His laughter rolled up the trail.
All I could do was chuckle at her, he went on. And it was contagious, almost soon as I started laughing, she started, too, pretty soon both of us was practically rolling on the ground. His smile faded a little, though its shadow lingered. She was like that, you know? She’d catch a laugh, almost like a cold. Or she’d know somehow when you were out of sorts, even before you said anything. She was just good at knowing folks.
He put his hand on my back. I guess that’s why I figured she would look out for Jesse, if she was here. Whatever he’s been through, to be on his own, she would’ve understood.
The snow was softer on the parts of the trail not sheltered by trees, I dropped through the surface of it and had to high-knee my way through the slush. The legs of my pants wet through, they stuck to me, and it wasn’t no effort to find Jesse in the sensation, his own jeans stuck to his legs, his shirt plastered to his skin as he searched for shelter in a downpour somewhere between here and the place he come from.
Mom might of understood what Jesse went through but she wouldn’t of known. Not the way I knew him now. There would of been a wall between her and him, same way there was a wall between just about everybody, the thing that lets each person hold back parts of themselves and only show what they want. I fell behind Dad as I trudged through softened snow. His version of Mom was different from mine. My version scolded me for hurting Scott when I bit him, and tried to keep me from the woods when I was little. My version always had one eye on me. She was moody and kept secrets and wanted the best for me, I knew, but she was also hard to figure out, specially as she begun to say less and less.
It wasn’t just the secret me and Mom shared that made my version of her different from the one Dad knew. The two of them had almost three years on their own before I come along. A whole life together I wasn’t privy to. I wished I had known her before I was born. Known Dad’s version of her, the one who cursed and knitted and laughed easier than the mom I knew. The one who would of taken Jesse in because he was a kid and he didn’t have nowhere else to go.
My stomach growled even though I still felt stuffed from our holiday meal. It wasn’t food I wanted, but blood. Not from some critter caught in a snare, neither, but from Jesse. I ached for the taste of him, the experience of him. I could find him if I went looking, feel the certainty that shot through him as he fell out of a tree once that he would break his arm, the helplessness at knowing it was already too late. The undeniable satisfaction that come at a voice calling over to him, Hey, guy, before he looked up from his book and seen Tom Hatch.
It wasn’t enough. I worried he would fade from me, and while I hated feeling the emptiness of the roads he’d walked and the way he’d strained beneath the weight of Hatch on top of him, I also hated the idea of losing the rest. The closeness of him. The thought that I might know him in a way I’d never known anyone else.
I had promised my mother that I wouldn’t never make a person bleed. Maybe this was the reason she’d made me give her my word. She’d known, maybe, that one day I would have a taste of someone and it would only make me want more. But if I didn’t make him—if he give it to me willingly? She hadn’t never warned me against that.
The four of us turned round eventually and the sky grew velvety and studded with stars. Scott and Helen put their cameras away. The walk back, we all fell quiet, the way a group of folks will do sometimes when the setting-out part of a hike is over and muscles are just a little wore out and words get overwhelmed by what’s round you, trees and snow and boulders and sky.
We’d only been gone a couple hours but Jesse was already back, just opening the dog box on the back of the truck he’d fixed up.
How is she? Dad called out as we got closer.
She’s a beauty, Jesse said. He stepped away from the truck, give a little whistle, and out jumped a smallish dog, skinny and quick looking. Jesse knelt beside her and stroked her fur.
You like her? Dad asked me.
I give her my hand to sniff. She had bright, alert eyes and a mottled gray coat. Her ears perked when Dad spoke, like she was paying attention as he told me it was Jesse who’d seen the ad at the general store yesterday and who had called the musher from Nenana who was retiring. Jesse who’d arranged to meet the man today when he stopped in the village on his way south to Anchorage. Jesse who’d said it was a little early for Christmas, but maybe a new dog was the right present for me.
I hunkered down next to the new dog, scratching her chest. She’s mine? I asked.
Dad took a breath. I’m sorry about Flash, he said. I am. I know you wanted her for your lead. But we’ve got other good leaders, and when Jesse brought it up, I thought maybe this dog would help round out your team.
My head snapped up. Say what?
Instead of answering, Dad took a piece of paper from his pocket. My stomach dropped when I seen it was from the Iditarod committee, a confirmation that they had received my entry fee. Most likely, there was a letter from the Junior Iditarod somewhere, too, either in our mailbox at the post office or on its way.
I’m not thrilled you did this behind my back, Dad was saying. But it’s done.
You’re not mad?
He sort of tossed up his hands, let them drop again. He wasn’t looking at me, but at Helen, who give him a smile. No point in being mad now, he said. Anyhow, at least one of us should race, don’t you think?
I threw my arms round his neck. Thank you, I said.
He give me a squeeze.
There was a click, the snow lit up under a flash. Helen lowered her camera. I couldn’t resist, she said.
I am curious, Dad went on. How you managed to pay the fee. Not exactly a small amount of money.
I swallowed. I’d give plenty of thought to how I was going to explain this when it come up, and I still hadn’t settled on a good answer. The longer I stalled the more whatever I was about to say would sound like a lie. Was Jesse wondering where I’d got the money, too? Thinking of his lost pack, the one I’d claimed I hadn’t found? I opened my mouth, not sure what was about to come out.
I gave it to her, Scott said before I found a single word.
Me and Dad both stared at him.
What? I said.
Not gave, really. Loaned. I know you told me not to tell him, Scott said to me. But now that he knows you entered— He shrugged. Well, it’s not a secret anymore.
Where’d you get that kind of money? Dad wanted to know.
Scott rolled his eyes. Birthday money. Payment from chores from when Mom was— I do half the papers turned in by the older kids at school. Type them up, I mean. And charge them for it. And I never spend money on anything but camera film and books.
My mouth hung open, and if Dad glanced at me he would of known right away I was just as surprised at Scott’s explanation as he was. Instead, he put an arm round Scott. That was awful nice of you, son.
Don’t worry, Scott told him. I’m going to make a killing on the interest rate I’m charging her.
Dad and Helen walked Scott back to the house, and Scott shot me a look over his shoulder that I couldn’t read. I stayed behind, riding a whole ocean of feelings. Relief, curiosity at why Scott had covered for me, nervousness now that it was real—come March, I really would be racing, no question about it now. All of it wrapped up in an excitement like I never felt before.
That was nice of Scott, Jesse spoke up.
He closed the door of the dog box, then stood with his hands in his pockets, studying the dog he’d found for me. I couldn’t tell whether he meant it was nice of Scott to loan me the money, or that it was nice of Scott to cover for me. The pack was still under my bed, but all that was in it now was a few small bills and a piece of jerky, some rice, and a tin mug. Easy enough for me to call up Jesse’s memories, but impossible to know whether he knew I’d lied to him. His face blank, his eyes unreadable.