North

We drove through the impossibly beautiful landscape and she talked. "Joe is a real handful. We got married just after I got out of high school in Whitehorse. I was pregnant but I lost the baby. We got divorced, but got back together. I refused to marry him again." It was a few minutes before she continued. "We didn't have any more kids. Anyway, we moved around. He is a driver and heavy equipment operator. I asked him if we could go south -- to Vancouver or somewhere. He loves the North, though. I was born up here, so I guess it's okay. But it's also a trap. I learned that a long time ago. My dad died when he didn't make it home from a party one night in the winter. He slipped and hit his head. By the time they found him, he'd frozen.

"Joe could be my father." She glanced at me and then hurried on. "I mean, he's so much like him. He drinks more than he should and he stays out all night some nights. His boss has warned him already. He's a great guy, but he has some bad habits. One of his bad habits is letting his love for his friends outweigh his obligation to me. That's why this whole thing pisses me off so fucking bad. I told him if he loses this job, I'm history." I really didn't have anything to say about all that, so I said it. She fell silent for a while. When I glanced over at her I saw that she was asleep. At least her eyes were closed, so I drove on in silence.

The trees glowed in the bright morning sun. There was no track from earlier traffic. The snowplows hadn't been there yet, so we just broke trail, four-wheel-drive all the way and following the flat break between the tall snow-shrouded pines and aspens that flanked the road and the flat expanse of the lake on the other side.

I came around a turn and had to stop myself from slamming on the brakes. A short way beyond the curve a mound of dirty looking snow and ice blocked the road. It was at least three times the height of my cab. Two R.C.M.P. cars -- SUV's, of course -- were pulled up on the shoulder on the opposite side, about a hundred yards away. Mounties in orange parkas and gloves were waving as we came around the trees.

I had wondered why we'd seen no opposing traffic. Here was my answer. Apparently, from what the Mounties said, the slide had come down about dawn. As I sat with the frigid morning air rolling through the window, they gave me the disappointing news that we'd have to turn back. Marjorie made no sound at all. Just as the Mountie was trying to decide the best way for us to turn around, a clanking behemoth approached from our rear. It was a heavy duty snowplow truck with chains on, and pulling a trailer with a backloader on it. The driver unhitched the trailer before wheeling smartly around us in the truck. The Mountie backed off as the truck began pushing the snow, its blade biting into the bush alongside the road.

The driver obviously knew his job because after shoving that load aside, he backed off and cut into the edge of the mounded snow that was blocking us, shoving it toward the lake. His efforts soon bared a wide shelf of solid ground off the left side. Once it was clear he backed past us and a good ways behind us and waited. With the Mountie's help, I turned the truck and we returned the way we had just come.

After we were away from the roadblock, Marjorie made a small sound. I glanced at her, but she had her head turned away from me. After a few seconds I could hear that she was crying. My heart hurt for her. She had given her boyfriend/ex-husband an ultimatum and he would not now be able to meet it. I looked down at her hand resting on the seat beside her. I reached for it. When we made contact, she stiffened for an instant, and then relaxed. She let me take her limp hand. I gave her an encouraging squeeze. She didn't return it. I put my hand back on the wheel.

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When we got back to the lodge, she spent a half hour on the phone in the cafe. Rebel and I returned to our room -- they hadn't yet made any of the rooms up, so the guy said we'd get discounts before he stuck his head back under Marjorie's hood. Since I didn't know how long I'd be there, I took my laptop in with me along with my duffel and my dog, on the second trip I brought in Rebel's dishes, his food, and the cooler.

I was just waiting for the computer to boot up when there was a knock at the door. Without rising I called out, "Come in." I knew it had to be either her or the owner. There was nobody else there who would be calling on me. She entered and kicked off her boots on the mat. "Have a seat," I told her. I was sitting on the only chair in the room at the table where I'd set up my computer. She looked around and sat on the edge of the bed. I punched a few keys to bring up the program I wanted and turned around.

"So what will you do now?" I asked her. "Did you make any progress on the phone?" I had already figured out who she would call – Joe's boss and the Mounties. Maybe they'd let poor old Joe out on his own recognizance. Still, he wouldn't be able to get back to Watson Lake until the slide was cleared.

She looked at me. "You're a really nice guy, Don," she said. "You didn't have to do any of this. You offered me a ride and now you act like you care about what happens."

I turned to look at her. "I do, Marjorie," I told her. "We're stranded here together, so we might as well be friends. Your problems are the problems of a friend. At the very least, it's like a story that I haven't finished reading yet. I want to know what is going to happen." That made her smile.

I stood up and went to the large cooler I have learned to carry on these trips. Sometimes the outposts of civilization can be pretty far apart. I had some sodas and some beer in there, along with most of a bottle of vodka and some substantial snacks for the road. I'd drained it and iced it all down again before leaving Watson Lake the day before. The cooler had kept everything from freezing solid. It acted paradoxically like a heater. If it all had just been in the back of the truck the cans would have frozen and burst by then. Marjorie opted for a cup of instant coffee so I settled for a soda. Under other circumstances I'd have cracked a beer, knowing that I wouldn't be going anywhere at least for the rest of the day, in spite of the fact that it was still shy of noon. The way she seemed to feel about drinking I didn't want her to think I was like Joe.

"Joe's boss said he'd give us two more days. After that he said Joe was toast. He's an asshole. But there are plenty of other operators up here. Then I talked to the Mounties in Fort Nelson. They told me that they had released Joe this morning. His buddy's wife had come in and dropped the charges. Those two are all kissy-face now and making up. This whole abortion of a trip turned out to be unnecessary for me. Still, I'm stuck out here. The Mounties told Joe about the slides -- there are several others between here and Fort Nelson, by the way." She was pissed off and I didn't blame her.

"Did you talk to Joe at all?" I asked her. She flashed me a quick glance and returned her gaze to her lap. I wondered how much of her life was spent hiding behind her hair.

"I called his friend's house. They're all shit-faced already and he just laughed when I told him where I was and what was going on. The asshole just told me he'd be there with bells on when I finally got there." She swiped her hand across her eyes and I knew she was so angry that she was leaking tears. "So I just told him he could stick those bells up his ass. I told him that when the Jeep was fixed I was going back to Watson and packing my bags."

"What did he say to that?" I asked.

"He just laughed and said he'd see me when he got home then." She tipped her coffee back and finished it. She turned to the cooler and opened the top. Rummaging around, she examined the contents. I watched her hand hover over a can of Budweiser ("piss-water", as the Canadians call it) and then seize the neck of the vodka bottle. She pulled it from its ice cradle and looked at the label.

She turned toward me and raised her eyebrows. I shrugged. She smiled. "Oh, wait," she said. She replaced the bottle in the ice and, without another word, closed the cooler and slipped her feet into her boots, her arms into the sleeves of her parka, and she was out the door. I looked at Rebel, but he didn't have any comment other than a wag of his tail. He was a lot more comfortable lying next to the heater than he'd been in the back seat of the truck. It was all good for him. I love dogs.

I haven't mentioned it yet, but I'm kind of an electronics junkie. My laptop has all the bells and whistles, but falls short of wireless internet. It does have a few things I've added. While Marjorie was gone I put my own boots on and went to retrieve a couple of things from the truck. There was no sign of her when I went out.

Back inside I plugged things in and connected cables. By the time she came back -- simply opening the door and walking in without the formality of knocking -- I had hooked up the game system to the computer. Computer games are great, but for the most part they only allow for one player if you're not online and playing over the internet. That way is fine. I've played Hearts and Backgammon with people from all over the world while we chatted in real time. If two people in the same room want to play a game, however, the dedicated game consoles are better. Since there was no TV, I had hooked up the console to my computer display.

Marjorie brought back a plastic pitcher of orange juice. ("The woman in the restaurant just gave it to me.") From the bathroom she brought two plastic cups and proceeded to mix us both screwdrivers. She set mine on the table and watched as I keyed in the final commands to slot the computer's attention and control of the monitor to the console. I turned sideways in the chair and we clicked (not "clinked", since they were plastic) our drinks together. She took a long pull from her drink. I sipped mine. She had mixed them strong.

"I got the impression that you might not be a drinker," I said hesitantly. I didn't want to spoil her obvious party mood, but I needed to know.

"Well, when it interferes with things, or if it is so big a part of your life that it takes control, I am. But we're not going anywhere. I just kicked myself free from a bad relationship. I'm having a freedom celebration. You're invited. Of course, if you're not interested..." she said, reaching for my cup, but I pulled it out of her reach. She laughed and it was a wonderful sound. I looked at her eyes and saw possibilities there.

We watched each other take another drink. As I felt the sweet/tart liquid on my tongue I saw something in her eyes. We tipped the cups and, we simultaneously drained our glasses. She held out her hand. "Whoa," I protested. "I have to take it a little easy. You go ahead and have another one if you want, but I'm going to wait a few." I didn't want to get drunk and pass out for the day -- at least not that early.

"Party pooper," she said and mixed herself another drink.

Finally I had the game booted up. I explained the rules and what she was supposed to try to do and we started playing. I had moved everything to the floor and we were sitting side by side, our backs against the bed, with the joysticks in hand. She finished her second drink and I let her mix one for me when she mixed her third one. We played a few minutes and drank. The vodka was taking effect for me. From her laugh and exuberance, I could tell it was affecting Marjorie too.

"This fucking floor is too hard!" she said when we paused the game. I looked and gauged the distance from the outlet. I rose up and, with Marjorie's help, moved the whole setup to the bed. She settled in, wriggling from attractive cheek to cheek to get comfortable. She pulled her hair back and pulled a rubber band from her pocket to contain it. We both piled up pillows against the headboard and got ready to do battle again.

After I won three games in a row (and after two more drinks), Marjorie tossed the joystick to the mattress. "Well, fuck! I guess you're just too good for me," she said.

"I've had practice," I answered, though I really thought it was the vodka that made her response time slower. "We could play something else," I offered.

"Let's play 'rub Marjie's back'," she said and she rolled over onto her belly, pulling a pillow under her head. I looked down at her. I looked at my watch. It was nearly 1PM. I had been thinking about lunch. At any rate, I rose up and returned all the electronics to the table. When I went back to the bed, I knelt on the bed beside Marjorie and got ready to rub her back. Just before I put my hands on her, though, I heard a snort. It turned into a snore.

I sat on the chair and watched Marjorie sleep a while. When she rolled to her back I watched her face. In her sleep she looked a lot younger than the twenty four she claimed. When her brow wrinkled and she emitted a whimper -- almost a cry -- she looked no more than thirteen.

In order for you to understand how I felt right then, I have to remind you that I am almost forty, twice divorced, and without the stricture of a year-round job. Yesterday I was headed for Arizona. Today I find myself in a motel room alone with a sexy twenty-four year old woman who is in the process of escaping a doomed relationship. A lot of thoughts passed through my mind as I watched Marjorie sleep.

Finally, though my stomach called for attention, I didn't want to just go and leave Marjorie sleeping. I munched a few strips of beef jerky from the cooler and finished my drink. Then I simply went to the bed and lay down next to her. I pulled the spare blanket over us both and took her hand. I was drifting into the never-land between wakefulness and sleep when she turned slightly and snuggled up against me. My arm went around her and I drifted off into the most restful sleep I'd enjoyed in months.

"Don!" I struggled against the disturbing hand on my shoulder. I wanted it to go away and let me sleep but it was too insistent. The short winter day outside had lost its glow. It was barely still daylight. I looked at my watch and saw that we'd been sleeping for three hours. I looked up at the sleep stained face above me. Even freshly wakened she was beautiful. My arm went to her shoulders without my conscious volition. She allowed it and let me pull her back down beside me. It felt great.

"I'm hungry," she said quietly. The statement reminded my own stomach that it had been most of a day since it had been fed. I sighed and she laughed. She pushed herself up with a hand on my chest. The gesture felt like we'd been sleeping together for longer than one afternoon. She slipped off the bed and went to the bathroom, closing the door behind her.

I rose to sit on the side of the bed. I rubbed my face, trying to regain some sort of composure. I heard the toilet flush and stood up. When Marjorie emerged I passed her and closed the door behind me. I peed, washed my hands and then used some of the warm water to sluice the vestiges of sleep from my face and the vodka fog from my head. I slurped up a mouthful of water and swished it around. I spat into the sink and looked at my reflection in the mirror. I recognized the face that looked back. That was a good sign. There have been vodka-fogged mornings that my reflection almost looked like a stranger. I hadn't really had that much to drink, but the lack of food had magnified the effect of what I'd had.

When I left the bathroom, Rebel was wagging his tail furiously as Marjorie scratched his ears and neck. She cooed some words to him that sounded like Tlingit to me as she scratched. His brown eyes rotated toward me and seemed to apologize for this temporary infidelity. He snorted and sneezed when she stopped. He ran to the door and I knew he had to pee too. I told Marjorie to go ahead to the restaurant and order us a dinner.

I let Rebel pee on several trees until I decided he was just leaving a small sprinkle for his "mark". I forced him back into the room and dusted the snow from his paws. Then I went across to the café.

As I shed my coat and took my seat, the owner's wife brought our plates. Marjorie had ordered us steaks and fried potatoes. "I figured you, being a man, would find this to your taste," she said. I did, but I decided to be cute.

"I was hoping for a nice veggie quiche, but this will do," I joked. She laughed and her hand came across the table to squeeze mine. Suddenly I felt like I was getting into something. It felt good. It felt exciting, but I wasn't sure where -- or how far -- I wanted it to go.

While we were eating the door opened and the same Mountie that had turned us back at the slide entered, stomping the snow from his boots. "Hey, Gord!" he called out to the owner.

"So how's the slide, Brian?" the owner responded.

"We got it clear, eh? Word from up the road is they almost got the others clear as well. But I need coffee. My thermos ran out about noon." While Gord got a cup of hot coffee for Brian I looked at Marjorie. She was concentrating on the rest of her steak and didn't look up. I knew that I could probably leave now, but that would have left her here alone and just waiting for her Jeep to be repaired.

We finished eating and I paid for both of us. A short talk with the Mountie confirmed that the road would be clear to Fort Nelson probably by 7:00 -- at least clear for now. He cautioned that more snow was in the forecast. Marjie had gone outside while I was at the register. She'd paid for our dinners in advance. I pulled on my coat and went out into the dark afternoon. She was just rounding the corner of the building that held the rooms.

By the time I got to my door there was no sign of her. I entered and was only a little surprised to see that she was again reclining on the bed. "So what do you think? Are you going to hit the road?" She asked me. "I don't have enough money to stay here as long as it's going to take for parts to get here. The Jeep belongs to Joe anyways. I had planned to be home by now. But I don't really want to go back to Watson either. There isn't much there -- just some clothes and stuff. I have a cousin in Quesnel. If I can hitch a ride with you that far, Joe can send my clothes."

"If you're short of cash you shouldn't have paid for dinner," I told her." She just waved my objection away.

"The Mountie said more snow is on the way. I almost killed myself last night driving through the blizzard. I'd really rather wait until it's light." She sat up and crossed to start putting on her boots. I frowned at that. She saw my puzzlement.

"I have to go ask Gord if he'll front me for the room using the Jeep as security. I only have about a hundred bucks. It's enough for a room, but that's all I have to my name."

"Listen, the rooms here aren't that much. I'll pay for your room. You can send me the money when you get work. Then you're certainly welcome to ride along to Quesnel."

"Thanks for the ride, but I can't let you pay for my room. You already put yourself out for me too much," she seemed close to tears. Our short party had been fun, but reality had dropped back on top of her.

"Okay, then stay in here. Rebel and I have to keep the room anyway and it won't cost me any more. Besides, it was warmer sleeping next to you than alone." She looked at me. I wasn't exactly propositioning her, but the situation opened the possibility. She looked away and Rebel nuzzled his snout into her hanging hand. She let out a small laugh and scratched his nose. "Hey," I added, "No strings. This isn't a proposition." She studied my face a few seconds before replying.

"All right," she said. "I have to go anyway and tell Gord about the change." She put on the other boot and slipped into her parka. She opened the door and went out. I slipped into my boots and put my coat on. I snapped Rebel's leash onto his collar. We went out and he revisited his spots from earlier, making sure no other dogs had dropped by.