A few minutes later, we connect with the tar road, and even in this rainy weather, it’s much smoother driving. We both relax for the last bit of the drive.
“Here we go,” Dad says with a sigh, making me look up.
It might only be the beginning of October, but the city of Juneau is already proudly wearing festive Christmas lighting on its street poles. They glitter in the drizzly half-light of the dim morning.
“It’s not even Halloween, yet,” Dad continues. “It’s all because of the tourists that they start this so early.”
“It’s because of the tourists we have a business,” I remind him.
“Yeah, yeah.”
I chuckle. We have this conversation every year around this time. Christmas for us is business as usual, as tourists flock to Juneau for the season, and Husky sledding is high on their holiday agenda.
We pull in to our first stop, and I check the list Mom has prepared for us. She will have phoned ahead to place the order at Petco, so the list is only to make sure it’s all there.
I used to like going to the pet products wholesale store, especially when I was a kid, but now, I dread coming here. As I stare out of the window at the large store sign, I pray Tatum is not working today.
Dad looks at me. “Alright?”
I nod.
The moment I open the truck door, cold ocean wind assaults me, and I hurry after Dad, who holds open the door to the wholesale store for me.
Warm, air-conditioned air, infused with the smell of animal feeds, greets us as we step through, and I take a moment to shake off the shivers from running through the rain.
Tatum - one of Juneau’s most eligible bachelors - used to be my fiance. Tall, dark, and handsome, as well as rich, he’s like every girl’s dream - except mine. He’s the son of the Petco empire.
“Hey, Kim, it’s good to see you,” Madison greets me when we get to the counter. “Hi, Mr. Jones. Your order is ready.”
Madison is the only one who calls me Kim, and although I don’t like it, I have never been able to get her to use my full name. I have known her all my life, and it’s just one of those things.
“Hey,” I greet her back, noticing she’s cut her dark hair quite a bit shorter. “Your hair looks great. Are you coming up to see the dogs this weekend?”
“Thanks, I had it done yesterday. Yeah, we’ll be there.” Her cheeks dimple as she smiles.
Madison brings her Down Syndrome brother to see the dogs once a month, and they adore him as much as he loves them.
My dad sets our bags on the counter, and Madison starts putting our order beside them, so I can tick the items off before my father bags them.
It’s mostly vet supplies - general antibiotics and pain meds - but we also buy treats, grooming stuff, and dental care here. We currently have sixty dogs, so that is a lot of canine care.
I take a quick look across the store while Dad packs the rest - no sign of Tatum. My heart slows. He just doesn’t get the message that we’re no longer together, or maybe he fancies that, somehow, he could win me back.
“Oh, and congratulations, Claudia said you passed your last exam,” Madison says as we pick up our bags.
“Yeah, thanks, it was a long road, but it’s official now.”
It’s enough to distract me from my thoughts about Tatum, and I smile. Four years of studying and working with our local vet, and now I am a recognized Vet Assistant and Technologist.
Dad pats me on the back. “We couldn’t be prouder,” he says.
“I bet,” Madison replies. “See you over the weekend.”
We head back to the truck, stash our supplies in the back, and then drive to our next stop.
“News sure spreads fast,” Dad says, a broad grin on his face.
“I can see that, for once, you don’t seem to mind much.” I laugh.
He grumbles, but the grin stays.
It’s fortunate that he is in a good mood when we get to Costco, as it’s already busy. We get all our bulk stuff delivered, but certain items, especially the fresh food, Mom wants us to select ourselves.
We are business-like as we move through the store, piling our shopping cart with fruit and vegetables and specialty items, and hurry back towards the tills.
Dad and I are the same when it comes to shopping, which is probably why Mom gets us to do it in the first place. We get what is on the list, don’t waste time or money, and get out as quickly as possible.
By the time we are back in the truck, we take a moment to recover from the shock of being within such a crowd of people. It’s just not who we are. It’s usually just us and the wilderness.
It’s probably why it didn’t work out between Tatum and me in the first place. He loves being the center of attention, and people in general, and what he loves even more than that, is money.
“Alright,” I finally say after taking a deep breath, “what’s next?”
The truck roars to life as Dad turns the key, and the air-con kicks in. It takes a moment for the cab to warm up again.
“We just need to pick up the pumpkins from Ida, and then we can stop at the Wilsons for you to look at their dog.”
The pumpkins. Halloween is another tradition we don’t celebrate in earnest in our family. After all, we don’t have neighbors to trick or treat with. But, the tourists still want all the decor, and carved pumpkin lanterns are a hit.
“Cool, let’s go.”
It’s a short drive to Ida’s warehouse, and her store hand piles the pumpkins into the back of the pick-up. Looking at all the swollen, orange squash in the back of the truck, I am glad that the carving of those things is up to the boys.
Then, we’re back on the road. It’s a twenty-minute drive to the Wilson’s property. They are tour operators, like us, but Anthony Wilson uses quad bikes instead of Huskies.
The dog I am looking at today is their pet Labrador. Claudia, our vet, is in Skagway for a week and asked if I could handle it.
We pull into their drive, and a Petco van is outside the Wilson's house. They must have ordered a delivery. We park next to it and climb out of the truck.
“Kimmy,” Tatum’s possessive voice washes over me like icy sleet.
Chapter 4
Whitehorse has been good to me this past week, but the walls are starting to close in on me.
It might be paranoia, but I have the feeling the cops are on to me. Somehow, they know I have crossed the border, and they are going to find me here.
The motel where I am staying has Internet, and I have been able to keep up with developments in Anchorage as far as possible, but I don’t want to pry too much in case it gets traced back to me.
News reports in Anchorage are going into detail with my description, and I’m worried it will spread into Canada. I’ve watched the stories several times, and I still don’t see myself that way.
“Logan Turner, 26, six-foot-three, 180 pounds, with blond hair and blue eyes. Adept in several fighting techniques, Logan is considered extremely dangerous. Do not approach, but contact your nearest police immediately.”
I feel like a fugitive, and it’s not a feeling I like. I regret leaving - I should have stayed, should have fought, even if it had meant my death. I miss Leah and Mom.
If I am to leave Whitehorse, I would have to do it soon. I don’t particularly want to hike through Canada in the middle of winter. It’s cold enough already as it is.