It always astounded me that, even after a sprinkle—hardly even a shower at all—Floridians suddenly lost the ability to stay between the lines. The wipers had barely swiped a drop from the windscreen when we'd found ourselves crawling southbound along the freeway.

"Damn rubberneckers," Mom grumbled as we passed the accident on the northbound side of I95.

Once we'd made it to the airport, we hurried to the counter to check my bag in with only minutes to spare. The woman tagging my luggage was giving me squinty eyes as she transferred the heavy bag to the conveyor belt. "I can't guarantee your bag will arrive on this flight," she said with a disapproving sniff.

"No worries." As long as it got there eventually and in one piece, I didn't care.

"Boarding starts in twenty minutes." She dismissed me promptly and nodded to the next person in line. Clearly, there was a carrot up her backside that she'd failed to dislodge this morning. That or someone had crapped in her porridge.

With a tight smile, I left her to her sour disposition, shoving my driver's license into my back pocket.

"This is only goodbye for a little while!" Mom said, her chipper words sounding discordant as she sniffled bravely. "No tears."

"Sure thing," I scoffed, wiping at the tears spilling warmly onto my cheeks. "I love you, Mom!" There was a raw lump in my throat that had been swelling painfully throughout the drive to the airport. "I swear, one day I'll pay you back for wasting all the money you've spent on my—"

I was instantly enveloped in one of her fiercest hugs. "Don't think about that now, Ev. I'm considering it an investment. Just because you didn't take the most direct route doesn't mean you took the wrong turns, you just took the scenic way. We all end up where we're supposed to in the end. Make the most of this adventure and have fun." And then she pulled away to fix me with a stern and watery look. "But not too much fun..." she clarified meaningfully. "Don't forget what I said about always using condoms."

"Mom!" I grimaced with a laugh, my face turning puce.

"I'm just saying! And remember, I'm just a phone call away if you need me, okay? Say the word and I'll hop on the first flight to Ketchikan."

"I know." And I did know that. She was the stable and loving fixture in my life and I had probably only retained my compos mentis this long because of her. Struggling for composure, I took my backpack from her arm. "Is it too late to change my mind?"

"You'll be fine. What's the worst that could happen?"

"I get eaten by rabid wolves?"

"No," she said, "you come back home wiser, lick your wounds, and then you try again. Don't fear failure, it's what shapes us to succeed."

"And if failure doesn't kill me," I said with a nervous grin, "the wolves just might..." I checked my watch. "I'll call you when I get to Ketchikan." With a last, trembling wave, I hurried off before I did change my mind. Or missed my flight. Gramps would love that, I thought derisively.

Goodbyes were brutal. Mom's teary face nearly crumbled my resolve altogether when I turned to glance back one last time, so I determined not to look back again. Figuratively too. She would have been proud of that, I thought. My feet ate up the drab linoleum as I followed the signs for my gate, my eyes still dimmed with tears. The TSA line, thankfully, only consisted of a few people, so I was able to breeze through security, the officer studying my puffy eyes stoically as I shoved my laptop back into my backpack. Once I'd pulled my sneakers back on, I raced for my gate.

By the time I got there the last of zone four was trickling past the ticket scanner. Before I knew it I was buckled up, listening to the deep hum of the engines as they idled. I was really doing this! It was heady and surreal—taking control of my life. The knots of tension in my gut were alternately loosening and tightening, as if still unsure of which emotion—fear or excitement—held primacy. I knew I should be fearful for leaving my safety net for parts unknown, but it was impossible not to let the latent power of the engines, and the sight of the other planes hurtling down the runway, act like a counterpoise to meekness.

As the 737 was pushed back from the gate, I quietly said goodbye to the suffocating humidity and to the ninety-degree morning heat already scorching the sun-bleached tarmac now that the rain had passed.

Moments later the G-force suddenly pushed me back against my seat as the jet surged into the takeoff roll. We were speeding down the longer of the parallel runways, the lofty control tower flashing briefly past my little port side window.

That restrictive doubt and fear that was always a constant heavy weight around my neck, like an engorged python, seemed to fall away as we gained altitude. I'd forgotten how much I loved flying. Surely this wasn't the wrong decision if I was feeling so weightless, despite the positive G's?

I peered down past the wing as we banked and watched the coastline falling away, my lungs seeming to expand further than they had in a long time.

As the oceanside mansions of Palm Beach Island, and even Mar-a-Lago itself, became indistinct and the clouds swallowed us up, I pulled my sketchbook from my backpack. Drawing was one way to exorcise self-doubt...and negate my grandfather's sullen prognostications that I'd be running back to my mother, tail between my legs, within the week. I scoffed at the thought.

But had I known then what was waiting for me on the other side of my journey, I'd have thrown in my lot with the tarantulas in the Amazon!

It was a balmy forty-three degrees when I landed in Ketchikan. From the moment the 737 had descended through the clouds I'd been struck with the sprawling beauty of the granite mountains bestrewn with towering Sitka spruce, cedar, and hemlock. The air was so crisp it stung my lungs as I left the terminal. But arriving in a strange place all alone was vastly intimidating. There was no one waiting to welcome me. A stab of loneliness suddenly chilled that part of my heart where most of my courage was hiding. After a quick call to my mom, both to borrow some of her confidence and to let her know I had landed safely, I hoofed it to the ferry dock, bought a ticket and boarded the ferry with a small handful of other pedestrians, an Air Alaska van and a sedan.

It was a three-minute ride from Ketchikan International across the choppy narrows, and from there I bypassed the bus stop and taxis to brave the wind since Thorn Aviation was only a short distance from the ferry terminal and parking lot. Alison had explained in her email that I'd be taken to Thorne Bay by Bear Lodge's private floatplane...because how else did anyone get around. By boat or by air, I'd been warned. Those were my only options from now on.

Initially, the thought of such isolation had given me pause, but the dart had pointed and I had agreed to go where it willed me. There was nothing for it now but to make the best of this pilgrimage of self-discovery.

The floatplane terminal was packed with tourists since the first cruise ship of the season had just docked in town. Timidly, I glanced around, chewing one side of my lip and then the other as I searched the crowd for a face I'd never laid eyes on—my pilot.

I knew only that his name was Matt Mitchell, but nothing else. Not his age or any distinguishing features. Nevertheless, I scanned the foreign faces deliberately, looking for epaulets and Ray-Ban aviators. Unfortunately, no one here seemed to fit the Top Gun mold.

Standing around like a lost fart in the wind, I re-positioned my green beanie a little more snugly around my ears, hoping that none of the locals were judging my thin-blooded proclivity for dressing like an Eskimo. Rationally, I knew that my blood's viscosity was by no means 'thinner' than that of the locals', but I had definitely underestimated how much I took the tropical heat for granted. I could already feel my skin objecting to the cold, stretching and splitting into Death Valley mud cracks.

I was wearing a maroon wool-lined Fjällräven jacket and a thermal base layer underneath, but still, my bones were chilled. Conversely, most of the locals were in nothing but light flannels and jeans and rubber boots. I could easily pick out the tourists because I looked just like one.

I ran my tongue over my lips and pulled a granola bar from my pocket, peeling the wrapper down with frozen hands as I continued dragging an abstracted gaze around the terminal. Abstracted, that is, until my gaze suddenly stalled over one man in particular. I was so completely fascinated with the tall stranger that had prowled into the terminal, from the waterside, that I clean forgot about my snack and instead feasted unblinking eyes on the most beautiful man I'd ever seen.

He moved with such canid fluidity through the crowd that he hardly seemed to belong there at all—no more than the wolf belonged with the sheep. And then he was gone! The crush of humanity instantly swallowed him up.

I strained on the tips of my toes, looking, nearly sobbing with bereavement, trying to catch sight of him again, but, despite his height, he'd melted into the crowd. Well, I told myself as I expelled the reverential breath I'd been holding in, at least he hadn't caught me gawking like a creep. Not in a thousand years would I have imagined it possible for any man to outshine Andy. But the stranger had done that easily. He'd made my Andy, who had always seemed to me the paragon of male perfection, look like nothing but a pug.

What are you, twelve?! I fanned my hot cheeks, inwardly sneering at my dramatic reaction to him. Finally, I returned my attention to my neglected granola bar, instantly devouring it like a starving chipmunk. And now that I was no longer distracted by the stranger, I found myself growing nervous, waiting for my overdue pilot. Where the hell is he? The thought was muffled by the sound of nuts and seeds grinding between my molars. My worry escalated further and further the longer I waited. What if I was forced to spend the night in the terminal?! What if—

"You Evan?"

I spun around to face the resonant voice that had spoken my name, my cheeks still engorged with half-masticated chunks of soggy granola (crumbs probably cleaving to my chin). Tall as I was, my eyes collided instantly with a very wide male chest. Blinking rapidly, I slowly dragged my gaze up to stare bemusedly at the tall drink of water who was regarding me with a waggish grin.

Hot damn, it was him! The wolf amongst the sheep! My Pilot?

Of course he would turn out to be my pilot; of course he'd chosen this moment to approach me, just as I'd stuffed my face; and of course he had the most mesmeric eyes I'd ever beheld.