All the Winters After (28 page)

SIXTY-ONE

The next morning, Kache tramped through the fresh snowfall to feed the goats and found one of them, the pure white one Nadia had named Buttercup, dead. From a distance, he thought fireweed had somehow bloomed in winter. As he got closer, his stomach tightened. Not sweet Buttercup. He might have missed seeing her if her blood hadn't seeped pink through the fresh layer of snow. The poor thing had probably been the prey of some hungry animal—a bear or a wolf, but since they were still in the middle of winter, the bear was unlikely. It looked like the beach hawks and eagles had been working on her too. Kache looked around for evidence. The wind-brushed new snow covered any tracks left behind.

Both Nadia and Kache took it hard. Especially Nadia. She'd grown attached to all the goats, and Buttercup had been her favorite. But Nadia had lost her share of animals over the years, and though she shed tears, there was a practicality in her sadness that Kache admired.

A few days later, he helped her set up the tin cans on various-size pillars of snow. The long winter twilight cast its palest violet veil over the trees, the land, Nadia, everything. Kache stamped his feet to try to get the blood moving faster.

“I think Buttercup would be very proud of you,” Nadia said, stepping back to appraise their work.

He shrugged, checked his voice to make sure it sounded casual and wasn't laden with this shift he'd been feeling. He'd always hated guns. But they lived out in the middle of the wilderness, and he'd begun realizing the responsibility his father bore. He'd been able to keep them all safe, no small feat in Alaska—at least until the plane crash. A gun couldn't protect you from everything, but if you ran into a sow and her cubs, a pack of wolves, or an angry mother moose, a gun might be necessary, if to do nothing else but scare them away. It would soon be spring, and the bears would be waking up, cranky and hungry. “I just got to thinking. You're probably right. If I'm going to stay here, I should know how to shoot a gun. I shouldn't leave everything up to you. We're a team now, right?”

She nodded. “But your father, he did teach you the basics, yes?”

“He tried. I wasn't a very willing or attentive student.”

“But you got straight A's.”

He shook his head. “Is there nothing you don't know about me? Yeah, okay. But it wasn't my dad teaching trig or world history. This was different.”

“I see. I understand.” She stepped back. “Now, shoot.”

As Kache held the .22 up to his shoulder, closed his eye, and lined up the bead on the first can, he knew he'd need to learn how to shoot the bigger shotgun if he actually needed to kill a bear or an angry moose. But this was a start. His numb finger pulled the cold trigger, and to both his and Nadia's amazement, he hit the can.

“You are lying. You know how to shoot gun.”

“Some of what he taught me must have sunk in there and stayed after all.”

He took another shot, missed, and then another and hit the next can. Nadia exchanged the .22 for the handgun. “Here, try this. We'll save the shotgun for another day.”

He blew on his hands, and then he missed a few times. It was harder to steady the handgun. She wrapped her arms around him from behind and helped him secure his right arm with his left. The next shot nailed it.

“Kachemak Winkel, I think you are turning me on,” she said. She stepped back. He took another perfect shot. “Very—how do you say it?—macho? Yes.”

“I thought you liked the sensitive songwriter types.”

“I do. Especially when they can shoot like that.”

• • •

They celebrated the successful target practice session with a different type of session on a stack of blankets in front of the woodstove. The spruce tree they'd chopped down stood in the corner, branches heavy with lights and all of his mom's decorations. Almost all of them, anyway. They'd had to throw out one box that shrews had taken over, but the rest of the ornaments were still in the paper his mom had carefully wrapped around them her last Christmas. She had let the boys pick out their own ornament every year and marked them, so along with the pretty glass balls, the handmade cloth Santas, and the painted wooden gingerbread houses, there were Star Wars characters and baseball bats and a tiny guitar. Kache wondered what he and Nadia would do once they had kids. They'd have to get a bigger tree.

It felt good to glow and sweat together, when outside the frozen dregs of winter surrounded them. He appreciated that Nadia was so willing to let him explore her. After everything she'd been through, she'd told Kache that making love with him felt something like grace. She slept on her side, facing away from him, her body illuminated by the fire and the twinkling white lights of the tree, and he saw plainly not only the carved
B
, but also the small dashes of scars where Vladimir had pressed his knife. Sometimes Vladimir pressed the knife into her skin, far enough to draw blood, and sometimes deeper. She'd said that he liked to see terror in her eyes, that he held the knife to her breast or her throat and watched her face twist into panic until he grew stiff. The night he carved his initial into her was the night she'd refused him, and soon after, she had fled.

The dashes looked like some strange code or tracks in a field of snow; a message, a remnant, a territorial marking. She'd said he had been a trapper—an extremely patient and efficient one.

Kache was filled with wanting to protect her. He wanted her to know she would always be safe right there with him. He would be vigilant against any threat. Bad men. Hungry bears. Crashing planes.

She stretched like a silky pale cat and said over her shoulder, “Are you staring at my ass again?”

“It is lovely.”

“Kache, we both know that is not quite true. Last time I got my hair cut, I admire Katy's tattoos. I am thinking of getting one to be as camouflage.”

“What would you get?”

“I was thinking of butterfly. See?” And she stretched her arm back and showed him how the
B
might form the right side of the wings, tracing, retracing with her finger, and then with his, where the other colorful wings would go.

• • •

With her video camera plugged into her Mac, her stylish elfin haircut, and her new clothing, Nadia looked as if she might already be at film school. While she worked, she sang along with one of his mom's many Joni Mitchell albums—or tried to sing, anyway. “Oh, but California…” Kache would never wince openly; he would never say to Nadia,
You sound like a cat in heat, who is dying and fighting at the same time
, because even though it was the god-awful truth, he knew she felt self-conscious about her voice, and this singing in front of him was her way of trusting him. It was a little disappointing that they would never sing in harmony, but also a relief; the woman couldn't do every single thing perfectly after all. Well, that and never charging her cell phone. Which reminded him to remind her.

“Did you happen to charge your cell phone?”

She tilted her head way over to her shoulder, smacked her forehead, and grinned.

“How can you be such a technology guru and not remember to plug in your phone?”

She'd picked up on the computer so quickly that she was now telling Kache how easy it was to edit a video. He knew nothing about film editing and could offer no help. Instead, he busied himself with snow shoveling, songwriting, and target practice. And plugging in her phone.

“I'm going to need one more scene,” she said, leaning back in her chair, twisting from side to side to stretch her back.

“Oh yeah?”

“Yes. You at the Spit Tune place. Singing.”

“Well, I don't know. It's been a long, long time.”

“Snag says to me they ask about you all the time. And your friend Marion sings there, yes? With old band? It will be reuniting. I want to film there at this place. Please?”

He could swear she was actually batting her long eyelashes at him. Was this universal? Where did women learn these things?

• • •

Finally, Rex was tending bar. He'd hit his sixties and had a lot less hair on his head with a lot more on his upper lip. When Kache said, “Hey Rex,” the man almost jumped over the bar to hug him.

“Winkel, my man, it's good to see you. Snag and Marion said you were back in town. But it sure as hell took you long enough to come by.”

“Hey, I've been by, but you've been down in the Lower 48 working on your tan. I can see business is as good as ever.”

“We're in Alaska, and this is a bar. Of course business is good. And Marion and the boys still keep everyone coming back. Rumor has it you're playing and singing with them tonight.”

“I heard a rumor like that too.”

“Marion and Danny Boy are already setting up. Go say hi. And don't you dare leave here without having a beer with me. Who's the pretty gal?”

“Oh, I'm sorry. Nadia, meet Rex.”

They shook hands and Rex said, “You always did have a way with the ladies, Winkel.” Nadia blushed.

And then, as if on cue, Marion came up from behind him and pressed her hands on his eyes. He knew it was Marion because that is how she used to greet him in high school, and he knew she was doing it for old time's sake. “Marion,” he said. “The only person who would try that on me at this age.”

“Finally, you bless us with your presence. I haven't even bumped into you at the Old Folks' in a while.”

“Marion, this is Nadia. Nadia, Marion.” Nadia reached out, and they shook hands.

“So this is who's been keeping you so busy. You're the one with the camera, right? Nice to meet you. Kache, can you come and do a sound check with me?”

He looked to Nadia, and she smiled and waved him off.

“She's precious,” Marion said as they pressed their way through the packed room to the small stage in the corner. “A little young, but darling.”

“She looks a lot younger than she is.”

“Oh good. Then we won't have to have you arrested.” Marion stepped onto the stage to test the mic.

A deep, somewhat familiar voice said, “Arrested? You breaking laws, my friend?”

Kache glanced around before the man at his side momentarily lifted his cap and pulled his sunglasses down his nose. “Oh, it's Tol, right? Are you going all movie star on me? Going to do an Alaskan version of a do-it-yourself show?”

Tol laughed. “You are wishing. You might learn something. No, too many lights and people for me here. I must get to door and get some air. I can't stay long, but I look forward to hearing you sing your music,” he said and disappeared into the crowd.

Dan, Mike, and Chris all hugged Kache at once, and soon, everyone was slapping him on the back, taking out their wallets to show him photos of their kids and wives. It seemed to be as Marion had told him: all had been forgiven. He'd left without a word and never looked back, but it was as if they'd played together last week. He was hoping the music would sound that way too.

Marion said, “So shall we play some old stuff to warm up? Then you can go through your song for the video, and we'll see where we can jump in.”

He felt exposed, singing such a personal love song in this crowd. He'd done it in Anchorage, but he didn't know anyone there. Still, when the time came, he went for it, put it all out there, and Nadia filmed him.

“If you feel the need to hide,

I'll cover you and go bare.

If you can't walk another mile,

On my back I'll take you there.

“If you can't cross the river,

I'll lie down and be your bridge.

And if you lose all hope and vision,

I'll paint the sky from edge to edge.

“Because
Na
dia, you unknotted me.

Na
di
a, you undeniably

Nadi
a
, you unarguably

Made me a better man.

“If your eyes let go their tears,

I'll drink them like sweet wine.

If your gentle heart goes unclaimed,

I will gladly call it mine.

“If no one smiles at your jokes,

I'll laugh until I split in two.

Then there will be one more of me,

And I'll spend both lives loving you.

“Because
Na
dia, you unknotted me.

Na
di
a, you undeniably

Nadi
a
, you unarguably

Made me a better a man.”

Marion and the guys rounded it out, and it sounded good. The whole place stood and clapped when they were done, and when Nadia took the camera away from her face, Kache saw that she beamed.

Marion must have seen it too, because she started speaking into the mic just as the applause finally died down. “Now we're going to go way back to the sweet and innocent old days. I know Kache remembers this one…” and she started in on the love song the two of them had written together. It was one of their best songs from back then, and they'd sung it when they were in love, with their lips almost touching, looking into each other's eyes, and this was what Marion did now. She walked over to Kache's mic and looked into his eyes while Dan started in on the piano.

Kache didn't play the guitar for this one. There was only the piano, soft and slow, and Marion's voice and Kache's voice, always in such close harmonies, and this song always did flay him. “I don't want to try…to deny…this love anymore. I'm falling faster…and further…than I ever have before.” He forgot momentarily about Nadia, about the camera, about the crowded bar, about Rex filling glasses behind the counter, and he looked into Marion's deep brown eyes and remembered how fully he loved music back when they used to sing together, how nothing had scarred him over yet. His family was back with him in those words and notes; in fact, they hadn't even left. He remembered how much his mom and dad liked Marion and how Denny said he was jealous because she was such a fox. He remembered how when she came over, they treated her like family, and sometimes if it got too late, his mom would call her mom to see if it was okay if Marion spent the night on the couch instead of having to drive her all the way into town since it was so late and the roads were so icy. And when his dad's snores filled the upstairs, Kache would open his door ever so carefully, tiptoe down each stair, avoiding the places that creaked, and Marion would be waiting, would lift the sleeping bag and let him in.