Chapter 3 Alaska, Here I Come

• I inhale deeply, savoring the fresh ocean air as the land comes into view.
• Chicago was in the seventies when I left this morning. Two layovers, a flight delay, and fifteen hours later, the fifty-five-degree day has dropped to forty and I had to pull out my winter jacket from my suitcase.
• "Have you ever been to Alaska before?"
• Asks the captain, a soft-spoken gray-haired man named John, his hands resting comfortably on the ferry's helm.
• I shake my head, my gaze drifting over the sea of evergreen trees and rock as far as the eye can see.
• We left the Alaska dock thirty minutes ago. It didn't seem like it would take this long to cross, but Kachemak Bay is vast and wide and unlike anything I've seen. And on the other side is my home for the next four months. I'm so glad I remembered to take an Antivert an hour before boarding. I'd be leaning over the rails if I hadn't. Boats and I have never gotten along well.
• "What brought you here?"
• I can tell John likes to talk, both to converse and to assess the foreigners who come to his homeland.
• "A brochure," I simply, honestly reply. He chuckles.
• "Yes, it will do that, it's fine. It attracts a lot of people on our way."
• I smile, his words resonate within me. Frankly, the brochure didn't need to work too hard. When things get tough, people always say they're going to pick up and move far away. Australia, France, anywhere that puts an ocean between them and their problems. Most never act on it. I certainly had no intention of doing so.
• But then I went to that job fair at the city library, more than a little scared of what I was going to do this summer. Recruiters were selling administrative and counselor positions, business internships, daycares. Nothing that interested me. Plus, they were all local positions in Chicago.
• The last thing I wanted to do was stay in Chicago for the summer. I needed to separate myself from my ex and those bitter memories, if only for a few months until school started again in the fall.
• And the idea of going back to Pennsylvania, where everyone, including the cows, had heard the essential details of my breakup with Abraham, was even less appealing.
• That's what happens when you grow up in a small town and then go to college with your high school boyfriend, who is also the reverend's son, whom you were supposed to marry the summer after both graduated from college, who have you been saving yourself for, and whom you caught with his pants down and crewing a black-haired jezebel.
• And, while you're in the depths of despair, even though you know better, you tell your honest churchgoing mother, known in town for both her raspberry pie and her big mouth. That scandal surely gave the people of Greenbank something to talk about during the long, cold Pennsylvania winter.
• It's been months since D-Day, or what I like to call Dick Day, when I caught him. February 2nd, to be exact. I'm sure tongues wagged between the pews during church service. When I visited on Easter weekend, I got nothing but sympathetic nods and pats. While Abraham, sitting in the pew directly in front of us, earned more than a few furious glances.
• I've been the "good girl Prue" all my life, sitting next to my parents in church every Sunday, surrounded by like-minded people, staying away from the "bad kids" who drank and smoked pot and had sex. Maybe if I had opened my legs for Abraham or other boys, my heart wouldn't have been shattered into a thousand pieces.
• Abraham promised my parents that this is just a momentary lapse in his faith. He also convinced his father that he is confused and needs to sort out his priorities, and he will come back to me, after he's done sowing his wild oats.
• Why does everyone think I'll want to take him back? He broke my heart that day, and he's been breaking it every day since, every time I see him walking hand in hand on campus with that woman. He's not just sowing wild oats. They're dating now.
• So, when I passed by the Star Cove Hotels booth at the job fair a month ago and saw the brochure with a beautiful view of snow-capped mountains and forests, I immediately stopped and started asking questions.
• And in ten minutes I knew that Star was my ticket away from sadness, at least temporarily.
• I just needed to get to Alaska.
• ~~~~~
• "What are those places over there? Do people live here?"
• I point towards the small cabins dotting the shore, camouflaged among the trees, we’re getting close to the northern land.
• "No. Mostly they are hostels and cabin rentals."
• I study the structures, like yurts on stilts overlooking the water.
• "They're nice. Rustic."
• "They are, indeed. Though not like Star Cove," John chuckles softly, shaking his head.
• "Not exactly."
• If the images in the brochure are accurate at all.
• "Where is it?" I asked.
• "Just around the corner. Star Cove Hotel in Star Cove, Alaska."
• "How do you even change the name of a town, anyway?"
• John chuckles softly again. He's such a nice man.
• "The town has been Star Cove for hundreds of years. The Star family has a lot of history up here, with the gold mines. That's where they made their first fortune. Although I'm sure they could afford to change the name, if it came to that. They are quite successful. Generous, too."
• As I listened to all the praises that John sang about Star Cove Hotel, my thoughts drifted back to that interview, and the name of my future CEO, Diego Star, lingered in my mind. With the staff speaking so highly of him, it’s clear that he was a very capable and resourceful individual.
• Diego Star seems like an enigma, a figure shrouded in the same mist that cloaks Star Cove. As the ferry nears the harbor and the city comes into clearer view, I still sense that there’s so much about this place that remains hidden.
• Will the mist clear up for me during my four months stay in Alaska?