“Because I found about twenty to follow me home!”
His control breaks, and he belly-laughs like the Alaskan mountain man he is. And I don’t mind. I don’t mind the teasing this time, and I don’t mind the laughing. Maybe because I feel like we’re sharing a memory. Or maybe because it doesn’t feel as mean-spirited as it’s felt in the past.
“I can still picture you with twenty barking pups at your heels, running toward the Jeep,” he says through chuckles.
“You and Sawyer were scared, too!”
“We were!” he agrees. “It was an army of barking babies!”
Little by little our laughter ebbs away, but our smiles remain.
“Why weren’t we more like this?” I murmur, my eyes locked with his.
“Like how?”
“Laughingtogether? Instead of you laughingatme?”
His smile fades. “I don’t know. I’m sorry, Park. I feel—”
“Oh, I know! I know you are. I accepted your apology,” I rush to reassure him. “I just…” I shrug, suddenly feeling a little embarrassed. “I would’ve liked it, you know? If we could’ve been—”
“Mommy! Mommy!”
Out of nowhere, a small child barrels into my legs and buries her head in my crotch.
“What? I…” I place my hand on her head, and she looks up at me with shock. “Honey, I’m not your—”
“Amanda! I’m right here!” The child’s mother rushes over to us, and Amanda switches from my legs to hers. “Sorry! She got scared of the alligators on the escalator.”
“No problem,” I say. I’ve got a lot of experience with kids from the many tourists we guide every summer. I squat down in front of the little one. “Hey, Amanda.”
She rotates her head a touch so she can see me with one eye.
“Those alligators? They were just pretend. The real ones are behind glass. I promise.”
“Itlookedreal.”
“I know!” I say. “It scared me too.”
“But you’re a growed-up.”
“Growed-ups get scared too, sometimes,” I tell her, standing up again.
As the mother and daughter head off to the next exhibit, I find Quinn standing behind me.
“You were really good with her,” he says, cocking his head to the side.
“We get lots of kids on our tours.”
We meander into the next exhibit, which houses some small fish, and the next, where manta rays glide across the water. I pause in front of the tank to watch them.
“You want to have kids, Park?” asks Quinn. “Someday?”
“Yeah, for sure,” I say. “Someday.” I remember going to Anchorage with Harper when she had her first ultrasound. “When Harper was expecting Wren, I went to a doctor’s appointment with her. It was pretty amazing. We saw tiny Wren on the TV screen, blowing bubbles in Harper’s tummy.”
“Blowing bubbles?”
“Probably gas,” I say. “But you could see them leave her lips. It was so cool.”