The Great Alone

Matthew stood on the point above, not far from the stairs, waving at her to come up.

She climbed the stairs and found him, holding a beer in each hand. “You ever had a beer before?” he asked.

She shook her head.

“Me, either. Come on.” He took off into the thicket of trees to his left. They followed a twisting trail that led downward, past rock outcroppings.

He led her to a small clearing, its floor padded by lichen. Through an opening in the black spruce trees, they could see the party. The beach was only fifteen feet away but might have been a different universe. Out there, the adults were laughing and talking and making music. Little kids were pawing through pebbles for unbroken shells. Axle was off by himself, stabbing his knife into a decaying log.

Matthew sat down, stretching his legs out, leaning back against a log. Leni sat down beside him, close but not so close that she was touching him.

He snapped open a beer—hiss—and handed it to her. Wrinkling her nose, she took a sip. It fizzed in her throat and tasted bad.

“Gross,” Matthew said, and she laughed. Another three sips and she leaned back into the log. A cool breeze came up off the beach, bringing with it the smell of brine and the pungent aroma of roasting meat. The whir and movement of the party was just beyond the trees.

They sat in a companionable silence, which amazed Leni. Usually she was a nervous wreck around kids she wanted to befriend.

Out on the beach, the party was in full swing now. Through a break in the trees, they could see it all. A mason jar was being passed from person to person. Her mother danced in a hip-swaying, hair-tossing way. She was like a woodland fairy, lit from within, dancing for the burly, sodden tree folk.

The beer made Leni feel woozy and light-headed, as if she were full of bubbles.

“What made you guys move up here?” Matthew asked. Before she could answer, he smashed his empty beer can into a rock, crumpling it.

Leni couldn’t help laughing. Only a boy would do that. “My dad’s kind of … an adventurer,” she settled on as her answer. (Never tell the truth, never that Dad had trouble keeping a job and staying in one place, and never that he drank too much and liked to yell.) “He got tired of Seattle, I guess. What about you guys? When did you move here?”

“My grandpa, Eckhart Walker, came to Alaska during the Great Depression. He said he didn’t want to stand in line for watery soup. So he packed up his stuff and hitchhiked to Seattle. He worked his way north from there. Supposedly he walked Alaska from shore to shore and even climbed Mount Alyeska with a ladder strapped to his back so he could cross glacial crevasses. He met my Grandma Lily in Nome. She ran a laundry and diner. They got married and decided to homestead.”

“So your grandparents and your dad and you all grew up in that house?”

“Well. The big house was built a lot later, but we all grew up on this land. My mom’s family lives in Fairbanks. My sister is living with them while she goes to college. And my folks split up a few years back, so Mom built herself a new house on the homestead and moved into it with her boyfriend, Cal, who is a real douchebag.” He grinned. “But we all work together. He and Dad play chess in the winter. It’s weird, but it’s Alaska.”

“Wow. I can’t even imagine living in one place my whole life.” She heard the edge of longing in her voice and was embarrassed by it. She tilted her beer up, swallowed the last foamy drips.

The makeshift band was going all-out now, hands banging on buckets, the guitar strumming, fiddles playing.

Thelma and Mama and Ms. Rhodes were swishing their hips in time to the music, singing loudly. Ro-cky Moun-tain high, Color-ado …

Over at the grill, Clyde yelled out, “Moose burgers are ready! Who wants cheese?”

“Come on,” Matthew said. “I’m starving.” He took her hand (it seemed natural) and led her through the trees and down onto the beach. They came up behind Dad and Mad Earl, who were off by themselves, drinking, and Leni heard Mad Earl clink his mason jar against Dad’s, hitting it so hard it made a sturdy clank. “Tha’ Tom Walker sure thinks his shit don’t stink,” Dad said.

“When TSHTF, he’ll come crawling to me ’cuz I’m prepared,” Mad Earl slurred.

Leni froze, mortified. She looked at Matthew. He’d heard it, too.

“Born rich,” Dad added, his words slurred and slow in coming. “Thass what you said, right?”

Mad Earl nodded, stumbled into Dad. They held each other up. “He thinks he’s better’n us.”

Leni pulled away from Matthew; shame made her feel small. Alone.

“Leni?”

“I’m sorry you heard that,” she said. And as if her dad’s slurred bad-mouthing weren’t bad enough, there was Mama over there, standing too close to Mr. Walker, smiling up at him in a way that could start trouble.

Just like all the other times. And Alaska was supposed to be different.

“What’s the matter?” Matthew asked.