Page 34 of Sawyer

“Am I interested in making money? Dumb fuckin’ question. Yeah, babe. I am.”

“Nota dumb question,” I counter. “We met in a poli-sci seminar. I don’t remember you ever taking a single business class at UAF. I had no idea you were—”

“I’m good with it, Ivy. I’m excited,” he says, his tone turning sour. “Jesus! Just be happy for me, okay?”

“I am, Clark,” I say. “If a job in finance is what you want—”

“It is,” he snaps.

“Then I’m happy,” I say softly.

He switches gears, telling me about going out last weekend with his high school friends, how they almost got kicked out of a place called Salt that has a lively after-work bar scene. He fills me in on Feisty’s shenanigans, and I beg him to send me more pictures of her. He tells me he can’t wait for me to “come home,” and I feel a sharp pang near my heart when he says this. I’m grateful for that quick jab; it must mean I love him and want to be with him, right? Yes. It means I’m missing him, and want to get on with our life in Juneau. I’m sure of it.

“You sound tired, babe,” he says after regaling me with stories of city life. “I’ll let you go.”

“I miss you,” I say.

“I miss you, babe.”

“You love me…right, Clark?”

“You’re so cute,” he answers. “I asked you to marry me, didn’t I?

“You did.”

“Well, there you go. Sleep tight.”

He hangs up, and I drop the phone on my pillow. Then I take a deep breath and close my eyes, hoping that a feeling of rightness and certainty and deep, requited love will wash over me in the quiet minutes after talking to my fiancé.

I wait and I wait for that feeling to engulf me, and finally, I drift off to sleep.

Flashback 2

Sawyer

Fifteen Months Ago

I’ve always thought of Ivy romantically.

For years—since we were fourteen or fifteen—I’ve fantasized about her.

I mean, sure, I hooked up with other girls from high school on the off-season, and I’ve dated lots of different girls who’ve come to Skagway for summer work, but if Ivy ever texted me that she wanted to hang out, I’d drop everything for her. She wasalwaysmy first priority.

And, more often than not, if we snuck beers to Yakutania Point or partied with some kids over at Dewey Lake, we’d pair off toward the end of the night. She’d sit on my lap or between my legs at a campfire. We’d skinny dip in the freezing river together. I’d walk or drive her home as the sky turned purple. We’d kiss on her uncle’s doorstep or under the awning of the Kozy Kone before saying good night. That’s as far as it ever went, but the truth is, Ilivedfor those moments.

I was—I am—crazy about her.

No girl I ever met could hold a candle to Ivy Caswell.

So, yeah. I guess I’ve thought about her romantically for most of my life.

But I never really tried to push those fleeting kisses into something more. I respected the fact that we were childhood friends who enjoyed some occasional PG-13 benefits. (Well, and—full disclosure—I always peeked when she got naked on the river banks for a midnight dip. Sorry, but she has a killer bod, and I’m a normal guy. Sue me.)

But, like I said, I never tried to push what we had into something more serious.

Why?

Well, first of all, Ivy only comes to Skagway in the summertime. During high school, she’d return to Vancouver at the end of August, and for the last three years, she’s headed back to Fairbanks, where she’s a student at UAF. It’s never seemed realistic to try to maintain a relationship with her when it would be a twenty-six-hour round-trip drive to visit her at college.

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