There wasn't much to the airport in Yellowknife. It was basically just a large warehouse with a ticket counter, some seating, and a baggage claim belt that wound around a large taxidermied polar bear. Despite being the largest city in the Northwest Territories, it was still tiny compared to what I was used to at less than 20,000 people. There was only one main road connecting it to the rest of civilization, and even then, it was a fifteen hour drive to Edmonton, the closest large city.
This was going to be my home for at least the next year, and I was honestly psyched about it.
I'd spent the first twenty-six years of my young life in cities and suburbs, growing up outside of Mississauga before heading to the University of Toronto for both my bachelor's degree and doctorate in environmental science. When Environment and Climate Change Canada offered me a position in Yellowknife researching permafrost thaw, I jumped at the opportunity to put my studies to use in the real world.
It would be an adventure, and I was always up for that.
My enthusiasm was somewhat dampened when the luggage from my flight made its way around the small baggage carousel without my large black suitcase making an appearance. I had been warned to bring a few days' worth of clothing in my carryon and was grateful that I'd taken the advice.
"Is that all of it?" I asked a nearby baggage handler as the carousel ground to a halt. "All of the luggage from the flight from Edmonton?"
"Yup," he confirmed. "Your bag not there?"
"I guess not," I sighed, making my way over to the Air Canada desk to put in a claim.
The lady working the counter was very apologetic for the mix-up, and I got the distinct impression that many a bag had spent an extra couple of nights in the Edmonton Airport en route to the more remote outposts of the Canadian High North. I gave her the address of the house I was renting along with my phone number.
"Hopefully we'll get your bag up here on one of the early flights tomorrow," she told me. "We'll give you a call when it arrives and deliver it to you. What name should I put on the claim?"
"Jess Wilson," I replied. "Jessica if you need my full name, but no one's called me that since I was five."
She wrote my name down on the form. "Got it. We'll be in touch, Jess. Is there anything else I can do for you tonight?"
I thought about it. "Can you recommend a good pub in town? I'm hungry and could use a beer."
She gave me a list of several places. I chose one that seemed to be about a ten minute walk from my new home and hailed a cab, deciding that dinner was a more urgent task than dropping off my things.
I peered out of the window as the cab drove me into town, taking in my new surroundings. It was only about seven in the evening, but the sky was so dark it could have easily been mistaken for midnight. Snow covered every surface, coating the branches of the low pines that dotted the landscape. According to my phone, the temperature hovered around minus sixteen degrees Celsius.
If this was late November, I could only imagine what honest-to-goodness winter would have in store for me.
The cab driver dropped me off in front of the Black Knight, the downtown pub I'd selected. I paid him, thanked him, and hauled my carryon into the small establishment. It was warm and inviting, lined with dark wood paneling. An old suit of armor stood guard in one corner and I wondered idly where they'd gotten it.
I took a seat at the bar and ordered a pint before perusing the dinner options on the menu.
"You new in town?" the bartender, a portly gentleman of about forty, asked as he set my beer down in front of me.
I wrinkled my nose. "Is it that obvious?"
He smiled. "Your suitcase kinda gives it away."
A bout of raucous laughter coming from the corner of the room interrupted our discussion. I turned to look for the source of the sound and saw a group of five men in army uniforms congregated around a high table, knocking back some beers and enjoying themselves.
"Don't mind them," the bartender told me. "Some of the guys from Joint Task Force North and the Rangers like to come in after work on Fridays to blow off some steam. Their headquarters is a few blocks away."
I nodded and took a moment to study the soldiers more closely as I sipped my beer. They ranged in age from one kid I suspected was fresh out of high school to a major in his late thirties who seemed to be the highest ranked among them. My gaze stopped on a man who appeared to be about my age. He had short dark hair, some scruff on his jawline, and stood about six foot two. The insignia on the sleeve of his uniform indicated that he was a captain. He looked incredibly familiar, but I couldn't place him.
Irritated at myself, I shuffled through my mental rolodex of acquaintances and tried desperately to figure out where he fit. If there was even one person I knew in Yellowknife, it would make my transition there easier by several orders of magnitude.
The bartender seemed to notice where my gaze had rested. "That's Captain Hill," he told me. "Nice guy. Good tipper."
"Captain Hill?" I repeated dumbly.
He nodded. "Yeah, Captain Connor Hill. He's with the Rangers."
Connor Hill. I knew that name. It had been eight years since I'd heard it, but finally pairing it with the man I saw before me brought back a flood of memories - whispered jokes in math class, little shared smiles in the hallway, innumerable times I thought he was finally going to ask me out but never did.
I'd known Connor since we were six and he'd taken to yanking on my long red ponytail in Mrs. Johnston's first grade class. He'd only stopped when I grabbed a pair of scissors one day and threatened to cut the whole thing off if he didn't quit it.
"Don't cut it!" he'd whined. "It's so pretty. I just wanna touch it."
I'd relented and told him that he could touch my hair if and when I gave explicit permission provided he never yanked it again. He'd accepted my offer and we'd become friends. We were never
best friends
per se, but throughout our school years, we'd always been part of the same group. There were many times when I thought he might be interested in being more than just friends, and I absolutely would have welcomed that, but he never acted on it. After high school, I went to the University of Toronto, he went west to the University of British Columbia in Vancouver, and that was that.
I sometimes regretted that we had lost touch, but I decided that my posting to Yellowknife offered a golden opportunity to remedy that. Paying for my beer and foregoing dinner for the time being, I walked over to the table of soldiers. I wasn't normally the sort of person who felt comfortable striking up conversations with strangers in bars, but I was almost certain Connor would remember me. At least I hoped he would.
"Connor?" I ventured shyly.
