My One Square Inch of Alaska (9781101602850)

by Short, Sharon

  That she was to blame for Daddy’s drinking problem and fall from power and status at the paper mill and in town, when she wasn’t. He’d chosen how to react, to tend and nurture his hurt instead of really taking care of us, or noticing how much Miss Bettina loved him, or putting his life back together.

  That people like Mr. Cahill were dangerous and wrong in their opinions and how they lived their lives and who they loved. And people like Mr. and Mrs. Denton were perfect and admirable.

  That cereal companies and TV shows would tell the truth in their promotions and not just prey on the dreams of little boys.

  That workers didn’t have the right to expect safety measures.

  I knew what I was supposed to say—that it was hard to say what would happen, that maybe the clinical trials Dr. Marshall talked about would turn up a treatment for Will’s type of cancer sooner rather than later, that maybe if we prayed hard enough and long enough and purely enough, then God in his heaven would see fit to bestow us with a miracle.

  But I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t be one more person telling Will what he was supposed to hear. So I opened my eyes and looked at him. As always, his big blue eyes got me. And I spoke the truth.

  “Yes, Will, you are dying. I don’t know how long you have. A while, before you become weak and feel really ill, and then Dr. Marshall will add to the medicines you have to keep you comfortable—”

  “I don’t want to be comfortable, Donna. I don’t want to win something just ’cause I’m sick, and I don’t want to go to Hollywood. I don’t want to stay here and have people moon over me and stare at me like they did tonight. I don’t want that to be the last thing I do, Donna,” Will said. “The last thing I’ll be thinking about—all these people staring at me like I’m an exhibit from Ripley’s Believe It or Not for kicking the bucket as a kid. But there is something I do want.”

  I knew what he was going to say. He grinned at me. “I want for you, me, and Trusty to go visit my land!”

  He wanted us to trek across the entire country, part of Canada, and into the Alaska Territory, to see one…square…inch…of…land.

  His one square inch of Alaska.

  Impossible. Completely, fully, totally impossible.

  And yet I knew that no matter what I said, Will would keep trying, would keep running away, just like he always did to get to his favorite place at the river, only this time, my ridiculous, stubborn, ill little brother would try, and try, and try again to get to Alaska to see his land, no matter that it wasn’t much bigger than a postage stamp.

  Because he didn’t see it as ridiculous. Or illogical. He saw it as adventurous.

  Even as all this turned over in my mind, he said, “We have a car! And we can borrow MayJune’s camper—you know she’ll let us. And we can take some food from Daddy’s fallout shelter—he’ll never miss it. And I have Jimmy’s old atlas. I’ve already figured out two routes to get there. Both look pretty good.”

  The way Will put it, it seemed so easy. I thought about the money I’d pulled from tips at Grandma’s, the money I’d saved from work for Mr. Cahill, from working for Miss Bettina, from making clothes from Mama’s old things instead of buying new…. Instead of using that money for a bus ticket to New York to be a seamstress, I could use it for gasoline to go to Alaska….

  I shook my head. No. No. This was beyond impossible. It was insane. “Will…I don’t think…in your condition—”

  He put his hand over my mouth, thrust his face in mine. “My condition isn’t ever going to get better. And I want to see my land in Alaska before I die.”

  Then he moved to stand beside me and pointed at the harvest moon…the persimmon moon. “There’s still time,” he said. “The Farmer’s Almanac says it’s supposed to be a mild fall and winter. By the time another full moon comes around, it will be too late to drive in Alaska.”

  Maybe, I thought, just trying would take Will’s mind off his illness. We had more than a month’s worth of his medicine, and we could probably get to the Alaska Territory in ten days if things went our way, if the weather held, if the car didn’t break down. And Will’s condition wasn’t going to worsen if he rode in a car. In fact, I told myself, being made into a local oh-poor-dying-boy celebrity would run him down far more quickly.

  We’d have to sneak off, without anyone knowing our plans—except MayJune, of course. Could we really leave…that night?

  Suddenly, Trusty was looking up at us intently, his jaws open, miming barking. Male voices quickly approached. Maybe the voices belonged to the kind of men Babs had hoped would come along when I’d changed that flat tire. But Trusty wanted us off that road. Still, I knew Will wouldn’t budge until I gave him an answer.

  “We’ll do it,” I said. “We’ll go to Alaska. You, me, Trusty. Now, get in the car!”

  Chapter 24

  By the time we got back to MayJune’s, Will was fast asleep in the front seat. Trusty stood in the back of Mama’s car, his head thrust between me and Will. I could hear his breathing, smell his doggy breath, feel his warm, moist exhalations on my cheek on the entire drive back to MayJune’s, as he guarded Will and kept a wary watch on me.

  As uneasily aware as I was of Trusty’s sharp teeth, ready to snap at any second if he decided I wasn’t Will’s ally, I was even more nervous about what I’d just promised Will.

  A trip to see his one square inch of Alaska.

  Already the what-ifs were flooding my mind.

  But then, how could I look at Will and take back my promise, especially after I’d told him the truth about his dying?

  If Mama’s car broke down, I’d fix it or find someone who could. After all, I’d changed a tire easily. If Will started getting sick, we’d find help. Or turn around and come back. In any case, I’d rather be with him if he needed help. I knew he’d just keep running away, no matter what I did or said, and that I couldn’t stay awake and watch him every hour of every day.

  At MayJune’s, I tried to rouse Will, but he was deeply asleep. Trusty bared his teeth at me when I tried to shake Will awake.

  I looked at the dog. “Fine,” I said. “You stay here and watch Will.”

  Then I walked up the small slope of front yard to MayJune’s house. This time, I wasn’t the least bit surprised when she opened the door before I could knock and had two fresh mugs of steaming tea waiting for us.

  She took her time settling in her chair and then picked up her cup and took a sip. “Mmm-mmm. Ginger root, willow bark, chamomile. Good for my stiff old hips, at least until bedtime. I’ll be stiffer than a wet sheet left on the line in winter when I wake up, though.”

  I smiled and picked up my cup, sniffing the aromatic steam.

  “Now, honey, your tea is just ginger root. Good for soothing the stomach. And for energy.” She lifted her sparse eyebrows at me. “I have a feeling you’re going to need it.”

  I sipped my tea and then said, “I don’t suppose you have a tea or poultice or broth for Will that will make him…better?”

  For the first time since I’d met her, MayJune looked truly sad, her face and mouth drooping. “Honey child, I wish I did.” She shook her head. “I wish I did.”

  I stared down into the amber liquid in my cup, focusing on the scent and feel of the steam, forcing my tears to retreat, to seep back in deep down with all the hurt I was holding back. If I was going to do what I planned to do, I had to be steely and not let that hurt out, not while Will was still here on this earth, needing me.

  And then I looked up at MayJune, and told her my plan.

  She didn’t show any surprise or judgment as I told her that I’d been honest with Will about his approaching death, or that I’d promised to take us to Alaska. She just nodded like it made perfect sense. When I finished talking, she said, “Well, you know, tonight your daddy and Miss Bettina are away, helping with that terrible fire. Who knows how long they’ll be?”

  I stared into my now empty mug and turned this over in my mind, understanding what MayJune was suggesting. What bet
ter time than tonight, while everyone was distracted?

  “Lenny’s still up,” MayJune said softly. “He could hook up that teardrop trailer to your mama’s car right fast, while I get together some teas and herbs for you and Will and Trusty.”

  I looked up at MayJune.

  And then I nodded.

  Back at our house, Will and I worked quickly, assembling what we needed on the back porch.

  Our blankets from our beds would go in the trunk, but first, we spread them out on the back porch and yard, so we could drop other items on top, to be bundled up and dragged to our car through our yard and the neighbor’s behind us. (I’d parked on Maple, not wanting our nearby neighbors who might not be at the plant to see a trailer hitched to Mama’s car.)

  Our winter coats and hats and gloves from the front closet, even though they hadn’t been aired out for the season and would smell like mothballs.

  From the kitchen, two each—plates, spoons, cups, knives, forks. A saucepan and a frying pan, a spatula and a wooden spoon, and a box of kitchen matches. Bread, crackers, peanut butter.

  From the basement fallout shelter, jars of home-canned peaches, apples, strawberry jam. Jars of green beans (including one jar of Miss Bettina’s pickled beans), corn, carrots, tomatoes, beets, potatoes, and vegetable soup made from a little of all the leftover vegetables whenever there wasn’t enough of any one type to fill a quart jar.

  All the foodstuffs would go in the trailer.

  All of Will’s medicines in a pillowcase on the passenger’s side floor.

  Will’s Sterry Oil United States and Canada road atlas, the one he’d gotten from Jimmy and had already marked with two possible routes to Tok, Alaska—that would go in the glove compartment.

  And from the basement, we got the empty suitcases that had once been filled with Mama’s old costumes and clothes—one for each of us. I told Will to pack two pants, two shirts, a spare pair of shoes, one pair of pj’s, his toothbrush, and as many pairs of socks and underwear as he could fit in.

  Small choices, I thought as I quickly started packing my suitcase. All that time I’d been slowly taking Mama’s clothes to remake for myself, I hadn’t known that I was emptying the suitcases so that we could fill them again for this adventure.

  It all seemed so easy in the minutes I spent filling my suitcase with a skirt and peg-leg jeans and two blouses and pajamas—as if all the difficult events of the past months had happened so that in that moment we’d have everything we needed: the trailer from MayJune, the car and suitcases from Mama, extra food for the taking from Daddy’s bomb shelter, even the atlas from Jimmy. As if the trip was meant to be.

  I sent a quick prayer up to God—in case he was listening on that warm, Indian summer night—that the trip would be as easy as our hasty packing. Then I hurried over to my dresser and opened my lingerie drawer. I pulled out several bras and undergarments, and then reached to the bottom for the envelope that held the money I’d been saving to go to New York to become a seamstress.

  I’d like to say that I felt no reluctance about getting out that money, knowing it would be gone by the time we got back from Alaska, but I’d be lying. My heart clenched, knowing how hard I’d worked to save it.

  As I pulled the bills out, my fingers brushed the letter Mr. Cahill had sent the week before. On impulse, I decided that I’d take the letter with me. I put half the money on one side and half on the other, telling myself that the letter was just a handy divider, that I’d take money from the front of the envelope on the way to Alaska, and that way I’d know we’d have enough for the return trip.

  I hesitated just a moment, studying my other hidden items—Jimmy’s Blue Waltz Sachet and the bottle of Dexamyl from Babs. I left the sachet but took the Dexamyl, deciding that if I used them carefully—maybe just taking half pills—they’d help me stay awake for long stretches of driving. I put the money envelope and the pills in my purse, dropped the lingerie in my suitcase, and then shut the suitcase.

  I was about to leave my room when I thought that we should leave a note for Daddy. I picked up my sketchbook from the top of my dresser, and on a page in the back, scribbled a hasty note: Daddy—Will and I are fine. I just needed to get him away from all the hullabaloo over him getting his deed. I have his medicines. We will call soon.

  I hesitated. I’d never written a note to my daddy before. I wondered if I should sign it “Love, Donna,” but then thought that that didn’t really fit how we were with each other, even with our new, careful peace. So I signed it “Sincerely, Donna.”

  I felt a little pang as I pulled out the note and started to put my sketchbook back on my dresser, so I opened my suitcase and tossed in the sketchbook and my pencils.

  Then I picked up my suitcase and the note and stepped out of my room. Will’s room was quiet and dark. He and Trusty were, I knew, waiting for me at the kitchen door.

  I went down the stairs, through the living room, and to Daddy’s bedroom. I put my suitcase on the floor. In one hand I held the note I’d just written. My other hand shook as I took hold of the doorknob. My heart pounded. I had vague memories of being in that room, with Mama, while she sang and stared into the mirror and brushed her hair, but I hadn’t been in there since she’d died—if not literally, then to us—not even to clean.

  A memory, flimsy and unprovable as a ghost, flitted across my mind’s eye, of watching Mama apply makeup over and over, because she kept crying and ruining it, then wiping it off, while her handkerchiefs piled up on my parents’ bedroom floor beside me like little drifts of sullied snow.

  I turned the knob, and returned to the present with a switch of a floor lamp. The bed was neatly made with a chenille bedspread. Daddy’s work clothes were thrown over the back of a small chair. His dresser top was empty.

  I started to leave my note there, but then I saw, in the corner opposite the chair, Mama’s dressing table, undisturbed after all this time.

  I drifted over to it and stared down at the photos clustered around a small glass tray covered with perfume bottles, their bottoms stained dark with dried fragrance. Still, the air in this corner of the room was heavy with familiar scents—tea rose, jasmine. Mama.

  All the photos were of her.

  All from before Will and I were born. Photos of Mama singing in the Tangy Town club where she and Daddy had first met. Mama in the outfits I’d cut up. Mama in her wedding dress—not Mama with Daddy—just Mama, with a careful, composed smile, perfectly beautiful in the dress I’d cut up and remade into the dress I was wearing. I picked up the photo, the note dropping from my other hand, my fingers then wandering to the lace on my shoulder….

  In that instant, I stopped worrying or caring about what Daddy would do or think about us going away. I knelt, swept the note up in my hand, and crushed it in my fist. Then I put it in my purse. Somewhere en route to Alaska, I’d throw it away.

  I still held the photo of Mama in her wedding dress. I should replace it, I knew, but in a cruel impulse, I added it to the contents of my suitcase. I shut the bedroom door. In the kitchen, Will and Trusty waited for me.

  Will held his framed deed flat, like a platter, on top of which was a box.

  “What’s that?” I asked.

  He revealed the Alaska diorama that I’d crushed. He’d straightened it out as best he could. He shone a flashlight inside the diorama. “I added you!” he whispered.

  I stepped forward, peered inside. There I was—a construction paper, glue, and toothpick version of me. Right by the toothpick flag from my first date with Jimmy.

  “We don’t need…” I started to say that we didn’t have room in the car or camper for anything but necessities. Instead, I said, “Just carry it on your lap.”

  Will grinned, and I opened the kitchen door. We stepped out on the back porch and stared at everything we’d assembled. It seemed overwhelming, but I took a deep breath and started, “First, we’ll get the suitcases out to the car, and then we’ll bundle everything else up in the two blankets and drag them to
the car, except the food; that we’ll—”

  Suddenly a figure stepped out from behind a sycamore tree. I grabbed Will and pulled him toward me. Trusty lunged, knocking the figure to the ground, standing on him.

  “Get him off me,” Jimmy gasped.

  I let go of Will and rushed over. Trusty looked up at me and bared his teeth.

  “Trusty, come here, boy,” Will called quietly. “It’s OK.”

  Trusty stepped off of Jimmy. The dog trotted over to Will but kept looking at Jimmy.

  “Why’d he do that? He knows me,” Jimmy said.

  “Because you jumped out of the shadows and seemed like a threat,” I snapped. “What are you doing here?”

  “I couldn’t stand to go home after what happened at the news conference. I had no idea that Dad was going to use Will like that. I knew my presence wouldn’t be welcome at the mill, as much as I would like to help with the fire. So I drove around awhile and couldn’t stop thinking about you and Will. So I came over to check on you, and saw your car when I drove down Maple, and a trailer attached to it. I figured you were up to something and wouldn’t come to the front door, so I decided to come to the back and…What are you up to?”

  “Nothing,” I said.

  He looked past me to the suitcases and blankets covered with food and coats on the porch. Then he looked back at me.

  “We’re going to spend some time at MayJune’s, is all,” I said.

  “Then why the trailer? And where did you get it?”

  “It’s MayJune’s trailer. You know how tiny her house is.”

  “We’re going to Alaska!” Will said. I groaned. He went on. “We’re leaving tonight, and we’re taking Trusty, and we’re going to see my land.” He sounded giddy at the prospect.

  “I want to go with you,” Jimmy said.

  My heart fell. “That’s…that’s not a good idea. Your parents…school…”

  “What about your dad? And school for you?”