I’ve never seen her in person; all I have are the pictures she sends me. We haven’t video chatted or any of the things that long-distance couples would normally do. I could have made the effort, I guess, but I would have had to drive into town and borrowed the hotel’s internet. I don’t want Jason and Mary Blum—the hotel owners—to know what I’m doing. They would have had my business spread all over town.
It’s not that I’m ashamed of it; apparently a lot of men here have gone similar routes. That said, until I know if this is going to work out, I’d rather not have the entire town taking bets on it.
I’ve heard her voice, of course. It’s soft, lyrical almost, and when she laughs I can feel it hit me deep down. She’s arriving tomorrow morning. I can’t take off work, but I arranged for Nate’s wife, Page, to pick her up and bring her to the cabin. I had mailed her a key to my cabin earlier. She’ll be here when I get home tomorrow.
Tomorrow I will finally hold Carly in my arms.
Chapter Two
Carly
“Are you sure you don’t need anything else?” Page asks from the door. She’s been very nice. More than nice, if you take into consideration I’m not who she thought I’d be.
“I’m good, just exhausted. It’s been a long trip,” I tell her, and that part at least is not a lie.
She was standing at the dock waiting as my seaplane stopped. I didn’t realize they had actual planes that were made to land and take off on water. It was a bumpy ride and, though the mountains of Alaska are extremely beautiful, I was scared to death. I’ve never been on a plane. The large jet I flew into Juneau on was scary enough, but the small seaplane was terrifying. If this blows up in my face, as I imagine it will, I’m not sure how I will get back home to Cranville, Georgia.
Home. If you can call it that. I lived in a trailer park in Cranville with a man who stayed drunk and was beginning to look at me as much more than his stepdaughter. I was desperate to escape. As a waitress in Cranville, I didn’t get paid minimum wage; I was paid a flat rate and got to keep my tips. In theory that would have been great, but Cranville isn’t filled with big tippers. Most tip nothing at all, and those that do might throw a spare dollar or so down. I held down two jobs to try and make ends meet—they never did. Still, I did okay. I managed to scrimp and save for months and finally I had enough to start over and rent a place until I found a job in another state.
Then one night, four months ago, I was left devastated. I’d just finished working sixteen hours straight. I came home and crashed. I had worked so much overtime that week, I was worn out. That’s what led me to make my big mistake. I locked my bedroom door, but I put my purse on my nightstand beside me instead of hiding it in the closet. When I woke up the next morning, my wallet was empty and my stepfather was nowhere to be seen.
It would have been okay, I could have recovered, but my purse contained every bit of the money I was saving. I’d withdrawn it all from the bank on my lunch hour earlier that day. I was planning on leaving the next day and I wanted to make sure everything was packed up, closed out and ready. That was my second mistake. If I had just waited until I was heading out of town, my stepfather would have never had the chance to take my money. I had two thousand dollars and he took every single dime of it.
That was four months ago, and I don’t know where he went. All I know is that I hope I never see him again. I lived in Cranville alone for four months—struggling. Struggling because my stepfather left behind a mountain of debt. Debt I tried to manage because I was left with no choice. Since he drained my account, it was a struggle for me to keep electricity. A co-worker told me about Alaskan men. I won’t lie. I was lonely, but in my life there was no room for a man. I told her she was crazy—after all, a man was the reason I was in such dire straits.
Then, one night last month, I broke down in front of her. They were going to repo the trailer I was living in. They were coming out to cut the power and I had made a grand total of twenty bucks in tips for the night. That’s when she confessed that she was writing some dude in Alaska twice a month—pretending to be me. I thought she was insane. I was mad, hurt and a million other things that I couldn’t find the words to describe. I will admit, though, that there was a part of me that was intrigued, even excited. I read through the letters and I began to really like the man. He was straight and to the point, gruff almost. Yet, as he began talking about his love for Alaska, and what he wanted out of life, I began to see a side to him that I really liked. I got the feeling it was a side he didn’t show a lot and I liked that he would let himself be vulnerable in his letters.