Chapter Twenty-Two

Spring, my favorite time of year. The trees come to life with tiny buds of green. Dogwoods paint the landscape with lacy splotches of white. The vibrant blaze of redbuds competes with the scorching yellow of forsythias. Tulips and daffodils dance in the cool early morning air that holds the promise of afternoon warmth.

Springtime in the Ozarks anyway. The vernal equinox doesn’t mean squat four hundred miles above the Arctic Circle. That’s not entirely true, because it is time for Piuraagiaqta—the spring festival. For a country girl like me getting used to living next to a frozen ocean was a challenge. My first year in Barrow, I thought I’d go insane. I’d survived the perpetual night of an Arctic winter, sixty-two days where the sun stubbornly kept its head below the horizon. Spending Christmas in complete darkness made me really appreciate the few festive lights strewn about town. Then, January rolled around and I was giddy, absolutely giddy, when the sun peeked through a whispery layer of clouds. By February, a severe depression wrapped itself around me like a thick ice fog. The sun was up, but it was thirty-degrees-below zero. No way to go outside and play.

While the rest of the world was reveling in a green wonderland, Barrow was still shrouded in a thick layer of snow and ice.

How do the Iñupiaq mark spring? By drilling holes in the frozen lagoon and playing golf. My favorite Piuraagiaqta event was the frozen-chicken bowling. The sheer oddity of seeing a frozen chicken skid across the icy lagoon and knock over bowling pins does a lot to buoy one’s spirits.

On the days leading up to Piuraagiaqta, Bernadette was a nervous wreck. She got her hair cut by Darlene. She borrowed the department’s carpet shampooer. Once her floors were spotless, she washed Roxie—who was none too happy. What surprised me the most was that she asked me to cook dinner.

While she paced the living room and Roxie ran circles around her, I chopped mushrooms in her pristine kitchen. The fluorescent light reflecting off the shiny oven hood blinded me, and I had to turn my back to it to work. I was about to comment on her keyed-up condition when a knock on the door caused her to jump three feet into the air.

I couldn’t help myself. I fell against the counter laughing. Calm, cool, detached Bernadette Brower was so far out of her comfort zone she might as well be on Pluto. She glared at me and marched into the qanitchat to open the door.

The air changed, and a warm glow washed over my body the second Joe stepped into the house. He kicked off his shoes, hung his jacket on a peg, and joined me in the kitchen.

“Hey, babe.” He hugged me and asked, “What’s so funny?”

Bernadette’s glare didn’t stop me from answering, “Bernie’s a little keyed up.”

He held me to his side as he turned to her. “You okay, Chief?”

“Don’t call me ‘Chief’ tonight, okay?” She glanced at her watch.

He nodded. “Got it.”

“Bernie, for God’s sake, go to the airport. The plane is on time. Should be landing any minute now.”

With a deep sigh, she said, “Okay, I think I will.”

I pulled away from Joe and followed her into the qanitchat. “Sweetie, this is going to be great. No worries. Hi’ilani adores you.”

“Yeah, I know, but I’ve never brought a woman home before. I just want everyone to like her.” She shrugged.

“They will. She’s wonderful.”

“Thanks for all your help.” The sound of the Alaska Airlines jet circling over Browerville on its approach to the Wiley Post airport roared in our ears. With a quick hug and a giggle, Bernadette skipped off the steps and jumped into her car.

Smiling, I returned to the kitchen to find Joe, his back turned to me, wielding a knife, which stopped me dead in my tracks. All the happiness I felt for Bernadette drained out of me, leaving a quivering mass. All I could see was the knife—Joe’s big hand wrapped around the handle.

Without realizing what I was doing, my hand flew to my neck, my fingers traced the small scar below my jaw line. Amazing how such a minor, insignificant mark that no one ever noticed could cause so much pain. My back crawled at the memory of Ray holding me against him, groping my breasts as he dug the tip of the knife into my neck.

My instinct was to run, to lock myself in the bathroom. Slowly, I backed out of the kitchen. Joe turned and saw the expression on my face. Without a word, he dropped the knife. Two steps, and he wrapped me in a hug.

My nose pressed against his chest. Instead of my nostrils being assaulted by the smell of ammonia-laced, greasy sweat, they were filled with the essence of a caring man—soap and shaving cream with an underlying sexy musk.

He caressed my back and whispered against the top of my head. “Baby, I know you’ve gone through some bad shit.” He squeezed my upper arms and pulled away so he could look at me when he said, “I’ll never hurt you.”

A snort of derision perched upon my nose, but one look into Joe’s deep, beautiful eyes stopped me. How many times had Ray promised not to hurt me, yet time after time he used me as a punching bag? Every time he promised to never do it again, there was a glint in the back of his eyes as if they were unable to fully mask his lies. Joe’s eyes held nothing but honesty, goodness, and kindness. So, instead of snorting, I hugged him back and said, “I appreciate your patience.”

I knew he wanted to talk about it, but there was no way I was getting into a discussion about domestic abuse minutes before Bernadette arrived with her lover. Instead, I turned my attention back to the meal.

As he set the table, he asked, “Are you sure the chief’s okay with me being here?”

“Yeah. Why?”

“Well, you two are friends and all. She doesn’t mingle with the officers too much.” He folded a napkin. “Did she feel like she had to invite me?”

The man’s thoughtfulness overwhelmed me at times. “Joe, she invited you because she likes you.”

His studied the flatware. His brow furrowed as if in deep thought. When he picked up a fork and placed it on the right side of the plate, I grinned.

He moved the fork to the left and rolled his eyes. “Dammit. I always get that wrong.” Turning to me, he said, “I’m glad she trusts me enough to have me here. This has to be huge for her.”

I didn’t need to answer. With a cold blast of arctic air, Hi’ilani swept into the house. Her radiant, Polynesian beauty heated the room by twenty degrees.

Joe’s jaw dropped.

When she saw me she squealed and ran across the room for a hug. Even though she’d just stepped out of the cold, Barrow spring, her skin was warm and she smelled of plumeria and coconuts. Her waist-long, thick, black hair was tightly braided against the wind. With a flourish, she ran her fingers through it and let it fall against her back.

Her smile doubled when she saw Joe. “So, you’re the one, huh?” She glanced at Bernadette, who nodded. She advanced on him. Her smile had turned from that of appreciation to that of warning. When she reached him, she put her hand on his chest and said, “You one good looking braddah, but you mess with my Anne, you messin’ with ohana—family. Don’t fuck with my ohana.”

She smiled again and kissed his cheek.

From the look on Joe’s face, he knew Hi’ilani wasn’t joking around. My opinion of him rose another notch. Facing down a protective, Polynesian lesbian would’ve been too much for a lot of men. Ray would’ve laughed it off and taken it out on me when we got home. I melted into Joe’s side, knowing that the only thing he’d want to do when we got home involved nudity.

It took hours to finish dinner. It’s impossible to chew when you’re laughing so hard you’re crying. From the moment they met at that smoky bar in Honolulu, I knew Bernadette and Hi’ilani were meant for each other. Destined. Seeing them together in Bernadette’s home sealed the deal for me. Hi’ilani belonged. By the time Joe and I left, I couldn’t imagine Bernadette without Hi’ilani at her side.

Because she was so uncertain about her aka’s reaction, Bernadette asked me to accompany her and Hi’ilani to her house the next day.

The matriarch of the Brower clan was one Pauline Neakok Brower. At eighty, she was a feisty little thing. With a soaking wet parka and waterlogged mukluks she would weigh in at around ninety pounds. She was busy preparing akutuq—Eskimo ice cream—for the afternoon Piuraagiaqta competition. She was the reigning champion and wasn’t about to lose out to her archrival Dorcas Kaleak. Fifteen years of tradition was riding on the perfect ratio of caribou suet to salmonberries.

“Aka, this is my friend Hi’ilani.”

She nodded and went back to cutting up suet.

Bernadette touched her aka’s wrist and stopped the rocking movement of the ulu. No one bothered Pauline while she was cooking. The magnitude of Bernadette’s actions drew Pauline’s full attention. She placed the ulu on the counter and turned to face Bernadette, who towered over her petite aka.

“What is it, dear?” Pauline looked from Bernadette to Hi’ilani to me.

With a smile, Bernadette wrapped her arm around Hi’ilani and pulled her to her side. “Aka, Hi’ilani and I are...well...dating.”

Pauline’s gaze flew to me and, in a worried tone, she asked, “What about Anne?”

“What?” Bernadette gasped. Hi’ilani chuckled, and I grinned.

“Anne’s a good girl.” Pauline shook her finger at her granddaughter. “Don’t you hurt her.”

Bernadette scraped her jaw off the floor. “You knew I was gay?”

“Ii. Yes. Since you were five or six.”

“Why didn’t you say anything?”

“Why would I? I don’t talk to you kids about who you date. I just want you happy.” Another glance at me. “What about Anne?”

“Pauline, we’re just friends. I have a boyfriend.” I smiled. “Thank you for looking after me.”

“I like you. Sensible. You cook. Good heart.”

She gave Bernadette a light hug and thrust the ulu into Hi’ilani’s hand. When I left, she and Hi’ilani were elbow deep in tuttu—caribou meat.

My heart was light. I was so happy that Bernadette had such a welcoming and accepting family. I’d treat my kids that way. No matter what, I’d accept them for who they were. Treat them with respect. Let them know that their opinions and feelings mattered. Teach them to express themselves and shower them with love. The thought of standing in the kitchen, laughing and cooking with them, made me smile.

My heart slammed against my chest. With a thud it landed like a cold slab at my feet. What the hell? Was I actually thinking of a future? A future of happiness and family?

Oh, shit. Oh shit. Oh shit.