I shake my head as I pull into the visitor parking lot. I park before telling my son, “Drink up. We’ll hit the Visitor Center to get you a pass. You can’t bring anything but water on the trails. It’s bear safety, and it’s serious here, son. Remember that.”
“Bear safety? Like…” he starts to joke.
“Like the kind that are more frequently attacking humans globally. While it’s still uncommon, Kevin, we must be cognizant of what we can do to prevent it,” I advise him seriously. He puts his mug down. “While we’re on the trails, we’re encroaching on their territory. The Tongass National Forest has strict rules about food and no flavored drinks on the trails. Water only.” I turn off the car and open my door.
Just as I do, Kevin asks, “I know you’re a science teacher, Mom, but how do you know so much about—”
Our story starts now. “Because I used to work here a little over sixteen years ago,” I tell him gently.
His gasp echoes in the car. “Mom?” Kevin asks warily.
“Come on, son. We have a long walk ahead of us.” And with legs barely supporting me, I grab the bottle of water I remembered to bring and turn to close the door. Kevin hasn’t moved. His fingers are interlocked on his lap, his breath labored. Finally, he flings off his seat belt and gets out.
I live and die in those first seconds when his eyes meet mine across the roof of the car. It’s like seeing Jennings all over again at the funeral. The exact same eyes, from the color, to the shape, to the emotion riddled with pain and accusation, questioning me without saying a word.
Turning, I hunch my shoulders against the wind and the misty rain that’s decided to accompany us. A plane passes by overhead, preparing to land, reminding me of Jennings. How appropriate, I think sardonically. I look over and see Kevin waiting on the sidewalk. “This way.” I gesture.
Less than half a dozen words are exchanged until after we get his pass. Finally, I brush my fingers against his arms gently. He jerks slightly. “Follow me,” I urge him.
Without waiting to see if he’s following, I start walking down Nugget Falls Trail. His long stride has him catching up quickly. I take a deep breath and start talking. “I was twenty-two, about to turn twenty-three, when I started working here. I answered an ad in the paper for a room at the Smiths’ because living in the housing offered for interns was driving me completely batty.”
Even though he doesn’t respond verbally, I can tell by the clenching and unclenching of his fists Kevin’s listening, so I continue. “I also got Maris out of the deal. Your uncle Dean used to joke I should have asked her family for a refund.”
Despite his obvious anger, he admits, “That’s something I can totally imagine him saying.”
“Ask Maris about it. She used to come back with ‘I should go back in time and charge her double.’” I mimic Maris’s voice perfectly.
Both Kevin and I chuckle, easing some of the tension between us. “Did you meet my father here? While working?” he tentatively asks.
“I’ll answer that question, but let’s get a little further ahead in the trail. There’s a special spot I want to get to.”
“Okay, Mom.”
We keep walking a ways. While we do, I fill Kevin in on the parts of my history he may have overheard over the years but never fully understood. Bashfully, I remind him, “You know I was an accelerated student. I had already finished up both of my master’s degrees from UF, was well into my doctorate, when I was offered the internship. I had to work with my professors to end my spring coursework early, but they were thrilled because it would look remarkable on my resume.”
“Is that what you did?”
“Yes.”
“Wow.” Kevin sounds impressed.
I say proudly, “It was amazing. I thought it was my job to be able to talk all parts of the Tongass National Forest. I studied for months so I could answer questions about the glacier, be able to give a presentation at a moment’s notice.” Catching the highly impressed look on his face, I laugh. “Then I found out I would be working in the gift shop.”
Kevin chokes on his laughter. “The…the gift shop?”
A smile breaks out across my face. “I kid you not, sweetheart. Trust me, you will learn more about patience by working in some field of customer service