Beth Carpenter - The Alaskan Catch

“Sorry. I usually don’t monopolize the conversation like this. I’m sure I’m boring you.”

“No, you’re not. I had no idea how much engineering went into drilling oil wells. What happens after the well test?”

“If it’s good, we put the well on production. If not, we try to figure out why and fix it. But that’s enough about my work. Tell me what you do.”

“I worked in the office for my dad’s business, an equipment and tool rental company.”

“Worked?”

She shrugged. “I don’t work there anymore. I have my degree in math, as a teacher. I really loved being in the classroom during my student teaching, but Dad wanted me in the business, so I did that instead. It was okay, but I plan to teach now.”

So, her father insisted on choosing her career. Controlling. Maybe that’s what drove Chris away. The waiter came to take their order. “Another beer?”

Dana shook her head. “I’m still on this one.”

“I’ll have a root beer.” Once the waiter left, Sam turned back to Dana. “So, do you have a teaching job lined up?”

She gave a little head shake. “I’ll need to take some courses to get recertified. But tell me more about Alaska. Did you grow up in Anchorage?”

Sam nodded. “I was born in Fairbanks, but we moved here when I was in elementary school.”

“What is Fairbanks like?”

“Smaller than Anchorage. Inland, on the Chena River, so warmer in summer, much colder in the winter. I went to the University of Alaska there.”

“Is it as green as Anchorage?”

“It’s nice, at least when the temperature’s above zero. Lots of cottonwoods growing along the river. It looks like a summer snow there sometimes when the trees are shedding.”

“We have cottonwoods in Kansas, too, but it’s not this green and rugged. You’re so lucky to be a Native Alaskan.”

“I am, although, it comes with its own set of challenges. Sometimes people make assumptions.”

“Challenges.” She looked puzzled, but then her eyes widened. “Oh, because you’re Native American... I only meant you were born in Alaska.”

“Oh.” Sam looked down at the table. “Sorry.”

“No, don’t be. So you’re an Alaska Native?”

“One-quarter Inupiat.” At her blank expression, he grinned. “Eskimo.”

“Eskimo, really?” A slow smile spread across her face. “I think that’s pretty cool. Do you have a lot of special traditions or food or anything?”

He shook his head. “Not me, personally. It was on my dad’s side and I never knew him. My mom wasn’t Native, so I don’t know much about it.”

The waiter returned with his root beer. He noticed Dana looking at it thoughtfully. Fine. She might as well know up front he limited himself to one alcoholic drink a day. Living with his mother’s alcoholism had prompted him to set strict boundaries for himself.

“I get that about people’s assumptions.” Dana sighed. “Some of the people I worked with assumed the boss’s daughter was just doing some make-work job and didn’t know anything about the business. When Dad got sick, I noticed the manager wasn’t keeping the parts inventory up-to-date, but he wouldn’t listen to me. I had to have Dad call him to get him moving.”

“That must have been frustrating. At least in my job I have the authority to get things done.” Sam took a swig of his root beer. How did the conversation get so personal? He never whined like this. Time to lighten up.

He smiled at Dana. “So, I’ve never been to Kansas. What’s it like there?”

She told him about the town where she lived, mostly funny stories about her and Chris growing up together. It sounded like a television-worthy childhood, growing up in an old Victorian home with a big lawn.

“It was about ninety-five that day, and Chris decided he didn’t want to mow the grass. He tied a rope onto a tree in the yard and hitched up the lawn mower to it. Then he strapped the levers down and went in the house for a drink while the lawn mowed itself. His theory was that the rope would wind around the tree getting shorter at each pass until it reached the tree, and he would just have to do the edges.”

From the twinkle in her eyes, Sam could see disaster written all over this story. “So what happened?”

“Somehow, the mower ran over the rope and cut it. By the time Chris came outside to check on it, it was halfway down the block and had mowed through six neighbors’ flower beds. He was grounded for a month.”

Sam laughed. “I’m guessing he wasn’t too popular with the neighbors, either.”

“Not so much.”

The Thai chicken pizza arrived. Dana told him a few more stories while they ate. It was obvious she’d adored her older brother when they were growing up. What could have gone so wrong with his father that Chris would completely abandon his life and his sister? Sam had never pried into Chris’s previous life, but he was starting to wish he had. If he’d been lucky enough to have a sister, he couldn’t imagine leaving her behind.

A familiar face appeared behind Dana’s shoulder. Marge Hansen, Ursula’s closest neighbor and best friend. She waved and came over to their table. “Hello, Sam.”

“Hi, Marge. Dana, this is Marge Hansen. Marge, you remember my roommate, Chris? This is his sister, Dana Allen.”

“Of course I remember Chris. The two of you thawed my pipes when we had that early cold snap winter before last. I’m glad to meet you, Dana.”

“You, too. Actually, I’m Dana Raynott.” Sam blinked. Did he hear correctly? Dana extended her hand and smiled at Marge. They chatted for a few minutes, fortunately not noticing that Sam had lapsed into stunned silence.

Marge turned back to Sam. “Goodbye, Sam. I’ll tell your auntie I saw you.”

Once Marge left, Dana turned back and helped herself to another slice of pizza. “She seems nice.”

“Your last name is Raynott?” Sam had to be sure.

“Yes.” She raised her eyebrows at his tone.

“R-A-Y-N-O-T-T?”

“Right.”

“But you’re Chris’s sister. His name is Allen.” He knew he sounded like a simpleton, but he couldn’t seem to grasp what was happening.

“Allen was Chris’s middle name. Apparently, he changed it legally somewhere along the way. I don’t know why.”

“So Chris was a Raynott, too?”

She laughed. “Yeah. Why is that so unbelievable?”

“It’s an unusual name.”

“I know. I’ve never met anyone else with the same name. Why? Do you know another Raynott?”

Sam shook his head. “No. Just caught me by surprise, I guess. So tell me the rest of the story about Chris’s football career.”

Dana laughed. “It was over in the fifth grade. The first day of practice, Chris played receiver. He caught the ball, but when he turned around this two-hundred-pound twelve-year-old caught him and...”

Sam nodded and smiled in all the right places, but his head was spinning. Raynott. There had to be a connection. But he’d known Chris for years and years. If anyone had asked him yesterday, he’d have said he would trust Chris with his life. And all that time, Chris had never let on that he was one of the dreaded Raynotts. It couldn’t be an accident.

Dana kept chatting away. Whatever the big secret was, he’d lay odds she wasn’t in on it. Her panic when he arrived in the middle of the night was no act, and she was perfectly straightforward when she introduced herself to Marge. No, Dana didn’t know. But once Chris got home, he was going to have some major explaining to do.

She trailed off as she finished the story. “Sam, is everything all right?”

“Huh? Oh, fine. Sorry. I was just thinking of something I need to check into.”

“Anything I can help you with?”