Past Lies

by Bobby Hutchinson

  As Alex climbed over deadfalls and waded through yet another beaver pond, other things he’d either buried or avoided came to the surface. Today he found he was thinking a lot about his relationship—or lack of relationship—with Steve Ladrovik.

  Ivy had pointed out that at least Steve was there when Alex was growing up. Roy wasn’t. That had irritated and angered Alex at the time, because his childhood would have been a lot less traumatic without Ladrovik beating on him regularly. Steve’s temper and moods had dominated Alex’s early life.

  When Steve died, Alex hadn’t felt sadness or remorse. He still didn’t, but in spite of everything, he owed the man a debt of gratitude. Steve had adopted him, insisted on raising him as his own son. He’d paid for that first critical year of his university education. It was little enough, but he’d done it. There must have been many times when Steve wanted to tell Alex they weren’t really related, that no son of his would do or act or be the way Alex was.

  But he hadn’t. He’d kept it to himself, maintained the facade that Alex was his biological son. Why? Alex pondered it as he forced his tired legs up a steep incline.

  Where the hell was that cabin? He felt as if he’d been walking for half his life. But then the wind shifted and he smelled wood smoke. So he must be close, but someone else was in residence.

  Alex hesitated. Maybe they wouldn’t welcome a visitor.

  The sky had gradually been growing darker, and now it began to rain. The wind drove the icy drops straight at him, and he could hardly see. He decided that whether or not he was welcome, he was going to the cabin anyway.

  He checked his compass and quickened his steps. By the time he stumbled down a slippery hill and broke through the trees to the rocky shore of a small lake, he’d had more than enough hiking for the day.

  The lake the cabin was on was small by Alaskan standards. Alex used the compass again, following the shoreline until he finally came to the clearing with the cabin.

  He stopped and stared at the devastation around the door, realizing that a bear must have ransacked the place. But the trickle of smoke coming from the chimney meant that whoever was inside was human.

  The door was shut. Alex knocked and knocked again, louder. “Hello, in there!” he hollered. “Can I come in and get dry?”

  He tried the latch, but it was fastened from inside. They didn’t want visitors, that was pretty clear.

  “Hello!” he bellowed again. “I won’t stay long, I just want to dry some of my clothes, I fell in the river.”

  He heard a loud thump, like someone falling. There was silence, and then the sound of something heavy being dragged across the floor.

  Alex steeled himself. He wondered if he ought to leave, fast. He took a couple of steps back.

  From inside there was muffled cursing, a fumbling at the latch. The door opened inward, and after a stunned moment, Alex grabbed for Tom’s arm and steadied him, just in time to keep him from slipping to the floor. He was naked except for a gray blanket clutched around his shoulders.

  Tom was shivering, although his face was flushed and perspiring. A deep gash above his forehead extended up past his hairline, and his hair was matted with dried blood.

  “Ladrovik,” Tom said in a weak, congested echo of his usual deep growl. “What the hell took you so long?”

  He wobbled, and Alex dumped his backpack and then slid an arm around Tom’s torso and half carried him over to the bunk, which held only a bare mattress. He eased Tom down and wrapped the blanket around him.

  The cabin was dark and chilly, the fire barely going. There was a pool of vomit on the floor beside the bunk, and only one small log left beside the stove. The flannel shirt and denim pants draped around it were sodden.

  Alex shoved the log into the flames and turned back to Tom. “I’m going outside to get wood, warm it up in here.”

  He wondered if Tom even heard him, but then he coughed and grunted. “I’m not going anywhere.”

  “Glad to hear it.” Alex unpacked his sleeping bag and tucked it around the shivering man. Then he took the small ax from the side of his pack and headed outside.

  The bear hadn’t disturbed the neat stack of firewood along one side of the cabin. Alex split several stove lengths into smaller pieces that would burn fast. He loaded his arms and stood for a moment, studying the lake, searching for the Beaver.

  How had Tom gotten here? He couldn’t have walked. No one with his injured leg could make it through that infernal bush. As Alex squinted through the rain, he noticed several items bobbing on the water, far out. One looked like a seat cushion, another some sort of aluminum box.

  Had Tom crash-landed the Beaver? Something serious had happened; the older man was in bad shape.

  Hurrying inside, Alex stoked the stove, found an overturned bucket and went back out for water. Tom was either asleep or unconscious, his breathing loud and labored. Using his flashlight, Alex searched the unholy mess on the cabin floor, looking for candles and cooking utensils.

  He found both, and in a few moments two candles shed flickering light inside the cabin. Soon Alex had his Primus stove going and a small pot of water heating. He used newsprint from a stack beside the stove to clean up the mess beside Tom’s bed.

  The cabin was warming up fast. When the water boiled, Alex made two mugs of instant cocoa and took one over to the bunk along with a bottle of aspirin from his emergency kit. If the gash on Tom’s head had caused concussion, Alex figured it wasn’t good to let him sleep. He wasn’t sure about giving him aspirin, either, but surely Tom needed something to reduce his fever. He was coughing hard intermittently, and his chest sounded heavy and congested.

  Pneumonia? Some kind of flu? There was no way of telling.

  “Tom. Hey, Tom, wake up. Sit up and drink this.”

  It took several tries to finally get Tom to a sitting position. He took the mug, holding it in both hands. Alex steadied it because Tom’s hands were shaking violently.

  Alex waited until he’d taken the aspirin and drank some of the cocoa. “What happened, Tom? Where’s the plane?”

  “In the goddamned lake.” Tom’s voice was barely a whisper, and it was obviously painful to speak. “Hit a deadhead, the Beaver flipped and sank.”

  “How long ago?”

  Tom frowned and then shook his head. “Don’t know.”

  “Did Bert or Ivy know you were coming here? Did you leave a flight plan with Kisha?” There was no plane to pinpoint his location.

  “Nope,” Tom wheezed. “Bert’s in Anchorage with Kisha. Ivy—” He closed his eyes. “Ivy’s mad. She didn’t know—I was coming—looking for you. They’ll think—probably think I’m fishing.”

  That was not good news. Alex tried to think of a way to alert someone and came up empty. If Tom had flares they’d be at the bottom of the lake with everything else.

  “So nobody knows where you are?” What the hell were they going to do for food, if no one came soon? Was there any salvageable food in the mess the grizzly left? His own supply would get them through a short stay, but they’d eventually run out. And Tom wasn’t in any shape to walk.

  “Theo. I told him what I was planning.”

  Alex’s spirits lifted. “So Theo knew you were flying out here?”

  Tom coughed long and hard before he could answer. “Not when. He knew—I was thinking about it.” He took another sip of the hot drink and grimaced when he tried to swallow. “Bloody throat.”

  “He’ll figure it out when you turn up missing.” Alex hoped to God he was right. But how long would it be before Theo and the others started putting two and two together? He knew from conversations with Ivy that Tom had always been casual about his flying itinerary. And he wasn’t in good shape. He sounded as if he needed a doctor.

  “They’ll find us.” Alex tried to sound optimistic. “In the meantime, I’ll get our clothes dry and clean up some of this mess. Was it a grizzly?”

  “Didn’t see him, thank God. It was like this—when I got here.”
r />   “Let’s hope he doesn’t come back.” Alex had the rifle, but he didn’t fancy a shoot-out with a grizzly.

  “Keep…the fire going.” Tom drank the last of the cocoa and slumped down on the bunk, shoving the sleeping bag at Alex. “Take—this,” he wheezed. “I’m warm now.”

  “I will later,” Alex lied. “You keep it for now.” He shoved it tight around Tom. He had warm clothes, and there was an aluminum emergency blanket at the bottom of his pack. In spite of his claims about being warm, Tom was shivering again, so Alex dug the thin sheet out and encased the other man in it. He used his tent to prop Tom up, hoping that a half-sitting position would make it easier to breathe.

  Tom didn’t seem to notice. He coughed until his breath was gone, and then lapsed into a drugged sleep that soon became delirium. At one point he shouted, startling Alex, and then struggled to get up, cursing when Alex restrained him. It was a long time before he quieted again.

  When Tom finally settled, Alex did what he could with the mess, using a brush he found in a cupboard. Flour, sugar and oatmeal were mixed into a soup all over the floor. A plastic jar of honey was torn in two, the contents licked clean, the sticky residue everywhere. Alex was able to salvage two cans of evaporated milk and two more of beans that had escaped the bear.

  As he worked, he tried to figure out why Tom would have been so determined to find him. To warn him away from Ivy? It was the only reason he could think of, but Tom could have done that back in Valdez. Why follow him here?

  Alex was yawning by now. He stoked the fire again, unrolled his own sopping clothes from the plastic he’d wrapped them in, hanging them beside Tom’s pants and shirt, which were sending off clouds of steam beside the roaring stove.

  Tom was alternately snoring and coughing. The wool blanket had slipped to the floor, and because Tom seemed warm enough, Alex wrapped up in it in the second bunk.

  He’d have to make sure he stayed half awake. He had to keep the fire going, and he also needed to keep an eye on Tom. Alex was still thinking about the irony of Tom’s being here when he fell asleep, sudden and deep.

  He woke with a start sometime later when Tom fell.

  “Gotta go to the outhouse,” he mumbled when Alex hauled him up.

  “Okay, let’s get your boots on.” Alex sat the other man on the bunk and with some difficulty shoved Tom’s bare feet into wet leather boots.

  Getting the other man to his feet took some maneuvering. Alex finally looped one of Tom’s arms around his neck and heaved, supporting most of his weight. Outside, Tom had to stop several times, bending double and leaning heavily against Alex before he caught his breath enough to go on.

  “Hell of a note when a guy…can’t take a piss under his own steam,” he wheezed.

  “Maybe you can repay the favor someday,” Alex said, adding in an undertone, “I hope to hell not, though.”

  Tom managed a chuckle as Alex helped him the rest of the way, noting that it was already getting lighter. His watch said 5:00 a.m., and the birds were chirping a mad chorus in the trees. Somewhere to the north several coyotes yipped and a wolf howled, the drawn-out sound eerie in the gray dawn.

  Back inside, Alex settled Tom again and then scooped hot water from the bucket on top of the stove. He mixed in a cube of beef broth and got Tom to drink it. Tom was restless, coughing and shivering, but he didn’t want to sleep. Instead he propped his back higher against the tent, struggling against the racking cough that took his breath away.

  He said in a wheezing whisper, “I feel rotten, real bad chest, sore lungs, one hell of a headache. This is a fine mess I got us into. While I’m awake I gotta talk to you.”

  “Lie down and rest,” Alex urged. “We’ll talk about it later, when you’re feeling better.”

  “Don’t…give me…that shit.” Tom’s voice held a trace of his old spirit. “Half the time I’m out of my head with fever, right now I’m not. I came here to talk to you about your father, I’m gonna do it now while my head’s clear.” He had to stop and struggle for breath.

  Alex frowned at him. “I thought you told me about him already.”

  “Not all of it.” Tom coughed again, long and racking.

  Alex got him another cup of hot water, and shook three more aspirin out of the bottle. “Maybe these’ll help your throat.”

  Tom swallowed them with difficulty. “There was more than I said. See, Nolan and I got into it hot and heavy that morning. Over Vietnam.” He had to keep pausing, but Alex didn’t interrupt. He sat down close beside the bunk, listening as closely as he’d ever listened to anyone.

  “I’d just gotten back from Cambodia,” Tom said. “Damned leg was giving me hell. Nolan was Canadian, what we used to call a peacenik. He said some things about America’s involvement over there that made me good and mad. We got into it pretty good. Upshot was, I slammed on the brakes. Told him to get out of my truck.”

  Tom coughed again and Alex waited. His heart was hammering.

  “Left him there by the side of the road, middle of nowhere.” Tom’s thin voice held half a lifetime of regret. He coughed again, and when he could speak, he said, “It was starting to snow. Should have gone back after I calmed down, but I didn’t. Too mad, too stubborn.” He swiped weakly at the sweat trickling off his forehead. “Too young, too stupid.” He lifted a hand and then let it drop down on the sleeping bag. “Didn’t stop at the Park Service or tell the state troopers about Nolan, either, like I should have. Let him walk off into the bush, hardly any supplies, green as grass, no bloody idea what he was getting into.”

  So that was it. Tom felt responsible for Nolan’s death. Alex thought that over. In light of the days he’d just spent struggling through the bush, he could better understand the Alaskan concept of responsibility. But still…

  “He was an adult,” Alex said at last. “You weren’t responsible for what he did. It was his choice.”

  Tom looked at him through weary, bloodshot eyes. “Horse shit. Up here, everybody’s responsible. You don’t send your worst enemy off into the bush without proper supplies. Even well equipped, you can go a mile, two miles out, never be found again.”

  Alex knew that was the truth. He’d had moments the past few days out on the trail when he figured that was going to be his own fate.

  “What was Roy really like?”

  “Lot like you. Stubborn. Liberal. Quiet spoken, but wouldn’t back down. Intelligent, not practical. Useless dreamer. Hopeless idealist with a death wish.” He gave a sound meant to be a laugh. “Ivy wouldn’t like me saying that. She’s forever trying to rub off my rough edges.”

  The mention of Ivy brought a poignant ache to Alex’s heart.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  There’s so many things I’ve screwed up between us, Lindy. Funny how I can only see that now I’m far away from you.

  From letters written by Roy Nolan,

  April, 1972

  BEFORE HE COULD STOP himself, Alex blurted, “Why did you tell Frances that Ivy was in love with me? How could you know that?”

  Tom raised his head, surprise in his bloodshot eyes. “Plain as the nose on your face. You—you talked to Frances?”

  Alex nodded. “She introduced herself, in Valdez. She’s a very beautiful woman. Classy, and nice into the bargain.”

  Tom’s expression softened. “Always was, always will be.” It sounded like a prayer.

  Alex took a deep breath. “I feel exactly the same about Ivy, Tom. She’s beautiful. She’s classy, and I love her.” It felt validating to say it out loud.

  “She know that?”

  “No. Not yet. I didn’t know myself until I left the lodge.”

  “Dumb damn thing to do, walk away without telling her. Her heart was right there on her sleeve, showed every time she said your name.”

  It hurt that he hadn’t wanted to know. It didn’t help to be told he was stupid. “If—” he corrected himself quickly “—when I get back, I’m going to do my damnedest to get her to marry me.” His voice hard
ened. “I know you don’t have much use for me, Pierce, but that’s just something we’ll both have to live with.”

  “Maybe, maybe not. Depends on whether I make it out of here.” Tom’s wheezy voice grew angry. “You plan on taking her south? Because it won’t work, Ladrovik. Ivy’s roots go deep in Alaska. Rip them loose and she’ll suffer.”

  “Her, or you, Tom?” Alex was fuming. “How can she know what suits her if she’s never tried anything else? You’ve tied her to you with flying and the business, you’ve used love and the sense of responsibility she feels for you to keep her with you. God, she figures you’re a combination of—of Clint Eastwood and—and, I don’t know, double oh seven.”

  “Not any more.” Tom seemed to collapse, but Alex wasn’t stopping. He was on a roll, had to say everything he’d been thinking. “Maybe Alaska is the right place for Ivy, but she needs to compare it to something else before she knows for sure.” He got to his feet and strode the length of the small cabin and back, stopping beside the bunk. “But you’d do everything in your power to prevent that, because you need her close.” He expected a barrage, even sick as Tom was.

  “You’re right about one thing, I don’t want to lose her.” The stark words were poignant, drawn from Tom’s heart. “She’s all I’ve got left now.”

  Alex pitied the older man, but Ivy needed to be free. “If she agrees to marry me, I don’t know where we’ll go,” he said. “I need to talk to her before I even speculate about things like that. Even if she doesn’t want me, she shouldn’t have to feel responsible for your happiness, Tom.”

  To Alex’s amazement, Tom slowly nodded. Then he coughed again, harsh and deep. When he got his breath, he said, “Frances is leaving me, she tell you that?”

  “No, Ivy did.” Alex was weary. He slumped down in the chair again. “Frances didn’t tell me anything like that. She said she had to go away, for herself.” He leaned forward, trying to make the older man understand, but also justifying his own actions. “Like I had to make this trip, for reasons of my own. I understood exactly what she meant.” Alex tried to put it into words. “I couldn’t get any perspective on my life back in San Diego. After my daughter died, I went a little nuts. My marriage broke up, I quit my job. I didn’t give a damn about anything, not even my own life.”