The Weight of Love (16 page)

My eyes shift from her to the clock one more time. “Okay, yeah. That would actually be great.”

Her smile is wide. “Perfect. I’ll show you to your room, or Mitchell’s, that is.”

“It was so nice to meet you.” Jennie pulls me into another hug.

“You, too.” I nod to Brandon before following Lynn down the stairs. Now that I know how late it is, my day is catching up to me, getting heavier with each step.

Bridger is asleep on the couch. Gage thought to cover him and give him a pillow. I’m afraid to move him.

“This is my son’s room.” She opens the door and stands in the doorway. “Or it was his room before he left home, and then again just before he left on his mission.”

“Thank you.”
I’m sorta stunned. I can’t take my eyes off my surroundings. Mitchell’s room. It looks close to unchanged from high school.

“If you need anything, don’t be afraid to dig around or just ask, okay?” She rubs my shoulder once before leaving me.
“Night.”

“Night.”
I flick on the lamp and stand in the dim light to see the pictures on his walls—him with the basketball team from school, with friends, at a pool somewhere. Without his shirt. Which I may stare at longer than I should. There are a couple of small trophies, a picture of him earning his Eagle Scout—it’s both like and unlike him at the same time. I open a drawer in the dresser to see his clothes. Socks, T-shirts, pajama pants.

Can I
just take one? Just a T-shirt to sleep in tonight? I pull out one with a high school logo on it. I rip mine off and replace it with his. It smells like old drawer, not Elder Worthen. Mitchell. That’s okay. I wrap myself up in my own arms and let my face break into a real smile. I breathe in. Even though it doesn’t smell like him, I can pretend. The fabric is worn at the edges, almost frayed, and it only makes it better. I feel completely giddy over wearing the shirt of a man I’ve never kissed—I just want to. I think about it, about him. Maybe the reason I love his high school T-shirt so much is that this situation makes me feel like I’m in high school again. No touching, no talking, no kissing… A whole lot of like and not knowing if he feels the same, just guessing. Once again the weight pulls off my shoulders and I feel like it’s okay to have fun. It’s okay to relax. It’s okay to believe that little voice inside me telling me that everything’s going to be okay.

I wrap the blankets tightly around me and drift off in a room that feels more like mine than anywhere I’ve slept since selling the furniture in my cabin in Alaska. I don’
t dream. I sleep. Hard.

36

ELDER
WORTHEN

23 Months

Elder Hales and I are packing bags for a few days trip to
Manokotak, a small village scrambling to save homes and prevent river pollution after a flood. The Bishop and a few other men from Dillingham are coming with us.

“You’re quiet, man.” I chuckle as I pull together all the “normal” clothes I have for my backpack. We’re not sure how long we’ll be gone, but we were told to leave suits and dress shoes behind.

“Got a lot on my mind.” He shrugs, doesn’t meet my eyes, and keeps packing.

“
Wanna talk about it?” I ask. We’re kind of “it” for each other.

He pauses, doesn’t look at me. “No, no I don’t want to talk about it.”

“If you change your mind…”

“I know.” He waves his hand between us. “But I don’t want to talk about it.”

Great. I used to think it was hard when he was so loud. This should be interesting. We each hoist our backpacks up, I tighten the laces on my boots, and we head out.

I have no idea what to expect, where we’ll stay.
I know the village is small and many of the houses have been destroyed. We’ll be camping, but I’m not sure where or for how long. This is simple, basic service. I’m looking forward to it, but I’m also a bit nervous.
Dillingham
feels like the middle of nowhere to me, but to the surrounding villages, it’s the city, the hub.

We walk up to the
airplane hanger where we’re supposed to meet. The day is grey, like they all seem to be, but no rain.

I spot our bishop right away, standing next to what looks like a toy plane. It’s
small. Tiny. White with only a few blue stripes down the side because there isn’t
room
on its side for anything else.

“What kind of plane is this?” I ask.
I know I’ve seen them flying, but they look a lot bigger with someone else inside. Someone who’s not me.

“Cessna
one-eighty,” the pilot says.

“Oh.
” That means nothing.

“I’m Jim.” He reaches out his hand and shakes
mine and then Hales’. The bishop already knows him. The town is small.

“You should ride up front.” He points at me. “I don’t think you’d fit in the back.” He chuckles a few times.

“Okay.” We shove our bags in the baggage “compartment” which is really a small space behind the second seat. I climb in and we all put on headsets. All lime green. All look like they came right out of 1975. It makes me wonder how old the plane is. Probably I shouldn’t think about that.

“We good?” I hear our pilot’s voice through my headphones.

“Good,” I answer. If my heart rate spiking like I’ve just run a mile is good.

I hear two more yeses from the back seat.

“Alright, it’s about a half hour or so.” There’s a pause. “Clear!” He shouts and the propeller on the front of the plane comes to life with the engine. My car sounds more impressive.

I don’t want to feel like a baby here, but
this feels very small and crowded. One of my shoulders touches the pilot, and the other touches the door. Before I have time to worry about when we’re going to take off, the engine roars to a new pitch and we start moving forward. In an unbelievably short amount of time I feel the familiar lurch of my stomach that tells me we’ve left the ground.

I rest m
y forehead against the window, which is plastic, not glass, and look at the landscape below us. I’m supposed to enjoy this right? The experience?

Dillingham get
s smaller and smaller, and nothing but flat tundra type stuff and groups of short spruce trees sprawl out around us. There are a few rolling hills out here, but nothing tall. As we get higher I can see where the land meets the ocean, no rugged rocky coastline here, most of it looks like the muddy tundra slowly fades and the ocean begins. The tidal flats stretch way out, so I’m thinking we must be low tide right now. He pulls north and the plane almost rests on its side as we turn. I feel surprisingly stable. Like I might survive this.

Then I almost laugh at myself.
This guy does nothing but fly this plane from one village to another. Of course I’ll survive this.

“I’ll fly low, let you guys take in some countryside.”
His voice carries easily through the headphones, and now I realize why we need them. We’d all have to shout over the noise of the plane.

“And why don’t we drive
there?” I ask. “There’s something, right?”

He laughs. “It’s too far to build a road, not for just a few people.”

“Oh.” Of course. No roads. At all.

The browns and reds of the low bushes
take up more space than the snow now. This to me means that summer’s almost here, which further means I’m close to going home.

“Bear!”
Elder Hales screams into the headphones.

“Turn those things down, son.” Our pilot’s voice is annoyed.

I want to see the bear. I press my head harder against the glass.

“Just a sec.” Our pilot laughs. He circles and goes lower.

We fly over the top of a mother brown bear and her two cubs. I can tell from up here that she’s enormous.

Where
are they taking me?

In what feels like five minutes of
sight-seeing, but must have been thirty minutes of flying, we land on a small strip of gravel. I see nothing else. Shrubs, a few scattered evergreen trees and a short gravel runway. We step out of the plane and my legs feel cramped, even though I got to ride in the front.

“
Kuim is busy getting people out to the new school site. Most of the town is camped in there now,” our pilot says.

“Who’s
Kuim?” I ask.

Jim
chuckles. “He’s the guy with the car.”

“
The
car?” Elder Hales asks.

“Town is small, the only thing a car is needed for out here is to get people from the airport into the town.” He sh
rugs. “Let’s get your stuff out. I have another run to do.”

“You’
re just
leaving
us here?” I ask scanning at the empty wilderness and thinking of the giant bear we just flew over.

Bishop Marks laughs. “We’re fine.” He slaps my back.

I pull out my large pack and we watch as the plane takes off. I feel very small. There’s nothing but open space and nothingness in every direction.

“Town is three miles that way.” Bish
op points. “Pick up your packs. Let’s get walking. Kuim will get us when Kuim gets us.”

“Uh… O
kay.”

And Elder Hales is still quiet.
We’ve finally found a situation where he has nothing to say. Or maybe whatever was bugging him this morning is still on his mind.

The gravel runway
looks more like the end of a dirt road than a runway. It’s silent aside from the shuffling and breathing of three guys. No cars, no engines, no…
nothing
. I’ve never felt quiet like this. Has Jaycee been to places this remote? I’m not sure. Actually, I’d be surprised if she hadn’t. When you live in Alaska your whole life, you’re bound to end up in the wilderness at some point.

We tighten the straps
on our packs and start walking on the dirt road that continues past the end of the runway. There are just enough hills to make me disoriented and question whether or not there is an actual village out here or not. Right now I’m just thankful it’s not raining. As we head down the road, the bushes that seemed so short before, are just tall enough that I can’t see as far in any direction as I’d like.

I hear engines in the distance, but it doesn’t sound like a car.

“Do we need to worry about bears?” Elder Hales finds his voice.

“Nope,” Bishop says.

“Why not?” Hales’ eyes scan the landscape in every direction as we follow the narrow dirt road.

“Cause I got a gun.” Bishop laughs and pats the rifle on his shoulder.

Perfect. I’d rather be faced with a mugger than a bear any day.

Three four-wheelers stop on the road in front of us.
A teenager on each one. “You guys need a ride? Kuim said we were gettin’ help today, but his van’s being used to haul people and stuff away from the water. Thought we’d offer some help.”

“We’d love a ride,” Bishop steps forward.

“We’re not allowed…” I start. I’m sure ATV’s are not on our approved transportation list.

“Elders? You won’t get another chance like this. These people don’t use cars. I
t’s four-wheelers in the summer. Snowmachines in the winter.” He grins and steps on behind one of the boys.

“Cool.” Now this is looking like fun.
“I’m senior, so if one of us gets to drive, it’s me.” I slap Hales’ chest with the back of my hand.

“S
ure.” A lanky kid with the same dark, round face as his friends steps off. “You two can ride mine, I’ll ride behind Chris.” He talks in the same quiet voice that most of the natives do, but his smile is huge. I’m learning to like it. I just have to really pay attention to what’s being said. I don’t normally hear that quiet voice in the kids as much. They’re generally as loud as every teenager, but I’ve never been to a village before.

“Thanks.” I reach out and he shakes my hand in a firm shake.
Then I notice they’re all in t-shirts and look
warm
. Even though there are still bits of snow on the ground. Insane.

Elder Hales climbs on behind me
. The other two four-wheelers take off and I hit the gas. I’ve only driven these things a few times, but it’s a blast.

The kids are good and I have a hard time keeping up.
Their
trails veer off the gravel roadway onto clay paths riddled with bumps and brush. I laugh and chase. Elder Hales is laughing behind me. My chest feels lighter than it has in a long time. Mud flies up from their tires, from our tires, and I don’t care one bit that I’m getting filthy. We were told to leave our suits behind, so we did.

All the machines stop when we reach the edges of the village.

My chest drops. My stomach sinks.

There’s nothing
like a store or anything here—just a smattering of dirty white houses, nearly half of which are lob-sided near the small river. I can see the mud streaks on the side of how high the water came up—just above the floorboards on most of the small raised homes. And small means that they have maybe two rooms, total.

I
notice a sign on a house that’s sits further off the river than the rest.

Post Office

Grocery

Sometimes Gas

Whoa. This is it. People live here. You can sort of come by boat, but it’s through one of the most dangerous oceans in the world. You can fly. Or, I think that’s it. There’s a group of somewhere between five and ten men working to break apart one of the houses half in the water.

“
What exactly are we doing?” I ask the kid with the big smile.

“We need the houses
out of the river. Without the river, the village dies. It’s better to stack up as families for a while, or build something new from what we can salvage, than risk the house polluting the small river too much.”

There’s a lot of work to be done here.
Part of me is thrilled, I’d love to get dirty in service my last few weeks out, but the odds of me getting on my email out here is probably slim. I’m kicking myself again for not writing Jaycee the last time I had a chance because I bet it’s a while before I see another computer.

“We’ll take you guys up to the new school site. It’s not done, but it’s close and it’s the only dry place to stay right now. Some of the homes are okay, but we’ve been asked to all stay at the school until things get sorted out down here.”

He’s young, maybe 19, but talks with authority. “Show us the way,” I say. Our high flying ATV ride turned somber quick.

“Just around the corner.” He points
.

“What’s your name?” I ask.

“Tanner, yours?”

I want to give him my real name, for the fi
rst time since coming out here. Well, maybe not the
first
time. “Elder Worthen.”

He laughs. “Can I just call you Elder or do I have to use both names.”

“You can call me Elder, but you never know which one of us you’ll get,” I tease and  gesture to Hales behind me.

“Okay.” His eyes widen like I’m some sort of lunatic. “Guess if you can haul crap out of the water, we don’t car
e how weird you are.” He laughs. “Follow me.”

We ride up to the school. I’m
sad to get off the machine. It was fun, but I know the work is about to start.

I survey the mess up here
on the small hill. There are probably close to a hundred people. A lot of women and children. The kids are running through the hallways of the school. The doors are open and they, too, are perfectly happy in t-shirts. I’m cold in my warm coat and two layers of fleece.