“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.

SIXTEEN

In May, the sandpipers returned by the thousands, flying overhead in a swarm of wings, touching down briefly in the bay before continuing their journey north. So many birds returned to Alaska in this month that the sky was constantly busy and the air was loud with birdsong and squawking and cawing.

Usually, this time of year, Leni would lie in bed listening to the noises, identifying each bird by its song, noting the season’s passing by their arrivals and departures, looking forward to summer.

This year was different.

There were only two weeks of school left.

“You’re awfully quiet,” Dad said as he turned the truck into the school parking lot. He parked next to Matthew’s pickup.

“I’m fine,” she said, reaching for the door handle.

“It’s the security, isn’t it?”

Leni turned to look at him. “What?”

“You and your mom have been sorta mopey and glum since our last time at the Harlans’ place. I know you’re scared.”

Leni just stared at him, unsure of what the right answer was. He had been extra edgy since the fallout at the Harlan place.

“Thelma’s an optimist. One of those head-in-the-sanders. Of course she doesn’t want to face the truth head-on. ’Cuz it’s ugly. But looking away is no answer. We need to prepare for the worst. I would die before I’d let anything happen to you or your mom. You know that, right? You know how much I love you both.” He tousled her hair. “Don’t worry, Red. I’ll keep you safe.”

She got out of the truck and slammed the door shut behind her, then hauled her bicycle out from the truck bed. Settling her backpack strap over one shoulder, she leaned her bike against the fence and headed toward the school.

Dad honked the horn and drove away.

“Pssssst! Leni!”

She glanced sideways.

Matthew stood hidden in the trees across from the school. He waved her over.

Leni waited for her dad’s truck to disappear around the corner and then hurried over to Matthew. “What’s up?”

“Let’s skip school today and take the Tusty into Homer.”

“Skip school? Homer?”

“Come on! It’ll be fun.”

Leni knew all the reasons to say no. She also knew that today was a minus tide and her dad was going to be clamming all morning.

“We won’t get caught, and even if we do, big whoop. We’re seniors. It’s May. Don’t seniors in the Outside skip all the time?”

Leni didn’t think it was a good idea, thought it might even be dangerous, but she couldn’t say no to Matthew.

She heard the low, elegiac honking of the ferry’s horn as it neared the dock.

Matthew reached out for Leni’s hand, and the next thing she knew they were running out of the school’s parking lot and up the hill, past the old church, and out onto the waiting ferry.

Leni stood on the deck, holding on to the railing as the boat eased away from land.

All summer, the trusty Tustamena hauled Alaskans around—fishermen, adventurers, laborers, tourists, even high school sports teams. The hull was full of cars and supplies: construction equipment, tractors, backhoes, steel beams. To the few hardy tourists who used the boat as a blue-collar cruise to remote destinations, the ferry crossing was a pretty way to spend the day. To locals, this was simply the way to town.

Leni had ridden this ferry hundreds of times in her life, but never had she felt the sense of freedom on it that she felt now. Or possibility. As if maybe this old ship could sail her right into a brand-new future.

Wind ruffled her hair. Gulls and shorebirds squawked overhead, wheeling and diving, floating on tufts of wind. The seawater was flat and green, only a few motor ripples on the surface.

Matthew moved in behind her, put his arms around her, held on to the railing. She couldn’t help leaning back into him, letting his body warm her. “I can’t believe we’re doing this,” she said. For once, she felt like an ordinary teenager. This was as close as she and Matthew could get to that, to being the kind of kids who went to the movies on a Saturday night and went for milkshakes at the A&W afterward.

“I got into the university in Anchorage,” Matthew said. “I’ll be playing hockey for their team.”

Leni turned. With him still holding on to the railing, it meant she was in his arms. Her hair whipped across her face.

“Come with me,” he said.

It was like a beautiful flower, that idea; it bloomed and then died in her hand. Life was different for Matthew. He was talented and wealthy. Mr. Walker wanted his son to go to college. “We can’t afford it. And they need me to work the homestead, anyway.”

“There are scholarships.”

“I can’t leave,” she said quietly.

“I know your dad is weird, but why can’t you leave?”

“It’s not him I can’t leave,” Leni said. “It’s my mama. She needs me.”

“She’s a grown-up.”

Leni couldn’t say the words that would explain it.

He would never understand why Leni sometimes believed she was the only thing keeping her mother alive.

Matthew pulled her into his arms, held her. She wondered if he could feel the way she was trembling. “Jeez, Len,” he whispered into her hair.

Had he meant that, to shorten her name, to claim it somehow as something new in his hands?