Leni dreamed it was raining. She stood on a riverbank, getting drenched. Rain slicked her hair, blurred her vision.
The river rose, made a great, cracking thunderous sound, and suddenly it was breakup. House-sized chunks of ice broke free of the land, careening downstream, taking everything in their path—trees, boats, houses.
You need to cross.
Leni didn’t know if she heard the words or if she’d said them. All she knew was that she needed to cross this river before the ice swept her away and the water rushed into her lungs.
But there was nowhere to cross.
Ice-cold waves arched up into walls, ground fell away and trees crashed.
Someone screamed.
It was her. The river hit her like a shovel to the head, knocked her sideways.
She flailed, screamed, felt herself falling, falling.
Over here, a voice yelled.
Matthew.
He could save her. She gasped, tried to claw her way to the surface, but something had a hold of her feet, dragged her down, down until she couldn’t breathe. Everything went dark.
Leni woke with a gasp and saw that she was safe in her room, with her stacks of books and the notebooks full of her pictures along the wall, and the box full of Matthew’s letters beside her.
Bad dream.
Already fading from memory. Something about a river, she thought.
Spring breakup. Another way to die in Alaska.
She dressed for school in denim overalls and a plaid flannel shirt. She pulled the hair back from her face and wove it into a loose French braid. Without any mirrors in the house (Dad had broken them all over the years), she couldn’t assess how she looked. Leni had gotten used to seeing herself in shards of glass. Herself in pieces. She hadn’t cared at all until Matthew’s return.
Downstairs, she dropped the stack of her schoolbooks on the kitchen table and took a seat. Mama set a plate of reindeer sausage, biscuits, and gravy in front of her, alongside a bowl full of blueberries they’d picked from the sandy bluffs above Kachemak Bay last fall.
While Leni ate her breakfast, Mama stood nearby watching her.
“You carted water for an hour last night so you could take a bath. And you’ve braided your hair. It looks beautiful, by the way.”
“It’s called ordinary hygiene, Mama.”
“I heard Matthew Walker is back in town.”
Leni should have known Mama would put two and two together. Sometimes, because of Dad and all, Leni forgot how smart Mama was. How perceptive.
Leni kept eating, careful not to make eye contact. She knew what Mama would say about this, so Leni wasn’t going to tell her. Alaska was a big place; there were plenty of places to hide something as small as a friendship.
“Too bad your dad hates his dad so much. And too bad your dad has a temper problem.”
“Is that what we’re calling it?”
Leni felt Mama eyeing her, like an eagle watching waves for a splash of silver. It was the first time Leni had hidden something from her mother and it felt uncomfortable. “You’re almost eighteen. A young woman. And you and Matthew must have written each other a hundred letters over the years.”
“What does that have to do with anything?”
“Hormones are like afterburners. The right touch and you’re in outer space.”
“Huh?”
“I’m talking about love, Lenora. Passion.”
“Love? Jeez Louise. I don’t know why you’d bring that up. There’s nothing to worry about, Mama.”
“Good. You stay smart, baby girl. Don’t make the same mistake I did.” Leni finally looked up. “What mistake? Dad? Or me? Are you—”
The door opened and in walked her father, who had washed his hair this morning and put on relatively clean brown canvas pants and a T-shirt. He kicked the door shut behind him, said, “Something smells good, Cora. Morning, Red. Did you sleep well?”
“Sure, Dad,” she said.
He kissed the top of her head. “You ready for school? I’ll drive you.” “I can ride my bike.”
“Can’t I take my second-best girl out on a sunny day?”
“Sure,” she said. She picked up her books and lunch box (still the Winnie the Pooh; she loved it now) and got to her feet.
“You be careful at school,” Mama said.
Leni didn’t glance back. She followed Dad out to the truck and climbed
in.
He popped an eight-track tape into the stereo and cranked up the sound.
“Lyin’ Eyes” blared through the speakers.
Dad started singing along, going strong, saying, “Sing with me,” as he turned out onto the main road and rumbled toward town.
Suddenly he slammed on the brakes. “Son of a bitch.” Leni was thrown forward.
“Son of a bitch,” Dad said again.
Mr. Walker stood beneath the rough-timbered arch he’d erected over his driveway. Hand-carved into the top beam were the words WALKER COVE ADVENTURE LODGE.
Dad jammed the truck in park and got out, striding across the bumpy road, not even trying to avoid the muddy potholes.
Mr. Walker saw him coming and stopped work, shoved his hammer through his belt, so that it hung from the leather like a weapon.
Leni leaned forward, peered intently through the dirt-and-squished- mosquito-filled windshield.
Dad was screaming at Mr. Walker, who smiled and crossed his arms.
Leni was put in mind of a Jack Russell terrier straining aggressively at the end of his leash, yapping at a Rottweiler.
Dad was still yelling when Mr. Walker turned his back and walked to the arch and returned to his work.
Dad stood there a minute. Finally he stalked back to the truck, climbed in, slammed the door shut. He rammed the truck into gear and hit the gas. “Someone needs to knock that son of a bitch down a peg. I knew guys like him in ’Nam. Shitty, cowardly officers who got better men killed and got medals for it.”
Leni knew better than to say anything. All the way to school, he muttered under his breath. Son of a bitch, arrogant prick, thinks he’s better … Leni knew he would head straight to the compound from here, to find people to join in his bitching. Or maybe, talk wouldn’t be enough anymore.
He stopped at the school. “I’m taking the ferry into Homer today. I’ll pick you up from work at five.”
“Okay.”
Leni gathered her books and lunch box and climbed out of the truck. On her way to the schoolhouse she didn’t look back, and Dad didn’t honk in goodbye. He drove away so fast gravel sputtered out from his tires.
She came into the classroom, saw everyone was already seated. Ms.
Rhodes was at the blackboard writing, iambic pentameter in Shakespeare.
Matthew turned in his chair to face her. His smile was like the gravitational pull from one of her science fiction novels; she moved toward him, sat down.
He stared at her. Was it the way Dad stared at Mama? She thought so.
Sometimes. It made her feel unsettled, kind of anxious.
He ripped off a piece of notebook paper and scrawled a note, which he passed to her. It read: Want to skip work after school? We could do something.
Say no, she thought. What she said was, “My dad is picking me up at five.”
“So that’s yes?”
She couldn’t help smiling. “Yeah.” “Cool.”
For the rest of the day, Leni felt both nervous and energized. She could hardly sit still, found it difficult to answer questions about Hamlet. Still, she read her passages aloud and made notes and tried not to reveal to Matthew or anyone else how weird she felt.
When school ended, she was the first one out of her chair. She bolted out of the school and ran for the General Store, pushed through the narrow door, and yelled, “Large Marge!”
Large Marge was unpacking a case of toilet paper. Like all of her supplies, she purchased it in Soldotna, marked it up, and shelved it for sale. “What’s up, kiddo?”
“I can’t work today.” “Oh. Okay.”
“Don’t you want to know why?”
Large Marge smiled, straightened, placed a hand at the small of her back, as if it hurt her to bend over. “Nope.”
The bell clanged again. Matthew walked into the store.
“Like I said,” Large Marge said. “I don’t want to know.” She turned her back on Leni and Matthew and walked down the crowded aisle, disappearing behind a stack of crab pots.
“Let’s go,” Matthew said. “Follow me.”
They slipped out of the store and hurried past the workers at the Kicking Moose Saloon and up the hill by the Russian Orthodox church. There they were hidden from view.
They hiked out to the point and found a clearing, where the blue waters of Kachemak Bay spread out in front of them. At least a dozen small boats were out on the water.
Matthew took the big serrated knife from the sheath at his belt and hacked down a bunch of evergreen branches. He laid them on the ground, creating a bower of fragrant green. “Here. Sit.”
Leni sat down; the greenery was buoyant beneath her, springy.
He sat down beside Leni, wishboned his arms to cradle his head in his hands, and lay back. “Look up.”
She looked up. “No. Lie down.”
Leni followed his lead. Above them, white clouds drifted across a pale blue sky.
“You see the poodle?”
Leni saw the sculpted cloud shape that looked like a groomed poodle. “That one looks like a pirate ship.”
She watched clouds move slowly across the sky, change shapes, become something new before her eyes. She wished change were so easy for people. “How was Fairbanks?”
“Crowded. For me, anyway. I guess I like the empty and the quiet. And it was rough. Full of pipeline workers who drank a lot and started fights. But my aunt and uncle were great, and it was cool to be with Aly. She worried about me a lot.”
“So did I.”
“Yeah. I know. And. I wanted to say I’m sorry,” he said. “What for?”
“That day on the field trip when I shoved you. I thought I was holding it together—I mean, I wasn’t, but I thought I was.”
“I understood,” she said. “How could you?”
“My dad has nightmares from the war. It makes him crazy sometimes.” “I saw her. My mom. Under the ice, floating beneath my feet. Her hair
was all splayed out. She was clawing for a way out. Then she was gone.” He let out a ragged breath. She felt him leave her behind, journey into the landscape of dark, thorny memories. Then she felt him come back. “I don’t know if I would have made it without my sister and … your letters. I know that sounds weird, but it’s true.”
At his words, Leni felt as if the ground beneath her had fallen away (just like in her dream). She knew things now she hadn’t known at fourteen—
about ice and loss and even fear. She couldn’t imagine losing her mother in
any way, but that, watching her under the ice, unable to save her …
She turned her head, stared at his profile, the sharp line of his nose, the shadow of a shaven blond beard, the ridge of his lips. She saw the tiny scar that bisected his eyebrow, and the brown mole that peeked out from his hairline. “You are lucky to have a sister like Alyeska.”
“Yeah. She used to want to work for Vogue or something. Now she wants to come back to the homestead and work with Dad. They’re going to build an adventure lodge on the property. So another generation of Walkers can live in the same place.” He laughed at the idea.
“You don’t like that?”
“I do,” he said quietly. “I want to teach my kids the things my dad taught me.”
Leni drew away from him at that. That was the last thing in the world she wanted. She turned her attention to the sky again. At the poodle that had become a spaceship.
“I read this cool book, Childhood’s End, about the last man alive on earth. I wonder how that would feel. Or to be clairvoyant…”
When he reached for her hand, she didn’t draw away. Holding his hand
—touching him—seemed like the most natural thing in the world.
* * *
IT DIDN’T TAKE LENI LONG to know that she was in trouble. She thought about Matthew constantly. At school she began to study his every move; she watched him as she would a prey animal, trying to glean intent from action. His hand sometimes brushed hers beneath the desk, or he touched her shoulder as he passed by her in the classroom. She didn’t know if those brief contacts were intentional or meaningful, but her body responded instinctively to each fleeting touch. Once she’d even risen from her chair, pushed her shoulder into his palm like a cat seeking attention. It wasn’t a thought, that lifting up, that unknown need; it just happened. And sometimes, when he talked to her, she thought he stared at her lips the way she stared at his. She found herself secretly mapping his face, memorizing
every ridge and hollow and valley, as if she were an explorer and he her discovery.
She couldn’t stop thinking about him, not at school while she was supposed to be reading or at home when she was supposed to be working. She’d lost track of the amount of times Mama had had to raise her voice to get Leni’s attention.
She might have talked to Mama, asked her about this edgy restlessness she felt, the dreams of touching and kissing that left her feeling unsettled when she woke, needful of something she couldn’t name, but Dad was obviously getting worse, and the cabin felt charged with bad energy. Mama didn’t need more to worry about, so Leni kept her weird, inexplicable longings to herself and tried to make sense of them alone.
Now Leni and her mother and Thelma were out at the stainless steel table at the Harlan compound, gutting fish, slicing the meat into strips. They would soak the strips in marinade, then smoke them in the smokehouse for at least thirty-six hours.
Ted was repairing one of the doghouses, while Clyde worked a cowhide, preparing to make it into ropes of rawhide. Off to the left, thirteen-year-old Agnes was practicing throwing sharp silver stars into trees. Thunk-thunk- thunk. Marthe was whittling wood to make a slingshot. Donna was over at the clothesline, pinning up sheets. Dad and Mad Earl had gone into Homer.
Thelma threw a bucket of sudsy water over the table, sent the fish innards sliding to the muddy ground, where the dogs fought over them.
Seated in a chair, with Moppet on the ground beside her, chattering away about some bird’s nest she’d found, Leni worked at repairing a crab pot.
There was an uneasiness in camp now. Ever since Mr. Walker had shown up at the compound and reminded the Harlans that his place in their lives had been secured long ago—and offered well-paying jobs—Leni had seen the way the adults looked at one another. Or, to be more precise, didn’t look at one another.
A schism had opened. Not only in town, but also here, at the Harlan compound. Leni wasn’t always sure who was on what side, but the adults knew. She was pretty sure Dad hadn’t spoken to Thelma or Ted since that night.
A horn honked loudly enough to startle Leni. She dropped the crab pot, which landed hard on her ankle. She yelped and kicked it aside.
Dad’s truck rolled in and parked by the toolshed.
Both doors opened at once; Dad and Mad Earl exited the pickup.
Dad reached into the back, grabbed a big cardboard box, hefted it into his arms. The box rattled and clanged as Dad carried it into the compound. He went to the high ground by the beehives and looked out at the people. Mad Earl stepped up and stood beside him. The old man looked tired, or more tired than usual. He’d lost most of his hair in the past year and the lines in his forehead looked like they’d been etched in place. White hair sprouted from his jaw, his cheeks, his nose, his ears.
“Gather ’round,” Mad Earl said, gesturing.
Thelma wiped her hands on her dirty pant leg and joined her husband. Leni sidled up to Mama. “They look drunk,” she said.
Mama nodded, lit a cigarette. They walked forward, stood beside Thelma.
Standing on the ridge above them like some high priest, Dad smiled down at the people gathered before him.
Leni recognized his Big Idea smile. She’d seen it lots of times. A beginning; he loved them.
Dad placed a hand on Earl’s shoulder, gave a meaningful squeeze. “Earl here has welcomed me and my family into this safe, wonderful place you’ve created. We almost feel like Harlans. That’s how warm you’ve all been. I know how much Thelma’s friendship means to Cora. Honestly, we have never felt that we belonged anywhere until now.” He put the box down with a rattling clank, pushed it aside with the blunt toe of his rubber boot. “Bo wanted me to have his cabin. Why? So I could bring what I know to this family. He wanted someone here he could trust to protect his family. As you all know, I have taken that responsibility seriously. Each of you is a crack shot. You are also adept with a bow and arrow. Your bug-out bags are packed and ready to go at a moment’s notice. We are ready for martial law or nuclear war or a pandemic. Or so I thought.”
Leni saw Thelma frown.
“What do you mean?” Clyde asked, uncrossing his beefy arms.
“Last week, an enemy walked onto this land as easy as you please. No one stopped him. Nothing stopped him. He came in here and used words— and bribes—to put a wedge between us. You know it’s true. You feel the dissension. It’s all because of Tom Walker.”
Thelma muttered, “Here we go.”
“Ernt,” Ted said. “It’s just a job. We need the money.” Dad raised his hands, smiling.
(Leni knew that smile: it was not a sign of happiness.)
“I am not blaming anyone. I understand. I’m just pointing out a danger you’ve missed. When TSHTF, our neighbors will all have sob stories to tell. They’ll want what we have and you’ll want to give it to them. You’ve known them a long time. I get it. So I’m here to protect you from yourselves, too.”
“Bo woulda wanted that,” Mad Earl said. He rolled a cigarette and lit it up, taking a drag so deep Leni thought he might die on the spot. “Tell ’em,” Mad Earl said, finally exhaling.
Dad squatted down, opened the cardboard flaps of the box, and reached in. He then got back to his feet, holding a plank of wood that had been studded with hundreds of nails, hammered in close to each other to make what looked like a weapon. In his other hand, he held a hand grenade. “No one is ever going to just walk into this place again. First, we’re going to build a wall and put razor wire on top. Then we’ll dig a ditch around the perimeter, in the places where attackers will come in. We’ll fill it with these nail beds, broken glass, spikes. Anything we can think of.”
Thelma laughed.
“This ain’t no joke, missy,” Mad Earl said.
“You put the grenade in a mason jar,” Dad said, beaming at his cleverness. “We remove the pin, put the grenade in the jar, and compress the safety lever. Then we bury it. When someone steps on it, the jar breaks, and kablooey.”
No one spoke. They just stood there, dogs barking in the background.
Mad Earl clapped Dad on the back. “Hell of an idea, Ernt. Hell of an idea.”
“No,” Thelma said. And then: “No. No.”
With Mad Earl’s cackle going full volume, it took a moment for Thelma’s quieter voice to be heard. She pushed her way to the front, then took another step, until she was standing alone, the point of the arrow. “No,” she said again.
“No?” her father said, his mouth squelching up.
“He’s off his rocker, Dad,” Thelma said. “We have children here. And, let’s face it, more than a few drinkers. We can’t booby-trap the perimeter of our home with buried explosives. We’ll kill one of us, most likely.”
“Your job isn’t security, Thelma,” Dad said. “It’s mine.”
“No, Ernt. My job is keeping my family safe. I’ll go along with stockpiling food and creating water filtration. I’ll teach my daughter useful skills, like shooting and hunting and trapping. I’ll even let you and my dad yammer on about nuclear war and pandemics, but I am not going to worry every day of my life that we could accidentally kill someone for no reason.”
“‘Yammer on’?” Dad said, his voice going low.
Everyone started talking at once, arguing. Leni felt the schism between them rip free, crack wide open; they separated into two groups. Those who wanted to be a family (most of them) versus those who wanted to be able to kill anyone who came close (Dad and Mad Earl and Clyde).
“We’ve got kids here,” Thelma said. “You have to remember that. We can’t have bombs or booby traps.”
“But they could just walk in here with machine guns,” Dad said, looking for support. “Kill us and take what we have.”
Leni heard Moppet say, “Could they, Mom? Could they?”
The argument re-erupted. The adults clotted together, went toe-to-toe, voices raised, faces red.
“Enough!” Mad Earl finally said, raising his skeletal hands in the air. “I can’t have this happening to my family. And we do got little ones.” He turned to Dad. “Sorry, Ernt. I gotta side with Thelma.”
Dad took a step back, put distance between him and the old man. “Sure, Earl,” he said tightly, “whatever you say, man.”
Just like that, the argument ended for the Harlans. Leni saw the way they came together as a family, forgave each other, began talking about other
things. Leni wondered if any of them even noticed how her father hung back, how he watched them, the way his mouth flattened into an angry line.
