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.