The Great Alone

“I love you more. And … I’m afraid,” Leni said.

“This time was bad, I’ll admit, but it scared him. Really. It won’t happen again. He’s promised me.”

Leni sighed. How was Mama’s unshakable belief in Dad any different than his fear of Armageddon? Did adults just look at the world and see what they wanted to see, think what they wanted to think? Did evidence and experience mean nothing?

Mama managed a smile. “You want to play crazy eights?”

So that was how they would do it, merge back into the driving lane after a blown tire. They would say ordinary things and pretend none of it had happened. Until the next time.

Leni nodded. She retrieved the cards from the rosewood box that held her mother’s favorite things and sat down on the floor beside the mattress.

“I’m so lucky to have you, Leni,” Mama said, trying to organize her cards with one hand.

“We’re a team,” Leni said.

“Peas in a pod.”

“Two of a kind.”

Words they said all the time to each other; words that felt a little hollow now. Maybe even sad.

They were halfway through the first game when Leni heard a vehicle drive up. She tossed the cards on the bed and ran to the window. “It’s Large Marge,” she yelled back to Mama. “And Mr. Walker.”

“Shit,” Mama said. “Help me get dressed.”

Leni ran back to Mama’s bedroom and helped her take off her flannel pajamas and get into a pair of faded jeans and an oversized hooded sweatshirt with sleeves big enough to accommodate the cast. Leni brushed Mama’s hair and then helped her out to the living room, got her situated on the ragged sofa.

The cabin door opened. Snow fluttered inside on a wave of icy air, brushed across the plywood floor.

Large Marge looked like a grizzly in her huge fur parka and mukluks, with a wolverine hat that looked to have been handmade. Earrings made of antler bone hung from her sagging earlobes. She stomped the snow from her boots and started to say something. Then she saw Mama’s bruised face and muttered, “Son of a freaking bitch. I should kick his beef-jerky ass.”

Mr. Walker came in to stand behind her.

“Hey,” Mama said, not quite making eye contact with him. She didn’t stand; maybe she wasn’t strong enough. “Would you like some—”

Dad pushed his way in, slammed the door shut behind him. “I’ll get ’em coffee, Cora. You stay put.”

The tension between the adults was unbearable. What was happening here? Something, that was for sure.

Large Marge took Mr. Walker by the arm—a firm, fish-landing grip—and led him to a chair by the woodstove. “Sit down,” she said, shoving him into the chair when he didn’t move fast enough.

Leni grabbed a stool from beside the card table and dragged it into the living room for Large Marge.

“That itty-bitty thing?” Large Marge asked. “My ass is going to look like a mushroom on a toothpick.” Still, she sat down. Planting her fleshy hands on her hips, she looked at Mama.

“It’s worse than it looks,” Mama said in an uneven voice. “We had a car crash, you know.”

“Yeah. I know,” Large Marge said.

Dad came into the living room, carrying two blue-speckled cups full of coffee. Steam rose up from them, scented the air. He handed Tom and Large Marge each a cup.

“So,” he said uneasily. “We haven’t had winter guests in a while.”

“Sit down, Ernt,” Large Marge said.

“I don’t—”

“Sit down or I’ll knock you down,” Large Marge said.