Large Marge looked at Mama. “I know you know I’m from D.C. and that I used to be a lawyer. Big-city prosecutor. Wore designer suits and high heels. The whole shebang. I loved it. And I loved my sister, who married the man of her dreams. Only he turned out to have a few problems. A few quirks. Turned out he drank too much and liked to use my baby sis as a punching bag. I tried everything to get her to leave him, but she refused. Maybe she was scared, maybe she loved him, maybe she was as sick and broken as he was. I don’t know. I know that when I called the police it was worse for her and she begged me not to do it again. I backed off. Biggest mistake of my life. He went after her with a hammer.” Large Marge flinched. “We had to have a closed-casket funeral. That was what he’d done to her. He claimed he’d taken the hammer from her and protected himself. The law isn’t kind to battered women. He’s still out there. Free. I came up here to get away from all that.” She looked at Ernt. “And here you are.”

Dad started to rise.

“I’d sit, if I were you,” Mr. Walker said.

Dad slowly sat back down. Anxiety shone in his eyes, showed in the hands he flexed and unflexed. His booted foot tapped nervously on the floor. They had no idea what this little meeting would cost Mama. As soon as they left, he’d explode.

“You probably mean well,” Leni said. “But—”

“No,” Mr. Walker said in a kind voice. “This isn’t for you to solve, Leni. You’re a kid. Just listen.”

“Tommy and I have talked about this,” Large Marge said. “Your situation here. We have a couple of solutions, but really, Ernt, our favorite one is we take you out and kill you.”

Dad laughed once, then went silent. His eyes widened when he realized they weren’t joking.

“That’s my choice, actually,” Mr. Walker said. “Large Marge has a different plan.”

“Ernt, you’re going to pack your shit up and go to the slope,” Large Marge said. “The pipeline is hiring men like you—it’s a Sodom and Gomorrah up there—and they need mechanics. You’ll make a pile of money, which you need, and you’ll be gone until spring.”

“I can’t leave my family alone until spring,” Dad said.

“How thoughtful you are,” Mr. Walker muttered.

“You think I’ll just leave her to you?” Dad said.

“Enough, boys,” Large Marge said. “You can clank antlers later. For now, Ernt is leaving and I’m moving in. I’ll stay with your girls for the winter, Ernt. I’ll keep them safe from everything and everyone. You can come back in the spring. By then, maybe you’ll know what you’ve got and treat your wife as she deserves.”

“You can’t make me go,” Dad said.

“That’s not the A answer,” Large Marge said. “Look, Ernt. Alaska brings out the best and the worst in a man. Maybe if you’d stayed Outside you never would have become who you are now. I know about ’Nam, and it breaks my heart what you boys went through. But you can’t handle the dark, can you? It’s nothing to be ashamed of. Most folks can’t. Accept it and do what’s best for your family. You love Cora and Leni, don’t you?”

Dad’s expression changed as he looked at Mama. Everything about him softened; for an instant, Leni saw her dad, the real him, the man he would have been if the war hadn’t ruined him. The man from Before. “I do,” he said.

“Perfect. You love them enough to leave and provide for them,” she said. “Go pack your shit and hit the road. We’ll see you again at breakup.”

1978

TWELVE

Seventeen-year-old Leni drove the snow machine with confidence in the falling snow. She was all alone in the vastness of winter. Following the glow of her headlights in the predawn dark, she turned onto the old mine road. Within a mile or so the road became a trail that twisted and turned and rose and fell. The plastic sled behind her thumped on the snow, empty now, but she hoped that soon it would hold her latest kill. If there was one thing her dad had been right about, it was this: Leni had learned to hunt.

She hurtled over embankments and around trees and across frozen rivers, airborne on the snow machine sometimes, skidding out of control, sometimes shrieking in joy or fear or a combination of the two. She was completely in her element out here.

As the elevation increased, the trees became sparser, scrawnier. She began to see cliffs and snow-covered rock outcroppings.

She kept going: up, down, around, bursting through banks of snow, careening around fallen logs. It took so much concentration, she couldn’t think or feel anything else.

On a hill, the snow machine slid left, lost traction. She eased back on the gas, slowed. Stopped.

Breathing hard through the slits in her neoprene face mask, Leni looked around. Sharp white mountain peaks, blue-white glaciers, black shadows.

She dismounted, shivering. Bracing against the wind, she untied her pack and put on snowshoes, then pushed the snow machine into the limited protection afforded by a large tree and tarped it. This was as far as the vehicle could take her.

The sky overhead was lightening by degrees. Daylight expanded with each breath.

The trail turned upward, narrowed. She saw her first clot of frozen sheep scat within half a mile and followed the hoofprints higher uphill.

She brought out her binoculars and scanned the white landscape around her.

There. A cream-colored Dall sheep with huge curving horns, walking along a high ledge, its hooves dainty on the rough, snowy terrain.

She moved carefully, made her way along the narrow ridge, and hiked up into the trees. There, she found tracks again and followed them to a frozen river.

Fresh scat.

The sheep had crossed the river here, crashing through the ice, splashing through the river. Big chunks of ice poked up, bobbed, held in place by the solid ice around them.

An old tree lay across the ice, its frozen limbs splayed out, water stirring in patches alongside.

Snow swirled across the ice, collecting on one side of the log, fanning away in tiny whirlwinds on the other side. Here and there, the wind had brushed all of the snow away, leaving glistening, cracked patches of silver-blue ice. She knew it was unsafe to cross here, but anywhere else could cost her hours. And who knew if there would even be a good crossing point? She hadn’t come all this way to quit.