Chapter One
I checkmy boarding pass again while the paper cup of coffee I stupidly stood in line for twenty minutes to buy scalds my fingers. But there’s no escaping this disaster. My ex’s mom is not only on this flight, she’s my seatmate.
Dressed in a dark denim skirt, red mules, and a peasant blouse embroidered with colorful flowers, her hair and makeup flawless, Margaret Healy appears as put together as ever. Her cell phone is pressed to her ear and she’s laughing while gazing out the window at the snow, totally at ease.
I’m sure I look like the half-wild field rat I am. My long hair is scraggly and in need of a trim. My jeans are tight on my thighs after months of winter field work. My beauty routine this morning included a four-minute shower and lip balm.
Nobody talks about how hard this is.
Everything is too loud, too bright, too…artificial. I miss my crimson sunsets and wide-open spaces and the sound of my steady breaths broken only by a hawk’s lonely cry or the trickle of meltwater beneath the snowpack.
So maybe I’m the only one who struggles to re-enter city life.
Which means I need to get tougher.
The people lining up behind me aren’t interested in waiting for me to get my shit together, so I sling my backpack that probably still smells of marmot pee to my front and settle into the seat. That I manage to do so and not spill coffee should earn me a medal.
At least I remembered to remove the bear spray canister from my backpack’s hip belt and relocate my pocketknife to my duffel this time.
Nathan’s mom’s eyes go wide as she recognizes me. “Of course!” she says into her phone with a smile that reveals a lipstick stain across one of her front teeth. “See you soon.” She ends her call and gives me a look of awe. “Linnea, what a lovely surprise.”
“Nice to see you, Mrs. Healy.” I force a smile as the passenger in the aisle hoists his wheeled carry-on into the luggage bin above my head before sliding into his row behind me.
The bin across the aisle is already full. Where am I going to put my backpack? I should have just asked Nate’s mom to hold my coffee while I stowed it. Or asked someone else. Why do I always choke like this around people? This is why I’m better off with wild animals.
“It’s Margaret, remember?” Nate’s mom says, crossing her legs.
I take a tentative sip of my coffee, but it’s still too hot, and I wince as my tongue practically ignites. At least I can partially rest the cup on the backpack now lumped in my lap, giving my scorched fingers a break. But it becomes clear that I’m fucked because the flight attendant comes over the PA system announcing the doors are closing soon and to buckle our seatbelts.
“Heading home for a visit?” Margaret asks me, clicking her belt into place as the flight attendant comes down the aisle, scanning side to side to make sure we’ve complied with her instructions.
I give Margaret an awkwarduh-hmmwhile sliding my pack beneath the seat in front of me, but it’s too bulky, and the camp mug I clipped to the outside of it—the same one the airport barista refused to use, forcing me to choose between beingcaffeinated and conserving our forests—clangs against the metal supports, drawing curious looks from a few of the other passengers. Though I shove the pack with my boot, I can’t get it all the way into the space.
I should have ditched my coffee, but after coming out of the field late last night and barely sleeping in the stuffy, overheated hotel room, I need the caffeine. Or at least some small reward for adulting today.
“We’re going to have to gate check that for you,” the flight attendant says with a concerned frown when she gets to my row.
Now everyone is staring. My face heats. “Sure,” I manage, and lift the pack by its top loop.
The flight attendant’s manicured nails and smooth fingers look sleek and clean against the black webbing stained by DEET and sunscreen and frayed from months in the field, but in one swift motion, she carries my pack to the front of the plane, where another flight attendant deals with the tagging process before it’s handed to a baggage carrier out of sight.
Too late I realize I forgot to pull out my book.
I close my eyes for one tense moment. Force in a deep breath.It’s a fifty-seven minute flight, I tell myself,I’ll survive.
“So, hon, tell me about life as a wildlife biologist,” Margaret says as the plane pushes back from the terminal.
Margaret was always nice to me, but I know it’s only a matter of time before she starts oversharing about Nathan. And I don’t want to hear about how amazing my ex’s life is now that he’s free of me.
“I just finished an internship in the Selkirks. There’s an outbreak of Chronic Wasting Disease and we were?—”
Margaret wrinkles her nose, warning me that an infomercial about the fatal and contagious neurological disease killing wild deer, moose, and elk in several counties is not the direction she wants to go with this chat. It’s another reminder that I need to recalibrate my conversation topics now that I’mnot in the field.
“I’m actually headed back home to start a job with Idaho Fish and Wildlife.”
Her eyes soften. “Is your family still in Finn River?”
“Yeah.” Except for Mom, of course, but I don’t talk about her. “How have you been?” I ask to move the conversation along.