Page 19 of What We Keep
Constellations aside, I couldn’t sleep tonight. Elsa danced along the edges of my thoughts.
Only one wall separated us, and I could practically feel the force of her presence vibrating through it.
Chapter Ten
Elsa
The frosty grass crunched under my footsteps as I walked through the field toward my family’s property. I kept trying to force my brain to call it my property, but I hadn’t gotten there yet. After the old house burned down, my mother had deeded the property to me. Ever since my dad passed away, she claimed she knew she didn’t want to return. All the while, I’d missed Alaska the whole time we were gone.
This morning, I’d woken early in my little room above the barn, marveling at how well I had slept. Sleep had been an elusive, tricky thing for most of my life. I understood the intellectual reasons behind why. Growing up with the chronic presence of uncertainty had been exhausting. It was also confusing because my father was a loving man. He’d just had some offbeat ideas about life that made it feel topsy-turvy.
So many of my childhood memories were blurry as if obscured by sheer fabric blowing in the wind. After my dad died with me right there, crying while I didn’t know how to help, my mom had gotten me in to see a therapist. She helped me understand that childhood memories can be muddled and confusing. She explained that even clear memories are tricky because they were filtered through the lens of emotion, and emotion colors everything.
I reached the edge of the field and opened a gate I didn’t recall being there. Maggie had told me where to find it. When I’d stopped by the main resort for coffee, she’d offered to walk over with me, but I needed to do this myself.
I adored Maggie. It was hard not to. She was loving and kind and seemed to have a sixth sense of what someone was going through. As soon as Tommy heard the tail-end of our conversation, he had volunteered to come with me. Maggie had narrowed her eyes and reminded him he had school. I sensed Tommy loved to tag along on any jaunt.
I suspected my father had put the gate there. That was the kind of thing he would do, and he’d always worried about anyone coming on our property. He’d been mildly suspicious of everyone. The trees were a mix of blue spruce with a few cottonwoods along the edge where the forest opened up to my property. The landscape glittered under the rising sun as it angled across the frosty ground. The fireweed flowers were still pink, though I knew the blooms could only last through a few more frosts like this. I stopped at the edge of the trees, looking ahead.
In my memory, the house was there. But now, there was just a little grassy rise. From here, I couldn’t even see the remnants of the foundation. For a moment, a surge of anxiety rolled through me. I wanted to build a house, my very own, and somehow make this place mine, but that was such a big project. That sense of panic started to churn inside me, like a little motor in my chest spinning out of control.
I forced myself to start moving, to ground myself in my body. When the panic kept building, I came to an abrupt stop and began doing jumping jacks. If anyone saw me doing this, they’d think I was insane. But somehow, the motion settled me quickly.
You’re here because you wanted to be here. Dad is gone, and you can’t change what happened.
I hated that my father’s death, so pointless, tinged my memories and loomed so large. But then, I’d felt helpless over those weeks when he was so sick. He’d ignored my mother’s pleas to go to the doctor. She never could’ve known he’d essentially drown in his lungs from pneumonia the day she drove to town, and I’d be alone with him when it happened.
My mother shaped me with her love for my father, even though she didn’t agree with some of his thinking, her resilience, her love for wildlife, and this place. I was a wildlife biologist because of her. We’d watch the beluga whales sometimes along Turnagain Arm. Belugas were flashes of white in the blue water, and I loved watching them swim.
I took a slow breath, the air crisp and fresh, carrying hints of the ocean and mingling with the sharp scent of evergreen. An eagle’s call pierced the air. I glanced around to see one gliding low over the rise where the foundation was. It landed on an old utility pole, now broken in half. I watched as it folded its big wings into its sides, then looked around the landscape like it owned it. I suppose it did.
I kept walking toward the foundation. The eagle watched me curiously. Having grown up in Alaska, I was accustomed to eagles. They were everywhere here, and I loved them. Something was so powerful about them. This eagle was entirely unperturbed by my presence. I stopped nearby. All the while, the bird just kept looking at me.
Standing in the old foundation, I spun in a slow circle, looking at the ground, trying to figure out which room would have been where. The house had faced Heartfire Falls.
Back then, I couldn’t see the resort through the trees, but the fire had burned away the taller trees. I vaguely remembered what the old resort looked like, but I hadn’t been there too often.
My mom had always told me that if I needed anything, I should go get Maggie. She’d helped me that afternoon when my father died. I’d called her with shaking hands.
I paused where I thought the living room had been, where my dad had taken his last labored breath on the couch after resting for weeks.
Everything suddenly felt tight inside. The stab of grief was piercing, stealing my breath for a moment. My tears, as they fell, cooled almost instantly in the chilly morning air. It wasn’t as if I hadn’t cried enough.
I lifted my eyes, feeling the eagle’s gaze on me. Maybe it was crazy, but I could have sworn it somehow understood. I felt a sense of kinship with this fierce-looking bird.
Scanning the horizon again, I remained startled at the bold beauty of Alaska’s landscape.
“He’s not coming back,” I said to the wind and the trees and the eagle.
I knew that. Even though I’d had times when I’d felt crazy with grief, I’d never thought my dad could come back. But I had wondered if I would get here and feel his presence.
All I felt was a sense of calm. Not quite peace, but a quiet certainty that I was finally where I was supposed to be again.
After one more deep breath, I glanced at the eagle. I felt my lips curl into a smile as I studied the bird. “Thanks for the company.”
Of course, the eagle had nothing to say in return. As I walked back toward Heartfire Falls, I felt a little lighter inside. The trepidation of coming here again had eased. When I got to the gate, I left it open behind me. I made a mental note to ask Haven if I could just tear it down. I didn’t want it to be there. I wanted to erase the boundaries my dad had built around our life.
This time, I didn’t angle straight back toward the new resort. Instead, I crossed the small rise and headed toward Heartfire Falls. I used to sneak over there when I was a little girl.
