Page 18 of Big & Lily

They are stunning, like a painting, snow covered, blue and white, some of their jagged peaks indistinguishable from the clouds and the sky. I risk a glance over at my sister. Her jaw is unhinged in awe. I dare not do the same, lest Mount Wrangell not be the only volcano that is active today.

Keeping my mouth shut doesn’t save me. My insides have made their decision. It’s a race to the finish—can I find the sick bag Lilyhanded me in time? I frantically plow through my bag and grab it just in time. With the engine roar drowning me out, and Lily and Xavier pressing their noses against the windows and away from me, I hear Brick over the headset saying, “And here is where the Root and Kennicott glaciers merge...” as I lose my lunch.

Chapter Nine

“It was so gross,” Xavier tells his father loud enough ?for the rest of the group to hear. “She puked all the way there.”

I did not pukeallthe way there, but considering the poor kid was stuck in the air with me, I’ll grant him the hyperbole.

When we landed in one piece, I had half a mind to fall to my knees and kiss the tarmac. But the week is young, and my humiliation is off to a roaring start. No point inflaming it yet. Instead, I follow the group and climb into a new van that is more of an old van than the one that picked us up in Anchorage—the shocks are nonexistent, and the smell of years of dirt and sweat in the upholstered seats does nothing to ease my suffering.

I’m sure the scenery through McCarthy to our lodgings is beautiful, but I will not be partaking. I stare at my feet as Lily rubs my back. Brick and Jace have cottoned on to what’s happening with me. Brick narrates the journey, trying to assure me we are almost there.

“Only a few more miles to go,” he says in a practiced voice. “Hang in there, Bridget. Everyone else, this out your window is basically downtown McCarthy.”

“Keep your head down,” says a voice behind me. “It’s all charming; a lodge, a café, some shops. You’ll see it all when you are feeling better.” Luna pats my shoulder.

“On your left,” continues Brick, “you’ll see our local, Heidaway—part saloon, part meetinghouse, part dance hall. We’ll bring you all there for a real taste of Alaskan life.”

I sense the van turning right and hear gravel crunch under the tires.

“Is it called Hideaway because it’s so remote out here in the middle of nowhere?” asks Ian. I hear Xavier groan.

“Ha, no. But Heidi, the owner, would get a kick out of that one. No, it’s Heidi’s way, as in her way or the highway. She runs a tight ship. Keeps the locals in line. And some of the tourists too.”

“Forewarned is forearmed.” Ian laughs. “We’ll behave ourselves. Right, Zave?” Zave groans again. It’s going to be a long week for that kid.

The home of Grizzly Tracks Adventures is a large barn in need of painting and six cabins nestled in a semicircle among a stand of tall birch trees with papery white bark.

“This will be home base for the first half of the trip.”

“The airline will find us here, right?” I need out of these clothes. I need a shower. I don’t even have deodorant, or any makeup to touch up what’s left on my face. “And what about the second half of the trip? Who’s going to tell them where we’re going?”

“Your luggage will be here before that, Bridget,” Brick says as Jace hops out of the van and starts unloading. In addition to our bags, there are wooden milk crates of groceries, a toolbox, and a canoe paddle. It’s like Mary Poppins’s valise. I wonder if a canoe is coming out next. “Later we’ll head up near Denali, but for now you’re in my hometown. We’ve got the greatest backyard in the world. Wrangell-St. Elias National Park is bigger than seventy different countries. We never run out of adventures. Still, you can’t come to Alaska and not see ‘The Great One.’ And don’t worry, Bridget. We’ve got some bits and pieces in the lost and found that you can borrow until your luggage gets here.”

“Ewww,” says Lily too loudly.

We wait to be told where to go. Are there room assignments? Dane, Ian, and Xavier pick up their backpacks and head to side-by-side cabins. I see the boys club is forming. As we stand on the dirt path that branches off in six directions, Mimi and Luna join us.

“I want you to have these,” says Mimi in her small voice. She offers up two knit wristbands with a white plastic bead on each. I have the same ones. At home, on my bedside table, where they were left behind because I didn’t writemotion sickness bandson my do-not-forget list.

“Oh, no, I couldn’t.” She brought them, she must need them.

“Please.” She pushes them into my hands. “I’m fine. And here, take a few of these.” Mimi pulls a prescription bottle out of her backpack and shakes out a few white pills. “In case the nausea comes back.”

“You are so kind, Mimi. Thank you.” I’m grateful to have a kindred spirit, someone who knows what it’s like to struggle with an overactive inner ear and a rebellious stomach. Mimi’s motion sickness must be pretty bad to warrant prescription anti-nausea meds. I tuck the pills in my pocket like magic beans. Maybe they will help me get through this trip and I won’t have to ask Brick to charter a flight out of here. Then I can still protect Lily from the bears and the lumberjacks.

Brick sees us loitering. “Ladies, any cabin you like.”

We take the two at the opposite end from the men. It’s like sleepaway camp—will we be playing capture the flag next, girls versus boys? Luna and Mimi disappear into Number Five, and Brick follows us to Number Six. We stop at the threshold, not sure what to do next.

He steps in ahead of us, and as he opens the door with a little shove, Lily lands an elbow to my ribs, nodding at two frying pans on the ground outside under the window. I shrug. I hope makingbreakfast for the gang isn’t an assignment. This is the Alaskan wilderness, who knows if chores are required of paying guests.

Inside our cabin, which turns out to be nothing more than one rectangular room, there are two twin beds with thin mattresses and faded plaid comforters. Large, bleached moose antlers hang on the wall over a beaten-up dresser. I scan the space and see the only other decorative addition—a sign that says,the mountains are calling and i must go ~ john muir. Whoever this John guy is, we are not on the same page.

“Now, if that said,The Mall Is Calling and I Must Go, you’d have me,” I say too loudly. Lily snorts. Brick patiently ignores me.

“There’s extra blankets in the bottom drawer,” he says, pointing to the dresser. “Oh, and the sun doesn’t actually set this time of year. We call it ‘constant twilight.’ So, if you need it dark to sleep, close those curtains.”