“I mean it, Matthew. He can never know.”
FIFTEEN
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.