Everything To Prove. Nadia Nichols

salvage the wreckage!

      The commuter flight stopped in Tanana, Ruby and Galena before landing in the Koyukyuk River, dodging several large ice floes and a flock of Canada geese while taxiing to the village dock. Her gear was put out of the plane and for the first time in six years Libby stood in the village of her childhood. Umiak hadn’t changed much. There were a few more houses, a few more junked vehicles, a few more boats drawn up on the gravel bank next to the fish wheels. The place looked bleak and dreary to her, and she felt guilty for feeling that way. This was, after all, where she’d been born. She waited for a few moments, searching for her mother among the faces, some familiar and some not, who had come to see if the plane had brought mail or supplies, but if Umiak hadn’t changed much in her absence, nothing prepared her for her mother’s appearance.

      Libby felt a jolt clear to the bottoms of her feet when she saw how Marie had aged. Fear clenched her up inside and her heart raced.

      Marie came to a stop at the end of the dock. Her hair had gone almost completely white. She had shrunk. This couldn’t be real. Her mother had always been so strong and vital, the anchoring cornerstone of Libby’s existence, always there for her. Weekly phone conversations had perpetuated the myth that her mother was the same as always, that nothing had changed, yet obviously it had. Libby felt the hot prickle of tears beneath her eyelids.

      “Mom?”

      Marie spotted her and her eyes lit up. “Libby?” She came toward her and raised her arms to clasp her in a trembling embrace. “Libby. It’s good to see you. I’m so glad you came. How long can you stay?”

      Libby hugged her mother gently, kissed the velvet of her cheek, slipped her arm around her mother’s frail shoulders and picked up her duffel. “As long as you want me to. I don’t have to go back to Boston.”

      Confused, Marie looked up at her. “But you work there.”

      “Not anymore. Come on. Let’s go home. I have a pretty dress to give you, and lots of stories to tell.”

      Her mother’s dreary little house was exactly the same. Libby could see that Marie had done nothing with the money Libby had sent her every month. No doubt she had put it all in the bank, saving it just in case times got hard because she didn’t realize that her times were always hard. The furniture was shabby, the linoleum worn almost to the plywood underlayment, the cupboards nearly bare. Libby wanted to rage at her mother one moment, then weep the tears of a heartbroken child the next. While her mother made coffee, she paced the confines of the shoe-box house and looked out the windows as if she were a prisoner. She’d been back less than twenty minutes and already couldn’t wait to escape.

      Marie was happy with the brightly colored dress. She went immediately into her room and put it on. She’d lost so much weight the dress hung from her frame and filled Libby with a terrible premonition. “You look beautiful,” Libby said.

      They drank cups of instant coffee with lots of sugar and powdered creamer. Libby told her mother about her internship at Mass General and the prestigious residency she’d been offered, and that she’d turned it down.

      “Was this residency you were offered like what you were doing before, with the dead bodies?” she asked.

      “Yes.”

      “Then I’m glad you didn’t take it. That isn’t what a doctor should be doing. You should be delivering babies and healing people.”

      “Forensic pathology is just as important, Mom. I can help solve the mysteries of a person’s death. I can help solve murders. But if it makes you feel better, I know how to deliver babies and heal people, too. And as long as we’re speaking of doctors, who’s at the clinic now?”

      “Nobody. We have a doctor who comes in once a month. If there is an emergency we go down to Galena, or to Fairbanks if it’s really bad.”

      Libby reached across the table to clasp her mother’s hands. “I want you to fly to Anchorage with me for some tests at the hospital there. You don’t look well. You’ve lost too much weight.”

      “The winters are always hard,” Marie said. “Things will get better. They always do.”

      “We’ll fly out tomorrow. I’ll make reservations at one of the nicest places on the Seward Peninsula. We’ll do some shopping, stay a couple of nights. Please, Mom. It’ll make me feel a whole lot better.”

      “Hospitals are expensive and I don’t need one. Now that you’re home, everything will be okay.”

      “Hospitals are sometimes necessary, and besides, I’m a rich doctor now,” Libby said, wishing with all her heart that it was true. She gave her mother’s hands a gentle squeeze then pushed out of her chair and paced to the small window. She wished she was a rich doctor. Wished she could whisk her mother out of this dark and dreary place and give her the bright, sunny house and easy lifestyle she deserved. Wished she could afford to hire Carson Colman Dodge, who was crude and ill-mannered, but talked as if he knew his stuff. He certainly was expensive. Libby could see a small patch of the river between two other box houses. She watched the occasional ice floe drift past. Soon the salmon would start their run, and some of the villagers would move out to their fish camps. “Mom, is Tukey’s fish wheel still up on the Kikitak?”

      “No. I think it got washed away by high waters two winters ago. Now that Tukey’s dead, I don’t have anyone to make me a new one, but I sure miss fish camp.”

      Libby crossed to her mother and gave her a hug from behind. “Then we’ll go to fish camp, just like the old days. We’ll take the skiff and bring a net and catch enough fish to smoke for the winter. We’ll pick berries when they come ripe and put them up in preserves. But first we’ll go to the hospital in Anchorage. Okay?”

      Her mother nodded with reluctance. “Okay.”

      “Good. I’ll have Susan radio for the plane to come.”

      The fact that her mother relented so easily scared Libby even more. Forget Daniel Frey. Her mother was sick. There was time enough to pay a visit to the man who might have killed her father. She wouldn’t let him kill her mother, too. She could wait a few days more.

      THE MEDICAL TESTS TOOK most of the day, and were conducted on such short notice only because Libby, in her four years of medical school and two years of internship, had learned that the squeaky wheel got the grease. She squeaked loudly once in the emergency room, in professional terms that the doctors took note of. When they discovered she was a resident at Mass General, a slight twist of the truth on Libby’s part, they took very good care of Marie and never again mentioned the medical center for Alaskan natives on the northern fringe of the city. At the end of a very tiring day Libby drove her mother to the waterfront resort in Homer, where they shared a room with a balcony overlooking Kachemak Bay, and where Libby sat until 1:00 a.m. listening to the tide rush in across the mud flats. The test results would take some time, though not as long as usual. Libby had stated in no uncertain terms that she expected some answers when she returned the following afternoon.

      After breakfast the next morning, Marie and Libby half-heartedly browsed the string of shops in Homer, making small talk and walking arm in arm, then drove slowly back to the city where they checked into a hotel not far from the airport. Leaving her mother to a nap after lunch, Libby returned to the hospital. The staff didn’t keep her waiting long. She was ushered into an office by a young resident who took his glasses off and opened the file on his desk, flipping through the pages as if trying to refresh his memory.

      “Your mother has chronic lymphocytic leukemia,” he said with a studious frown. “There’s considerable enlargement of her liver and spleen and she’s moderately anemic. She’s also malnourished, probably because she hasn’t felt much like eating lately. We’d like to start her on an anticancer drug we’ve had good success with. She should feel dramatically better after a couple of treatments, and she can take these drugs at home. She’ll need to have periodic blood tests to monitor the medication levels, but this can be done at the clinic in Galena. That’s close to where she lives, isn’t it?”

      Libby