As Alex drove northwest, the miles, the highways, cities and towns, even entire states blurred by: the southeastern curve of Wisconsin, the edge of Iowa and huge stretches of the Dakotas. Boy, she appreciated that this truck had cruise control. Now if she could just keep control of this trip, of the remaking of her life.
As alone as she felt, she sensed she was safer than if she’d stayed home. Lyle was probably on the warpath now, realizing not only that she had disobeyed his orders to come to his house on Sunday, but that she was gone. With stunning clarity she realized that she now feared him. At least she’d warned her parents that he might call them or even show up there. Or maybe he’d assume she’d just changed neighborhoods. And that was exactly what she was doing—big-time.
Spenser slept during the day between her stops to walk, feed and relieve him and herself. He had curled up in his open-topped carton, which was hemmed in by boxes of lip balms, skin cleansers and fragrant body creams on the passenger side floor. The truck smelled like a summer garden. And Spenser was safer that way, she hoped, than if he’d been in his doggy bed, which was stashed in the back. The little guy managed to snooze despite the fact she kept the radio on and sang along with it to stay awake. Sometimes she talked to him and sometimes talked to her long-lost sister. Allie was there, watchful, each time Alex glanced in the rearview mirror.
At night, she slept well despite strange beds. It was at least better than sharing a bed with Lyle! During the day, she got by on fast food, granola bars, fruit and bad coffee from gas stations. She made sure Spenser had his favorite dog food before they set out each day. One night, because of exhaustion and a rainstorm that affected visibility, she pulled off, slumped down on the seat and settled sleeping in her truck in a Walmart parking lot. Her parents would have had a fit.
And when she was taking a shower at an indie called the Low Rate Motel, even over the pounding of the water and the barrier of the curtain, she heard a man’s voice in the bedroom. Her mind jumped to that old movie Psycho, which she’d been stupid enough to watch over the summer on Netflix. Janet Leigh being slashed in the shower at the Bates Motel!
Her heartbeat pounding in her ears, she poked her head out and emerged dripping wet. Oh, music, too. Had someone turned on the TV? Would she have to scream or fight, stark naked? She had nothing to use for a weapon here in the bathroom. If she could get to her phone, she’d call 9-1-1. Had someone silenced Spenser? Why hadn’t he barked? No way Lyle could have traced her, found her!
Holding her breath, with a towel wrapped around her wet body, she poked her head out into the bedroom. Spenser was lying on the bed where she’d left him, calm, sleepy. He looked up at her like, What’s your problem?
The outside door was closed, the chain lock still on. Then she saw the TV remote was lying on the floor. He must have stepped on it or punched it somehow, and a news program had come on. A commercial ran now, one for a getaway to the very Caribbean resort Lyle had decided would be their honeymoon spot.
She began to sob so hard she could barely walk back into the bathroom to turn off the shower.
She dried herself, clicked the TV off and got into bed, sobbing silently and praying she’d get enough sleep and find the strength to go on the next day.
Alex called her parents and her cousins briefly each night, and Charlene once to thank her for all the help and wish her well. Lyle had been to see her, but she had met him at the door with a friend who was a cop and pleaded ignorance of where his former fiancée had gone. Alex could hear Charlene’s four-year-old daughter’s voice in the background crying that Spenser-doggy wasn’t coming to visit anymore.
And then came the drag of a drive through wide Montana, which went on eternally and, wouldn’t you know, that northwestern state was having an early August heat wave.
Then ahead loomed one of Montana’s six border crossings into British Columbia. Thank heavens she had a current passport from visiting her parents in London. She was still going to have to drive a good slice of western Canada, then back into the US, past Juneau, to Anchorage and then even farther north. She’d be crossing another border, all right, one between her past and present—and the future.
Her cousins had told her she could stay in Canada for up to six months with just proof of US citizenship and a valid ID. She knew from working at the clinic, however, that Spenser would need proof of a current rabies vaccination. She also had that since, she’d figured, if she ever took him to England, it could be necessary. It had to be signed by a US veterinarian, so that was the last remnant she had of Lyle, for he had written his name big and bold on the paper.
She crossed into Canada late on the fifth day of her journey. She started to sing an old Johnny Horton folk song, “North to Alaska.” Spenser howled along with her. It was just the two of them for several more hundred miles—then what lay beyond?
The mountains of Alaska seemed to hem her in, but she felt protected by them, too. So different from Illinois scenery and skylines.
“Hey, Spenser, this isn’t Kansas or the US Midwest anymore!” she said, before she remembered that Lyle, too, had borrowed from The Wizard of Oz when he’d threatened her and her little dog. But surely that part of her life was over. She was safe and free. And she had the strangest feeling that—if she’d stayed home—Lyle could have been crazy enough to make sure her life was over one way or the other.
She tried to shake that off as she turned onto Route 1, the Glenn Highway, which would skirt big, busy Anchorage to the south. Just think: she could have flown into Anchorage in one day instead of driving for almost a week, but it had to be done this way.
As she turned north again, the spruce and birch forests thickened along the road. Lakes glittered through the trees, some big, some small, and she passed numerous white-water streams, a few with people salmon fishing. Everywhere she looked seemed like a stunning postcard come to life.
She saw a sign pointing toward Wasilla and remembered that was the hometown of past vice-presidential candidate Sarah Palin. As she turned off the highway onto a two-lane road to drive the last forty or so miles to Falls Lake, she had to laugh. Two houses she passed had cutouts of Palin in their doorways, and she saw one of those posters stuck on a truck window that made it look as if Palin were in the back seat of the vehicle, smiling and waving.
Strange, but after driving mostly on highways, this narrower two-lane road seemed endless. Surely everything would work out.
She saw a moose on the side of the road just about the time she saw a bumper sticker that read Eat More Moose! She supposed she’d arrive about suppertime at the lodge. Suze had said on the phone last night that they were having a salmon bake for guests, and they hoped she got there in time for that—a real Alaskan welcome. She’d also said it stayed light this time of year until almost ten thirty, so there would be no trouble with her following the signs to the lodge, beyond the little town of Falls Lake. If she went past the survival and tracking camp sign, Suze had said, she’d gone too far. Well, it did feel like she’d gone too far in more ways than one.
“Survival and tracking?” Alex had asked on the phone. “That sounds ominous. Not like—like stalking?”
“Well, kind of. More like tracking someone who’s lost,” Suze had said. “Wait till you meet the guy that runs it. I don’t suppose you watch the Wilds cable TV channel?”
“No. But, oh, you mean that Q-Man guy that you thanked on your website.”
“Let’s just say Alaskans are unique, and him most of all. He’s kind of a local hero, so we watch his show here. You can learn a lot. Anyway, you’ve got two good teachers here, too. We’ll be looking for you with open arms. Drive careful, now, this last leg. Can’t wait to see you! If you arrive during the salmon bake, walk out in back, and we’ll be there.”
What Alex saw when she pulled into the parking lot of the Falls Lake Lodge both comforted and worried her. At least a dozen pickup trucks were there, so she’d soon be meeting lots of people. Her stomach knotted, but Meg and Suze had said to just come on out behind the lodge to find them.
She took time to comb her hair and dab on some lipstick. Yep, there was Allie in the rearview mirror, giving her a nod and whispering, “Go for it—our new life.”
Alex put Spenser on his leash. Brushing off her jeans, she got out and lifted him down, then locked the truck, giving it a good pat for getting them safety here these many miles. As soon as she found the twins she’d duck back inside the lodge, use the restroom and call her parents to leave a message since they’d be asleep now.
Spenser raised one leg for the first of many salutes to the trees outside the lodge, and they went in the front door. No one was at the check-in desk. A few people were inside, but they were looking outside through the back windows, maybe to see when the salmon was done. Spenser looked all around but didn’t make a sound and stayed tight to her.
As someone went out through the back door, Alex could hear the buzz of conversation and a strumming guitar outside. The scent of delicious smoke wafted in as she picked up Spenser, opened the back door and went out.
About ten yards back behind the small crowd was a log cabin that must be the gift shop she would oversee. It was charming, with a large front window that displayed items that were too far away to make out right now. The wooden sign said Gifts and More.
Most people—maybe twenty some, a mix of men and women—were standing around the grilling site, talking and laughing. Some held beer bottles, some glasses and some cups. A few of them looked at her, nodded or smiled, so she mouthed “hi” and smiled back.
She noted a man with what looked like an expensive movie camera slung under one arm, a bottle of beer in his other hand. He was short but rugged-looking, and at least he wasn’t shooting the scene. Maybe her cousins had hired someone for publicity.
At that man’s shoulder was a petite, striking blonde who seemed out of place and yet her appearance screamed, Look at me! She should have been onstage—maybe in front of that camera—with her heavy makeup and long, blond corkscrew hair that must have taken hours to style. Unlike the other casually dressed people, she wore a leather jacket belted around her shapely body with knee-high boots to match. She seemed to be almost hanging on the guy.
It made Alex realize she’d have to keep an eye on that camera. No way she wanted to be in anyone’s online pics or even on local TV. Of course, it was a million-to-one chance Lyle could ever locate her that way, but weirder things had happened.
She saw, too, that the young couple was now hovering with an older man who didn’t quite fit the scene, either. Though he wore jeans and a casual plaid shirt, something about him seemed formal. He was a silver-haired guy around sixty, she guessed, and wore glasses that seemed to become a bit darker when he moved from the shade to sun. Those designer glasses and some large gold jewelry—rings and a big watch—also made him seem out of place here.
Actually, that man might be studying her, too, but she wasn’t sure because of his dark glasses.
The barbecue pit wasn’t what she had expected, either. About twelve large salmon, splayed, skin side out, were spitted on sharp, sturdy sticks that encircled a silvery ember-and-wood fire. A man with his black hair pulled back in a ponytail was basting the fish. Beyond were two long tables covered with green and white checkered oilcloth loaded with covered dishes, stacks of plates and glasses of what looked like iced tea—no, maybe iced coffee.
She spotted one of her cousins among the guests. Tears blinded her at first, and she blinked them back. Was that Suze or Meg? She was going to have to learn to tell them apart by their hair. Oh, there was Chip, pulling on his mother’s light blue shirt and asking her something, so that must be Meg.
Meg saw her, too, and said something to Suze, who was placing casserole dishes on the table. They both rushed her with Chip not far behind. The boy had a round face, sandy hair and freckles. When he smiled, she saw his adult front teeth were coming in.
“Oh, thank God, you’re here safe!” Meg cried, and hugged her first with Spenser pressed between them, still on his best behavior not to growl or bark. Maybe he sensed they were among friends and family, that—for now—they had come home.
Suze got in the group hug, then they peppered her with questions. Others stopped and turned to look. Rather than stare, they applauded, and several came closer for introductions, not shaking hands but giving her high fives, so she figured that was the custom here. A few of them who had obviously already had a few beers gave her what they called “the moose salute.” Thumbs in ears, palms forward, fingers stiff to look like antlers. Chip kept doing it, too, laughing so hard he doubled over. The woman with the cameraman just rolled her eyes as if this was all so dumb, but Alex didn’t feel that way.
So much to learn. So many new people, new ways.
As the rush of welcoming strangers blurred by, only a few stood out right away.
“This is Sam Spruce, jack-of-all-trades, a partner in the tracking camp down the road,” Meg said of the man who had been overseeing the salmon bake. “And this is his brother, Josh, who helps at the lodge and the tracking camp.”
“Wherever, whatever,” Josh said with a little shrug.
The brothers resembled each other except that Josh had a tattoo of a whale on the left side of his neck, so no trouble telling those two apart.
Sam gestured to a tall man standing nearby and told her, “This is my boss and partner. Suze said you work with herbs, Alex. This guy can fix gourmet food out of herbs in the wilds—knows more wild plants and which ones to survive on than I do.”
Suze put in, “Alex, this is our distant neighbor—not distant in person, just down the road a ways—Quinn Mantell, alias Q-Man.”
Their eyes met and held. Oh, he was the dark-haired, tall man from their website, but he’d shaved his beard. He was the first guest who didn’t high-five her but took her hand. His was big, warm and calloused. She had just the hand cream for him, but men hardly ever used it because the scent could be considered feminine. This man smelled of pine and fresh air and—well, masculinity. And they had said he knew herbs, at least in the wild. She felt her cheeks flush as she gently pulled her hand back. She had to say something and not just stare.
“I saw your picture and the thanks to you on the lodge website,” she told him. “If you managed to bring the internet here, you are the local patron saint.”
“Oh, I’m no saint,” he said, and smiled so that his green eyes nearly crinkled shut as he reached over to scratch Spenser between his ears. “What’s your buddy’s name here? I had a Scottie when I was growing up.”
Quinn frowned as though that were a bad memory, but he was the first person who had mentioned or touched Spenser. No yelps, no growls.
“Salmon’s almost done!” Sam announced to everyone. “Come on, Josh—need some help.” Though Josh didn’t look too happy about it, they went back to basting each large piece of fish and touching the skin of it, as if that were the thermometer.
Spenser’s nose twitched at the smell of the fish. She didn’t dare put him down right now.
Introductions went on. It turned out the cameraman was just that, a guy named Chris Ryker from New York who was the videographer for Quinn’s cable TV show. He went by his last name, they said. Luckily, she’d heard Quinn tell him to stow the camera for now. The actress-looking blonde with him was Val Chambers from Los Angeles. Maybe she worked behind the scenes for Quinn’s show. And the older man they’d been with was a New York lawyer somehow connected with the show, by the name of Brent Bayer. He seemed content to just watch rather than come over to be introduced. Other names blurred by.
Meg said, “Listen, let’s get you inside, give you a chance to wash up first. Chip decided to call you Aunt Alex, and he’ll take you and Spenser to your room. After we eat, we’ll help unpack the truck. You did drive a truck, didn’t you?” she asked in a softer voice.
“With all I needed for this new life, you bet. Thanks, Chip.”
Quinn was still standing there, watching, listening. “I must admit,” she said, “I feel like the proverbial new kid on the block.”
“You’re better than a new kid,” he said, his deep voice softer than before, “but there’s a lot to learn. You’ll find folks friendly and willing to help.”
Their eyes met and held before she nodded, smiled and turned away. As she followed Chip back into the lodge and down the hall, asking him where he went to school, she didn’t feel afraid anymore, just totally intrigued. Surely she could make this wilderness lodge and this small frontier-type town she’d driven quickly past as well as these new people and this vast land, at least for now, her home.