afternoon. This is a tricky time of year up there where rain, snow and dropping temps are all in the forecast, so pack accordingly. You may need to schedule a couple hours at an Anchorage mall after your meeting for your investigative travels, but hopefully you have the gear to get you through your arrival and first meeting, and by gear I mean boots, scarves, knit cap or hat, an umbrella or raincoat and gloves.”
“In April?”
Gloria nodded. “When reading the clothing recommendations for our May cruise, I had the same reaction. Turns out we used every piece of winter clothing we’d placed in the luggage. One of the recommendations in the itinerary requires an arrival by boat and believe me, when the wind kicks up among the sails, it can be something fierce. So I strongly encourage you to check the internet for more specifics on the weather and be more prepared to layer and stay warm rather than dress to impress, which I know will be hard for the woman voted Most Fashionable in last year’s society section.”
“I’m sure I’ll manage. But—” Teresa stood “—between researching the candidate and shopping for winter in spring, it’s going to take every second up to and including my time during the flight. So I’d best get started.”
“My assistant helped out a bit by pulling some things off the internet and combining them with information Benny has provided. All of this will be included in the email you receive. You can use the remaining days for the vacation-destination angle of your piece, returning on Friday or staying through the weekend, your choice. But I need at least a draft of the first article on my desk Friday morning and the finished version first thing Monday.”
“Got it. Thanks for giving me this opportunity, Gloria. I’ll do my best.”
“I know how you operate, Teresa, with a standard of excellence. You’ll do even better than that.”
That evening, Teresa entered the Drake estate burdened down with boxes and bags. The housekeeper met her at the door leading from the garage, with Jennifer, Teresa’s mother, not far behind.
“I take for you.”
“Thanks, Sylvia.” Teresa handed over all but a couple of the bags. “Just place them in my suite. They won’t be there long, so no need to hang them.” She turned to Jennifer. “Hi, Mom.”
“Hello, dear. Shopping usually puts a smile on your face. You don’t look happy.”
“I don’t like snow.” Teresa slunk down the hall, through the gallery and into the living room, where she plopped onto a couch.
Jennifer joined her for needed clarification. “Clearly, something happened today. Would you like to start at the beginning?”
“I’m going to Alaska.”
“Oh, how wonderful.”
“Not you, too.”
“What? I’ve heard the beauty there is magnificent. Just the other day your father and I were discussing a possible Alaskan cruise with the neighbors.”
“Great! Would you like to go there tomorrow, interview a politician and then travel to a couple places only accessible by boat?”
“Teresa, you’re sulking and that doesn’t become you. I’ll take part of the blame for this. You’re too much like your mother, a girlie-girl whose idea of roughing it means driving ourselves into San Francisco instead of hiring a driver.”
“Exactly, Mom. You understand!”
“I do. And I also recognize that the paper sending you on assignment after six short months of working there speaks highly of their belief in your ability to do the job.” She placed a hand on Teresa’s arm. “It’s why you gave your dad heartburn until he caved in to your request for a leave of absence, correct?”
“You’re right.”
“Think of the trip as a blessing in disguise. You haven’t dated much since George showed his true colors. Perhaps you’ll meet someone and—”
“Mom. I’m not ready to get back into the dating game. I’d rather focus on work.”
“Then view it as a change of scenery and chance to clear your head.”
“I know that I should be grateful. But I had plans this weekend and they didn’t include being in a place where bears outnumber humans.”
Jennifer chuckled. “Tell me more about this wonderful opportunity.”
An hour later, Jennifer’s eternally optimistic perspective made Teresa feel better about leaving for Alaska. A little.
* * *
Atka Sinclair sat back in his company’s Mercedes-Benz helicopter and surveyed part of the Aleknagik land that had been in his tribe’s generation for a thousand years. The dusting of snow reflecting against the sun gave the tableau an ethereal feel. The deep and varied hues of tall, green pines seemed to lift their branches in praise to the universe. Birds and clouds floated on serenity’s song against a backdrop of sparkling lakes. All this—uninterrupted by glass-and-concrete edifices, corporate offices or cookie-cutter houses—was more than four hundred miles away from his company’s corporate offices in Anchorage, and a hundred miles from Dillingham, where the highly profitable fisheries that drove the corporation were located. It was here that he felt one with the sky, the earth and all its creatures. Here, twenty thousand feet in the air, soaring on the wings of the wind—and aided by a turbo engine—Atka felt most at peace, and communed with Spirit God. Here, he recalled the stories of the ancients, those who’d traversed the land more than a thousand years ago, stories passed down to him from his emaaq and apaaq—his grandmother and grandfather. He’d grown up in Anchorage with his parents. But his soul remained spiritually and emotionally connected to the land of his boyhood, the place where he learned to hunt, swam with the fish and shared with the trees his wistful dreams. So it was with a great sense of gratitude that he followed his partner’s advice to get away for a few days and rejuvenate his spirit. With the storm brewing along the business and political fronts...he was going to need it.
He tapped the button that connected to his headset radio. “Waqaa!” Atka smiled as his longtime friend/brother, Frank, responded in their native Yupik language before continuing in English.
“About time you quit playing big businessman and come home.” He waved his hands. Totally unnecessary since Atka, a proficient pilot who’d flown helicopters for five years, could have landed just about anywhere with efficiency. The large, circled X on the concrete helipad made landing something Atka could almost do in his sleep. With one eye open, of course.
Atka exited the helicopter and greeted Frank’s nephew, Xander, whom he paid to take care of the property between his infrequent visits. After handing Xander the helicopter keys, Atka and Frank walked into the station, so far the only shelter he’d had built on the five-acre property he’d purchased several years ago. Little more than an elaborate and well-made shed, this station housed his copter gear and other flight accessories. It also held a minikitchen, small bathroom and bedroom, and an office that doubled as the lad’s living space.
Atka walked into the kitchen area and began opening cabinets.
Frank followed close behind. “The place is well stocked, Atka. I didn’t know when you’d be back, and with the snow arriving... I thought it best to take care of that.”
Atka nodded. “You were right. I appreciate it.” He looked out the window, watched Xander performing a check on the helicopter. “How’s he doing?”
Frank shrugged. “Hard to tell. He was always quiet, but has become more so since his mother died. Much like you.” Atka said nothing. “I know you loved her, friend, but it is time for both of you to start living again. It is what she would want.”
Atka released a sigh. “I know. What about money? Is the account—”
“Atka, there’s enough money in that account to last until he’s an old man. Please stop worrying about Xander and blaming yourself