Before I Let Go
Marieke Nijkamp
To the ones we lost along the way
As the story goes, the town of Lost Creek, Alaska, isn’t named after the eponymous stream. It’s named after its first group of colonial settlers, a handful of adventurers for whom the world didn’t have a place anymore. Lost men, who didn’t belong anywhere else. They set down their roots, stealing land that was never theirs, and carved their home between the mountains and the mines, the hot springs, the river, and the lake, during those long summer days when anything seemed possible.
Then the cold came. And these settlers discovered that they had built their home in the heart of winter. They’d come for new opportunity, but they found that winter is not malleable, and frost settles too. And no matter how hard they tried, they could not escape being lost.
Day One
Midnight Flight
The airplane’s engines rumble. The shades are drawn, and the lights are on low. The few passengers around me listen to music or try to sleep in their uncomfortable seats as we fly toward a harsher winter.
I can’t sleep. I haven’t been able to since the call came. I stare blankly at the seat in front of me, but all I can see is her. Dark curls. Hazel eyes. Big heart. A girl who smiled even when the sun did not rise in the morning, who laughed in the face of darkness, who embraced her nights and cherished her days.
She took my heart and held it safe. She promised to wait for me, with words that echo in my mind and tender touches I can still feel on my skin.
She.
Kyra.
Mine.
Let me tell you a story.
She was my best friend. She was my everything. And I lost her.
Phone Call
“Corey?”
“Mom? I just got back from the gym with Noa, and Eileen gave me your message. What’s wrong? Are you okay? Is it Luke? What happened?”
“Luke’s all right, honey. But I got a call this morning. I—I wanted you to hear it from me…”
“A call?”
“Lynda—Mrs. Henderson. Something happened in Lost Creek.”
“Kyra? Did she have an episode? Did she run away again?”
“No, it’s not that. It’s… She…”
“Mom, tell me. Please.”
“Corey, I’m sorry.”
“Mom, are you crying?”
“No one knows quite what happened, but they think she wandered across the lake and found a weak spot. They found her under the ice.”
“Wait—what?”
“She drowned. Kyra’s d—”
“No.”
“Corey…”
“No. No.”
“Corey, sweetheart, listen to me.”
“No. I don’t want to hear this. I don’t believe you.”
“Corey—Corey. Slow breaths. Listen to me. I spoke to your headmistress. Come home.”
“No.”
“You’re hurting—”
“Kyra can’t be dead. She promised to wait for me. She knows I’m coming to visit. She can’t be dead.”
“Lynda thinks—”
“It’s the first week of January! The lake should be frozen solid! It’s not possible.”
“Sheriff Flynn is investigating, but nothing suggests that her death was suspicious. Honey, Lynda thinks Kyra went looking for a crack in the ice.”
“No, no, no.”
“Kyra was ill. They tried to help her, but sometimes there’s nothing anyone can do.”
“I shouldn’t have left her. I never even replied to her last letters.”
“Oh, Corey.”
“I need to go to Lost, Mom. I promised I’d go back to her. I promised.”
“Come here first. Come home. I know I worked a lot of overtime at the hospital over the holidays, but come home. We’ll postpone your trip and spend time together, just the three of us.”
“I’d like that. I would, Mom. But I can’t not go. Can I still stay with the Hendersons?”
“Yes, but—”
“I need to go home-home, Mom. I’m sorry.”
“I never knew, between the two of you girls, who was more headstrong. Lynda said the school will host a memorial service next week. And Joe found a handwritten letter to you in her room. He thought having it might help. I’ll forward you his email with the photo.”
“Thanks.”
“Honey, everyone will understand if you want to cancel your trip.”
“I’ll be there. I want to go. I need to go.”
Kyra needs me.
Letter from Kyra to Corey unsent
A bonfire lights the town square to mark the longest night. Remember how we thought that the world would be a happier place with more celebrations? I’m not sure that’s true. I’m not sure I’m happier.
Someone left me salmonberries and flowers this morning. People do that a lot these days. Where the fruit and the flowers come from, I don’t know. Jan’s grocery store doesn’t sell them. Yet here they are.
How is life outside the boundaries of endless time? Are you enjoying your classes at St. James? Are you as happy as I thought you would be?
I hope you are. I know you never wanted to escape, but I’m glad you did. I can’t wait to escape too. I’m trying so hard to wait for you. But it’s hard, Cor. Lost is emptier now that you’re gone. And I’m lonelier. I’m less without you, and Lost wants more. I don’t remember the last time I slept. I don’t remember the last time I smiled. The night is not dark enough. The stars you love still whisper their secrets, but sometimes I think I know too much. Around here, everyone wants answers, but I am the only one with questions.
I miss you.
I miss the dark nights.
I miss the dawn.
I miss you.
And I’m sorry.
—Kyra
A Land of Gold and Loneliness
The airport is quiet, sterile. This early in the morning, the few people in the terminal are lost in predawn slumber, and I am lost too. I’ve been traveling for thirteen hours. Three thousand miles. I settle on the floor in front of the tall glass windows as Alaska wakes up to another day with scarce sunlight. I watch planes taxi to and from the runways.
In the reflection of the window, a young girl stares at me. She sits a few seats down, her dress bright against the darkness outside and the gray of the terminal. Although she can’t be more than eight or nine, even younger than my brother, I don’t see anyone with her. The traveler to her left rests his head against his backpack, but he keeps shifting, as if in a restless sleep. An elderly couple reads a day-old newspaper. And the girl’s eyes meet mine.
She holds a handful of flowers in front of her green dress. The petals are a familiar magenta, and she picks them off one at a time.
Salmonberries don’t grow here, not at an airport on the outskirts of a city. They’re not the kind of flower you’d find at a florist’s shop, and they certainly don’t bloom in January. The girl holds flowers that shouldn’t be. From this distance, I shouldn’t be able to hear what she’s saying either, but I do, as clearly as if she were standing next to me.
Endless day, endless night, come to set your heart alight.
With each cadence, she plucks off another petal.
At the end of her tune, she smiles.
My heart stutters. I clamber to my feet and turn to get a better look at her. But the waiting area is nearly empty. I spot the backpacker. The elderly couple. A family with twin boys. There’s no sign of the girl, as if she’d only existed in the window’s reflection.
Except that flower petals lie scattered across the floor, and her voice still swirls around me, singing the song that Kyra sang to me first.
Endless night, endless day, come to steal your soul away.
? ? ?
The fifth and final leg of the trip gets me going. I cling to my coffee, the deception of daylight, and a combination of restlessness and homesickness. I transfer to a small floatplane that will fly me northwest, to Lost Creek, where I’ll stay for the next five days, until another plane can bring me back here. Cramming my backpack into the seat next to me, I buckle up behind the pilot. I nod to him, but from the moment we take off, my forehead is glued to the window.