Broken Trails

Lainey’s weariness rushed away at the insult. “A rookie, huh?” she demanded, sitting up. Before Scotch could reply, Lainey had taken their cups and set both on the table. Her fingers unerringly found the woman’s ribs, and she tickled her. “I seem to remember you eating snow a few weeks ago in that sprint in Wasilla!”

Scotch recoiled from Lainey, curling her long limbs to avoid the attack, laughing. “No! That wasn’t me. That was someone else. Stop!”

“Hah! Don got photos. Admit it or I’ll make sure the next article Cognizance runs will have your snow covered butt plastered all over it.”

“All right! All right! I admit it!” Lainey stopped tickling and Scotch slumped in relief.

She sprawled across the couch with Lainey on top of her. As she caught her breath, they adjusted themselves into a more comfortable position.

“That was mean.”

Lainey grinned, eyes closed. “Journalism is a brutal world, my dear. You’ve got to learn to swim with the sharks.”

Beneath her, Scotch chuckled and yawned. “I think I’m going to fall asleep right here.”

“Nothing wrong with that,” Lainey murmured. She sighed in pleasure as Scotch wrapped her arms around her, turning until they lay on their sides.

“That’s good, because I don’t think I can move any more.”

“Shhh, go to sleep,” Lainey whispered.

The following afternoon Scotch and Lainey wandered down the path, hand in hand.

“I don’t know how you didn’t get a crick in your neck, sleeping on the couch like that.”

Scotch laughed and squeezed her hand. “I could say the same about you.”

“I had a nice soft pillow,” Lainey said, a smile on her face. They continued walking. “I can’t believe we slept so late. Everybody’s going to be ticked off that we didn’t feed the dogs this morning.”

“Naw. You always get a day off after a big race. Next month it’ll be you and Rye lounging about while the rest of us slave away.”

They rounded a bend in the path, coming into sight of the yard. Lainey tried to release Scotch’s hand, offering discretion in dealing with her family, but Scotch held tight and winked at her.

They had never discussed their relationship beyond the need to concentrate on the Iditarod. The longer things went, the less likely it seemed that Scotch was only now realizing her sexual orientation. Nothing Lainey said or did startled Scotch; no reference to obvious gay topics befuddled her, no flirtatious remark or action caused more than the expected blush of anticipation. When they were out among people, which was seldom due to the nature of their training, Scotch did seem more interested in watching women than men, but she approached both with the same confident skill.

Training the dogs was a full time adventure, and Lainey had found little time to open a conversation on Scotch’s experiences with women. When the time did present itself, as it had last night, she was more inclined to savor the moment than miss an opportunity to cuddle. She supposed that as soon as the Iditarod was over, the two of them would have to sit down and discuss things in detail. If they were to have more than just a fling, certain things had to be figured out.

Lainey wondered if Scotch had said anything to her parents. Neither seemed any more or less friendly with her, but surely one of them had figured out their daughter’s friendship with her had grown a bit more intense. Did Scotch know she was a lesbian before Lainey came along? Did her parents know? The whole situation was confusing. Lainey had known women who were blatantly out of the closet; some had accepting families, but most did not. The Fullers did not fall into either category.

Howry came into view, pulling a plastic children’s sled piled with packages. It had to weigh a lot, for he had removed his parka and was bent over in exertion. He spotted them and stopped. “About time you two got up. We’ve got a meat delivery out front. All hands on deck.”

Scotch came to rigid attention and saluted him. “Yes, sir!”

He wiped sweat from his forehead and snorted at her. “Get going, you two. You’ve slacked enough today.”

“But we haven’t even had breakfast,” Lainey complained to him, her words cut short as Scotch yanked her along.

“It’s almost lunch time,” she reminded Lainey, walking past the back deck and around the side of the main cabin. “And I seem to recall you having a toasted cheese sandwich an hour ago.”

Lainey grinned, lowering her voice. “Well, he didn’t know that.” She laughed with Scotch, who raised their linked hands to kiss hers.

Irish hustled past with another sled, dragging it behind her with both hands. Her load was smaller, but she put as much effort into it as Howry. “About time,” she grumbled without stopping.

They came around the cabin. “Oh. My. God.” Lainey stared at a large meat truck in the parking area of the circular drive. Three men, the driver and two helpers, were halfway through the process of emptying its entire contents onto the snowy ground. Thom stood by with a clipboard, making check marks on it as items came off the truck. Rye, Irish, Miguel and Howry then took each sack of meat and carted off toward the kennel. “Are we getting all of that?” she asked Scotch.

“Yup,” she answered cheerfully. “And then some. We’ll each be using about nine hundred pounds apiece. Of course that doesn’t count dry or canned food and rice. Come on.” She finally released Lainey’s hand and strode forward, calling and waving to the delivery men.

Three days later, Lainey huddled over two cookers. One boiled water in which a plastic bag of beef stroganoff heated for her lunch. The other carried a quart of water, a pound of lamb, and a half pound of fat. Nearby, a ration of dry dog chow sat in readiness. The dogs had already eaten, and they lay on the line, curled up to sleep while they could. She had already examined each of them for stress and strains, fed them, and released their neck lines to ensure their comfort. The batch of food she made now would go into the cooler she carried so that it would be ready for their next stop. She had to be forty or so miles from the kennel. Somewhere out here, Scotch was doing similar chores. Her team was faster and more experienced, though. Chances were good she was at least another five or ten miles away.

Despite being alone in the wilderness, miles from civilization, Lainey smiled. She could see the draw of long distant racing now. Only the hardiest of souls, those not afraid to be by themselves for extensive periods of time, could attempt the solitude. Lainey had heard many stories about newcomers who arrived in Alaska, determined to live a rustic life, to build a cabin in the wilds and live off the land. A great many never succeeded, the constant silence and darkness of winter too hard to bear. Not everyone could live in their heads without going crazy, and many soon fled the country for civilization.

Lainey would not have been able to survive had she decided on this course a few years ago. She had turned to the bottle to drown the grisly memories of her career, to silence the questions of right and wrong that inevitably came up as she photographed the latest atrocity by some dictator. Her alcoholism was a release from responsibility, enabling her to witness the shit man heaped upon man and ignore her natural human desire to change things for the better.

When she had admitted her problem and gone into a twelve step program, she had learned so much about herself - not merely her weaknesses, but the strengths she carried, as well. With the support of friends and sponsors, she cleaned up her act, examined her life, and strove to make changes. For the most part, she succeeded. There were obstacles and stumbling points along the way, but she kept her feet, kept listening to her inner voice rather than try to smother it with something else.