The Great Alone

She went to Mama, touched her gently on the shoulder.

“He went after Leni,” Mama said. “I had to shoot him. But … I shot him in the back, Marge. Twice. He was unarmed. You know what that means.”

Large Marge sighed. “Yeah. They don’t give a shit what a man does or how scared you are.”

“We weighed him down and dropped him in the lake, but … you know how things get found in Alaska. All kinds of things bubble up from the ground during breakup.”

Large Marge nodded.

“They’ll never find him,” Leni said. “We’ll say he ran away.”

Large Marge said, “Leni, go upstairs and pack a small bag. Just enough for overnight.”

“I can help with cleaning,” Leni said.

“Go,” Large Marge said sternly.

Leni climbed up into the loft. Behind her, she heard Mama and Large Marge talking quietly.

Leni chose the book of Robert Service poetry to take with her for tonight. She also took the photograph album Matthew had given her, full now of her favorite pictures.

She pushed them deep into her pack, alongside her beloved camera, and covered it all with a few clothes and then went downstairs.

Mama was wearing Dad’s snow boots, as she walked through the pool of blood, making tracks to the door. At the windowsill, she pressed a bloody hand to the glass.

“What are you doing?” Leni asked.

“Making sure the authorities know your mom and dad were here,” Large Marge answered.

Mama took off Dad’s boots and changed into her own and made more tracks in the blood. Then Mama took one of her shirts and ripped it and dropped it onto the floor.

“Oh,” Leni said.

“This way they’ll know it’s a crime scene,” Large Marge said.

“But we’re going to clean it all up,” Leni said.

“No, baby girl. We have to disappear,” Mama said. “Now. Tonight.”

“Wait,” Leni said. “What? We’re going to say he left us. People will believe it.”

Large Marge and Mama exchanged a sad look.

“People go missing in Alaska all the time,” Leni said, her voice spiking up.

“I thought you understood,” Mama said. “We can’t stay in Alaska after this.”

“What?”

“We can’t stay,” Mama said. Gently but firmly. “Large Marge agrees. Even if we could have argued self-defense, we can’t now. We covered up the crime.”

“Evidence of intent,” Large Marge said. “There is no defense for battered women who kill their husbands. There sure as hell should be. You could assert defense of others, and it might fly. You might be acquitted—if the jury thinks deadly force was reasonable—but do you really want to take that chance? The law isn’t good to victims of domestic abuse.”

Mama nodded. “Marge will leave the truck parked somewhere, with blood smeared across the cab. In a few days, she will report us missing and lead the police to the cabin. They’ll conclude—hopefully—that he killed us both and went into hiding. Marge and Tom will tell the police that he was abusive.”

“Your mom and dad share the same blood type,” Large Marge said. “There’s no conclusive test that can identify whose blood this is. At least, I hope there isn’t.”

“I want to say he ran off,” Leni said stubbornly. “I mean it, Mama. Please. Matthew is here.”