I went with Gril and the girls back to the Benedict House. Once the girls were introduced to Viola and seemed comfortable enough with her, Gril left, saying he’d be back to pick me up in fifteen minutes. It occurred to me that he could change his mind and not come back.
Viola didn’t seem inconvenienced to be given the extra duty of cleaning up the girls. She had help. Her sister, Benny, gathered food and clothing, and Maper, a Tlingit woman I’d met only once at the Glacier Bay Lodge, joined in to help, too. Maper worked at the lodge when the tourist season was going strong, but also had some experience as a nurse. I couldn’t understand if that meant she’d been educated as a nurse, or if she’d taken care of someone in particular. Either way, she was gentle and kind, so it would be fine.
“Hello, Annie and Mary,” Viola said again as she smiled at them, their still-wide eyes looking up at her. “We’ll get you taken care of.”
They nodded, but didn’t smile back, and continued to remain silent. I was surprised by this other side of Viola. Yes, she was friendly to me most of the time, but I’d never witnessed this much warmth.
“You two okay?” I asked the girls. “I’ve got to leave, but I’ll be back.”
For an instant, I thought I saw concern light their eyes, but it didn’t last long. They would be fine. I’d gone from freaked out to concerned to pleased that they were out of the elements.
Finally, I nodded at Viola. She told me that Ellen was safe in her room and could fend for herself for a little while. I hoped that was true.
I heard Gril’s truck pull up and, with one more smile at Annie and Mary, I left the Benedict House again.
Gril wasn’t driving it this time. Donner was. He came to a stop, and I opened the passenger-side door and got in. He was on the phone, so I didn’t interrupt as I buckled up and listened.
“Nothing?” he said. “Okay, well, stay in touch. The girls are getting cleaned up. You know Viola, right? Okay. Yes. She’ll take care of them. Got it. Bye.”
He ended the call and looked at me. “There are still no reports of two girls missing in Alaska. Nothing.”
“Maybe their people haven’t noticed yet,” I offered.
“Maybe. Or maybe they aren’t considered missing,” he said.
“My mind has conjured a story that connects them with the body we’re about to go see,” I said.
Donner frowned. “Mine, too. We don’t have to be fiction writers to connect those dots, though, do we?”
I looked at him, but he had his eyes on the road. It seemed to have been an offhand comment—he didn’t know my secret.
“No, it all seems pretty obvious. The dots are right there,” I said.
“But it could be coincidence,” he said.
The mud wasn’t too challenging as we turned down the road that would take us past the Petition, presumably past Randy’s, and out to the body.
“What do people do when they live so far out in the woods?” I asked. “Doesn’t everybody need civilization sometimes?”
“Some people just want to get away and get off the grid. It’s doable, but it isn’t an easy life, particularly in the winter. Fishing, hunting, and gardening. Not everyone sees a doctor, takes medicine. But there are ways to make money out here, if you choose not to have a ‘real’ job. Trapping can bring an income.”
“Oh. Well, that sounds terrible,” I said.
Donner shrugged. “It’s not for me, but it’s reality, Beth. I try to be open-minded about it.”
“I hear you.”
We were silent as we passed the Petition and continued down the road for a couple of bumpy miles before we came upon a cabin.
“Randy’s?” I asked.
“Yes.” Donner put the truck into park.
It wasn’t as far away as I might have guessed. I’d never ventured this direction. Doing so had never crossed my mind. It was a jarring trip over ungroomed road, and that was obvious just by looking.
Randy’s cabin was a small, simple, square home with a chimney and a peaked roof. There were lots of places just like it in these woods; Randy’s seemed to have an upper floor or a windowed alcove or attic. It was stark amid the winter scene. Even though the inside of the truck was warm, a chill ran along my arms. I sensed I was moving out of my comfort zone.
It wasn’t until then that I realized how I had assigned mental borders, a perimeter, to my world. The Benedict House, the businesses nearby, the Petition shed, the library. Those places and the people in them made up my perfect world. I wasn’t “over” what had happened to me, but I’d convinced myself that I was getting better, that I was safe, particularly if I stayed inside those lines.
It was ridiculous to feel those borders crumble a little only two miles down the road. I was still in Alaska; I was still far away from Missouri. I was safe.
I couldn’t help it, though. My sense of security wavered.
“Beth?” Donner said. “We’re not getting out here.”
I looked at him as he nodded at where my fingers were wrapped tightly around the door handle. I pulled my hand away as if the handle were a hot burner on a stove.
“I know,” I said.
“You okay?”
“Fine. Sorry about that.” I forced my attention to the cabin. “Is that circular window part of a loft, an attic?”
“Yes, a bunk loft. Probably just beds up there. I can’t remember the last time I visited Randy at his house.”
“Are there other bedrooms?”
Donner thought a moment. “Yeah, one other one on the main level. Why?”
“Just curious.”
“We’re headed farther down that way.” He nodded. “It’s even bumpier but not for long. We’ll exit out and onto another road.”
“What prompted you to explore?”
“It looked different.” Donner put the truck back into gear. “The mudslide moved a lot of earth, but I didn’t realize it had impacted this area. I thought I should get eyes on it and report back to Gril.”
“I guess it’s good you listened to your instincts.”
“We’ll see. Out here, I had no way to let Gril know what I found. I had to leave the body where it was.”
“Could it be someone who died of natural causes?”
“Yes, but I don’t think so. Even though she was frozen, there was some … distortion. Maybe from time. It could be any manner of things, Beth.”
“Do people get stranded out here? Die because they have no way out or no way to get help?”
“Sometimes. Usually, though, they know what they’re getting into. There’s plenty of opportunity to be off the grid, but if you aren’t prepared, it’s hard not to think your troubles are your own fault. Some people are okay with the idea of dying out here. Civilization, even small Benedict civilization, can be hard for some folks. They’d rather die than face the world. I get it.”
“You do?”
“Sure.” He sent me a quick look. “I’m not going to live that way, but I understand how the world can be very tiresome for some people.”
The road was jutted and rocky and muddy and wet. I would never have tried driving it on my own. I couldn’t believe Donner had made it the first time. I was so distracted by holding on that I couldn’t focus on talking. A part of me acknowledged, though, that I was glad that I hadn’t found the world completely tiresome yet. I wasn’t ready to stop hiding, but I wanted to do it on the grid, at least on as much grid as Benedict offered, and I wanted my borders well in place.
A few moments later, the truck pulled onto something still muddy but much easier to maneuver over. My kidneys might have already been bruised, but the scenery was appealing.
“You’re not tired of the world yet?” I said, resuming the conversation.
“No. I was, but it’s better, well, less awful, I guess.” He gestured at the path we were driving on. “This is probably an old logging road. At one time, this whole area was probably cleared out. See how young the trees look?”
“Mother Nature is bringing it back. Is there another way to get to this location?”
“I’m not sure. Maybe back toward the river and then over it somewhere, but I don’t know. Gril didn’t know of any other way.”
I looked behind us and then faced front again and swallowed hard. “It feels like a secret hiding place.”
“I thought so, too. Finding the shelter only reinforced that. You’ll see.”
“Care to tell me what brought you to Alaska? What made you tired?”
“Care to tell me what brought you?” he said.
I looked at him, but he kept his eyes on the road.
“Not today, but maybe someday,” I said.
“Same, then.” He paused, but I sensed he wanted to say more. “Actually, my story is pretty simple and not all that interesting. I don’t like sharing the details because I don’t like it when people feel sorry for me.”
“Okay. I promise not to feel sorry for you.”
“I lost my family in a plane crash.”
“Shit. I’m sorry, Donner.” I broke the promise immediately.
“No, don’t feel sorry for me.”
I looked at his profile. I could see his eyes, but from this angle I especially noticed the pinch beside them. His past would hurt forever.
“Kids?” I said.
“Wife and one kid, a daughter.”
“Damn, Donner. Don’t ask me not to feel sorry for you. I am sorry, but I won’t dwell on it. If you ever need to talk, I can be trusted.”
“Thanks, Beth.” He took in a deep breath and then let it out. “All right, we’re almost there. You know to stay back until you’re invited to come closer to the crime scene, right?”
“Yes.”
“I wish I knew why Gril thinks it’s okay for you to be a part of this, but he must have his reasons.”
I hesitated. “You know I used to work for a police chief?”
“Yes, as a secretary.” His voice was flat.
I nodded. “It was in a small town in Colorado. The chief was my grandfather. He noticed I was good with numbers, so I became their crime scene measurement expert. When you’re the lawman in a small town, you use any resource you can.” Other than the Colorado part, I’d just spoken the truth.
“And that’s the only reason I won’t question Gril too much about this.”
I looked forward again and a bluster of activity came into view. Just off the road was a small structure, worn by weather and time, set at the edge of a clearing and surrounded by a truck and a van, and both vehicles I’d seen parked at the small, local airport before. A few official-looking people were walking around.
“We’re here,” I said.
“Yes, we are.” Donner sighed again. “Look, I don’t care what you’ve done and what you’ve seen—this is going to be shocking, Beth. Keep that in mind.”
“Of course,” I said.
I suspected he’d spoken the truth, too.