any reserve energy getting to know Sue Spires.
After a good eight hours’ rest and a huge breakfast, however, she wanted to discover all Alaska could offer. She’d hoped Dita Eidson could schedule a custom trip to fill the next few days until her photography expedition. Ordinarily she loved taking off by herself, but she’d read enough about Alaska to know newcomers shouldn’t strike off alone.
Right now, she’d check out Bettles and the nearby native village of Evansville, though that should take only a couple of hours. From the air, the two adjacent settlements looked miniscule, merely some clustered buildings and the mountains looming beyond. Probably totaled less than two square miles. But this area would serve as her home between trips, so she wanted to see what was available and perhaps meet some locals.
She’d thought about querying the woman at the outfitter’s office, maybe ask some questions about her upcoming trips. But her odd reception made her wary of lingering.
Since her accident, little escaped Emery’s attention. In the past, she’d certainly experienced moments of increased awareness of her surroundings, but only when she traveled to a new foreign locale. And she focused only on details that interested her—architectural marvels, unusual landscapes, eclectic costumes and food, a striking or unusual passerby.
But months of forced rehabilitative confinement had changed all that. She’d had long hours to memorize every sight, sound, and smell of her hospital room, the rehab area, and the staff who attended her. Even in a half-sleep, she could tell from the cadence of the mop in the hall which custodian was working. She knew the perfumes each nurse favored, could distinguish the gait and squeak of each pair of rubber-soled shoes, and even had gleaned some knowledge of her doctors’ favorite foods. Her surgeon ate a lot of garlic and onions, her Korean orthopedist frequently reeked of kimchi, and one of the young interns who made evening rounds lived on pepperoni pizza.
Now she noted everything. As she slowly traversed the streets of Bettles, she studied the people she met, initiating a greeting of some sort if someone didn’t immediately offer one—and they usually did. Often just a wave or good morning, but a few lingered when she slowed and exchanged a few words, introducing themselves or welcoming her to town and asking where she was from. To the latter, she always replied, “I’m from here, for now,” which usually elicited a grin. It took a special kind of person to live in Alaska—one who possessed daring, a sense of adventure, and a rugged individualism. She suspected they could easily appreciate her vagabond reply.
After seeing all sorts of people the world over in a different light, with increased awareness, she possessed new tools when reflecting on strangers who crossed her path: assessing their body language, odor, subtle expressions, tone of voice, vocabulary, and more. Recently, she could frequently detect a lie or a false front.
Doubtless she’d badly flustered the woman in the outfitter’s office, and she hadn’t merely been surprised. She’d looked like she’d seen a ghost. Her hands trembled, she breathed rapidly, and her eyes remained wide in stunned shock too long. The woman seemed almost to recognize her, but she would swear they’d never formally met.
She did look familiar, but it was because she’d been among the women in the corner booth at the Den last night. Come to think of it, she’d looked Emery’s way longer than normal. Did she think even then that she knew me? If so, why didn’t she say something?
And the woman had ogled her so blatantly, even though startled, her gaze appreciative. Emery had certainly received similar scrutiny before, from both men and women. But this time the woman hadn’t offered her number or even her name. She hadn’t seemed anxious for Emery to stick around.
Something simmered in that woman, a lot more happening
After a good eight hours’ rest and a huge breakfast, however, she wanted to discover all Alaska could offer. She’d hoped Dita Eidson could schedule a custom trip to fill the next few days until her photography expedition. Ordinarily she loved taking off by herself, but she’d read enough about Alaska to know newcomers shouldn’t strike off alone.
Right now, she’d check out Bettles and the nearby native village of Evansville, though that should take only a couple of hours. From the air, the two adjacent settlements looked miniscule, merely some clustered buildings and the mountains looming beyond. Probably totaled less than two square miles. But this area would serve as her home between trips, so she wanted to see what was available and perhaps meet some locals.
She’d thought about querying the woman at the outfitter’s office, maybe ask some questions about her upcoming trips. But her odd reception made her wary of lingering.
Since her accident, little escaped Emery’s attention. In the past, she’d certainly experienced moments of increased awareness of her surroundings, but only when she traveled to a new foreign locale. And she focused only on details that interested her—architectural marvels, unusual landscapes, eclectic costumes and food, a striking or unusual passerby.
But months of forced rehabilitative confinement had changed all that. She’d had long hours to memorize every sight, sound, and smell of her hospital room, the rehab area, and the staff who attended her. Even in a half-sleep, she could tell from the cadence of the mop in the hall which custodian was working. She knew the perfumes each nurse favored, could distinguish the gait and squeak of each pair of rubber-soled shoes, and even had gleaned some knowledge of her doctors’ favorite foods. Her surgeon ate a lot of garlic and onions, her Korean orthopedist frequently reeked of kimchi, and one of the young interns who made evening rounds lived on pepperoni pizza.
Now she noted everything. As she slowly traversed the streets of Bettles, she studied the people she met, initiating a greeting of some sort if someone didn’t immediately offer one—and they usually did. Often just a wave or good morning, but a few lingered when she slowed and exchanged a few words, introducing themselves or welcoming her to town and asking where she was from. To the latter, she always replied, “I’m from here, for now,” which usually elicited a grin. It took a special kind of person to live in Alaska—one who possessed daring, a sense of adventure, and a rugged individualism. She suspected they could easily appreciate her vagabond reply.
After seeing all sorts of people the world over in a different light, with increased awareness, she possessed new tools when reflecting on strangers who crossed her path: assessing their body language, odor, subtle expressions, tone of voice, vocabulary, and more. Recently, she could frequently detect a lie or a false front.
Doubtless she’d badly flustered the woman in the outfitter’s office, and she hadn’t merely been surprised. She’d looked like she’d seen a ghost. Her hands trembled, she breathed rapidly, and her eyes remained wide in stunned shock too long. The woman seemed almost to recognize her, but she would swear they’d never formally met.
She did look familiar, but it was because she’d been among the women in the corner booth at the Den last night. Come to think of it, she’d looked Emery’s way longer than normal. Did she think even then that she knew me? If so, why didn’t she say something?
And the woman had ogled her so blatantly, even though startled, her gaze appreciative. Emery had certainly received similar scrutiny before, from both men and women. But this time the woman hadn’t offered her number or even her name. She hadn’t seemed anxious for Emery to stick around.
Something simmered in that woman, a lot more happening
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