“Sorry about that,” Johnny said, only he didn’t sound sorry at all. “Hey, Van, look at this. Is this a lupine?”

Betty shoved past both of them and peered at the slender green shoots, comparing them to the copy of Pratt’s Field Guide to Alaskan Wildflowers she held open before her on the palms of both hands, like a priest consulting a sacred scroll. “Lupinus arcticus, she announced in the manner of one handing down a prophecy. ”Of the pea or Fabaccae family. A perennial, which means it comes back every year.“

They gazed at her, stunned into silence by an oblivious self-assurance that allowed Betty to be convinced that they were as spellbound by the subject as she was. “The arctic lupine grows ten to sixteen inches tall, prefers dry slopes, fields, and roadsides, and is not to be confused with the Nootka lupine, which grows in Southeastern, Southcentral, and on the Chain.” She frowned down at the plants. “I can’t tell which this is. The pictures only show them in bloom.” She displayed the book accusingly.

“Tup, that’s lupine,” Johnny said, and Vanessa quickly followed his lead. “Lupine, definitely.”

Once more Andrea brushed ineffectually at the knees of her khakis and muttered dire imprecations to the fashion gods. Johnny watched her for a moment, and said, “Want to get closer to the glacier?”

“Sure,” Vanessa said, measuring the distance. “Can we?”

“Sure, the trail looks like it goes right up to it.”

“It could fall on us,” Andrea said.

“We won’t get that close,” Johnny said. Andrea hesitated, and he shrugged and turned, saying over his shoulder, “Stay behind if you want.”

Vanessa and Betty swung out onto the path behind him. Andrea bit her lip, and followed.

It was rough and rocky going, with treacherous bits of ice cleverly hidden by glacial silt only revealing themselves when trodden upon. A faint, translucent fog seemed to be rising up out of the face of the glacier, looming large and blue in front of them.