by Hunt, Jack
“It’s only for a couple of weeks. The weather is still good.”
Hunting season in Alaska was like the weather, it varied widely by region, but the season usually ran through August and September, and wrapped up by October when the weather took a turn for the worse. They were in the early part of October. A time when a lot of seasonal work dried up. Contrary to the conversations she’d had with folks in California, Alaska wasn’t all snow, ice, and cold. It was a diverse landscape that could see one temperature in the north and another in the south at the same time. Spring and summer were quite something to behold with plants and animals coming to life, and color spreading across the state even to the northern areas that were often more tundra than the lush rain forest found in the southeast. Kara held fond memories of accompanying her father as he transported tourists all over the region. She recalled hiking, kayaking, climbing, and spending time in the backcountry, even going to summer camp every year, but that was a long time ago. Before the accident, before the event that changed it all.
“I’ll give it some thought,” she said, looking to change the subject.
Over the next twenty minutes, Kara spent time catching up and finding solace in her friend’s humor. By the time she got off the phone, she felt lighter and yet aching for the closeness of someone real, not superficial like those she’d met in L.A. In fairness, it wasn’t all bad, but it wasn’t Alaska.
An hour later, as she stared into the void of her freezer, she was chewing over what to cook for the evening — it was down to pizza or a bag of broccoli covered in cheese — when her phone jangled on the table. She ignored it the first time, and glanced at it the second time, assuming it was Matt trying to wiggle his way back in for the night, but hell would freeze over before that would happen. When it buzzed for a third time, she scooped it up, ready to put her ringer on silent, when she noticed the caller ID.
Hesitation, then she answered.
“Hey, kiddo. It’s me.”
He said it as if she wasn’t familiar with his voice.
She cleared her throat. Getting a call from him caught her off guard, in the past, it was usually her contacting him, but over the years those calls had become far and few between. It was easier that way, for the both of them.
“Kara?” he asked.
“Yeah?” she replied.
“It’s dad.”
“I got that. Is there a problem?”
“No. No problem.”
“Right. Then, um… why are you calling?” She sounded confused, she was.
“I wanted to wish you a happy birthday. Twenty-eight, right?”
Kara’s eyes glanced to the slew of birthday cards on the counter that she’d been given three days ago, on her birthday. “Twenty-nine.” She could have told him that he was late, that he’d gotten the date completely wrong but she didn’t want to make him feel bad, she’d never wanted to make him feel bad.
“Twenty-nine, that’s right. Wow. I remember when I could fit you in both hands. Can you believe that? Where do the years go?” She heard him sigh and there was an awkward beat. “I was digging through some of the old photo albums. Looking at some of the far-flung regions I used to take you to, those trips to the lodges and searching for…” he trailed off. “Hey, uh… you still have that Leatherman I gave you?”
Her brow furrowed. “Uh. I don’t know. I… Look, Dad, is there something you want? Because this is really not a good time.”
“That’s too bad. I flew all this way to see you.”
“You’re in L.A.?” she shot back.
“If being stuck in traffic is L.A., yeah. I’m about twenty minutes out from you. Figured I could take you for a meal.”
It was totally out of character, she hadn’t seen him since she was eighteen, and the years before that, after the accident, well communication had been next to none. A long pause stretched out.
“Kara?”
“Yeah.”
“So?”
4
It was a dive to others, nothing more than a hole in the wall, but to her, it was home. The sports bar off Main Street had a local charm. Hard to describe in a review, best experienced in person. Outside it had a weathered yellow sign, aged cream-colored walls, an American flag flapping in the breeze, and a few gnarly motorcycles. There was nothing about it that would draw in a person the way some of the upscale bars would. It was frequented by locals, the same groups, the ones who always had a tale to tell once they had a few beers in them. Hell, if it hadn’t been for her ex, she might have given it a wide berth. Rumors swirled that it was notorious for fights and the odd drug deal going down but it was far from that. It offered good food, reasonably priced drinks, and a friendly atmosphere. The rest was just an urban legend.
“You sure this is where you want to eat?” he asked, looking skeptically at it. She nodded and led the way. Kara could have picked an Olive Garden or any number of fancy restaurants in Carson, but she figured she’d become so used to fitting the bill for others that she’d always gone for what was middle of the road, low key.
A wall of stale alcohol hit them as they entered. The inside was basic, tidy but aged. A line of round leather stools dotted down a mahogany bar, and a faded pool table was in the back, a shuffleboard game off to the right, and some old-timers playing live music on guitars in a corner. Strung above the bar were sports memorabilia, logos, team names. Basketball. Football. Beyond that, signed photos of athletes, fake of course. Probably bought off eBay. They slipped onto stools at the end of the counter as the bartender sidled over and took their order. Her father went for a Miller Lite, while she opted for a Jack and Coke. The petite gal behind the bar slipped food-stained menus in front of them and walked off to get drinks.
Kara studied his reflection in the mirror behind the bottles of spirits.
Her father hadn’t changed a bit — well, he was older, that was clear to see by the thick gray hair, deep-set lines on his face, and bad posture, but it was the attire that remained the same. He was still sporting gear as if heading into work: a plaid, flame-colored flannel shirt beneath a black down jacket, dark blue jeans, and black steel-toe boots. Contrary to her world where everyone dressed to impress, he put on airs and graces for no one. Those days were far behind him and quickly catching up with her.
“So this is where you spend your time?” he said casually, glancing around. “Seems like a bunch of gangbangers and weirdos.”
“Yeah, well it was either here or the hood,” she said jokingly, shaking her head.
“So how’s that job of yours coming along? What was that again — design, videoing or something…?”
“Advertising,” she replied with a glance.
He nodded as he scanned the menu. “That’s it. Did you manage to become creative director, the kingpin, the head honcho?”
She took a deep breath, feeling the sting of all the time she’d invested, clients she’d schmoozed for the agency, and hours of overtime to stand out from the crowd. What a waste. “Oh, I managed to become creative. Creative at losing things. But that’s the story of my life.” She shuffled uncomfortably on her seat. The bartender brought her drink first, then returned to get his.
He turned in his seat, resting his head on a closed fist, a confused expression spreading. She wasn’t sure if it was in response to her or the bartender. “I’ve been meaning to ask. Why did you come down here? I mean, there were plenty of good universities in Alaska.”
“Not offering what I wanted to do,” she said, turning the glass in front of her.
He twisted back. “I’d beg to differ.”
“We’re not back to that again, are we?”
“I’m just saying. It’s a long way.”
“That was the point.”
The bartender interrupted them and said they didn’t have that beer but could she get him something else. He named a beer off the top of his head and she jotted it down as she took the food order. Her father chose a pound of wings and a side of fries. She got a gyro with fries, a
nd a dessert to follow. Both of them stared absently at a flatscreen that was playing local news. It was uncomfortable. Foreign even.
“So any interest from guys?”
She cast him a sideways glance. “You make it sound like I’m a product on aisle nine.”
“Well, you aren’t getting any younger.”
“Neither are you.”
“Isn’t that the truth.” He grumbled as his drink arrived.
Another pause. She considered not telling him but then thought what the hell.
“I was seeing someone,” she said. “The only problem was, so was he.” She turned the glass in her hand, staring blankly into the dark liquid.
“He was married?”
“What? No. God, no. Who do you think I am?”
“It’s not you. I just… know how men can be. You’ve got to be careful.”
If she wasn’t mistaken, she could have taken that as genuine concern.
Another beat.
“No, he was seeing someone on the side.”
He rocked his head back. “Ah…”
She breathed in deeply. “So I threw him out.”
He snorted and cracked a smile, finding it amusing. They sat there in uncomfortable silence observing the news for what felt like twenty minutes but was probably less. Neither one knew what to say, or maybe how to say it. Eventually, food was served and gave them a reason to not have to talk.
“Look, why now?” she finally asked, getting straight to it. “I mean, I’ve had many birthdays before this and you’ve never shown up — not that you need to, but I know you didn’t come all this way to ask who I’m dating or make up for all the birthdays you’ve missed.”
He nodded thoughtfully as he touched the cold bottle before him, with condensation dripping down the side. He took a big swig and set it down, nursing the bottle between his two hands and picking at the label with his thumbnail.
“Do you remember those trips I used to take you on… to the lodges, back when you were a youngster? The story about Sir Francis Drake, the prospectors, and Mad Trapper Johnson?”
Her lip curled up and for a split second she was back there, just a young girl with a wild imagination, enamored by her father recounting tales of Spanish gold, murder, and buried treasure. “Yeah.”
He twisted in his seat. “I found it, Kara. I mean… I think I know where it is.”
She lowered her gyros and wiped the corners of her mouth with a napkin as she pondered his words. Her enthusiasm for her father’s treasure hunting stories had waned over the years as she grew older, even more so after the death of her mother, and after how he handled his grief or better said, directed it at her.
“Please tell me you didn’t come all this way to talk about something you could have conveyed in a phone conversation.”
He took a second then replied, “I want to go find it, and I want you to come with me.”
“With you?” She snorted. “I can’t come with you. I have too much to do here. Work, and…” She inhaled deeply. Who was she kidding?
“Come on. It will just be you and me. Like old times. Surely you’re curious to know where it is, and how I found it.”
“Um. No, actually. I’m not ten anymore, Dad. And, forgive me for being blunt but after eleven years of not seeing you, you show up and expect me to just drop everything? Seriously, have you lost your mind? And do you know how many people have gone missing scouring the backcountry for that?”
He took a hold of her wrist, excitement getting the better of him. He was like a little kid on Christmas day. “That’s because they didn’t know where to look, Kara. I do. Look.” He twisted and pulled out a book from a brown satchel that he’d brought with him. “I picked this up at an antique store in downtown L.A. I swear it was like I was meant to find this.” He flipped it open and started thumbing through pages. “I made sure they didn’t send it, I couldn’t afford to have it lost in the mail or land in the wrong hands.”
She studied his face as he continued rambling and then it hit her like a ton of bricks. “Oh, my God. I am so stupid.” She brought a hand up to her face. “I honestly thought you were being nice, that you were here because you cared, and because you wanted to take me out.”
He gave a confused expression. “What? I did,” he said.
“And yet you were just here for some… book?”
“Kara.”
Steadily she raised her voice. “After all this time you were here to pick up some stupid book to follow some stupid obsession with something that doesn’t even exist.”
“It does.”
She chuckled. “Well I’m glad you’re convinced, Dad, let’s hope the next time we meet it’s not at your funeral after you join the others that were dumb enough to go searching for it.”
Kara slipped off the stool and tossed a napkin on her unfinished food. She raised her eyebrows, and a hand and motioned to the bartender that she was ready to pay.
“I said I was paying,” her father barked.
“You are. I’m paying for my own,” she said.
She stepped away, moving down the bar to a machine to swipe her card. As she signed off, she glanced his way. Her father was staring into his food. When she returned he immediately began backtracking.
“Kara, please. Stay. Let’s finish our meal. I just wanted to…”
Struggling to hold in her emotion, she scooped up her jacket and headed for the door, stopping short to spread her arms out and glance back. “You know, Dad. It was great to see you. Why don’t we do this again, say, in another eleven years?” She shook her head in a moment of pain that had built over time, but then just let it fly. “Oh, and by the way… my birthday was three days ago.” With that said, she exited.
Later that evening, after Kara had cooled down, she regretted what she’d said to him. She cupped her hands around a cup of warm cocoa as she prepared to turn in for the night, exhausted by the downward spiral that Friday had served up. She glanced at her phone on the bedside table a few times, expecting to see a slew of messages from Matt, but there was only one from her father, apologizing for upsetting her.
“I know I could have done better. I’m sorry, Kara. I did want to see you. As for forgetting your birthday, I… well… all my excuses and apologies probably won’t mean anything to you now but… I meant well. And, I understand if you don’t want to talk or even spend time with me. However, the offer still stands if you’re interested. I leave from Anchorage soon. I really want you to be there.”
She set the phone down and closed her eyes. A few seconds passed, then Kara got up and went over to the bedroom closet. She slid the door open and reached up to bring a large weathered cardboard box down from a shelf. She coughed a few times as a thin layer of dust landed on her face. Crossing her legs as she sat on the floor, she unfolded the flaps and fished through it until she found it. Kara withdrew a rectangular polished box that was brown marble. It contained keepsakes, things that mattered, photos, gifts — and news clippings from that day.
She pulled out the first yellowed clipping and unfolded it.
INDI SHAW, WILDLIFE DEFENDER, KILLED IN CRASH
Indi Shaw, a wildlife conservationist, and outspoken activist was killed yesterday when the car she was a passenger in swerved to avoid another vehicle and went off the road into Six Mile Creek on the Kenai Peninsula, police said.
She was 33 years old.
The Kenai Police said that the crash happened just after 9:30 p.m. An 18-wheeler owned by P & K Fisheries was heading southbound when the driver became distracted and drifted over into the oncoming northbound lane, causing Mrs. Shaw’s car to swerve and lose control. The driver at the time was Mrs. Shaw’s fourteen-year-old daughter who was driving under an Alaska instruction permit supervised by Mrs. Shaw.
Police said they responded to reports of a 2001 red Volkswagen SUV that plunged into the whitewater rapids, trapping two occupants inside. Submerged in the water, the driver managed to escape the wreck and reach land on her own. The mother was
pronounced dead at the scene. Detective Mark Whelan said Mrs. Shaw died from drowning but had also suffered trauma to the skull.
The daughter was airlifted to a hospital. Southbound and northbound lanes were closed to traffic in the area for two hours. Police are determining if speed, phone usage, or alcohol were factors in the incident.
Mrs. Shaw, who had spoken last night at a gathering to discuss several issues facing Alaska, received praise for her opposition to oil drilling in the Arctic National Wildlife Refuge, as well as her tireless work for the protection of wildlife in national preserves managed by the Park Service. She spoke out against the culling of wolves from helicopters, and trapping of grizzly bears using bait and hounds, as well as the move to allow hunters to kill denning bears, wolves, and their cubs and pups in all national preserves. Mrs. Shaw assisted in numerous benefit events for causes, including the reintroducing of wolves into Yellowstone in 1995 after their eradication back in the 1920s. Though the reintroduction was initially seen as a way to manage elk that were overgrazing, a study showed the importance of wolves to the forest, rivers, and landscape.
Never one to shy away from opposition, last night Shaw received an award for Outstanding Professional Contributions, some of which raised thousands of dollars for the support and protection of wildlife and the landscape in Alaska.
Mrs. Shaw is survived by her husband, Henry, and a daughter, Kara, of Anchorage, Alaska.
Kara folded the article back up. There were many others inside, from different papers, some more praiseworthy than others. As much as her mother had those who admired her work, she also had her haters. Kara knew it would have pained her mother to know that the law that prevented hunting in Alaskan national preserves had been reversed. She’d seen the recent news about lawsuits put forward by conservationists and environmentalists to restore the protection. She only hoped they were successful. She wasn’t opposed to the killing of predators if they were a danger, just as the Inuit only hunted wolves that attacked their food or dogs, but she was opposed to anyone doing it for sport. Kara dug deep into the box and pulled out a leather sheath. She popped the quick button and withdrew the Leatherman Signal. It was a gift from her father on her tenth birthday. A multi-tool that was perfect for camping. Things were better back then. Life was good, free of the heaviness that came later or the stress that was to follow.
