Page 22 of Parker

The setting sun, in tones of gold and lavender, backlights these strange, red clay mountains, and on the radio, the Petersens sing a cover of the old Irish folk song, “Wild Mountain Thyme.” I tell myself to memorize this moment with Parkerbecause it will never, ever come again, which means I’ll have to live on it for a long, long time.

“See that?” she asks, breaking me out of my reverie and pointing out her window to the right.

“That little mountain?”

“Yep. That’s Turtlehead Peak.”

“Ah. Okay. Yeah. I see the plateau.”

“I always remember that one.” She turns to me, her sweet lips turned up in a small grin. “I like turtles. Sea turtles, especially.”

I’ve known Parker my whole life, but I never knew she liked turtles. I file that little fact away for later.

“Did you know they’re the only reptiles indigenous to Alaska?”

“That’s right!” she cries. “How’d you know that?”

“I may not be a Stewart,” I say, “but I’m in the tourism biz, too.”

“Did you wish you were?” she asks.

“Were what?”

“A Stewart.”

It’s a strange question, I guess, but considering how long we’ve known one another and how much time I spent with her family growing up, I guess it’s fair. I actually thought about it a lot as an only child: how fun it would be if I was a Stewart sibling, with all those kids around all the time. But then I’d remember the tragedy of their mom’s death, and I’d back up on that fantasy. We’re tight, my mom, my dad and me. I love them way too much to wish them away.

“That was weird.” She says it so quietly, I’m not sure if she’s talking to herself or to me at first. “But you were always over, you know? Always sleeping over, and staying for dinner, and going on camping trips with us…I guess I’ve always wondered if—I mean, sometimes I got the feeling that you wanted to join our family like someone who wants to run off and join the circus.”

“The circus is a fair comparison,” I say, glancing at her with a little grin. “At my house, there were three of us. At yours, there were nine. Plus all the tourists coming and going. There was always something going on over at your place, you know? A hike. A fishing trip. An adventure. Mischief. Someone to play with, something to do. My house was quiet.Realquiet in comparison.”

“Why didn’t your folks have more kids?”

“My parents were on the older side when they had me. They met later in life, you know? Second marriage for both. To be honest, I’m not even sure they planned to get pregnant. I think I might have been a surprise.”

“I didn’t know that.”

“We were baking cookies together once, and my mom told me as much…she thought she was too old to have a baby, and then, one day—BAM!—I came along.”

“BAM! checks out,” she says. “I can’t imagine you arriving anywhere quietly.”

I chuckle because she’s right. I’m loud and gregarious and I’ve never met a stranger. It’s part of who I am—one of the many parts of me that’s always annoyed her. Something else she didn’t like? How much time I spent with her family. The rest of the Stewarts seemed to fold me into the batter like another ingredient, but not Parker. Parker resented me. Her face would pucker, then fall, when I hopped up the steps of the lodge and knocked at the old screen door looking for Sawyer. She didn’t want me there. I could tell, and if I’m honest, it hurt my feelings every time.

“I didn’t answer your question,” I say. “About whether or not I wished I was a Stewart.”

“Did you?”

“Sometimes,” I tell her honestly. “Sawyer’s my best friend. Always has been. Growing up, I loved your family. I still do.”

“Me, too,” she says, her voice tight and dry.

“It annoyed you, didn’t it?”

“What do you mean?”

I’m careful with my words, but I’ve been curious about this for most of my life. I’m not passing up my chance to talk to her about it when she was the one who brought it up.

“That I was around so much.”

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