Warming Trend by Karin Kallmaker Read Free Book Online Page A

climate that produced strong, vibrant beauty, she had never compared favorably.
    Yanking a thick shepherd’s sweater over her head she tried to get her hair to look as if she cared, and finally bundled the shoulder-length mess into a warm fleece beanie that had matched her eyes before repeated trips through the laundry. Liners of her favorite silk and cotton blend thermals went on before the dark-washed jeans. She was just pulling on wicking thermal socks when she heard a car in the driveway.
    “I have an insulated tarp, a blanket and a thermal power source in the truck,” Ani said promptly. She’d changed into a thick gray flannel shirt and a body-hugging lined vest of vivid magenta.
    Eve stood aside to let her into the house. “We need provisions, don’t you think?”
    “I can tell you’re a cook.” In spite of heavy boots, Ani’s tread was still light.
    “Chef.” Eve led the way to the kitchen, glad there was no sign of the latest ant outbreak around the front door, and that she’d hurriedly stuffed the stack of newspapers that collected in the entryway into the recycling.
    “Chef, sorry. Can I help with the provisions?”
    “Yes.” Eve put Ani to work mashing and bashing dates and almonds together with chocolate chips and a small amount of simple syrup, while she made a Thermos full of hot chocolate. The two of them finished by spreading her mixture onto graham crackers.
    “The perfect energy food,” Ani pronounced. “My dad would have approved.”
    “When did he pass on?”
    “Last year. I still think about him a lot. My mom died when I was eight and so it was him and me.”
    “I’m sorry.” Eve wrapped the graham sandwiches in neat folds of wax paper. “I’m lucky, I guess. My folks are alive and well, and living in Oregon. The winters got too hard. I’ve a brother who lives in Juneau. I don’t seem him often he’s Pentecostal, not hateful to me or anything, but…not a lot to talk about over dinner since I came out.”
    Ani took charge of the little picnic basket when Eve was done adding napkins, water and wedges of leftover pizza. She liked that Ani hadn’t questioned the necessity. In spite of their knowing better, every year a couple of students died for lack of water and food. Ice fog, a freak storm shelter could be twenty feet away and invisible. Nature in these parts showed how evolution worked: the foolish didn’t survive.
    “Thank you, this will be delicious later.”
    “You’re welcome.” Eve locked the front door behind them. “Do you do this often?”
    “Only in summer. The Bycalls aren’t suicidal. We know to come in when the temperature gets below zero.”
    “Such common sense.” She followed Ani into the dimming sunshine of the long Alaska day, out to an old double-cab truck. Just before they reached it, the vehicle rocked violently and something really large loomed in the passenger window. Ani opened the door and the something large leapt to the ground near Ani. A fierce shaking followed, and Eve was surprised the ground didn’t shudder under her feet. “Who’s this?”
    “This is Tonk.”
    “Tonk.” She held out a hand and waited patiently to be sniffed. Apparently, she smelled yummy enough, because the Newfoundland promptly nudged her hand aside and bumped her in the hip with a firm nose.
    “Oh, Tonk likes you.”
    “I’m honored.” She looked at the truck, the dog, then Ani. “Is there room for all three of us in there?”
    Ani grinned and gestured to Tonk. “In with you.”
    Tonk promptly settled onto the rear seating bench.
    Eve peered skeptically. Ani gestured and repeated, “In with you.”
    Smiling, she climbed into the truck, saw that Tonk did indeed fit neatly in the back of the cab. She hesitated putting her basket of goodies back there, though. “Are you sure he won’t eat it?”
    “Tonk knows people food isn’t his.” Ani dug under the seat and came up with a wrapped dog treat. “Put this in there, too, and he’ll protect that basket