Nitz shook her head. “Nope, I didn’t give him a chance. I had seen him angry before, but never that angry. I decided to get the hell out of there, so I went to my room, loaded some clothes into a backpack, and let myself out through my bedroom window. I’d gotten pretty adept at that by then,” she added with a grin.
“Did Chris know about any of this—the pregnancy test, I mean?”
Again Nitz shook her head. “He was at work that night. I knew he couldn’t talk on the phone, so I left a message saying I needed to talk to him. He never called me back.”
“He had no idea you were pregnant?”
“I don’t think so.”
“What happened then?”
“I went to his place, expecting Chris to turn up there as soon as he got off shift, but he didn’t. I waited around as long as I could, but it was freezing cold. Finally I left another message. Then, since I couldn’t very well go back home, I walked out to the highway and caught a ride to Anchorage.”
“You hitchhiked from Homer to Anchorage?” I demanded in disbelief. “In the middle of the night?”
“And in the snow,” she added.
“How far is it from here to there?”
“Four and a half hours, give or take. It turns out that the guy who gave me a ride was someone I knew from school, so it wasn’t like I rode with a complete stranger. He gave me a ride to Aunt Penny and Uncle Wally’s place and dropped me off there.”
“And they are?”
“Penny and Wally Olmstead,” Danitza explained. “Penny is my mother’s younger sister. My mom always claimed that Penny was her mother’s ‘change of life baby,’ and the two of them were fifteen years apart. Penny’s only eight years older than I am, so as I was growing up, she was more like an older sister to me than she was an aunt. When I showed up on her doorstep early the next morning and told them what had happened, she and her new husband took me in. I stayed with them for the next five years.
“They’d never had any kids of their own, but once James was born, they looked after him while I went back to school. Uncle Wally was a counselor at West Anchorage High. He helped me get my GED and managed to find a scholarship that allowed me to enroll in the nursing program at the UAA—the University of Alaska Anchorage. I worked while I was going to school, of course, but I never would have been able to manage on my own without their help.”
“Did you keep reaching out to Chris?”
Danitza nodded. “I kept calling his number and texting him, too, but I never heard back from him. Eventually I got a recorded message that the number was no longer in service.”
“So you’re saying Chris did have a cell phone?”
Danitza nodded. “He couldn’t afford either an iPhone or a calling plan, so I gave him what they call a burner for his birthday and paid for it out of my allowance.”
As a kid I never had the luxury of being given an allowance. My mother couldn’t afford it. If Danitza’s allowance had been generous enough that she could afford to provide her boyfriend with a cell phone, she had grown up in far more luxurious circumstances than I, and I respected her that much more for walking away from all that in order to keep her child. And the fact that Chris had been in possession of a phone made me feel as though we were making progress. Maybe even years after the fact, there might be a way to track his phone’s location.
“You wouldn’t happen to remember the number, would you?” I asked.
Danitza picked up her phone, tapped a few buttons, and then handed it over to me. She had her contacts list open to a page that said “Chris.” No last name was given, but there was a phone number. I jotted it down and then returned the device to her.
“I’m surprised you kept his number,” I said.
She nodded. “Whenever I’ve gotten a new phone, I’ve kept his number and all his messages and texts, too. I kept them for Jimmy so that someday, when he’s a little older, he’ll be able to hear the sound of his father’s voice.”
That touched me, and I had to swallow the lump that suddenly caught in my throat. When I spoke again, I changed the subject. “So you thought Chris had gone off to Ohio and that eventually he’d come back?”
Danitza nodded. “I believed it as long as I could. In fact, until this morning when I met you, I still hoped it was true—that somehow he was still alive and well out there somewhere, living his life without me. In fact, that’s why I named our son Christopher, so that if Chris ever came looking and found that name, he’d know it was us.”
“But he never did.”
“No,” she agreed quietly. “He never did, and although my son’s first name is Christopher, he goes by James or Jimmy. Calling him Christopher hurt too much.”
Unsure of how to respond, I took a moment to glance around the house. It wasn’t ultra-posh by any means, but it certainly would have been out of reach of most single moms left to raise kids on their own.
“So how did you end up here,” I asked, “on Wiley Loop Road?”
“Eventually I met a guy,” she said, “a very nice guy named Greg Miller. He was a part-time nursing student at the UAA. He was two years older than I was but a year behind me in school since he went to school part of the year and supported himself as a crabber the rest of the time. He made good money fishing, but working on a crab boat wasn’t what he wanted to do for the rest of his life.
“Greg and I became friends first. He was great with James. Took him fishing. Taught him how to ski—did all those boy things with him. We ended up falling in love. Greg was ready to get married a lot sooner than I was, but in time he won me over. He had bought this place on his own before we got married. It was way more expensive than I could ever afford, but he told me not to worry. He said that when he bought the house, he signed up for mortgage insurance. He had to pay a higher premium because of his job, but he told me that if anything ever happened to him, the house would be paid in full, and it was—five years later he went down with the Snow-Queen.”
Ballard, the area where I grew up, is still ground zero for Seattle’s fishing fleet, and the world of commercial fishermen is a tight-knit community. If a boat goes down somewhere, people from Ballard pay attention, because there’s a good chance someone they know might have been on board. So I remembered the Snow-Queen incident. The vessel had lost power, iced up, and capsized during a raging storm in the Bering Sea. Crew members abandoned ship, but they had all succumbed to the cold long before the coast guard was able to reach them. No one survived.
“I’m so sorry,” I said.
Nitz nodded. “Thank you. I still miss them both,” she added, “Chris because he was my first love and Greg because he was such an incredibly good man. As far as love is concerned, I consider myself a two-time loser—except for James, of course.”
As if on cue, the front door slammed open. “Hey, Mom,” a young voice called. “I’m home. What’s for dinner?”
Christopher James Danielson had announced his arrival before he ever closed the door. As soon as he did so, he saw his mother and me sitting in the living room. “Oh, sorry,” he said quickly. “I didn’t know we had company.”