High Impact (17 page)

“What’s that for?”

“Blindfold.”

“You really are taking this very seriously, I see,” Emery remarked as Megan fastened the scarf around her eyes.

“Oh, you bet we are, little missy.” Dita sounded an inch away from laughing as they spun Emery around to make her lose her sense of direction.

When they stopped, a hand gripped her left elbow as another took her right. From the left came Bryson’s voice. “Straight ahead. Let’s go.”

They walked her probably a quarter mile, warning her of bad footing ahead or a dip in the terrain. She heard gravel under her boots so she knew they were still somewhere in the village proper, or possibly at the edge of the runway. They could be marching her in circles for all she knew. They kept changing direction, giggling with every twist and turn. Now and then she heard murmured whispers. More plotting, no doubt.

Finally they led her up three stairs and into a building. They didn’t remove the blindfold until they’d seated her on a plain metal folding chair, and Megan warned her beforehand to keep her eyes closed.

“Okay, you can open them now.” Chaz’s voice, from several feet behind her.

When she did, she saw nothing but darkness. Either the room had no windows or they’d effectively blocked them. Before her eyes could adjust, a spotlight clicked on in front of her, aimed at her face. Then a second, a few feet to the left of the first, and a third, a few feet to the right. She couldn’t see anything in the room, like being in a bad black-and-white movie—the FBI grilling the suspected spy. The giggling, however, and the fact they’d focused the lights away from her eyes so they wouldn’t completely blind her, made the situation more fun than threatening.

“Now, ordinarily in Probing Questions, everyone answers all questions.” Megan’s voice came from behind the light on the left. “On this special occasion, however, we’ve altered the rules. You’re the only one who has to answer every question, but you can name one other person each time who must also answer. Got it?”

“Yes. Fire away.”

“We’re going to give you a break because we all like you.” Pasha stood right behind her. “So if one of these is too personal, you can get off the hook if your answer is funny or entertaining enough.”

“I appreciate the latitude.” Had Pasha suggested to the group that they allow her that alternative?

“We’ll start off easy,” Megan said. “Ever had any nicknames?”

“Mmm. Well, one. As a kid I stayed up late a lot, reading with a flashlight, so my folks used to call me Firefly.”

“That’s actually kinda cool,” Megan replied. “Who do you want to answer that question?”

“Let’s say Dita.”

“Good pick.” Dita chuckled. “I was a fiend for swimming, so Daddy called me Tadpole.”

“Next question, Emery,” Megan said. “Tell us about your most embarrassing or awkward moment.”

Emery didn’t want to share the answer that sprang to mind. The leaking-catheter story wouldn’t entertain and would require her to explain the circumstances. She tried to come up with a funny alternative and finally remembered a conversation she’d overheard. “One day in Venice at a café,” she told the group, “I was flirting with this beautiful local woman, trying to impress her with my Italian. At one point, I thought I was saying I was really discouraged I wasn’t making headway with her. ‘Discouraged,’ in Italian, is
scoraggiata
, but my pronunciation came out
scoreggiata
, which, I subsequently found out, means ‘farted.’”

They roared with laughter, and Emery joined them, remembering how the real woman who’d inspired the story crashed into a waiter as she ran from the café in embarrassment. When the laughter died down, Emery said, “All right, now Bryson gets to humiliate herself with her story.”

“Mine’s from when I first started doing commercial charters,” Bryson said. “I was eighteen or so. Hired to fly these three hunters way out in the bush, but weather kept us grounded half of their weeklong trip, so they were really itching to go by the time it cleared. Anyway, we get all the way up there, them razzing me all the while about how young I was, and I unload the cargo only to realize I’d left all their guns back at the hangar. They weren’t amused, especially since I’d set them down in prime grizzly country.”

After more laughter, Chaz asked a question. “As you know, we call our little group ADLIB: Adventurous Dykes Living in Bettles, which means we need some proof of your qualifications. What’s the most daring or dangerous thing you’ve ever done?”

Getting on that elevator in Sofia qualifies.
In retrospect, nothing she could ever do could match the danger of that, but presumably this question referred to risky endeavors she had willingly embraced. “Let’s see. That would probably be skiing in a closed avalanche zone in the Swiss Alps.” That adventure had been even riskier than it sounded, since she’d strapped on skis long before she was physically up to it and had barely made it back. “Geneva? You get to take this one.”

“Most daring or dangerous, I believe the question was, and I’ll go with the daring part.” Geneva’s voice came from her right. “In college, I streaked across campus on a dare. Not a bad decision on my part, by the way. A lot of women asked for my number later.”

More laughter.

Bryson had the next query. “Do you play any musical instruments?”

“I dabble on the harmonica some, if that counts.”

Her answer drew a chorus of approving comments: “Great,” and “Oh, that’ll fit right in,” and, from Bryson, “We have a little group that jams in the Den now and then, so we may have to recruit you.”

“So you play?” Emery asked.

“Yeah. Drums.”

The next question came from Karla. “Ever rescued anyone or done anything heroic?”

“I saved my cousin from a sugar overdose every year by stealing most of his Halloween candy. Does that count?” Collective groans answered her for the most part, but a couple of people snickered. “Chaz, how about you on this one?”

“No, I’ll take this,” Megan said, “since she rescued
me.
I tipped over in some whitewater on the kayak trip where we met and cracked my head against a rock. I’d have drowned if she hadn’t gotten to me. She’s too damn modest to tell you, but I’m sure not the first client she’s gotten out of trouble.”

“That’s quite a novel way to get the girl, Chaz.” Emery brought up one hand to shield her eyes from the lights. “Next question?”

“Who do you think is the most beautiful woman in the world?” Geneva asked.

Emery answered without hesitation. “Michelle Pfeiffer.”

“Oh, yeah, I can go there,” Bryson remarked, and a few others murmured agreement.

“Who would you say, Karla?” Emery asked.

“Michelle’s a great pick, granted, but I’m into brunettes, to no one’s surprise.” Bryson chuckled. “So, I’d probably say Sandra Bullock.”

“Next question, Emery…” Dita’s turn to ask, apparently. “What food and drink could you never give up?”

“Definitely coffee,” Emery answered. “And as for food, probably fresh-baked bread. It’s a major weakness. How about you?”

“Sweet tea and my momma’s fried chicken. She made it every Sunday after church when I was growing up. Had this great crispy crust and was so moist inside. Put that with some mashed ’taters and cornbread, and I’m in heaven.”

“Oh, man, I’m so glad I’m full,” Chaz said, and they all laughed.

“No lie,” Emery said. “Who’s next?”

“What’s the most significant event in your life so far?”

The hardest question had come from Pasha. Emery wiped suddenly sweaty palms on the thighs of her jeans. Sometimes Pasha seemed to know much more about her than she should, almost like she could read her mind. The questions she asked were too damn insightful, always dancing around the secrets she managed to conceal so well from everyone else. That Pasha might have some unusual ability to see inside the “real her” both thrilled and disconcerted Emery.

She couldn’t answer honestly, so she took the “out” Pasha had allowed and tried to come up with something witty. When that failed, she shamelessly decided to go for the suck-up approach. “Coming to Bettles, since it allowed me to meet all of you.” In a way, that wasn’t entirely bogus. She truly enjoyed these women’s company; she liked and admired every one of them. And Pasha, in particular, had especially impressed her.

A few groaned, and a couple said, “Awww,” and “That’s sweet.”

“How about you answer that question yourself, Pasha?” Emery asked.

“Turnabout and all that, eh? Okay. Well, sorry to be redundant, but coming to Alaska is mine as well, for the same reasons.”

“We’re degenerating into a syrupy love fest,” Megan proclaimed with feigned irritation, amid more laughter. “Which means it’s time to move on to phase two.”

“Phase two?” Emery was steeling herself for another round of summer-camp-like shenanigans when the spotlights started clicking off. Someone pulled the curtains back and she had to blink several times to adjust to the sunlight. She sat in the cozy living room of a cabin, no doubt the one the two couples had rented because their things lay scattered here and there.

The furniture—a long couch, two matching armchairs and a coffee table—had been pushed back. She was in the middle of the room, her back to a massive stone fireplace.

“The toasting phase.” Bryson ducked through a doorway and returned with two bottles of champagne as the rest of them started to applaud.”

“So, I’m in?” Emery stood up. “That’s it?”

As everyone started to move the furniture back, Dita slapped her lightly on the shoulder. “Come on, you knew getting in was as easy as sliding off a greasy log backward. They’ve all been talking my ear off about you since I got back.”

Karla and Megan started passing out the limited assortment of drinking vessels that apparently came with the cabin—coffee mugs, a juice glass, and three plastic wineglasses—while Bryson popped the cork on one of the bottles and poured.

“To our new member and friend, Emery. May she always consider Bettles a second home and come back to visit whenever she can.” Bryson raised her mug and the others followed.

“To Emery,” Pasha and a couple of others echoed enthusiastically.

Emery noted that Pasha seemed relaxed and at ease, but kept her distance until time to clink their glasses together. As soon as they did, she backed off and took one of the solo armchairs.

Emery wedged between Dita and Geneva on the couch. “Well, that was pretty painless. I had no idea what kind of questions you might come up with.”

“Got one more surprise.” Bryson reached into a shopping bag beside the coffee table, pulled out a stack of baseball caps, and tossed one to each woman. The caps were navy-blue, with ADLIB tastefully embroidered in white across the front. “Place in Fairbanks does ’em.”

Everyone put theirs on, amid a chorus of approving remarks and several versions of “Thanks, Bryson.”

They chatted for another hour or so as they polished off the champagne, then Dita played the bad guy and suggested they call it a night. Most of them had to get up early to prepare for the photography trip, so few objected. Emery was ready to head back to her room as well. Her joints had stiffened and her muscles were cramping from the long day’s hike. She desperately needed more pain meds.

“Walk me back?” Geneva tucked her arm in Emery’s as they all gathered on the porch for good-byes.

“Sure.” Emery glanced over at Pasha, who was watching them from a few feet away with an unreadable expression.

“See y’all in the morning.” Dita put her hand on Pasha’s back. “You ready for your first big trip?”

“More than ready.” Pasha’s eyes never left Emery’s. “I can’t wait.”

“I’m with you there,” Emery said. “I’m sure it’ll be memorable.” They were using their secret language, half words and half body language/eye contact, again, equally anxious to spend some quality time together.

“Sleep well, everyone.” Pasha fell into step next to Dita and headed off toward the Eidson building as the rest waved good-bye or replied with similar sentiments.

Emery and Geneva veered left, toward the Den. They walked slowly, Geneva’s hand still tucked into the crook of Emery’s arm.

“I’ll miss you while you’re gone,” Geneva said. “Can I reserve the first night you’re back? Ellie will let me cook something special in the kitchen. Maybe we can do a candlelight supper in my room?”

“I’d like that,” Emery replied. “You a good cook?”

“I have many hidden talents.” Geneva’s tone was flirty and playful.

Emery couldn’t help but smile. “I’m sure you do.”

“And you’ll succumb to them. Wait and see.”

Pasha intrigued Emery more, but she couldn’t help but like Geneva a lot as well. She was funny, spirited, and a well-versed flirt, not to mention very compelling physically, and Emery had been impressed with how well she seemed to be taking the news that she would also be dating Pasha. She’d knocked on Geneva’s door last night after her shift to tell her, and Geneva had reacted with a calm, “That’s cool. Pasha’s a great gal
.
” Perhaps Geneva
was
capable of a no-strings affair without repercussions, as long as she knew the score upfront.

As they ascended the final stairs to their rooms, Geneva said, “I’ve been reliving that kiss in Old Bettles. Think I can get a repeat to tide me over until you get back?”