I MISS YOU.
Denny brushed her fingers across Vanessa’s flowing script, centered between the folds. This was the fourth such letter, if you could call it that, if three words were enough. Vanessa spoke in pictures, not words, so it must have been hard for her to do this much. Denny had crumpled the first three from residual anger, but this one she folded neatly and slipped into her jacket pocket. Their last argument throbbed in her memory, louder still than the quiet words on paper. Forgive and forget? All Denny had wanted was the summer in Alaska, flying tourists around Mount McKinley, North America’s highest peak. It was the chance to fulfill a dream for a no longer young pilot whose flying days were closer to landing than takeoff. Somehow, Vanessa had come to see that as her own abandonment, a rejection of her very being, and an excuse for a terrible betrayal.
Denny leaned back in her chair and rocked, inhaling the scent of spruce filling the warm, mid-summer air and listening as the creek tumbled softly across stones beyond the driveway. Did she miss Vanessa? Oil and water may not mix, but they can coexist. Until a match strikes.
A distant rumble nodded Denny out of her reverie. Through the screen door behind her, she heard laughter and dishes clinking as the college kids set up dinner. The rumble grew until it became visible as a school bus with “Denali Roadhouse” stenciled in red across the side. It turned in from the road and pulled to a stop amid a cloud of dust. Men, women, and children gathered their things and bustled off. Some chatted enthusiastically about the wildlife they’d spotted on the ninety-mile trip into the park. Others quietly stretched the long hours out of their legs before climbing the steps to the lodge.
A woman caught Denny’s eye. And Denny seemed to have caught hers. They shared a gaze for a few long seconds, an immediate and visceral connection. When Denny’s mind caught up, she noted that the woman appeared to be alone, which was unusual. The trip of a lifetime and no one to share it with? She wore binoculars and a camera slung around her neck, like everyone else, but she held a small notebook and pen. She checked her watch then wrote something down. Denny marveled that she would want to document even the moment of arrival. Then she stowed the pad in her pocket and snapped photos of the log building and the bus with her fellow passengers streaming out. She smiled shyly at Denny as she headed up the porch steps and inside. Her dark hair was streaked with gray and she wasn’t wearing any makeup. Most women did, even in Alaska, especially those over fifty, if only a trace of lipstick or powder.
Something clicked in Denny as she rocked. It had been a long summer with few intriguing people and fewer lesbians. The upside being no drama.
Helen, the manager, gave Denny the signal during dessert, and she headed into the dining room to introduce herself. Tundra Air Service, she said, offered hour-long flightseeing trips to “the mountain, Mount McKinley, or, as many prefer, Denali, its Athabascan name.” She explained the sign-up process and was almost finished when she spotted the woman, sitting at a corner table with two other couples, taking notes. Maybe she was writing a book.
Denny retreated to her desk in the lobby and soon guests trickled by, some clustering around her, asking questions. She spotted the woman at the back, listening and watching. People tended to be nervous about a female pilot, so Denny answered their questions carefully. Her list filled with names. Then only the woman stood before her.
“I’ve never flown in a small plane before,” she said. Her voice was soft, ethereal.
“There’s really nothing to worry about,” Denny assured her. “We’ve each had at least twenty years’ flying experience.”
“Will I be able to take pictures?”
Denny smiled. “Of course. That’s what most people do.”
The woman nodded but paused, looking at the pen and sign-up sheet on the desk. Denny glanced at the list. “There’s room for tomorrow.”
“Okay.” The woman picked up the pen and tried to write from the wrong end. “Oh, how silly,” she said, blushing and turning it around.
Alice Campbell. Denny read the name upside down, in neat script. “Okay, Alice. You’re all set. See you in the morning. We’ll meet right here at eight.”
Alice took out her notebook and wrote down the time then looked up. “Will I be able to take pictures?”
Denny raised an eyebrow. “Yes. As I said—”
Alice turned abruptly and walked away. She headed back toward the dining room, then stopped, glanced around, and returned to the lobby. She didn’t look at Denny, but a hand fluttered to tuck her hair behind her ear. Probably exhausted, Denny thought. She made a tick mark next to Alice’s name. That would tell Josh, her boss, to put Alice in her plane. All the pilots did this, but Denny hadn’t till now.
AT SIX THE next morning, Denny radioed the airfield. Josh reported the weather clear and winds calm, so all flights were on. Adrenaline surged as she washed up and ate breakfast. To fly! It never got old.
She checked names as everyone boarded the van for the short trip to the airfield. Alice sat in the back, quiet, staring out the window. When they arrived, Josh took over assigning the passengers to planes while she greeted Dave and Walt, the morning’s other pilots, and headed to her plane. Not her own. Hers sat to the side of the runway, ready for her day off. She walked around the single-engine Cessna with the Tundra Air Service logo on the tail and ran through her checklist.
A family of four strode toward her. Where was Alice? She looked over to the hut that served as an office. “Josh! I’m missing Alice.”
He checked his list and shrugged. “She’s here somewhere.”
Maybe she was using the bathroom. Denny helped the guests settle in then glanced around and spotted Alice with Walt just as he pointed her way. Alice apologized but Denny shrugged and patted her brown leather jacket. “We all look alike,” she joked as she opened the copilot’s door and helped her in.
Denny took her own seat, made sure everyone was buckled in, and showed them how to use the headsets and mics, the only way to hear each other once airborne. Alice twisted around to snap pictures of the controls, of Denny, the other passengers, and the view outside. The plane filled with restless excitement as Denny started the engine.
“We’re next,” she said into her mic as Dave took off.
She taxied to the end of the runway then turned. The engine roared and the plane picked up speed, racing along the dirt strip. Denny’s neck hairs prickled. This part never failed to thrill her.
Alice put her camera down and stared at Denny. “Oh my, that feels wonderful,” she said, her voice tinny in the headphone.
Denny smiled. “Takeoff is my favorite part.” The G forces pushed her back into the seat. Alice grinned as they left the bumpy ground and the ride smoothed out. Someone whooped from the back.
For the next hour Denny played tour guide, pointing out the peaks of the Alaska Range that formed a wall eighteen thousand feet up from a flat plain threaded by shallow streams of glacier runoff and dotted with small ponds. Denali gleamed proudly, covered in bright snow against a deep blue sky. Below, glaciers formed frozen rivers pouring down the face of the mountain.
She ran through her script, describing how the mountain’s elevation gain was greater than Everest’s, rising as it did from a plain only two thousand feet above sea level. What she couldn’t describe was how this massive uplift of planet, rising higher than her plane could fly, grounded her. It served as her guidepost, a pivot point around which she oriented herself. Denali comforted her, despite its dangers. Treat the mountain with respect, Josh had said during orientation, and she’ll treat you fairly in return. There weren’t many women you could say that about.
Oohs and ahhs from Alice and the others penetrated the engine’s buzz as they soared over sharp, snow-covered ridges and past jagged rock. Heading up Peters Glacier, the plane began to buck. Denny concentrated on maintaining control as the small craft dropped and tilted then rose, as though riding an invisible roller coaster.
She pulled away and turned back. “Sorry folks, a bit too windy to make it around to the south side.”
She headed back across the north face and glanced over at Alice, who looked a bit pale and was clinging to her seat. But she was grinning.
After landing back at the airstrip, Denny posed for pictures and let the kids sit in the pilot’s seat. When she looked around for Alice, she had vanished.
BY THE NEXT morning clouds had moved in, obscuring the summit and grounding the pilots. Rather than do nothing, Denny offered to co-lead a hike up a nearby ridge. Erin, one of the college kids on staff, tended to leave the older hikers in her dust, so Denny diplomatically offered to serve as sweep, staying at the back of the pack, and telling herself it wasn’t just because Alice had signed up.
They climbed steeply through dense alder thickets then out onto dry tundra—knee-high blueberry shrubs, small wildflowers, mosses, and lichens. Erin stopped often to talk about the plants and animals while Alice took notes and photos with the studiousness of a reporter.
Twice, after they’d stopped, Alice had left her daypack behind. The first time, Denny called to her and Alice thanked her. The second time, her face clouded over in an expression Denny found hard to analyze. Maybe embarrassment or even anger. Happens to everyone, Denny assured her.
At lunch, when people got to talking about themselves, Denny learned Alice had recently retired after teaching high school biology for thirty years and that she lived in Jamaica Plain, one of Boston’s gay-friendly neighborhoods.
“I live in Provincetown,” Denny said. “We’re practically neighbors.”
The information settled on Alice’s face like a weight as she stared at the ground. A brief smile formed and she glanced up quickly then away. “Yes.”
Even if they had been alone, Denny might not have pursued the question she was partly dying to know and partly dreading—are you gay? Whether it had anything to do with Vanessa, she would think about only later, for in the moment, Vanessa was forgotten. For now, Denny sat next to Alice, a calm, if puzzling, presence, with her quiet words and soft face that smiled with shyness and a certain sadness. She remembered that this was what it should feel like, attraction. A pulse quickening, heat rising on her cheeks, breath catching. For now, it was enough.
AFTER LUNCH, THEY hiked down an old mining road behind the ridge. It wasn’t as scenic, but was easier going, and Erin didn’t stop as often. Denny held back to ensure no stragglers got left behind. Alice joined her.
“I think you’re very courageous, flying toward that mountain every day.”
Alice spoke without preamble. They’d been walking in silence, enjoying the birdsong, or so Denny thought. Alice had been thinking about her. She shrugged and was about to deny it when Alice continued.
“‘Courage is the price that life exacts for granting peace.’”
Denny blinked at the sheen of familiarity. “Amelia Earhart.”
Alice smiled. “Yes, I wondered if you would know that.”
“It’s on coffee cups and T-shirts all over P’town.”
“Oh.” Alice clasped her hands behind her back to lift the weight of the pack off her shoulders.
Denny regretted deflating Alice’s enthusiasm. “‘Each time we make a choice, we pay/With courage to behold resistless day,/And count it fair,’” Denny said. “That part’s not on the mugs.”
Alice smiled but did not meet Denny’s gaze. “I had a feeling there was more to you than a slogan.”
When a plane climbs through clouds, the pilot fights for control in the turbulence. Visibility is zero, so she focuses on her instruments. Then she breaks through, not with a blast or shudder, but with sudden, unexpected calm. Tense muscles take a moment to relax. The light is clear, the white cloud tops brilliant. It is a moment of complete and utter clarity, and the closest Denny comes to believing in God. She didn’t know why she felt it now, walking a dusty track down a small ridge, with the sky and the mountain obscured. But she knew better than to ignore it.
“I’m off tomorrow,” she said impulsively. “Would you like to go flying with me?”
“You fly on your day off?”
“Flying isn’t what I do,” Denny said. “I fly, therefore I am.”
Alice laughed and accepted the invitation.
DENNY AND ALICE rode in the back of the van to the airfield with the other flightseers. While Denny checked her plane, Alice snapped photos.
They waited while the others took off before Denny taxied her smaller Cessna down the runway. She was keenly aware of the tighter space in the cockpit. Alice’s shoulder was mere inches from her own, which felt unnaturally warm.
“We won’t be going to the mountain, if that’s okay,” Denny said when they were airborne. “We need to leave that for the paying crowd. There’s something I’d like to show you, though.” She turned the plane north, toward the Kantishna Hills.
Below and to the west, a flat plain swept to the horizon, dotted with kettle ponds and striped with ribbons of streams that glittered in the morning light. Ahead, low mountains rippled in cascading ridges.
After several minutes, Denny circled what looked like a short stretch of dirt road along a ridgetop. Explaining that it was an old airstrip from an abandoned mine, she dropped the plane and skittered down the dirt track. She cut the engine. Slowly, the hum and vibration of the Cessna faded from her bones.
“Wait’ll you hear the silence,” she said, grinning.
She helped Alice out of the plane and they walked to the side of the runway, where a flat tundra of shrubs stretched for several hundred yards before dropping off.
“It’s beautiful,” Alice said, her voice quiet with awe. “Is that a hiking trail?” she asked, eyeing a cut through the blueberry bushes.
“Animal trail,” Denny said.
Alice looked at Denny. “Shall we explore?”
“That’s why we’re here.” Denny grabbed their daypacks and water bottles. The narrow path meant they walked single file, Alice in the lead. They wandered among the trails, taking various turns at forks and stopping often, Alice digging out a guidebook to identify a plant or jot a note.
Bending and kneeling to peer under the shrubs, Denny lost herself in a miniature world as Alice showed her mouse scat, fur, a feather, diminutive alpine flowers. “I’m used to flying over dramatic landscapes. I never knew it could be just as dramatic up close.”
At one point, they’d stopped long enough that birds moved in next to them. A ptarmigan froze on the path ahead.
“You don’t see things like this on a group hike,” Alice said softly. “Thank you.”
“I was going to say the same thing,” Denny said.
At the far end of the ridge, a flat outcrop of rock beckoned. They sat quietly, with only the breeze whispering through the grasses behind them. Denny sipped water while Alice scanned the next ridge with her binoculars.
Alice lowered her glasses. “Denny,” she whispered. She pointed to the right. “Over there. I think it’s a wolf.”
Denny focused her binoculars. “Yes, I see it,” she whispered back.
Brown and lean, the lone wolf zigzagged back and forth through the interwoven trails. Soon he dropped over the far edge.
Goosebumps prickled Denny’s arms as a primal surge of adrenaline raised her heartbeat.
Alice lowered her binoculars. Her cheeks were pink, her eyes bright. “That’s the first one I’ve seen in the wild,” she said, her voice reverent.
“Me too,” Denny said. “I’m glad it was with you.” Their eyes locked for a long moment and Denny’s heart pounded harder.
Alice cleared her throat and looked away. “Yes, well . . .” Her flat tone made Denny wonder if she’d said something wrong or if Alice was just surprised. As surprised as she was. She let a few more minutes pass in silence then broke it, suggesting they return to the plane for lunch.
Alice looked at her and nodded, perhaps relieved.
On the walk back, Denny again found herself mesmerized as Alice pointed out flowers and lichens she’d never noticed before.
“Look,” Alice said, bending to examine a small purple flower. “Do you know what this is?”
Denny smiled. Was Alice teasing her? She’d looked it up not two hours ago. “A forget-me-not. Alaska’s state flower.”
“It’s so delicate,” Alice said, taking a picture.
They returned to the plane and ate lunch in the shade of the wing. For the rest of the afternoon they admired the scenery. Sparrows flitted among the alder and willow shrubs beside them. Above the next ridge, a hawk circled, searching for small prey.
Denny wondered if this momentary collision with Alice would change anything. She liked Alice well enough. Her body was telling her that as much as her mind. She hadn’t felt a raw sexual attraction to a woman since Vanessa, yet this was different. Vanessa had barreled into her life, introduced by friends with the expectation of something evolving. And it did, although P’town, for all its glorification of all things homosexual, remained a small town, with a small, incestuous community of women. For a time they’d been the hot couple. The avant-garde artist and her muse with the sexy profession. Gradually, the reality of an artist’s life, of Vanessa’s needs, and Denny’s arduous, unsexy work schedule intruded. When a canceled flight brought Denny home early, she found Vanessa and a gallery owner engaged in a very inartistic activity. That was after the fight about Alaska, when Denny was preparing to give in and stay.
Alaska offered fresh horizons and no expectations. She wasn’t even sure Alice was gay and she didn’t feel inclined to ask. She hadn’t decided whether pursuing something was what she wanted, so it was best not to step onto that trail of expectation with certain knowledge of Alice’s compatibility. Just let it play out. See where this goes on its own. Maybe all it would become was a friendship. Maybe even that was presumptuous.
ALICE REMAINED QUIET on the flight back, and Denny spoke only into her radio to the other pilots. She circled while Walt landed, then touched down and taxied close to the fuel pump. Later, she would move her plane back to the side. Till next week. She cut the engine and waited for the noise to leave her head. Alice took off her headphones.
“Did you have a good time?” Denny asked.
Alice looked down and smiled. “Yes.” Then she looked at Denny. “Oh yes.”
Denny’s stomach dropped, like when the plane hits a down draft. “I’m glad.” She forced herself to recover so she could help Alice. She ran around the plane, opened the door, and held her hand out. Alice took it as she stepped down but didn’t let go.
“Thank you,” she said. Then she hugged Denny. Their bodies pressed together. Denny swooned, suddenly weightless. She put her arms around Alice and waited for whatever might come next, not daring to hope. She inhaled but the air felt thin, ineffective, like high altitude. She might as well be on the top of that mountain.
Alice pulled away from her, but not far. Their eyes met and Alice kissed her. Full on the lips, languorous and soft. This was no mere kiss of thanks, but of desire. Denny’s knees weakened and she sagged against the plane, holding onto Alice, suddenly aware of every part of their bodies that touched, from knees, stomachs, and breasts to Alice’s hand at the back of her neck.
Alice ended the kiss, but still leaned close, breathing heavily. Denny couldn’t think of anything to say and was sure she had no voice to say it if she could. The sounds of the airfield drifted into her consciousness. Another plane landed. She needed to get hers refueled and out of the way, but she didn’t want to break this moment.
Josh must have wandered by. “Oh, sorry,” Denny heard. She looked and saw him retreating. That did it. She took a deep breath.
“I’m sorry,” Alice said, stepping back.
“No. It’s okay. I just need to get the plane out of his way.”
Alice looked at Denny with concern. “You sure I didn’t just get you fired?”
Denny chuckled. “I’m sure. He’s cool. Besides, it’s my day off.” She ran a hand through her hair. “It’ll take me a few minutes here, though.”
“I think I’ll start walking. Okay?”
“Whatever you want.”
Alice backed away and shoved her hands in her pockets, transformed. No longer the retired schoolteacher, pretty but reserved, now alarmingly sexy. The swell of her breasts, the curve of her hips. Her camera strap crossed between her breasts and pulled her shirt open. Denny wanted to kiss her throat.
Alice turned and walked away, then looked back and smiled. “I’ll see you.”
Denny nodded, incapable of anything else. She spied the fuel hose on the ground. Right. Move now. She forced herself to shake Alice out of her thoughts and focus on her plane.
DENNY SLUNG HER daypack on and broke into a run, hoping to catch up to Alice, but she was probably already back to the lodge. It’d taken almost an hour to gas up, clean out their trash, wipe the bug guts off the windshield, then move the plane and tie it down. Denny was distracted, but not enough to neglect her plane.
She was reliving the feel of the kiss when she spotted Alice near the turnoff to the lodge. Her back was to Denny but she was looking uncertainly up and down the road and toward the driveway to the lodge.
“Hey, little lady,” Denny called. “You lost?” Her smile faded when she saw Alice’s expression. A mix of emotions flashed—confused, frightened, maybe angry. Denny stopped a few feet from her. “You okay?”
Alice looked at her seriously. “I’m fine.”
It was as though earlier hadn’t happened. “Alice—”
Alice met Denny’s gaze and smiled suddenly. “I was watching a bird.”
“Oh.” Denny realized how little she knew her. Nervous, she checked her watch. “I need to get going if I want dinner.”
Alice walked with her toward the lodge. “Are you working tomorrow?”
Denny nodded. What now? She needed to be careful. Helen pretended to ignore the employees who hooked up with each other, but frowned on staff/guest relations.
“When do you leave?” Denny asked.
“The day after.”
People bustled about. Their day together was the most privacy they’d get. “Well . . .”
“Thank you again for today,” Alice said, a little too formally for Denny’s comfort. She half expected Alice to shake her hand.
“You’re welcome.” They stood at a crossroads. Alice started to turn toward her cabin, Denny needed to get inside. “Alice . . .”
Alice stopped.
“Have a nice evening.”
Alice smiled and Denny watched her walk away.
THE NEXT DAY was clear and the winds calm, so Denny had a long day of flying. She got back late in the afternoon. Tomorrow Alice would leave. Early—the bus left at six. She stood on the porch, debating what, if anything, she could do. Erin had invited her to play volleyball with the crew, but she wanted to stay where she might run into Alice. She settled into a rocking chair to think. Was it stupid to hold out hope of seeing her again?
The van from the afternoon hike at Wonder Lake pulled in and Denny smiled reflexively on seeing Alice get out. She looked happy and relaxed, laughing with an older couple. As she turned toward the cabins, she caught Denny’s gaze. She stopped and Denny’s heart raced. Alice waved the others on and stepped onto the porch.
“Hi.”
“Hi,” Denny said, feeling immediately feeble.
“I was afraid I might not see you again.”
Denny’s heart soared and she stood. “I was wondering if you’d like to—”
“I’d love to.”
Denny paused, startled. “I haven’t finished asking.”
“I don’t care. I’ll do it. But you can finish asking, if you like.” Alice smiled.
“Okay. Would you like to go wing walking?”
Alice laughed and her eyes widened with mischief. “Yes.”
The way Alice was looking at her made a tingle shoot down Denny’s legs. She cleared her throat. “Well, I was actually wondering if you’d like to go for a walk with me. There’s a nature trail and, well, there aren’t usually many—” She glanced around the porch as people streamed in and out of the lodge on their way to and from their cabins. Why was this so difficult? She had regressed into adolescence. “It’s quiet.”
Alice didn’t take her eyes off of her. “That would be nice. I’m starving, though. After dinner?”
“Of course. Meet here?”
Alice nodded.
DENNY ATE DINNER in the kitchen with the crew, washed up, then waited in the lobby. When Alice strolled by, she followed her outside then led her to the path that ran through trees behind the volleyball net. Once they were out of view of the lodge, and without saying anything, Alice took Denny’s hand.
Hands are at once utilitarian and sensual, familiar and exotic. Hands grip airplane yokes, fingers grasp blackboard chalk. The eyes may be windows to the soul, but hands are doors to the heart. Denny could barely see the path before her. It was as though all her psychic energy had drained down to those entwined digits.
They stopped and Alice might have said something. Denny looked down to see a trail marker. Her other hand held a guidebook she’d borrowed from the lobby. She tried to open the book without letting go of Alice’s hand but Alice took it from her.
The only sound came from the breeze through the trees and Denny’s pounding heart. Alice put a hand on Denny’s cheek, leaned close, and whispered, “I want you.” Then she kissed her.
Denny’s legs gave out and she sank to her knees with Alice pulling her shirt up. The ground was damp and cold. Alice’s mouth was hot and wet. Denny struggled to her feet and pulled her shirt back down while Alice giggled and leaned against her. She grabbed Alice’s hand and pulled her back along the path.
When they got to the lodge grounds, Denny led them behind the utility buildings and to the staff bunkhouse. She wasn’t thinking logistics, just proximity. She slipped in the back door, Alice quiet beside her. As soon as they were inside her room, Alice reached under Denny’s shirt. Her hands on Denny’s skin made her swoon.
They fumbled to undress each other. Alice tugged on Denny’s shirt but couldn’t get it off because Denny was busy trying to undo the button to Alice’s shorts.
“Wait,” Denny gasped, finally. “One at a time.”
Alice stepped back, glanced around, and giggled. “A bunk bed,” she said. “I haven’t done this since college.”
Denny blushed. “I guess we should have gone to your cabin.”
Alice shook her head. “No, I like it.” She kissed Denny’s throat then undressed her, slowly, tenderly. Then Denny did the same for Alice, kissing and touching her bare skin as she removed each item. Gently, she guided Alice down onto the narrow bed.
In a delicate, carefully balanced choreography, they made love. As though it could be manufactured. No, Denny already loved. She was not someone who engaged in sex, casual or otherwise. For her, this level of intimacy meant expressing love, not making it. Loving a woman was as close to flying as Denny could get while earthbound, and this was a perfect flight. Alice was confident and fearless, gentle and playful at just the right moments. Denny was undone and remade in her arms.
Later, Denny lay awake, still soaring above the clouds in the midnight dusk of the far north summer. So this is what it feels like, she thought. She had forgotten. Alice lay draped across her, breathing softly. Denny stroked her hair. Impulsively, she whispered, “I love you.” Alice didn’t stir. That was okay. This was just practice. She would say it again.
DENNY WOKE TO bright sunlight streaming in the window. She was alone. She rubbed her eyes while sorting dream from reality. The clock jolted her. Seven. She bolted up, grabbed her bathrobe, and ran outside in her bare feet. Erin was crossing the yard, where the bus would have been parked.
“Erin! Has the bus left?” Denny called.
Erin looked at her with concern. “Yeah, like an hour ago. Josh is looking for you. Oversleep?”
Denny stared at the blank spot where a bus should be. Where Alice should be waving to her from the window and blowing kisses. They would have promised to write and make plans to visit in September when Denny returned home. Fall on the Cape was beautiful. Alice had the time now.
“Oh, fuck!” Denny put a hand to her mouth and let out a cry. “No!”
“Hey.” Erin ran to her. “What’s wrong?”
Denny pulled away. “Nothing. Never mind.” She stumbled back to her room and sank to the floor against the door.
Erin knocked softly. “Denny? Are you okay?”
“I’m fine. Leave me alone. Please.”
“What about Josh?”
“Tell him I’m coming.”
She heard Erin move away and pressed her forehead onto her arms across her knees, crying helplessly. You only just met her, she told herself.
After a few minutes she wiped her face and looked around, at the bed with sheets rumpled and damp, the memory of last night so vivid, her clothes heaped on the floor. A piece of paper on her nightstand caught her eye. She groaned to her feet and picked it up. It was torn from a spiral-bound notebook. Alice’s. In her neat script, she had written, Dear, sweet Denny. You are a wonderful, beautiful lover, but I wasn’t looking for anything more, so please don’t contact me. I can’t love you. Alice.
Stunned, Denny read it three more times. Alice had heard her. She crumpled the note and flung it into the trash. Figures. What a bloody idiot she’d been. Again.
In a fury, she pulled the sheets off the bed and threw them in the pile with her other laundry. She didn’t want any lingering trace of Alice. Then, remembering Josh, she grabbed her bath kit and headed to the shower.
I can’t love you.
Denny mulled Alice’s words while she washed up and dressed. What did that mean? Not, I don’t love you. Can’t. She shook her head, frustrated that she’d never know.
“WHERE THE HELL have you been?” Josh greeted her in the lobby.
Denny apologized and said she’d forgotten to set her alarm. She suspected Alice had turned it off.
“Well, I have a customer for you,” he said. “This lady missed the bus. She needs a flight to the train depot.”
Denny looked to where Josh indicated. Alice shifted uncomfortably in a chair, pallid, her expression unreadable. With Josh standing beside her, Denny couldn’t say what she wanted, Why did you leave? What did I do wrong? Why did you say you can’t love me? She could only plead with her eyes. But Alice looked away.
Denny cleared her throat to see if she could summon a voice and asked only, “When is your train?”
“Noon.”
“Then I have time for breakfast.” She retreated to the dining room. Her hands shook as she poured the coffee.
Other guests trickled in. Denny was sitting with a plateful of eggs and sausage when Alice entered and peered at the buffet. She poured herself a cup of coffee and took a seat by a window across the room. Denny sighed and reached for her orange juice. When she finished eating, she thought about ignoring Alice, but then went to her.
“Did I do something wrong?” She stood over Alice, hoping to appear more intimidating than she felt.
Alice stared out the window, hands wrapped around her mug. “No.”
Denny sat across from her. “Then what’s this all about?”
Alice looked at her. “What’s what all about?”
Denny cocked her head and waved a hand between them. “This. The cold shoulder. The note.”
“I’d like to fly with someone else. If that’s possible.” Alice’s eyes were cold.
Denny leaned back, stunned. “I’m sure it is. I’ll take you to the airfield. You can make your own arrangements.” She stood. “Be ready by nine-thirty.”
AT THE AIRFIELD, Josh met them with the news that the winds had picked up and no one would be flying out. He’d arranged for a van to drive to the park entrance.
“But I’ll miss my train,” Alice pleaded, but Josh was unmoved.
Denny was off the hook. She could leave now. This wasn’t her problem anymore. Instead, she said, “I can take you.”
“How?” Alice asked, glancing from Josh to Denny. “He just said it’s too windy.”
“That’s a business decision, not a flying decision.” She paused. Josh wasn’t protesting. “They’ve never had an accident and that’s because they reduce the risk to zero.”
“You think the risk can be higher?”
“I do. But it’s up to you.”
Alice looked away and shook her head slowly as though weighing the options, of which there were few. There was no way to meet the train without flying, and no way to fly without Denny.
“How long will it take?” Alice asked.
“Thirty minutes.”
Alice closed her eyes briefly then looked at Denny, her expression sad. “Okay.”
They prepared for the trip in silence. Denny used her own plane, stowing Alice’s suitcase in the back, and growing more and more frustrated. Unlike Alice, she couldn’t pretend last night hadn’t happened. As they took off, the plane bucked in the wind and Denny focused on maintaining control. Once they cleared the ridges, the plane settled. It would be a bumpy ride, but Denny could handle it. Alice stared out the window. Wind or no wind, this would be thirty minutes of hell. Circling over the Kantishna Hills to turn east, Denny spotted the old mine and on impulse dropped the plane to land.
Alice looked at her, fearful. “What’s wrong? Is something wrong with the plane?”
Denny didn’t say anything until she rolled to a stop and cut the engine. “Nothing’s wrong with the plane, but something’s wrong with me. I need to know what happened between us.”
Alice hesitated. “Nothing happened. It was a fling. Haven’t you had any other flings this summer?”
“No, I haven’t. I don’t do flings. And I don’t recall you mentioning anything about a fling.”
“Well, I’m sorry. But that’s all it was.” Alice looked away but tears welled.
“I don’t believe you. Why are you jerking me around?”
“I’m not jerking you around, Denny. I’m protecting you.”
“From what?”
“From me.”
“Oh, please. What is it? A husband? A wife? Are you straight? What?”
“Stop it.” Alice began to cry.
“No. Tell me or we sit here till you miss that train.”
Minutes ticked by. Winds buffeted the plane and Denny worried that conditions might worsen. Finally, Alice sighed. “Have it your way.” She stared at her hands in her lap. “I have Alzheimer’s.”
Denny felt the breath leave her. Pieces fell into place. She sensed Alice was telling the truth. “Are you sure?”
Alice nodded. “Diagnosed last January with all the signs. Growing forgetfulness, confusion, disorientation. It’s not just ditzyness. I’m no ditz. At least I didn’t used to be.”
“Is that why the notebook, the photos . . . ?”
Alice nodded.
“I—I’m sorry. I don’t know what to say.”
“I’m the one who’s sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you. I had this crazy notion I could have an affair, a bit of fun and you’d forget all about me.” Alice met Denny’s gaze. “Because, you see, I’m the one who’s going to forget you.” A tear slipped down her cheek. “And now I don’t want to.”
Denny pulled her into a hug. “I’m such an idiot. I’m sorry. I thought it was me.”
Alice pushed away but put a hand on Denny’s leg. “It was you, though. Don’t you see? You made me feel normal. After six months of being poked, prodded, and scanned, the last thing I wanted to think about was my diagnosis. That’s why I came to Alaska. Alone. My doctor warned me not to, but I can be stubborn. I wanted to forget, ironically. But I’m the one who’s an idiot, who’s too sick to get on a bus.” Alice’s voice began to shake. “They made an announcement, but I let it go by. It didn’t register that I was supposed to be on that bus.” Denny took her hand.
“When you said you love me, I panicked. It was everything I wanted but knew I couldn’t have. Can’t have.” She looked at Denny. “You can’t possibly love me. You’re infatuated, that’s all. You had some fantasy about who I was and how we could be together, but you don’t know me. And I don’t know you. I’m sorry I let it get out of hand. I won’t remember you. I wish to God I could, but I won’t.”
Alice wiped her cheeks. Denny found a tissue and handed it to her. She didn’t know what to say. Alice looked at her and shrugged. Denny needed to think, so she started the plane, turned it around, and took off for the depot. They flew in silence, except for radio calls checking for other pilots, but they were alone. To the right, the mountain glowed.
THE MCKINLEY PARK airstrip lies next to the train depot, and the Alaska Railways engine, pulling a line of glass-domed tourist cars, sat ready and loading. Alice only had to cross the tracks and get on board. Denny taxied to the side of the runway and cut the engine. She put her hand over Alice’s seatbelt buckle.
“Why didn’t you say anything?”
“I didn’t want your pity. I don’t.” Alice paused and shook her head. “I didn’t expect to feel . . . I’d hoped you wouldn’t either. What happened was a mistake. I never should have—”
“Shh.” Denny put her fingers to Alice’s lips. “It was not a mistake.” She kissed her. “What happens now? Can I see you when I get home?”
“No.”
Denny leaned back in surprise. “Why not?”
“Because an ever dwindling me isn’t good enough for you. You deserve someone whole. There’s no future with me. This is an incurable, progressive, debilitating disease. This won’t be my body that will lose the ability to make love to you. This will be my mind that will lose the ability to love you. And that’s not fair.”
“Don’t I get a say?”
“No, you don’t. Alzheimer’s is grueling and cruel. I know. My father died of it, and it nearly destroyed my mother. I’m making sure no one I love has to go through that. I’m already taking medication that might slow the progression—although this morning was a disheartening lapse. When I get back home, I’m moving into an assisted living apartment where I’ll be independent until the time comes that I need a nursing home. And that’s already been arranged.”
“I can’t bear the thought of you alone.”
“I’m not. I have family. Brothers. Nieces. Friends. See, you don’t know me, Denny. Not well enough to be in love with me. Not nearly well enough for this.”
Denny pressed on. “Does it have to be this final? We could be friends.”
Alice turned away and stared out the window. “I didn’t make love to a friend.”
The train whistle blew.
Alice wiped her cheeks. “I have a train to catch. Please. Let me go.”
Denny released Alice’s seatbelt and helped her out of the plane. She thought she could do this, let Alice go, until she took her hand. Helpless, she wrapped her arms around Alice and pressed her close. Alice resisted at first but then relaxed into her and held her.
“I won’t forget you,” Denny said.
Alice gave her a squeeze then pulled away. The wind blew her hair across her face, obscuring her expression. Denny brushed it aside and kissed her until she felt Alice’s tear on her cheek. With no future to look forward to, Denny sealed Alice within her memory then released her. She grabbed her bag from the back and together they crossed the tracks.
Denny made sure Alice got on board, then went back to her plane and waited until the train pulled out. Searching her pockets for a tissue, she found Vanessa’s letter. She started to open it but then balled it up and stuffed it in the trash bag under her seat. Through a blur of tears, she watched for Alice and when she saw her go by in the last car, she wiped her face, blew her nose, and started her engine. She took off and followed the train until she caught up, then dipped her wings a couple of times and turned west, toward Denali.