the usual visual check before he set down on the water.
He was throttling back when the skid hit the deadhead. The impact was violent. Before he could even take a breath, the plane was upside down, and Tom’s head smashed hard against the roof.
When he came to seconds later, instinct made him want to pull back on the control column in a vain effort to get the plane up and out of the water, but years of experience stopped him. He knew the emergency procedure, but executing it was something else again.
Everything was black, he was upside down and water was pouring in. He could feel himself panicking, but he fought it with every fiber of his being. The only way he was going to survive was to stay strapped in his seat belt until the aircraft stopped moving and settled deep in the water. He had to let the pressure inside and out equalize so he’d be able to open the door. And pray there’d be some small pocket of air trapped inside for him to breathe. The icy water was rising fast, already past his chest, numbing him. He drew in a lungful of air, and then another. The water reached his neck.
The plane was settling slowly, way too slowly. He knew there was a life jacket under the other seat and, if he was to survive, he had to find it. He took a breath and ducked under the water, searching.
It seemed forever before his fingers closed over it. Gripping it hard in his right hand, he slid it over his forearm and undid his seat belt while grappling with the door handle.
It took all his strength to finally force it open, shove himself through it and then kick for the surface. The water was liquid ice.
He could feel himself weakening.
CHAPTER TWENTY
I dreamed of you last night, you were wearing that blue dress. Hang on to that dress, okay, Lindy?
From letters written by Roy Nolan,
April, 1972
IT WAS THE LIFE JACKET that saved Tom, pulling him up toward light and air without much help from him. His head broke the surface and he gasped for breath, his body nearly paralyzed by the cold. He choked and gagged before finally getting air into his lungs. The cold was sapping his remaining strength, and he began struggling to the shoreline, toward the cabin that was now nearly invisible in the rain.
It seemed an eternity passed before his hands and knees finally hit gravel. Dazed and exhausted, he crawled out of the water and slumped on the muddy earth, soaking wet, panting and shuddering with cold.
At last he mustered enough energy to get to his feet and stagger in the direction of the cabin. He was dizzy and nearly frozen. He felt nauseated, his crippled leg was next to useless, and he fell heavily every few steps. Each time he considered not getting up again. The thick undergrowth dragged at his heavy, wet boots and tree branches slapped at his face.
He forced himself to move, and at last he staggered, one dragging step after the other, to the cabin. He stopped short.
The cabin door was wide open. Toilet paper, spilled coffee, flour, packets of dried soup and a broken, empty jar of molasses littered the area. An animal had broken in, probably a grizzly by the size of the deep gouges on the door.
Tom stood still, listening for any sound that might indicate the bear was still around. If it was, his life was over. He had no weapon and he couldn’t run. He sniffed, trying to detect the distinctive musk. After a few moments, he dared a few lurching steps forward.
The cabin was empty. It had been ransacked, but there was no bear in sight. He muttered a prayer of thanks and dragged the heavy door shut behind him. But that made the interior so dark, he couldn’t see anything, so he shoved it open again. If the bear was coming back, it would make short work of the door anyway.
He had to get a fire going, but he was so dizzy he slumped for a moment into a chair that had somehow stayed upright.
Tom was a longtime resident of Alaska, and he knew exactly how precarious his situation was. All his emergency supplies, including the rifle he carried in the floatplane, were at the bottom of the lake. Without a gun, he had no protection if the grizzly returned. He probably had a concussion from the blow on his head. He reached up and touched it, and his fingers came away bloody.
No one would be looking for him soon. The office was empty. Kisha had gone to Anchorage that afternoon with Bert. Because he and Ivy weren’t communicating the way they normally did, she wouldn’t be suspicious. She’d probably stay at the lodge tonight, so she wouldn’t notice the floatplane was missing.
Tom’s spirits dropped even lower. He wanted to stagger to the bunk and just lie there until oblivion rescued him. But he fought the impulse.
He had to dry off. That meant getti
ng a fire going in the barrel stove in the corner, which miraculously was still intact. There were logs and kindling in a box near the heater. Tom just had to find matches. He staggered over to the cupboards, but the bear had pretty much cleaned everything out, knocking the contents to the floor in its search for food.
Tom lowered himself to his hands and knees and, shivering hard, started scrabbling through the debris on the floor. The matches ought to be in a waterproof container, but he couldn’t find them in the mess. He was so cold he could barely move. There was a blanket on the bunk, and he wrapped it around himself, again struggling against the urge to just lie down and let himself drift off. The dizziness was getting worse, and his stomach roiled each time he bent over.
He fought against the nausea, cursing and praying as he dug through the mess the bear had made, and at last by some miracle he found the matches. They were in a small aluminum cylinder that had rolled under the bunk. He belly crawled under it to retrieve them, and then could barely wriggle his way out again.
He pulled himself to his feet and staggered over to the stove where he crumpled paper and added kindling. It caught right away and soon the fire was crackling. Closing the cabin door, he started peeling off his sodden clothing, wringing each garment out as best he could, and draped them over the chairs he’d dragged close to the heater.
Wrapped only in the wool blanket, he scavenged for food. He felt nauseous, but he knew he needed the energy.
A public cabin usually had emergency rations, but the bear had demolished most of them. Tom found a tin of beans in a corner and the opener in a drawer. He set the opened tin on the stove to warm, but he was too exhausted to wait. He found a spoon and shoveled as many mouthfuls down as he could tolerate. He stoked the heater and then, wrapped in the blanket, he half fell onto the bunk and slipped into oblivion.
When he woke again his stomach was cramping, and he vomited up the beans, barely able to hold his head over the edge of the bunk. He was shuddering with cold even though he was burning with fever. His head felt as if it was about to explode. He had no idea where he was. Dim light sifted through the windows.
Mustn’t let the fire go out—
It took a long time before he could force himself out of the bunk to add logs to the embers. He stayed by the stove for a long time, curled on the wooden floor, slipping in and out of delirium. He saw the bear come back, heard Frances say she was leaving him to go live with Mavis, dreamed he was back in Vietnam. He looked up and saw Ivy at the controls of a helicopter that was out of control, spiraling down from the sky at deadly speed, and he screamed and wept.
In the few moments he was lucid, he added wood to the stove, but his supply was dwindling fast. He knew he didn’t have strength enough to go outside and find more, and Tom accepted that this was the way he was going to die.
He wasn’t afraid of death. He’d seen far too much of it in Vietnam to have any fear left. There was nothing more he could do for Frances, or for Ivy, either. But he felt great sadness and remorse and, for the first time in years, he prayed, asking that he be spared long enough to make things right with Alex.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
I wish there was somebody besides that dipstick friend of yours who’d keep an eye out for you and the sprout until I get back from this odyssey.
From letters written by Roy Nolan,
April, 1972
IVY WAITED a full day, trying to build up her nerve, before she called her mother. Her throat was dry as she dialed. She hadn’t spoken to Frances since that terrible scene in the office. She’d spent hours wondering what to say and how to say it, and all she knew for sure was that the telephone wasn’t the way to do it.
So when Frances answered, Ivy blurted out, “I wondered if you’d like to come over and have supper with me tonight, Mom? I’m making—” Damn, she hadn’t thought that far ahead yet. “Actually I’m not sure what I’m making yet.” And then she remembered that Frances taught night school. She ought to know which nights, but she didn’t. She didn’t really know much about her mother’s life at all.
“But if you’re teaching, we could do it another time.”
Except that she wanted to get this over with now.
She could hear the surprise in Frances’s voice. “I’m not teaching, and I’d love to come. What time, Ivy?”
“Early. Five?”
“Five is great.” When Ivy didn’t say anything else, Frances added, “See you later, then.”
That afternoon, Ivy was finishing last-minute preparations when Frances knocked. It was indicative of their relationship that her mother would wait for Ivy to come answer the door. Tom never did.
“Hi, dear.” Frances took off her suede jacket and hung it on one of the pegs just inside the door, then tugged off her boots and slipped on a pair of scarlet embroidered Chinese slippers she’d brought with her. She was wearing jeans with a simple white cashmere sweater and her trademark silver jewelry. Her hair was swept up in a messy knot. She looked beautiful, and for a moment Ivy felt as she always had around her mother—insecure, off balance, unattractive. She was going to change that, she vowed. It had nothing to do with Frances, and everything to do with her own self-worth.
“It smells wonderful in here.” Frances was obviously not going to mention the way they’d parted at the office the other day. “What are you making?”
“Seafood quiche.” Ivy led the way into the kitchen, where she’d covered the small wooden table with a daisy-print cloth and laid out her plain white dishes. She’d never before had Frances for a meal just on her own, and Ivy had grown more nervous as the day progressed.
“Sit down, Mom. Would you like some wine?”
“Please.”
Ivy opened the bottle and poured two goblets. She raised hers in a salute. “Here’s to your new life, Mom. I hope you’ll be happy. I know you’ll be successful.”
“Oh, Ivy. Oh, thank you so much.” Frances’s eyes welled with tears. “That means everything, coming from you.”
Ivy swallowed a big gulp of wine for courage and plowed on. “I’m sorry about the other day—I said things I shouldn’t have.”
Frances was obviously having as much difficulty with this as Ivy was. She brushed away tears with the back on her hand. “It was a shock for you. I’m really sorry I didn’t tell you sooner, Ivy.”
“You tried. I just didn’t stick around long enough to listen.” Ivy rubbed her damp palms down her pants and grabbed oven mitts to take the quiche out of the oven. She set it on the table, then got the salad out of the fridge.
“I hope this is done.” Ivy carefully put a generous slice on each of their plates, along with salad.
“Mmm. This is fabulous.”
“Thanks, I got the recipe from—” From Mavis. Ivy couldn’t hold back any longer. She laid down her fork.
“Dad told me, Mom.”
“Told you what?” Frances was suddenly wary.
“About…about him and…and Mavis.” Ivy gulped. “About the affair. After Jacob died?”
“Oh. That.” Frances sighed and sipped her wine. “Old news, my dear. And he shouldn’t have said anything, after all this time.”
“Yes, he should.” Ivy’s tone was vehement. “I didn’t know. All these years, I thought…I believed…I didn’t…” She drew a sobbing breath. “I blamed you for everything, Mom. Why didn’t you tell me? Why didn’t you ever say? I’m almost thirty, I should have known long ago. Because I’ve gone this whole time thinking—believing—that you, that he—”
“Oh, sweetheart.” Frances shook her head, her eyes sad. “I couldn’t tell you. How could I do such a mean, petty thing? Tom practically raised you on his own—he had to. The two of you are so close.”
Ivy nodded. “I always felt responsible for your depression, Mom. I always thought that if I was prettier or if I liked clothes or if I didn’t get grease on me or something—”
Frances was openly sobbing now. She dabbed at her eyes with her napkin, and then got up to get a handfu
l of tissues from her handbag. She blew her nose and made an obvious effort to control herself. On her way back to her seat, she tentatively touched Ivy’s shoulder.
“Oh, dearest, you had nothing to do with it. I’m so sorry you ever felt that way.” Frances suddenly wrapped her arms around Ivy’s shoulders, startling both of them. “You’re perfect just as you are, you must know that.”
Ivy had no idea that’s what her mother thought. As quickly as she’d hugged her, Frances pulled away. She sat back down, across from Ivy.
“How could I know. This is the first time you’ve ever said anything like that to me.” Her voice wavered on the words. She was having such a hard time with this. She was exposing her most wounded places to the one person she’d never trusted.
“I’m so incredibly sorry, Ivy.” Frances took a deep breath and let it out again. “I’ve always had such a hard time talking about the things that really matter. And I’ve gone for years blaming Tom for what were really my problems.”
“But how could he do such a thing, Mom?” It was almost a wail. “How could he have an affair with Mavis? Especially just when you must have really needed him?”
“Losing a child does strange things to people,” Frances said in a quiet tone. “There’s no predicting how it will affect you.”
Alex had said almost the exact same thing.
“But…you must hate her, Mom. You must feel so betrayed. I could hardly speak to her the other morning. I really see now why you hardly ever visit the lodge. And why would Aunt Caitlin ask her to live with them, when she must have known how you felt about Mavis? She betrayed you as well.”
“That happened years later, Ivy. You must have been about ten when Caitlin brought Mavis back to the lodge. You see, Mavis left Alaska after I found out about the affair. I made a really terrible scene.”
“I guess you had good reason.”
Frances smiled a little. “I thought so at the time. I was very angry, and I wasn’t about to take responsibility for anything in those days. Anyway, Mavis left for Seattle and got married. That’s where the pressure cooker blew up and she was burned.”
Past Lies Page 16