LITMIR.BIZ

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search party what Christine had said about the kayak trail from the ridge to the water, many of them rushed to the river. A few went down to look at the exact spot, but most stood on the lawn of the lodge, gazing in the direction Mitch and Lisa must have gone in the two-seat kayak. Some whispered and shook their heads, then turned away, heading back to their trucks.

      “But why?” Mrs. Bonner asked her husband. “Has Mitchell become such a daredevil in extreme sports here? He seemed all about safety rules and regulations yesterday.”

      “Life in Alaska can be an extreme sport,” Spike said just loudly enough for Christine and Ginger to hear from his position between the two of them. The Bonners stood directly behind. “But something’s weird—really wrong,” he added.

      “And I can’t believe,” Mrs. Bonner went on to her husband, “Lisa would agree to such a thing, not after losing her family that way.”

      Despite the fact Christine never would have let on she could overhear, Spike turned to the Bonners and said, “You mean her family drowned in a river?”

      “An accident in the Atlantic—or maybe it was the Caribbean,” Mr. Bonner said, frowning at the churning foam.

      “What kind of accident?” Spike pursued, though Christine elbowed him as subtly as she could.

      “Boating, not swimming,” Mrs. Bonner said, sounding brusque. “Her mother and her sister drowned. It was a long time ago, but I’m sure it’s something one never gets over.”

      That was sad about her family, Christine thought, but she couldn’t help resenting Lisa Vaughn’s continued sway over Mitch, her power to still hurt him. Christine had seen it in his eyes and heard it in his voice.

      “I’m going to phone the state troopers,” Spike told them. “I’m not sure what they can do if Mitch and Ms. Vaughn are kayaking the rapids, heading for the gorge, but they gotta be informed.”

      “Wait!” Mrs. Bonner cried, grabbing for Spike’s arm. “I—I was reading online about Alaska before our trip and learned that law enforcement officials are really scarce and have to cover hundreds of miles. Maybe my husband can pull some strings to get some here.”

      “Here wouldn’t help,” Spike told her. “In that river they’re long gone—from this area, I mean. But the local police may be able to get the Denali Park Rangers to help with the search way downriver. I’ll call the locals and the feds.”

      He strode away briskly, with the Bonners following. Christine went, too, leaving Ginger with just a few stragglers to gaze out over the river. Spike muttered, talking aloud to himself as he often did, “They’ll have to look for them below the series of falls in case they got around or over them.”

      “Falls?” Mr. Bonner said, his voice stern and clear, compared to his wife’s sweeter tones. Christine had seen lawyers up close and personal. That’s why the guests made her uneasy. She could just imagine Graham Bonner cross-examining someone on the witness stand. “Waterfalls?” he repeated in his clarion voice. “How many, how large?”

      “Four fairly small ones, but any one could put you in that cold, rough river,” Spike said, still walking. “Mrs. Bonner, as soon as I contact the police and park rangers, I’ll take you up on that offer to fly with me for an air search.”

      “But with these rapids—and the falls—you think they can survive all that?” she asked, tears in her eyes and her hand clutched at her throat. “They are both very dear to us.”

      “Gotta try.”

      “Mitchell should have known better,” Christine heard Mrs. Bonner mutter as the couple fell behind and she and Spike hurried into the lodge to make the calls. “Graham, it just shows you they are both a bit foolhardy yet, just when you think they’d learned to stay apart and away from all that past pain.”

      Christine stood next to Spike while he used the kitchen phone. She wrapped her arms around herself tight, as if to hold herself up. She shook all over and blinked back tears. If she lost Mitch, she lost her future. Mrs. Bonner was right. Mitch knew better than to risk the river, no matter what the reason. But she kept hearing Mrs. Bonner’s last words: You think they’d stay apart and away from all that past pain …

      She and Clay should have stayed apart. She should have left him—fled—but Yup’ik women were loyal and tenacious. She bit her lower lip hard, trying to stop the jagged memories of the lawyers picking apart her testimony about being beaten black and blue … all that pain … but she stayed with him too long….

      But now—far worse—she knew Mitch had been gone on that devil of a river far too long.

      Lisa hurt all over, as if she’d been beaten by someone’s fists. Her skin, what she had seen of it before donning the wet suit earlier, was turning black and blue, even greenish in spots. A new fashion statement in an eco-conscious world—green blotches to complement her green eyes. She was so exhausted she thought she could fall flat on her face and drown in this shallow, spongy-bottom muskeg they traversed. But she went on, step after painful step, behind Mitch as he made a wobbly path for them around thickets and through grass and sedge in about one foot of water.

      “How are those Mitchell Andrew Braxton designer shoes holding up?” he asked. He sounded and looked exhausted, too, plodding under the burden of that pack like some old, worn-out Santa Claus.

      “They’re a bit buoyant so I’m almost walking on this water.”

      “When we were first dating, I used to think you could walk on water.”

      “I know you keep talking just to keep me going, but I can’t even concentrate—can’t go on.”

      “You can because I see tundra instead of this muskeg ahead of us, and, I think, some berry bushes. It’s about time for blueberries but that might be lingonberries, something like cranberries.”

      “I just want to lie down.”

      “We will, soon as we hit dry ground. By the way, in case an airplane should fly over, looking for us or not, raising two hands means we need help. Raising one means we’re okay.”

      “I don’t have the strength to raise one, let alone two.”

      “You know what? It looks like a patch of blueberries, so I hope the bears have left us some.”

      “Bears?”

      “They love them. Come on, Lisa Marie!”

      “I told you a long time ago not to call me that, even if it is my name. I hate my middle name. It reminds me of Elvis’s daughter, who married Michael Jackson, no less. Married Michael Jackson!”

      “Yeah, but they didn’t last long. You know, it sounds like you’re awake enough to be mad at me and at Michael Jackson, Lisa Marie.”

      “You’re just trying to get me riled so I keep going to spite you.”

      “Riled? Now, isn’t that a good frontier word? As it says on the state’s license plates—The Last Frontier.”

      “Yeah, I’m starting to get that picture. And you’re starting to sound like a travel brochure.”

      But she had to admit, as he’d said earlier, the sunset never ended. It was still glorious, a rainbow of hues that didn’t just hang in the west but covered the entire sky. Mitch turned back to help her up to higher, dry ground. She didn’t care what he said, if he insulted her or praised her. She sank down where she was, surrounded by some sort of spiky pink flowers. He dropped his pack beside her with a thud.

      “I’ll be right back,” he said, jolting her alert again.

      “Right back from where?” she blurted, getting to her knees to rise until she realized he might have to relieve himself. They’d both managed some privacy for that, on and off the ledge, but she seemed to have sweated all her hydration out now.

      “I see a birch tree, and I’m going to use my knife to cut you some of the inner

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