One Hot Summer

by Heidi McLaughlin

  “How?” I demand, turning to face her with both hands on my hips. “How are we going to make this work?”

  “You…are going to fly up to Sitka and stay there for a couple of weeks. Research bears. Meet hot men. Hopefully have some good sex with one of them and put Bryce behind you for good.”

  I can’t lie. I like the way she puts things.

  “And you…?”

  “I will find a venue for a bear event here in Seattle.”

  “What kind of event?” I ask, sitting down on the bed beside her. “A gala? A concert? Do you even know how to plan something on that scale?”

  “I can learn how to do anything I put my mind to,” she informs me. “And I was thinking…a carnival.”

  “A carnival. Are you serious?”

  “Why? You don’t like it?”

  “I…like it. What’s not to like? I just feel like Steve is expecting something bigger and fancier.”

  “Listen, I used to love my school’s carnival every year. I was thinking we could rent a lot, bring in the rides for two or three days. Put bears on all of the ads and posters. Charge admission.” Her face is full and beautiful, and I don’t know if it’s her pregnancy, or just the fact that Leigh emits a sort of supernatural confidence, but I feel myself growing calmer just listening to her speak: “And if Steve wants a tonier event, we can add a private cocktail party on the first night or something. But, yeah, I think it could work. I think it’ll be great.”

  “Hmm. Maybe you’re right.”

  “I am! I checked on-line this afternoon, and it really doesn’t seem that hard to put a carnival together. Space, date, permits, advertising. The carnival companies do all of the set-up. I’m thinking June 29-30. Gives me six weeks to plan.”

  “What about baby?” I ask, covering her stomach gently.

  She presses her hand over mind. “He’ll sleep so much in the beginning, I bet I’ll be glad to have something to do!”

  My sister, who lives outside of Philadelphia, just had a baby, and her texts and emails are all about how much work it is. Then again, Cathy’s always been a complainer—a glass half-empty sort of person—whereas Leigh’s glass is always overflowing.

  “If anyone can do it,” I say, “it’s you. And once I’m back and the column is written, I’ll help.”

  “Bet your ass you will,” says my friend with a chuckle. “Now let’s talk about Single in Sitka. Luuuuuuuke, right? I went back and read the ad after the meeting.”

  Hmm. Luke. Luke, Luke, Luke.

  I don’t know the first thing about him. Well, that’s not exactly true either. I know he’s four years older than me. I know he’s got three great kids. I know he’s sick of on-line dating. And thinks Tinder is completely gross…and you know what? So do I! And I’m lonesome too. I understand wanting someone to share a life with and needing to—

  “Ooo-eee! Your face just got hella moony, girl. All soft and dreamy and faraway—”

  “That ad was a week old.” I cut my eyes to her. “He could already be married for all we know!”

  “That would be a shame,” says Leigh. “Because, I was thinking…as long as you’re going to be up there anyway, why not set up a meeting?”

  “What? No! Absolutely not!”

  “Why not?”

  “Because that’s so…desperate.”

  “It’s not desperate, it’s…it’s—okay, think of it this way. If you were on vacation, would you get a manicure? A massage?”

  “Maybe.”

  “Maybe,” she scoffs, folding my jeans, but keeping them on her lap “Of course you would. So…think of meeting this guy like…like a vacation amenity.”

  “Leigh! He’s not a gigolo. He’s a single dad.”

  “And probably just as hard up as you.”

  “Gee, thanks. You make me sound oh, so, appealing.”

  “Girl, if you’d just get out of your own darn way, you’d see that you are appealing. What’re you? A size ten?”

  “Eight.” One good thing to come from my break-up? I dropped a full dress size.

  “You have great hair, big tits, decent style and a cute butt. Come on! You have zero to lose.”

  “Hmm,” I say, eyeing my “lucky-nucky” jeans uncertainly.

  “Hmm good? Or hmm bad?”

  “Hmm…maybe.”

  “Well, I’m going to the bathroom for the four hundredth time today and while I’m in there, how about you turn that “Maybe” into “Yes. Awesome. I’ll do it!,” okay?”

  Leigh heaves her body from the bed and waddles past me, headed to the hallway bathroom, and leaving me alone for a moment.

  I catch my reflection in the mirror—dark red hair up in a ponytail, bright green eyes and a size ten, er, eight body, complete with curvy hips, a symmetrical size-C rack, and a smattering of freckles across my nose. Maybe not gorgeous, but not bad either in a 40s pin-up sort of way. Good skin. Good teeth. A solidly attractive for a woman in her early-30s, I decide.

  Would it be so terrible to answer Single in Sitka’s ad?

  No, it’s not really my style to pursue a man so aggressively, but something’s drawing me to the Odds are Good website, right? I’m only there for two weeks, so it’s not like anything could really happen between us. It’d just be a no-strings-attached fling. I could warm his bed and he could warm mine. A couple of horny adults looking for a safe and better-than-average hook-up.

  Hmm. I purse my lips at my reflection, thinking it over. Maybe Leigh’s right. I’m going to be up there anyway. What do I have to lose?

  “I know that look,” says Leigh, who’s been standing in the doorway to my bedroom for Lord knows how long. “It’s a good idea, right? Answering his ad?”

  “It’s not a terrible idea,” I say, my cheeks warming a touch as I grin at her.

  Leigh glances at the bed, a slow smile turning up the corners of her mouth. “Hey! Do I spy lucky-nucky jeans in that pile?”

  I shrug. “From what I hear, the goods are odd, but the odds are good.”

  Leigh throws back her head and chortles before slipping an arm around my shoulder and giving me a wet kiss on the cheek. “That’s my girl!”

  Standing alone with two massive suitcases at the baggage claim area of the Sitka Airport, I have no idea how to get everything to the curb outside until a friendly porter offers me a beat-up luggage trolley. Grateful for any assistance at all, I load up my baggage, add my laptop bag and carry-on, and pull the thousand-pound cart out the airport doors.

  Since sitkacab.com took me to a website populated with the latest in dildos—no, I’m not kidding—and the second cab company I found on-line was called “Cummins,” I decided to “wing it” when I landed and see if there were taxis available at the airport. But between “winging” my pitch yesterday morning and my ground transportation tonight, I’m quickly learning that I’m an F-student at “winging” things.

  “No more winging it!” I mutter to myself, looking around the empty curbside as I zip up my jacket. Damn, but it’s cold.

  I turn right and then left, scanning the semi-empty, very dark parking lot before gazing back at the terminal. There was an Avis Rental Car booth inside, but the light was off and no one was there.

  “Unbelievable,” I grouse, fishing my phone out of my purse. I hope I have a strong enough signal to find a cab company over the internet, and when I do, I hope it doesn’t try to sell me a dildo.

  Was I wrong to think there’d be a taxi stand here like every other airport in the United States? I mean, based on my very last-minute research last night after Leigh left my place and this morning after I’d finished packing, Sitka is the fourth largest city in Alaska after Anchorage, Fairbanks and Juneau. You’d think they’d have a goddamned taxi stand for—

  “You need help?”

  I turn around to find the gentleman who offered me the baggage cart inside.

  “I thought there would be taxis.”

  “First time in Sitka?” he asks, grinning at me as he pulls a cellphone from hi
s pocket, presses a button and presses it to his ear.

  “First time in Alaska,” I answer.

  “Jack? It’s Toby down at the airport. Yeah. Uh-huh. Last night? Huh. I missed it. Ha ha ha. Oh, yeah. You got it, Jack.”

  I’m staring at him, starting to wonder if his call has anything to do with me, as I originally thought. Maybe I should just assume that cab companies in Sitka double as sex shops and just go ahead and—

  “Jack, I gotta girl down here. Yeah. Just flew in. Yep. Lower 48. Ha ha. She’s looking for a cab. Yep. Bye.”

  He snaps the clamshell phone shut and looks up at me. “Jack’ll be here in a jiffy.”

  “Jack?”

  “Of Jack’s Cab.”

  “You mean ‘Cabs’?”

  “Well, technically yes. But it was just Jack and his cab for so long, he never changed the name. Jack’s Cab. Good outfit. No need to worry.”

  “What was all the laughing about?” I ask, wondering if it’s smart to take a ride in the middle of the night from Jack of Jack’s Cab on the recommendation of—of—Toby-from-the-airport.

  “Folks coming in from the Lower 48 don’t always know what to expect here.” Toby takes a cigarette pack out of his breast pocket, offers me one, which I decline, then takes one for himself. “Sitka’s the smallest city you’ll ever meet.”

  Whatever that means.

  Damn, but it was in the 70s when I left Seattle in flip-flops, but now I realize I should have dressed more warmly. I shift from foot to foot, trying to keep warm.

  “Whereabouts you from?” asks Toby, blowing smoke rings into the sky.

  I follow them, marveling at the number of bright, twinkling stars in the inky black cosmos above. Perfect night for stargazing if it wasn’t so cold.

  “Originally from a little town in Delaware,” I hear myself say. “Now Seattle.”

  “Your people still in Delaware?”

  “Yep. My Mom and Dad still have the house I grew up in. My sister lives outside of Philly with her husband.”

  “How come you left?”

  “I went to college in Seattle. Loved it. Decided to stay.”

  “Lonely there without your folks?”

  I shrug, evading his question. “I fell in love with the ocean in Seattle. The mountains. It’s so beautiful, it still takes my breath away. Besides, I have great friends, a great boyfr—I mean, um, a—a great job. A great life.”

  “Huh. Sounds perfect.”

  Except…it’s not, I want to say. It’s not at all.

  I glance at him, wrinkling my nose. “Can I change my mind and bum a smoke?”

  He shrugs, then takes the pack from his pocket and hands it to me. I tap the bottom and pull a cigarette from the cellophane-covered foil, nodding in thanks when he lights it. I don’t actually inhale. My days of polluting my lungs ended in college. But sometimes—just once in a while—I miss the taste of nicotine and tobacco. I hold the smoke in my mouth, then let it go. My fingers roll the delicate stick back and forth before I ash on the sidewalk.

  “Not a smoker, huh?”

  “I was,” I say. “Long time ago.”

  “Miss it?”

  “Yeah. Sometimes,” I admit.

  Headlights brighten the darkness of the parking lot as a yellow car approaches us. It stops at the curb and I drop the cigarette to the ground, stomping it out.

  “Heya, Jack!” calls Toby.

  “Heya, Tobe,” says Jack.

  “This here’s…” Toby pauses, looking at me. “Huh. Don’t know your name. Didn’t ask. Sorry ‘bout that.”

  “It’s fine. I’m Amanda,” I say, offering my hand to Jack, and marveling a little bit at these small-town manners.

  “Pleased to meetcha, Amanda.” He looks at my bare feet, then grins knowingly at Toby before turning back to me. “How ‘bout you get in the car, huh? Warm in there.”

  “Shouldn’t I help with the bags?”

  He chuckles, but the sound isn’t unkind. It reminds me of my grandpa’s laugh. Rich and deep, like he’s laughing at a joke to which only he knows the punchline. “Let me and Tobe take care of it, eh? You just warm up some, little lady.”

  “Thank you, Toby,” I say, smiling at him, grateful for his kindness.

  I slip into the backseat of the car as Toby and Jack load my gear into the trunk.

  I check my phone for messages and sigh when I see there’s nothing new. Before Leigh would leave my apartment last night, she made me respond to Single in Sitka’s ad. I wrote a short and sweet email, indicating I’d be in Sitka for a few days and wouldn’t mind getting together. I look out the window and wonder if I’ll actually get a chance to meet the man who inadvertently started this entire chain of events.

  Lost in thought, a rap on the window makes me jump, and I roll down the window with a crank handle.

  Toby’s smiling face is waiting for me on the other side of the glass. “You’re all set and Jack’s a good man. He’ll take you wherever you need to go and make sure you get there safely. Good luck, Amanda-from-Seattle.”

  I grin back. “Thanks, Toby-from-the-airport.”

  “You know what I think?” he asks.

  “Nope. Tell me.”

  “I don’t think everything was so great in Seattle. I think you’re looking for something, missy. And I just want to say…I hope you find it here. I think you will.”

  It’s such a lovely thing to say, I reach out and pat the gnarled hand holding onto the top of the partially-open window.

  “Thank you.”

  “And if you don’t mind the advice,” says Toby, “ditch those stupid sandals and get some proper shoes.”

  I chuckle softly and nod.

  “You’re ready,” says Toby, squeezing my hand once before letting go. He knocks on the roof of Jack’s cab lightly before turning around and heading back into the airport.

  “Now, where we headed?” asks Jack.

  I give him the address to my temporary apartment building on Cathedral Way in downtown Sitka, every cell of my being hoping that Toby-from-the-airport’s wishes for my future somehow come true.

  4

  Amanda

  The next morning, which is partly sunny and considerably warmer than last night, I call Jack and ask him for a lift from my apartment to a local Sitka animal sanctuary: Fortress of the Bears.

  Hours of on-line research last night proved fruitful and I’m excited to meet some bears (and their keepers) today. Founded in 2007, the Fortress of the Bears’ mission is to rescue orphaned cubs and care for them, with an eventual plan to release them back into the wild.

  I didn’t know this, but prior to 2007, rangers under the purview of the Department of Fish and Game were forced to shoot motherless cubs because there was no rehabilitation alternative in Alaska. Killing a cub was kinder than forcing it to live on its own with a skillset it didn’t have. Better to die quick than die slowly of hunger.

  Today, the Fortress hosts three black bears and six Alaskan Coastal brown bears, two of which were orphaned when their mother broke into a hotel kitchen and the chef was forced to defend himself.

  I can’t wait to see them in person.

  “How’d you settle in?” asks Jack.

  “Fine. I have a great view from my apartment and it’s walkable to everything.”

  “Yep. Lincoln Street’s the main drag, so to speak.” He stops at a light. “Got the library ‘cross the street too.”

  “I saw that. I’ll go check it out later today.”

  “Fortress of the Bear don’t open ‘til nine. Sure you want to go this early?”

  “Mm-hm. I have an eight o’clock appointment to meet with, um…” I check my notes. “Heather. She’s the—”

  “Head Keeper. Heather Haines.”

  “You know her?”

  “I know everyone.”

  “Small island?”

  “Real small come winter.”

  He lays on the gas and we head out of downtown Sitka. Out the window to my right, there’s a large bay
and my eyes scan the dark blue water for whales, having read that they often breech the surface of Sitka Bay.

  “Ever see any whales out there?” I ask Jack.

  “Sure. Everyday near about. We got orcas and humpbacks. Few calves. Keep looking. You’ll see ‘em.” He clears his throat. “You a biologist?”

  “Nope. I work for the Seattle Sentinel. I’m writing an article about the recent rise in bear attacks here in Sitka.”

  “Huh,” he says. “That’s why you’re meeting with Heather?”

  “Mm-hm.” Something catches my eye and I gasp as a black fin emerges from the water, followed quickly by three more. They must be exhaling, because puffs of breath rise up from the sea just before the fins disappear. “Are those—?”

  Jack chuckles. “Yep. Lucky break. You got your orcas there.”

  “Oh, my God!”

  I fumble for the camera on my phone, and it’s ready just as they breach again, this time several yards away from where I’d seen them before.

  “Whales!” I shout, laughing as I click photo after photo. “Those are whales!”

  “Sure are,” says Jack with a chuckle. “Still remember the first time I saw them. Magical, huh?”

  “Amazing!” I shout, hoping that they’ll come up one more time.

  But a moment later, we’re turning left off the main road into a dirt driveway where I see a sign for the Fortress of the Bears.

  “Here we are.”

  I can’t lie: I’m disappointed at first. With the main area under construction and a hut-like gift shop that has seen better days, it doesn’t look like much.

  “Er…can you come back for me in an hour?”

  “You were my last pick-up,” says Jack. “Cruise ships are docking. I’ve got a bunch of transfers set up around nine.”

  “Cruise ships?”

  “Uh-huh. Two of them got in this morning. Princess and Royal Caribbean. Holland America’s coming in later. That’s why Heather let you come early. It’ll be swamped here in an hour.”

  I think about the quiet streets of Sitka last night and wonder how much that’ll change today. A lot, I’d wager. Average-sized cruise ships can carry well over 2,000 passengers, and I am certain that this particular attraction is a favorite among families.