She extends her foot, and I apply the paste with light touches, taking care not to press the tender areas.
“Your mother sounds remarkable,” she says, watching my hands work.
“She was extraordinary.” The ‘was’ hung in the air for a moment. “She taught all of us her wilderness knowledge, but each of us took to different parts of it. Kane, the oldest, runs a commercial fishing troller—supplies most of the county and probably half the restaurants in Juneau. Nash became the hunting guide. The twins, Rhys and Reid, handle the dock and the deep-sea charters. Eliza, my little sister, followed in Mom’s footsteps as a teacher, though she’s home full-time now with her child. I was always the plant kid.”
“My grandmother was the same way,” Lena says, her voice low. “She could look at a hillside and name every growing thing on it.”
I glance up, nodding. “She taught you well.”
“Some.” Her voice grows guarded. “She made the best stew—wild onions and these little roots she’d dig up. I don’t remember what they were called.”
I wrap her ankle with strips of clean cloth, securing the willow poultice. “Some of that knowledge must be in your blood, then. That’s a good heritage to have.”
“I suppose it is.”
“Now we need to prepare the tea,” I say, changing subjects. “The bark needs to steep. The flavor isn’t much better than over-the-counter pills, but it works equally well.”
She makes a face.
“Doctor’s orders,” I add.
A small smile touches her lips. “Are you a doctor now?”
“In the wilderness, I’m close enough to one.” I hand her the prepared bark chips to chew while I fetch water to boil on the woodstove. When I return, she’s making a sour face but working the bark between her teeth.
“It’s bitter,” she says.
“Medicine often is,” I reply.
Around us, the cabin starts to wake up—grumbles from sleeping bags, complaints about stiff backs and the cold floor. Elliott cuts through the noise, barking out ideas for the day’s shoot.
I pour hot water over prepared bark in a metal cup and bring it back to Lena. “Elliot wants to capture your struggle with the injury,” I say. “Talking about the best angle for sympathy.”
“Of course he does.” A bitter edge sharpens her voice. “Suffering sells to viewers.”
“You don’t have to give him what he wants.”
She lifts her head, a question in her eyes.
“Your ankle needs rest. Forcing you to hike on it would make it worse. Better if you stay here in the cabin while I take the crew ahead to scout the trail. We would come back for you tomorrow when the swelling has gone down.” I hand her the steaming cup.
“He’ll never agree to that,” she says. “The whole point is getting footage of me suffering.”
“Let me worry about dealing with Elliott.”
Something in my tone makes her study my face. “Why are you helping me so much?”
The question catches me off guard. Why am I? Two days ago, I’d seen her as nothing but a spoiled actress playing at wilderness adventure. Now... “Because you’re trying harder than most would in your situation,” I say at last. “Few people would keep going after what you’ve been through these past few days.”
“I haven’t been through anything compared to a real survivalist.”
“That’s my point. You’re not trained for this kind of expedition, but you’re still putting one foot in front of the other. That takes courage, and I respect that.”
She looks down at the willow paste on her ankle, then back at me. “I’m so hungry I could eat pinecones right now.”
The abrupt change of subject startles a laugh out of me. “It might come to that, but let’s try something more digestible first.” I reach into my pack and pull out an emergency ration bar. “This contains nuts, dried fruit, and honey. No cameras are watching us right now.”
She hesitates, then takes it, turning the package over in her hands. “Why does Elliott’s approval matter so much to you?” I ask as she unwraps it.
