Adventures with Max and Louise (42 page)

How did you know I always wanted a lab?

I text him back.
Now you have to come back. Bring the dog
.

See you in Talkeetna
, Wolf texts back.

I turn to Jess. “He wants to meet us in Talkeetna. He’ll bring Scout.”

Jess rolls his eyes as he banks the helicopter away from the mountain toward Talkeetna. “Stupid dog. He’ll do anything to play in the snow.”

It takes us five minutes to reach the dirt landing strip outside the tiny village of Talkeetna.

O
UR REUNION IN
Talkeetna is not what I’d imagined when I set out in my stilettos and white silk suit. There are no candles, no wine, nor are there rose petals scattered on the bed. Talkeetna is a loose string of dusty houses, a U.S. Forest Service office, four bars, two cafes, and a long, low building that Jess points out from the air that is the local school, church, and library all rolled into one. The outskirts of the town are fringed with trees and the dump, where two young cubs and the mother bear forage amid an assortment of rusted snowmobiles parts, cars, and an ancient school bus.

After Jess lands, he busies himself tying down the helicopter to chunks of concrete. I ask for directions to the Rusty Moose. In the surprisingly cozy cafe, I order two lunches, eat one, and wait impatiently for Wolf to come down the mountain. Jess arrives a few minutes later, making small talk with the locals about the weather, the helicopter, and the nasty storm raging on the mountain, but I refuse to join in. I nod and sigh, eating a piece of soggy cherry pie out of boredom. It is the longest three hours of my life, punctuated by one too many cups of coffee.

Finally, when Jess gets tired of telling me stories I’m not listening to, he suggests I wait at the trailhead. I’ll be able to see Wolf and Scout coming down the trail. I gather the lunch I bought for Wolf, happy to get out of the smoke-filled cafe. Jess told me that they hide the ashtrays and air out the restaurant for the monthly visit of the Alaskan Health Board official. Jess gives him a ride, warning everyone by radio when the official books his flight. Even the minister, Jess informed me, is happy with this arrangement because his wife won’t let him light up at home.

It’s lonely waiting out on the mountain trail without Max and Louise. I want to laugh with Max about the dog leaping out of the helicopter; tell Louise she was right, as usual, about Wolf. I doubt I’ll keep the implants; they’re really nothing more than saltwater now, although I am really not quite ready to go back to my previous shape. I like being a curvy woman, although maybe not D curviness. Maybe Dr. Hupta could bring me down in the alphabet to a more manageable letter, say, C?

The rocky path leading down from Denali is still empty. Although it’s cold, the pale sun warms my face as I imagine Wolf caressing my breasts now that Max and Louise are no longer around to give me a play-by-play. How refreshing: sex without the peanut gallery.

Were they real? I can hear their voices as clear as my own. If I close my eyes, I can imagine Louise’s coffee skin, impeccable posture, wise brown eyes, all topped off with a colorful church-going hat. Max has a jaunty wink, and his sly blue eyes take in the world with an amused grin. He’d be the type to hang an elbow from the window of his battered London taxi. Were they imaginary friends I conjured up to help me deal with plastic surgery gone awry? Were they my own voice, masculine and feminine, inside of me all along? All I know is that for the first time since my mom died, I am free. My mother is alive and well in my heart. The surgery cracked me open like a nut to the possibilities of my own life.

In a meadow nearby, a tiny goldfinch lands on a stray alpine flower. His weight tips the blossom over until it bobs near the ground. It doesn’t bother the bird. He seems to enjoy the ride. And that’s how I feel about Max and Louise. It doesn’t matter who they were or where they came from. They arrived at a time I desperately needed them to carry me along with their words, advice, and laughter. I’ll hold their memory close, as I do with my mother, forever.

After the loud thrumming of the helicopter, the silence of the mountain gives me a peace I haven’t felt for years. My muscles warm up with each step until I reach a small boulder. Dusting it off, I sit and rest. Shadows grow longer. To entertain myself, I feed Wolf’s stale sandwich to the crows. One swoops off a pine low to the ground, teasing Scout. He chases it into the forest until I call him back with a whistle.

“Scout, hey, over here! Don’t leave me now!” For a split second I can’t see him. Tiny knots of worry sprout in my stomach. The silence is deafening. I shout as loud as I can into the dark trees. “Scout? Come on back! Scout!” I whistle again; he bounds out of the trees, rushing back to lick my hand.

Suddenly, the last piece of the puzzle clicks into place. That is when I remember; it all makes sense. Max and Louise have been with me for nearly eleven years. They arrived when I curled up in my closet in our suddenly motherless home.

It was four o’clock, and I was tired. My homework was overwhelming; I’d taken a month off after the funeral and was paying the price now. At my desk, I slammed shut
The Diary of Anne Frank,
trying to avoid another sad ending. I ran down to the kitchen hoping to see Mom. Thudding down the stairs two at time, I turned the corner, anticipating steamy windows, delicious smells, and her smiling face.
Slow down, kiddo. Sit down and talk to me while I finish dinner. Does this taste okay, or does it need more salt? Anything funny happen at school today?
Instead I was greeted by a dark, empty kitchen, the electric hum of the fridge, the drip of the leaky faucet. Overripe tomatoes rotted on the windowsill. Mom was dead, and her garden was going to waste. Oddly, it was tomatoes, the fruit she’d planted now rotting, that sent me racing back upstairs.

When I was five, I’d made a fort in my closet, sleeping in it off and on for years. Dad said it was dangerous, letting a little kid sleep in a closet. “What if there was a fire?”

Mom had laughed. “If there’s a fire, then her policeman daddy will go in and rescue her. It’s harmless. She’s having fun.”

To the closet I ran, throwing my much larger body on the ground. I blocked out all light, kicking the door shut with a fierce blow. My hanging clothes parted and hid me like a shroud. The pain of hitting my soccer cleats was a relief. Curling up, I tried to shut myself off, to stop this howling emptiness and fear. It never worked. Sometimes I prayed to my mother, feeling her love but not her words, her touch, her guidance.

At that moment, I missed every single tiny detail of my mother so much, I forgot everything. Not a single detail, not the color of her hair or the gold band on her finger: it all slipped away. I didn’t cry. Listening to my own jagged breathing, I felt dead.

“Help!” My Hail Mary went to no one; God stopped caring four months ago.

It began as a whisper. “Honey, what are you doing on the closet floor?” asked Louise, her voice soft as butter.

“Go away.”

“Isn’t it your turn to make tea? How ’bout some telly?” Max said, just like one of my favorite male characters from
Absolutely Fabulous.

“How many times do I have to tell you? Over here, it’s called supper. Now, Molly child, get yourself up off the floor, wash your face, and cook something. That always makes a person feel better, feeding your own body. Then you feed someone else. That’s real medicine.” I recognized her voice now: the nun, also a nurse, at St. Joseph’s Parochial School. She came from Alabama and believed in the power of food and smiley-faced Band-Aids.

Those voices startled me into climbing out of that closet, washing up, and going back to the kitchen. Mom’s apron was slung over a closet door handle. Without thinking, I slipped it on. I learned cooking at her elbow, so I knew where to find everything: oil, onions, canned tomatoes, pasta.

“I suppose if you went outside, you might even find some basil left,” Louise suggested.

For a split second I nearly opened the door and went outside. Something stopped me dead in my tracks. My body went rigid as if I were standing at the edge of my mother’s grave. No matter how sweet or familiar; it was wrong, just plain crazy, listening to the voices in my head. For months all I’d heard was pray, be strong. Pray some more.

“Can’t hurt to turn on the telly, see what’s on. It’s news time, ain’t it?” Max said.

“Now, why do we need the television while we’re cooking and conversing? Does that make sense? No,” Louise countered.

“Ever ’ear of
BBC World News
? There’s a bit goin’ on outside this little country of yours. Might expand yer horizons, not that you need it, seein’ as how you bloody well know everythin’.”

I plugged my ears and screamed. “Shut up! Shut up! Shut up! Get out of my life. Leave me alone!”

They were silent for a long time while I gripped the edge of the counter, waiting for my head to clear.

“Sorry ’bout that. We can watch the telly later.”

“You don’t have to do this on your own,” said Louise.

“Shut up.”

“ ’Nuff said, luv. Call us if you need us. Any time. Day or night. Ta.”

“We’re always with you,” said Louise. And that was that.

The kitchen was quiet. The faucet dripped. The fridge hummed. I gripped the knife and started chopping, concentrating on keeping my fingers free of the blade. A half hour later, Dad came home. He squeezed my shoulder, asked about my day.

“It was okay. I’m making spaghetti.”

He gave me a kiss on the cheek. “Thanks, honey. It’ll be a real treat having a home-cooked meal. Those ladies are nice and all with their casseroles, but, well, you know what I mean. Nothing’s the same, is it?” He leaned over the pan and inhaled deeply. “Smells great.”

Chapter Thirty-Eight

F
OUR HOURS AFTER
I last saw him on the mountain, I spot Wolf and his three climbing companions in the distance making their way slowly down the curving trail. Scout runs ahead, flushing out rabbits and chasing them until he is called back by the other climbers, who stomp down in a cloud of angry dust. Every bone in my body aches to run up that trail and throw my arms around Wolf, but he’s lagging behind the others, so I decide to wait. The three friends arrive a few minutes before Wolf. The first one, a tall guy with a fringe of stubble, stops in front of me, fairly twitching with anger.

I give him a friendly smile. “Look, I’m really sorry about the dog ruining your climb.”

“Yeah, right,” Stubble Guy snorts. “You probably shoved the poor dude out.” He shifts his pack and stomps down the trail, kicking gravel.

The second guy, a chubby, balding fellow, gives me a rueful grin. “Hey,” he says sadly but doesn’t stop. The third, a goateed, long-legged man in a flannel shirt, won’t even look at me. I stand beside the trail like a support team member on race day. I wish I had a consolation prize to give him as he quickly hurries past without so much as a glance.

He’s so obviously crestfallen, I can’t let him go. He’s Wolf’s friend. “Hi. I’m sorry you didn’t get to complete the climb,” I call out to his him. His backpack is huge, large enough to hide a small child.

He turns around, a picture of sweaty, heaving exhaustion. “You’re sorry? You’re sorry? The only time everyone could do this climb was right in the middle of the biggest software launch in my young, soon-to-be failing career. Do you know what I had to do to get this time off? I had to sell my soul to Microsoft for the next year and promise my divorced, workaholic boss I’d Skype him the first sales figures from the fucking summit.” He points so hard the tendons on his arm stand out. “Up there! He’s going to use me in a sales presentation about how far we’ll go to get the job done. And now, thanks to you, what will our sales team see? Yours truly in a bar, getting drunk because some lovesick girl took her dog for a helicopter ride and screwed up the very expensive, very important climb that we have been dreaming and planning since we were fifteen years old.”

I probably should shut up, but I can’t. “Just for the record, he’s not my dog.”

The guy leans his head back and screams into the wild blue yonder, “I don’t care! I just wanted to climb the goddamn mountain!”

The chubby guy comes back up the trail and grabs Mr. Angry Pants. “Sorry,” Chubby says to me kindly. “He’s slightly disappointed. Normally, he’s much better with the ladies. I’m Nathan, and this gentleman is Ted.” He offers his hand.

“Molly Gallagher. Nice to meet you.” We shake.

“So, you’re Diner X,” says Nathan.

I smile and nod. Ted shifts his pack, making it clear he’s only resting, not in the least bit interested in me.

“I’m glad you changed your mind about our boy back there.” Nathan jerks his thumb up the mountain. “He hasn’t been a whole lot of fun.”

“But at least he wanted to climb,” Ted says before he reaches deep into his nasal cavities and hawks a big wad of spit on the trail. Turning, he stomps down the mountain.

“Nice to meet you,” Nathan says before hurrying after Ted as fast as his short legs will carry him. When he reaches Ted, he puts an arm around his shoulder, presumably trying to make light of the situation, but Ted throws off his arm angrily. I can just make out the sound of loud disagreement as they reach a crest above the town and disappear from sight. I turn back to watch the spot where Wolf will appear as the trail curves back into my line of vision near a huge moss-covered boulder.

A few minutes later, Wolf ambles out from behind the boulder, his pack looming over his head. He takes it off, throws it on the ground, and smiles, fanning crow’s-feet out from those incredible hazel eyes. “Hi, honey, I’m home.”

“It’s about time,” I say and laugh before running to him. We hold each other for the longest time, squeezing our bodies together from our ankles to our heads, which fold neatly into one formation. I close my eyes and inhale deeply. His skin is warm and smells of citrus and coffee. This is what I thought about on the plane. His clothes reek of propane and pine, and the solidness of him feels like coming home. I crane back my head to look at him. We kiss for a long, leisurely time, interspersing deep, soulful kisses with short, playful, hungry ones. After a few moments we are interrupted by Scout, who noses Wolf’s leg, whining.