The Tourist Attraction (Moose Springs, Alaska)

by Sarah Morgenthaler

  At which point things went downhill. Not drastically, but a soft, gentle slope downhill, involving twitchy passengers aiming some serious side-eye in Zoey and Graham’s direction through the window. Both Zoey and the driver ended up on the phone with the reservation office at the same time, while Graham leaned a shoulder against the side of the shuttle, every so often rapping his knuckles against the fiberglass.

  “Nice shuttle. What year would you say this is?”

  “’Ninety-three.” Their driver grumpily turned back to the phone. “No, she said Barnett. B-A-R. N-E-T.”

  “Double T. Two T’s.” Zoey waved her hands in front of the driver’s face, raising her voice to get his attention. “You have to tell her two T’s. That’s why you can’t find him.”

  “What is this? Fiberglass? I bet this gets cold in the winter. Do you do a lot of tours in the winter?”

  The driver gave him a pained look.

  “Graham. Barnett.” The call kept cutting in and out, not helping the situation. “No, Barnett. Oh, for the love of…just give me your phone too. No, seriously. Give me your phone. Okay, I’m on speaker phone with both of you. You’re both in the same office. It’s Barnett with two T’s! Come on people, focus.”

  “You probably need a good strong heater, huh?” Graham murmured. “But that’s a lot of people in there. Body heat’s good in the winter. Still, fiberglass…I wouldn’t have chosen—”

  “Graham. Shut. Up.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  Zoey didn’t buy his easy, aww shucks agreement for one second. But then the office finally figured out their tickets, and the even surlier bus driver stepped aside to let them on.

  The bus was packed, with no spots together available, and thirty sets of eyes all glaring at her and Graham in varying forms of disgruntlement and impatience.

  “Ooh, tough crowd,” he murmured from behind her. “Hey, has anyone here ever heard of the Tourist Trap? I know the owner. He’ll hook you up with a free meal if someone lets us sit together.”

  “That was shameless,” she whispered back.

  “Never be afraid to use your gifts, Zoey.”

  In the end, even the promise of reindeer dogs wasn’t enough to break the ties holding seatmates together. Graham ended up squashed next to a family of Australian tourists halfway toward the back of the bus and Zoey next to a couple on their honeymoon in the front.

  “Hey, Zoey Bear. How’s it going up there?” Graham called before they even made it to the main highway leading to Seward.

  A thumbs-up wasn’t enough to entertain him. Graham waited a moment before calling up again. “Hey, you might want to take some motion sickness medicine. Don’t want to barf all over the whales, right?”

  “I am all set.” Zoey raised her Alaska bag and waggled it at him. “Do you need to take any? I have nondrowsy, nondrowsy extra strength, and one prescription-strength, nothing’s going to make you sick, but you’ll probably pass out medication.”

  “Born and bred Alaska. If I couldn’t keep my sea legs, I’d get kicked out of the state.”

  His eyes lingered on her, causing Zoey’s face to heat up at his attention. It was impossible not to, even with all the passengers in between them. Smiling at him, Zoey turned around in her seat, keeping her legs tucked in and her elbows to herself. Yes, they had started this trip out annoying everyone, but she was determined to be a good passenger.

  “Oy. Zoey. Zooooooooooey. Psssst, Zoey.”

  “What?”

  “Hey, you know the humpbacks are—”

  “On the left, you’ll see the Chugach Mountain Range,” the driver droned into his intercom, the loud shrill speakers above their heads squawking in protest and cutting Graham off.

  “I can’t hear you,” Zoey mouthed, teasing him. “Sorry.”

  Graham rolled his eyes and settled into his seat with a clear sigh.

  “She’s so mean to me,” he said to the man next to him. “You should see how she is with the kids. All sweet as sugar to them, but I’m chopped liver.”

  Zoey listened intently to the guide’s spiel, ignoring Graham’s increasingly detailed and forlorn description of his and Zoey’s married life. His imagination was impressive, and as she made mental note of the inconsistencies between the guide’s talk and the extensive research she had done on the area, Zoey found herself growing increasingly distracted by Graham’s tale.

  “Oh, and the fights we have over the bills. Don’t get me started. I mean, I work hard every day to make sure the Hamburger Helper is on the table when she gets home, but does she appreciate it? Nooooo. She’s always saying, I make more money than you. I don’t forget to mail in the mortgage check. My boss doesn’t think I’m a drunk.”

  Graham sighed so loud he drew nearly all the bus passengers’ eyes. “It’s just rough. I think she needs to go to rehab.”

  Twisting in her seat, Zoey gave Graham her best death stare. “Seriously?” she stage-whispered.

  “What was that, dearest? I couldn’t hear you over the factually inaccurate account of our homeland.”

  A modest wooden sign appeared in the distance, next to a building that Zoey had been waiting to see.

  “Oh. Oh! Can we stop?” Half standing in her seat, Zoey nearly jumped with excitement. “Please, just for a moment.”

  “No stopping.”

  “Hey, man, my emotionally unsupportive spouse wants to see something. We’re good on time. Ten minutes won’t kill you.”

  Bless the man. He might be annoying, but he was quick to jump on her side. The tour guide frowned in the mirror.

  “No stopping. Please remain seated until we arrive at our destination.”

  Disappointed, Zoey slid back into her seat.

  “I would remain seated,” Graham drawled loudly, “but I’m pretty sure someone in here’s about to have a bathroom emergency.” He waited, then said, “And you’re gonna get stuck cleaning it, buddy. Sure you don’t want to stop?”

  The guide’s eyes narrowed, just a little, then he slowed down just in time to make the turn-off into a tiny gravel parking lot. As soon as they came to a stop, Zoey rushed outside, the crisp mountain air hitting her nostrils, wiping away the scent of stuffy, grumpy bus.

  Graham joined her, hands stuffed in his pockets. “You know about this place, huh?”

  “Of course.” Zoey pulled her well-worn travel book out of her bag, thumbing open to an earmarked page and reading aloud the words. “‘Bob’s Banana Blasters. An oddly non-banana-shaped and non-banana-flavored treat that will change your existence as you know it. Do not miss this one if at all possible.’ And I do not intend on missing it.”

  “This thing again?” Graham scoffed playfully, tapping her copy of Luffet and Mash’s How to Do Alaska. “I’ve got to find you a better tour guide.”

  The shuttle driver gave them a dirty look. Biting her lip to keep from giggling, Zoey slipped her arm through Graham’s and tugged him toward the building. The actual shop was the length of the single-wide trailer it once started as, but in the years since inception, the shop owner had added more than a few lean-tos off the exterior. It was also a knife shop, and inside, dusty glass displays stuffed with all kinds of weaponry filled the trailer, with a few stools pulled up in front of carved animal horns. And at the far end was an overweight man on a stool, beard halfway down his paunch, standing guard over an old freezer and a bucket of cash.

  “You ran screaming from me, but this place you want to go into?” Graham murmured in her ear.

  “Your steel box of horrors wasn’t non-banana-shaped.”

  “Do you think he calls himself the blast master when he’s alone?”

  Snickering, Zoey hurried to be first in line as the busload of tourists obediently shuffled toward the blast master. Graham followed at her heels.

  “Buy a guy a blaster?” he asked hopefully.

 
Zoey was more than happy to peel out enough bills to cover two of the oddest treats she’d ever seen in her life. And Luffet and Mash weren’t wrong. It didn’t taste like a banana, even though it was vaguely flesh colored, yet whatever it was she put on her tongue melted with utter deliciousness.

  “Thanks.” One single word, but the way he said it had her toes curling. While Zoey was busy hiding behind her treat and uncurling them, Graham peered around the establishment with a critical eye.

  “I bet Harold would eat this place alive.”

  “Who’s Harold?”

  “Long story.”

  “Graham, look.” Grabbing his hand in excitement, Zoey pulled him to a glass counter, her focus on the wall behind it instead of the artifacts inside. “See that picture? I read that all the movie stars coming through here used to stop and take their pictures with the original Bob.”

  “I think the original Bob retired somewhere warmer a long time ago.”

  “I think the original Bob is hiding beneath that beard. Do you think he’d take a picture with us?”

  “I think going whale watching is as close to tourism as I can conscientiously endure. No selfies.”

  Grinning around her provided wooden spork—because whatever they were eating had enough lumpy parts to require some stabbing—Zoey shook her head.

  “You’re a selfie snob.”

  “You’re…” He paused, considering it. Finally, Graham said, “You’re trouble. Do you like your goop?”

  “I love my goop.”

  “Yeah, me too. Damn that book.”

  It wasn’t fair how good-looking this guy was. Zoey licked her spork nervously. Was he thinking about kissing her? Because she was thinking about—

  Pain. Lots and lots of pain.

  “Whoa. What’s wrong?”

  Zoey gestured frantically at her face. “Splinter in my tongue. Spinter in mah tongue!”

  “Let me see.”

  “No, you can’t—ahh! Let go!”

  “That’s right, say ahh.” Graham winced, a mixture of concern and amusement in his eyes. “Ooh, that looks painful.”

  It was. It really was. Graham pulled out a knife from his pocket, flipping it open. “Hold still. Come on. Don’t be a baby. I’m not gonna—oops.”

  For a horrifying moment, Zoey’s brain refused to acknowledge what that oops might mean. Then Graham, beaming with pride, held up a half-centimeter-long wooden splinter.

  “All good.”

  “Did you use the knife?”

  “Only a little.” At her look, Graham chuckled. “I have godsons. That’s not the first tongue splinter I’ve plucked.”

  “Thank you,” she mumbled, feeling her face heating. He must have known she was embarrassed because Graham scooted closer, arm brushing hers.

  “Had to earn my keep, gorgeous.”

  His eyes dropped to her mouth.

  The blare of a megaphone made them both jump. “Back to the bus,” the tour guide said. “Please return to the bus.”

  “An air horn is better,” Graham whispered to Zoey as she worked her jaw, squishing her tongue back and forth to make sure it was there. “Come on. Let’s beat the masses.”

  This time, Graham darted in and took the front seat, pulling Zoey in next to him.

  “That’s my seat.” A disgruntled passenger said, glaring at them, but when Zoey went to move, Graham snuck his pinkie around hers, tugging lightly in silent request to stay.

  “Yes, and I totally stole it. What the wife wants, the wife gets.”

  After patting the free seat next to them, Graham handed the guy a Tourist Trap business card, printed in the style of a Monopoly “go directly to jail” playing card.

  “Life’s rough, isn’t it? Here’s a coupon.”

  Chapter 8

  Their boat was not the stuff dreams were made from.

  Graham didn’t consider himself a particularly picky man, but even he gave the vessel some serious side-eye as they boarded. Zoey was either oblivious or even less picky than Graham because she ignored the ship completely in favor of reading aloud from the brochure.

  “Even though peak gray whale viewing season is during their migration in April, a variety of sea life can be seen in the summer months in Resurrection Bay. Sea otters, sea lions, killer whales…oh! Listen to this. Dolphins often swim next to the ships.”

  Lost in her reading, she was oblivious to everything around them. Graham placed his hand on her shoulder, gently steering her forward as they did the tourist shuffle toward the SS Problematic.

  “Watch your step, Zoey.”

  Graham didn’t make it down to Seward much, and he never came during summer. Unlike the Cook Inlet outside Anchorage, Resurrection Bay was more than deep enough to accommodate the massive cruise ships visiting during peak tourist season. The little coastal town was a nice place to get lunch and maybe hike up Marathon Mountain for some fun. But the sheer number of tourists waiting around for whale watching tours in Seward was overwhelming.

  Their boat was decently sized, but it seemed like far too many people for comfort. Graham didn’t love how everyone was stuffed elbow-to-elbow with each other or how they ended up wedged into an assigned seat with another couple with only inches of tabletop and a solid twenty-five years of life between them.

  “Hey there,” Graham tried to greet the other pair cheerfully, earning himself a kick in the knee from the little boy and the girl bursting into tears.

  The family seated in the next table over turned around and gave Graham nasty looks.

  “What did I do?” he asked plaintively.

  “Maybe kids don’t like you,” Zoey teased, setting her Alaska bag on her lap so there was room for the Styrofoam cups being placed in front of them by the boat crew.

  “My godsons love me. I’m cool.”

  The captain’s voice over a scratchy loudspeaker cut off whatever she would have said next, although by the sparkle in her eye, Graham doubted it was flattering to his godfather awesomeness.

  “We’re having reports of a rough sea today, folks. If anyone would like to disembark prior to leaving port, now would be a good time to do so. If not, enjoy your lunches.”

  Pushing one of the cups his way, Zoey said, “You get what Lana ordered. If you don’t want the vegetarian chili, you can have my fish chowder.”

  “Hmm. I hate to say it, but there’s fish chowder, and there’s fish chowder. That is neither one.”

  “You know the millionaire heiress who was my travel partner would have eaten either one of these without complaint.”

  “Yes, and she won my last reindeer dog eating competition. Proper chowder is an art form.”

  “Mmmmm. It’s soooooo good.” Zoey moaned in pleasure.

  “Don’t go all Sally on me now.”

  She popped an oyster cracker in her mouth, then squeaked as the boat dipped, splashing water over the bow and chowder over her lap. With a sad little noise, she uprighted the Styrofoam cup and scraped the last third of her meal off her jeans.

  “Karma.” Graham nodded sagely. “For saying I’m not cool.”

  “I didn’t say it,” Zoey replied, a cute little smirk on her lips. “I thought it, but I never said it.”

  Graham winced as he got kicked in the shin this time. “I really do love kids,” he promised her, eyes watering.

  “There’s a viewing deck,” she offered. “It’s probably less violent.”

  “Yeah, let’s do that. Children, have a lovely day and enjoy your whale watching.”

  The little girl stuck her tongue out at him, and Graham almost—almost—caved to doing the same right back at her.

  As the boat left the harbor, they found a little coffee station near the center of the main deck. Unfortunately, everyone else had discovered the same thing, meaning they had a wait on their hands. At least no one wa
s kicking him anymore.

  “You said poodles make terrible girlfriends,” Zoey said randomly, causing Graham to blink and try to catch up. “Back at the resort. Is this experience talking?”

  “If you think I’m dumb enough to go down that train of thought, you’re crazy,” he said decidedly. “But I will say that I like women who wear mud boots just as much as women in Manolo Blahniks. Maybe more.”

  “Lana thinks you’re a complete snob.” She arched an eyebrow. “I might be starting to agree with her.”

  “It’s possible.” Chuckling, Graham poured himself a cup of coffee, then stepped aside and waited while Zoey fiddled with her own. The line was impatient, but Graham took position beside her, smiling congenially at the other passengers while guarding her right to get her coffee to creamer ratio absolutely perfect. “Hey, Zoey?”

  “Hmm?”

  “I’d like you even if you had fuzzy duck slippers.”

  A cute blush reached her cheeks. But was that guilt in her eyes? Unable to stop himself, Graham shifted closer, smiling down at her. “You have some, don’t you?”

  “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  Coffees in hand, they stationed themselves at a window near the front of the viewing deck. The intercom screeched, making them both wince as the captain came back on. “Brace yourselves, ladies and gentlemen. The next few minutes will be particularly rough.”

  No kidding. As they picked up speed, heading out of the harbor, the boat rose and fell on the waves so aggressively, Graham felt like a bobber in the ocean.

  “To distract yourselves, I’d recommend looking out to the left. Sometimes we can see dolphins swimming alongside the boats in this passage.”

  Zoey went up to her toes as she looked out the window, trying to see anything remotely close to a splash caused by an animal.

  “Graham, I don’t see anything.”

  “Don’t worry. These guys get paid to find—oh crap.”

  The boat hit rougher water, sending them staggering and Graham’s coffee nearly spilling onto Zoey. “Sheesh, level it out, man.”

  “The captain wants everyone in their seats for the next couple minutes,” a crew member said, coming past them.