My One Square Inch of Alaska (9781101602850)

by Short, Sharon

  Were those the kind of voices Mama had heard, urging her to make the safe, practical choice of marrying Daddy, instead of running after her singing dream?

  “Look, there’s another thing you should know. Babs told me that she—” Jimmy paused, lowered his voice. “She’s pregnant. Hank hit her when she told him. Now, thank God, Babs’s dad won’t let Hank anywhere near her. Her dad’s taking her to a doctor he knows in Cincinnati. She’s going to be really sick for a while after—you know. She could use your support.”

  I shuddered. Poor Babs. Then my stomach turned. I’d lost my virginity to Jimmy. What if I’d gotten pregnant? I felt sorry for Babs, wanted to be there with her through this, but…

  “Look, are you really going to throw over me and comforting MayJune and helping Babs because of this silly trip? Thrown together at the last minute?”

  I gasped. Silly. Suddenly, I saw Jimmy for who he was—a nice boy. In over his head. Not sure what he wanted. Nice—but not strong. Nice—but not someone who understood me, after all. If he did, then he would never have asked me to give up on this trip for Will when we were halfway there, not for the reasons he’d given.

  And, I thought, this trip—Will’s trip to see his one square inch of Alaska—didn’t seem silly at all. And yes, MayJune and Babs might want my help and support…but I knew they’d both want, even more, for me to see this through. Maybe not my plan. But some plan—fate’s. Or God’s.

  In that moment, I knew there was no way I would turn back.

  I also realized that Jimmy had stopped talking and was staring at me, waiting for some kind of response.

  “I’m going back to the motel room and, I hope, get a long, good night’s sleep. And in the morning, Will and Trusty and I are going on to Alaska. You’re welcome to come with us.”

  Jimmy stared at me a minute longer, got out his wallet, put down enough to cover our meals and a generous tip. He pulled the Sunrise Motel room key out of his pocket and shoved it across the table at me.

  “I’m sorry,” he said. “But I have to go back. I’m going to walk to the Greyhound station.”

  I swallowed hard. “I can drive you—”

  He shook his head. “No. I think this is easier, if I just walk away. Tell Will I said good luck to him, OK? And to you, too.”

  I nodded. “You, too, Jimmy,” I said.

  Then he stood up and walked out of the Golden Gulch.

  When I got back to the motel with a bag of burgers for Will and Trusty, Will asked, “Where’s Jimmy?”

  All the possible explanations I’d come up with swirled in my head. But then I shook my head to clear it. Will had wanted the truth about his dying. He could handle this truth, too.

  “Jimmy got scared about his parents being mad at him for leaving suddenly, and so he’s going back on the bus.”

  For a long minute, he was quiet. And then he said, “Well, we’ve always done better on our own anyway, huh, Donna?”

  Tears pricked my eyes. I swallowed hard and said, “Not sure how Trusty feels about that.”

  “Awww, he knows I don’t mean him,” Will said, laughing. “Right, Trusty?” He knelt down and rubbed the dog’s neck. “Hey, buddy, tomorrow we cross the Continental Divide! And then we’ll keep getting closer and closer to your home!”

  I’d long given up on trying to explain to Will that just because Trusty was a husky didn’t mean he’d been born in Alaska. Will believed that’s where the dog belonged, and maybe he was right.

  Instead, I thought about those upside down V’s on the map, and how there was an alternate route alongside them that also went to Alaska, and took us near Shelby, Montana.

  “What would you think about taking that alternate route of yours?” I said. “And maybe seeing a little bit of Glacier Park?”

  “Really? That would be great!”

  I had to smile at Will’s enthusiasm. “All right, then. But on the way, there’s something I have to tell you. And I’m going to need you to listen really carefully.”

  Chapter 26

  The next morning, while I drove up Route 91, I told Will what Miss Bettina had told me about our mother—everything, except I softened the part about her getting the baby blues after he was born. I told him how MayJune had known Miss Bettina and Mama for a long time, from when they were even younger than Will, and that MayJune said Mama had always been looking across the horizon, wanting to get to the other side. And I told him how the last time anyone had heard from Mama, she was with Mr. Litchfield in his hometown of Shelby, and when Daddy knew she wasn’t coming back, he gave her the divorce she wanted, and told us she’d died.

  It felt odd, telling this story to Will, like it wasn’t really about Mama, like it was something from one of Babs’s overwrought romance novels. While I talked and drove, Will stared out at the wide blue sky, and cattle, and the white, jagged mountains rising in the distance, and for long stretches I wondered if he was listening to me at all. When I finished, I was quiet, waiting for his reaction.

  But he didn’t react. He didn’t get upset or angry. He just stared at the scenery rolling by as if he wasn’t surprised that this was the actual truth about our mother. That she hadn’t died; she’d simply left us.

  The gorgeous Montana countryside blurred in my tears of frustration. I was, I thought, being selfish. The truth was, I wanted to see if I could find Mama. To confront her. To ask her how she could have left us like that.

  “Will, maybe I shouldn’t have told you. I don’t think this side trip is a good idea after all. Why don’t we just go on to Glacier National Park instead?” I glanced at him. He was giving me a look that said, Don’t try to bribe me. His face was so puckered up with annoyance that I had to laugh, even while feeling miserably unsure about whether I’d done the right thing.

  And so I drove on to Shelby, both of us silent for the rest of the way, Trusty with his head thrust, as always, between us. Occasionally, Will scratched the top of Trusty’s head. I turned on the radio. We no longer had the station out of Helena, but after a while, we picked up KIYI in Shelby, which was on a Hank Williams kick; I tuned in to the middle of “Your Cheatin’ Heart.” I almost snapped off the radio; the song was too close to what our mama had done…and what I’d been willing to do with Mr. Cahill…plus it was sad to think of Mr. Williams’s death at the beginning of that year. But then the next song was “Move It On Over,” and Will turned up the radio, and by the end, we were crooning together. That song was also about cheatin’, but it was a lot more fun to sing as loudly as possible to a rocking beat and funny words about the woes of a man in the doghouse—literally—for his sins: Came in last night about half past ten. That baby of mine wouldn’t let me in. So move it on over…move it on over. Move over little dog ’cause the big dog’s movin’ in.

  We were singing to Trusty, giving him a little nudge every time we repeated the refrain. He perked up, panting, and I realized I’d nudged and petted him several times and he hadn’t silently snapped at me even once. Maybe, I thought, by the end of the trip, Trusty and I would come to a peaceful understanding.

  Then the song was over and we were on the outskirts of Shelby, just a few houses on either side of a narrow strip of road.

  Quickly, we went farther into the heart of the town, passing storefronts—drugstore, barbershop, “nite club”—that weren’t much different from the ones in Groverton. I turned down the radio and we were silent again, staring at each place we passed as if Mama might just pop out of one of them and recognize us and of course want to run to us and embrace us. Suddenly, my heart flopped right down into my stomach, and I felt sick. Even in a place this small, how would we find her—if she was still here? It had been seven years since she’d left Groverton, and probably five since Daddy had last had contact with her, according to Miss Bettina. I’d been a fool to tell Will what I’d learned, to waste precious time on this trip to stop here.

  “Wait—slow down, stop there!” Will said.

  I stepped too hard on the brakes, making us lurc
h to a stop. A car behind us, which I hadn’t even noticed, braked and honked. “What?” I looked around anxiously. “Do you see—”

  I stopped, seeing that Will was pointing at a building ahead of us, the Lone Star Diner.

  “What, you’re hungry?” It was nearly three. We’d had breakfast early that morning in Helena and I’d insisted we stop for a snack around lunchtime—peanut butter and crackers from the camper—but I was happy to hear that Will was hungry, even if the urge seemed oddly timed. He’d shown little appetite on the trip so far.

  But he rolled his eyes at me. “No, you goober. What is it you always complain about when you come home from Grandma’s diner?”

  The car behind us honked. I took my foot off the brake and let us coast forward, looking for a place to park—not easy with a camper in tow. “That my feet and back hurt,” I said.

  “Besides that.”

  I spotted a stretch of empty curb ahead of us, and eased us alongside it, exhaling with relief and not caring that the driver who’d been behind us lurched past in his pickup truck hollering something crude at me.

  “That Grandma’s a witch?”

  Will laughed. “That everybody knows everybody else’s business in Groverton and always talks about it at the diner, and that you have to smile like you care to get a tip.”

  He opened the door and got out of the car, Trusty following him. “Come on!”

  I made him wait while I opened the trunk and awkwardly leaned in from the side to pull out my suitcase. I opened it, dug past my clothes to the framed bridal photo at the bottom. My fingertips also brushed the bottle of Dexamyl from Babs.

  Oh, Babs, I thought, such a mess you’re in now.

  But I shook my head. I couldn’t worry about her, about Jimmy, about anyone in Groverton. I just had to focus on Will and on wrapping up this side trip as quickly as possible, so we could get on to Alaska.

  My hand closed around the bottle of pills. Jimmy wasn’t here to help with driving. But the pills could keep me going for hours….

  “Here,” I said. “I brought this, Mama’s bridal photo. I’m not sure why I grabbed it, except I was going to leave a note for Daddy, and—”

  Will took the picture and stared at it. While he wasn’t looking at me, I slipped the bottle of pills into my purse.

  “Maybe someone will recognize her photograph at the diner,” I said. My voice was shaky.

  Will looked up at me, his eyes wide. “You look just like her,” he said.

  I looked over his shoulder at the photograph. There was, I thought, more sadness to her eyes and mouth, and she had a finer nose—I definitely had inherited Daddy’s rounder nose—but I had her heart-shaped face, her brow, her eyes and mouth and chin.

  Will sat on a bench near the Lone Star Diner, and Trusty settled down by his feet. I went inside, clutching Mama’s bridal photo to my chest like a notebook of secrets.

  The place was nearly empty—just a man at one end of the counter and an older couple (who reminded me of Mr. and Mrs. Leis) lingering in a booth. I took a stool at the counter on the opposite end from the man.

  A waitress who was not much older than I came out of the kitchen. She gave me a bored smile but avoided looking me in the eye—end-of-shift weariness. The waitress, who wore a name tag labeled “Joanne,” dropped a one-page menu in front of me and said, “Besides what’s there, our blue plate is chicken-fried steak, mashed potatoes, lima beans, and your choice of pie. Personally, I recommend the club sandwich.”

  “Actually, I’m here looking for someone.”

  Joanne gave me a one-sided smile. “Aren’t we all, honey. But this ain’t the best place for that. Now, over at the Mountain View Nightclub—”

  I smiled, partly because I instantly liked this woman’s sassiness, and partly at the image of Grandma if I’d ever said such a thing in her diner. All her tight curls would have sprung right off her head. “Not that kind of someone,” I said. “I’m looking for someone who came here about seven years ago with a man named Harold Litchfield. Her name is Rita. Rita Lane. Or she might go by Rita Litchfield.” I thought for a second. What if she’d broken up with Harold Litchfield? Maybe she’d taken back her maiden name. “Or Rita McKenzie.”

  Joanne’s eyebrows lifted. “What is she, some kind of fugitive? On the lam?” Her eyes narrowed. “You some mole sent in by the FBI? I’ve read stories about this kind of thing.”

  Despite the somberness of Will’s and my situation, I had to laugh. Babs would love that, I thought, the idea of me as an FBI mole. I thought about our attempt at undercover sleuthing at the Sunshine Bakery, and even as I felt another pang of worry and sadness for Babs, I had to smile. “No, nothing like that,” I said. “Rita was—is—my mother. My little brother and I are…” I paused, thinking, Well, Will and I are on the lam, in a way. Except I didn’t think Will would see us as running from something. He’d say we were running to something. I liked that better. I straightened my shoulders, started again. “My little brother and I are on a trip and we found out our mother came here about seven years ago. And we thought we’d…well, we thought we’d look her up.”

  Look her up. As if this were as casual as dropping by for a Danish and coffee.

  “Huh. So she was a kind of fugitive,” Joanne said.

  I started to argue. But I realized that, in a sense, Joanne had it exactly right. Mama was a fugitive from all that had made her sad and restless back in Groverton, Ohio. She’d been running from something. I wondered if, nevertheless, she’d found peace in Shelby, Montana.

  “Well,” Joanne said, “truth be told, I came here just two years ago myself. Getting away from a nasty boyfriend who liked to pop me a few.” She pumped her fist in the air.

  “Oh, no, it wasn’t like that. My daddy didn’t…” My voice trailed off. Then I settled for, “Daddy didn’t hit her. She just…got weary.”

  Joanne nodded like that made perfect sense. “The name Litchfield rings a bell.” She gave a little frown. “Not sure why.”

  My heart gave a small squeeze. I turned the bridal photo so Joanne could see it. “That’s her. It’s an old photo. Before I was born. About twenty years ago.”

  Joanne gasped, then looked up at me. “Why, honey, you’re the spittin’ image…except the nose.” She stared at the photo again. “This is her wedding day?”

  I nodded.

  “But she looks sad,” Joanne said, as if it were impossible to imagine someone looking sad on her wedding day.

  “Jean will know who she is and where to direct this young lady.”

  Both Joanne and I looked up, a little startled, at the man from the end of the counter. He’d gotten up and walked over to us.

  Joanne snorted. “Billy, why are you always listening in to other people’s conversations?”

  “’Cause you talk so damn loud,” he said. He plunked down some money. Joanne grabbed it from the counter and put it in her smock pocket. The man made a shooing motion with his hands. “Go on back. Tell Jean there’s a young lady here—” he grabbed the photo, looked at it. He went a little pale. Then he swallowed hard and said more softly, “You’re right. She’s the spittin’ image of a younger Rita.” He shook his head. “Anyway, go tell Jean that Rita Litchfield’s daughter has showed up in town looking for Rita. Jean will know what to do.”

  “Jean won’t do anything but yell at me if I don’t go back there with an order.”

  I was hoping to spend as little money as possible, in case of some future emergency, but I didn’t see that I had a choice. “How about two bottles of Coca-Cola?”

  Joanne lifted her eyebrows at me.

  I sighed. “And a club sandwich.”

  She jotted those items down on her order pad—like she wouldn’t remember—and went through the swinging doors back to the kitchen.

  Billy was still staring at the photo.

  “Do you know her?” I asked softly.

  He startled from his reverie and looked up at me. Then he shoved the photo back at me. “No,” he
said. “Just heard her sing a few times.”

  “Well, where was that? At the Mountain View Nightclub? Maybe someone there—”

  He shook his head. “Some things are better off not knowing, kid.” He put some bills on the counter. “That’s to cover your sodas and sandwich. You can always walk away before Jean comes out.”

  My heart started pounding. “Why? Why would I want to do that? If she knows my mama, she can tell me where to find her. Or maybe you—”

  “She was a wonderful singer. Haunting.” With that, Billy turned and walked away, hurrying as best he could given the hitch in his step, going out the front door just as another couple came in. The couple that had been here earlier was gone. I could see the back of Will’s head through the diner’s big front window.

  She was a wonderful singer…was…

  Why had he said “was”? Had she left town? Stopped singing?

  “So you’re Rita’s young’un.” I startled, turned, saw standing behind the counter the woman who had to be Jean. I’d expected some Montana version of Grandma, but this woman was plumper, taller, younger—and definitely more pleasant looking, although she growled at Joanne, who was standing right behind her, eager to hear what we’d say. “Get over there and take the Mitchells’ order!” Joanne looked disappointed, but hurried out to the couple.

  Jean sat two Coca-Colas and two wrapped sandwiches on the counter. “Joanne says you and your brother are on a trip and just happened through here, asking about Rita.” She pointed to the sandwiches. “If you’re on the road, figured you might want to take your food.”