Page 20 of Big & Lily

“Now, don’t oversell it, Brick. It’s only burgers and fries and a salad from the garden.”

The burger turns out to be a gourmet stack—a fat patty, a melting slab of cheese, and a pile of sautéed-to-a-crisp mushrooms and onions on a golden bun. The fries are thick and doused with coarse salt. The salad is filled with greens and herbs and tiny yellow and red cherry tomatoes. My mouth waters and my stomach gurgles a cheer as I realize how truly famished I am. Stress, tension, exhaustion, and, yes, losing one’s lunch build an appetite. Jace and Heidi place the plates of food in front of the ravenous crowd and return moments later with trays of sloshing pitchers of beer and bottles of wine. The sight of the dinner puts us weary travelers at ease, and we chat and laugh as if the long drive from Anchorage and the plane ride from Chitina were the equivalent of us all having gone to college together.

I decide on the IPA Brick is recommending over my go-to chardonnay, and the strong beer and the twinkle lights lighten my mood about finding myself at the ends of the earth, in a twin bed next to the sister I barely recognize right now, and the latrine frying pans sitting at the front door of our cabin. Some of the tension in my upper back slips away. Usually, it takes two appointments at Massage Envy to work that out.

“Holy shit!” shouts Dane, his mouth full of burger. “Excuse my French, kid,” he adds for Xavier—who smiles as if someone is finally speaking his language. “This is the best thing I’ve ever eaten, and I’m a regular at In-N-Out Burger.”

With that Michelin-starred review, I wrap my hands around my own beefy, cheesy goodness and take a huge bite, and holy hell, Dane is not wrong. My mouth waters; I might start crying. I will speak to no one until I’ve finished every single bite of this deliciousness. Forget getting out of Dodge—or McCarthy—I might be moving to Alaska for the food alone.

“Yeah, Heidi makes the best moose burgers in the state.”

I try not to gag. One bout of vomiting per day should be enough.

“Fantastic,” says Ian. “Not gamey at all.”

I was looking forward toseeingmoose, noteatingthem. It feels like a violation not to have been told before we chowed down. I quietly spit what’s left into a napkin and take a long swallow of the IPA. I see Luna and Mimi haven’t taken a bite yet and are instead picking at the fries and salad. Lily, on the other hand, is diving right in.

“Moose is one of your leanest meats. Low in fat and cholesterol—not that anyone here has to worry about that. The number of calories you’ll be burning out there, starting tomorrow, is going to be significant, folks.”

I don’t care how healthy moose is. And I’m not going to enter into a debate about my hypocrisy of eating beef and factory farming and methane and the ozone. But I draw the line at woodland creatures. I’m not eating Bullwinkle. I glare at Lily, who deflects my sister radar. The sane Lily would agree with me.

The affront is enough to swing me back to my original thinking. My sister is laughing along with Ian at something Just Normal Dane is saying. She’s fine. Totally fine. I’m only going to slow her down, anyway. Besides, I’m not the best person to be burning significant calories out there.

“Excuse me, Brick,” I say, burying the masticated blob in my napkin under the table so I won’t hurt my host’s feelings. “Can we talk after dinner?”

He’s sitting next to me at the head of the table, watching conversations take flight. Brick puts down his beer glass and turns to me. I notice for the first time that his eyes turn down at the outside corners, making him appear wise and sad and thoughtful all at the same time. I suddenly want to confide everything to him. I want to tell him why we are really here, about Eric and Willa, and the rings in Lily’s pocket, and how this is the last place I’d ever choose to be but how I’d follow my sister to the ends of the earth to protect her, and how right now I also kind of want to kill her. Brick strokes his beard and places a hand gently over mine. It’s only for a second, like he’s making a momentary connection, in a way that says,I’m really listening to you.

“Of course, Bridget.”

After we’ve eaten, we move to a firepit surrounded by large, downed logs meant for seating. Jace hands out blankets to use for cushioning or warmth. I take two—needing them for both. Flames leap into the air, and embers dance up into a still-light sky. Between the beer and the blankets and the hypnotizing fire, the long day hits me, and I wonder if I can convince Lily to come back to the cabin with me now. I need to sleep, but before that, I need to tell her about my plans.

Lily takes a seat on the other side of the circle, next to Dane and the rest of the boy band. Their faces are turned to Dane, who runs his free hand through his hair and then gestures into the air. Xavier, separated from Dane by his father’s body, leans forward, his eyes wide. What could have caught this reticent child’s attention when everything so far (except for my gross behavior on the plane, thank you very much) has been met with apathy. All I can hear from Dane is, “It was the longest thirty days of my life, but at least it was better than the last time.”

“Do you think he means jail?” I whisper to Luna.

She laughs; her new friend Bridget is so funny. She doesn’t realize I am not kidding. If my sister is hanging around with an ex-con, I need to put a stop to it. She’ll be pissed at me for not being chill. My maternal nagging is not part of her reinvented Lily plan—but she’ll thank me when we’re back to reality.

Brick interrupts Lily and the Jailbird with an announcement. “We start bright and early tomorrow, folks, with a ten-miler. I see a lot of you have your own gear, but for those who need topping up”—he looks atme—“we’ll do some outfitting right after breakfast. We’ve got walking poles, CamelBaks, waterproofs, headlamps, bug spray, bear spray, you name it. We also got compasses and topographic maps, but unless you want to follow along for educational purposes, you won’t need them.”

Brick looks at me and says, “Just in case your bag isn’t here first thing, I’ve got a box full of hiking boots in the back. Surprising what some people leave behind. Anyway, it’ll get you up the hill tomorrow.”

I would be concerned aboutten-milerandbear sprayandused hiking boots, but I’m not going to have to deal with any of that. I’ll be out of here before then. I stand up, exaggerate a stretch, and walk over to Lily.

“We should head to bed,” I say to my sister. “Long day today, busy day tomorrow.”

“Okay, Mom,” Lily says in a mocking tone from the side of her mouth, and the boys laugh.

The jalopy of a van. The sammies in the Yeti. The moose meat. Now being mocked by the popular kids. My nervous system has had enough. With my reddened face hidden by the shadows of the barn, I turn on my heel and march back to the cabin.

It’s not until I close the door and dead bolt it—yes, yes, I’ll let my sister in, but not until I can count to four and breathe from my diaphragm multiple times—that I realize that I didn’t talk to Brickabout leaving tomorrow. The last thing I can do is wander back out there after my grand exit. I’ll have to do it at breakfast, and then when it’s all sorted out, I’ll let Lily in on my plans.

Before I climb into the narrow twin bed by the window, I unlatch the door. Then I tuck myself under the plaid blanket, in the same clothes I’ve had on since New Jersey, and will myself to pass out. That’s not going to be easy. The day swirls in my head as I toss between defiance and guilt. And I really, really need to pee. Nothing is going to get me down the bear path by myself. I wonder if I can hold it in until Anchorage. I’m annoyed, which has made me stubborn, so I’m determined to do it.

I’m still struggling to sleep when I hear the door handle rattle and see my sister stagger into the cabin. Even with the light streaming through the sides of the blackout curtain, Lily trips over my shoes and giggles as she rights herself. I close my eyes tightly before she can see me. I don’t want to hear whatever drunken babbling she has to offer, unless it’s an apology, which I doubt it will be.

Lily stumbles and giggles, giggles and stumbles. Then in a loud stage whisper she says, “Big, wake up. I gotta go, and I need you to go with me.” More stumbling and giggling. I’m bursting, but not giving in. I hope that giving myself a bladder infection teaches her a lesson. “Big, wake up. If you don’t come pee with me, I’m going to do it on the floor.”

I groan and fling my covers back, startling my sister. “Dammit, Lily!”