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The big, strong-looking woman didn't have her own airboat; she didn't have a snowmobile, either. She didn't even come with skis--just ski poles. Her backpack was huge, and strapped to it was a pair of snowshoes. If she'd had a car, it must have been a rental and she'd already gotten rid of it. Maybe she'd spent the night at Larry's Tavern, or in some motel near Parry Sound. There was no way she could have driven the entire distance from Toronto to Pointe au Baril Station--not that morning, not in that snowstorm. The snow had blanketed Georgian Bay, from Manitoulin Island to Honey Harbour, and--according to Andy--it was supposed to snow all that night, too.
"She said she knows you," Andy told the writer. "But if it turns out that she's just a crazy fan, or some psycho autograph-seeker, there's enough room in that backpack for all eight of your books--both the hardcover and the paperback editions. Then again, that backpack's big enough to hold a shotgun."
"She knows me how--she knew me when, and where?" Danny asked.
"All she said was, 'We go back a ways.' You're not expecting a visit from an angry ex-girlfriend--are you, Danny?"
"I'm not expecting anybody, Andy," the writer said.
"She's one powerful-looking lady, Danny," the builder said.
"How big is she?" Daniel Baciagalupo asked.
"We're talking giantess category," Andy told him. "Hands like paws--boots bigger than mine. You and I together could fit in her parka; there would probably be room for Hero, too."
"I suppose she looks like an Arctic explorer," the writer guessed.
"She's sure got the right clothes for this weather," Andy said. "The snowpants, the snowmobiler's gloves--and her parka has a big old hood."
"I don't suppose you saw the color of her hair," the writer said.
"Nope--not under that hood. I couldn't even be sure of the color of her eyes," Andy said.
"And what would you guess her age was?" Danny asked. "About my age, maybe--or a little older?"
"Nope," the builder said again. "She's way younger than you are, Danny. At least what I could see of her. She's really fit-looking."
"With all the clothes she had on, how could you tell she was fit?" the writer asked.
"She came into my office--just to look at my map of the bay," the builder told Danny. "While she was locating Turner Island on the map, I lifted her backpack--I just picked it up off the floor and set it down again. It's about a seventy-pound pack, Danny; that pack weighs as much as Hero, and she left here carrying it like a pillow."
"She sounds like someone I met once," Danny said, "but her age is wrong. If she were the woman I'm thinking of, she couldn't be 'way younger' than I am--as you say."
"I could be wrong about that," Andy told him. "People age differently, Danny. Some folks seem to stay the same; others, if it's been a while, you wouldn't recognize them."
"Oh, it's been a while--if she's the one I'm thinking of," Danny said. "It's been almost forty years! It can't be her," the writer said; he sounded impatient with himself. Danny didn't dare to hope that it was Lady Sky. He realized that it had also been a while since he'd hoped for anything. (He had once hoped that nothing terrible would ever happen to his beloved Joe. He'd also hoped that his dad would long outlive the cowboy, and that Ketchum would die peacefully--in his sleep, with both his hands intact. Daniel Baciagalupo didn't have a good record with hope.)
"Danny, it's dumb to think you can even guess what someone's going to look like after forty years," Andy said. "Some people change more than others--that's all I'm saying. Look," the builder said, "why don't I come out there? I could probably catch up to her on my snowmobile. I could bring her the rest of the way, and if you don't like her--or she's not the person you're thinking of--I could bring her back to Pointe au Baril."
"No, Hero and I will be all right," Danny said. "I can always call you if I need help getting her to leave, or something."
"You and Hero better be on your way to the back dock," Andy told him. "She left here a while ago, and she's got a real long stride."
"Okay, we'll get going. Thanks, Andy," Danny told him.
"You sure I can't come out there, or do anything for you?" the builder asked.
"I've been looking for a first sentence to my first chapter," the writer answered. "You wouldn't have a first sentence for me, would you?"
"I can't help you with that," Andy Grant said. "Just call me if you have any trouble with that woman."
"There won't be any trouble," Danny told him.
"Danny? Take that old Remington with you, when you go to the back dock. It's just a good idea to have the gun with you--and make sure she sees it, okay?"
"Okay," the writer answered.
Hero was excited, as always, to take a walk with Ketchum's .30-06 Springfield carbine. "Don't get your hopes up, Hero," Danny told the dog. "The odds are she's not a bear."
