A positive rain of Hershey bars out of the back of the Suulutaq dump truck, flung personally by mine superintendent Vern Truax in company with attendant nymphs. Vern tells me he‘s let the nonessential employees off the chain for the day, which explains today‘s record crowd. Just another show of goodwill on the part of Vern and the Suulutaq Mine, and I know we all—ouch! Goddammit, Dinah!

Dinah‘s voice came over the airwaves loud and clear, if more distant from the mike than Bobby‘s. The Suulutaq dump truck isn‘t the only float in the parade. Kate looked at the radio. No one listening could have mistaken the edge in Dinah‘s voice.

Well, pardon fucking me!

Pardonfuckingme! Katya said.

There was a growl and a squeal and a squawk and this time Park Air went off the air for good.

Just as well. The Grosdidiers would be bringing up the rear in their mustard yellow Silverado, Vern Truax would throw the last candy bar, and everyone would adjourn to the potluck barbecue at the gym, the games and races for the kids, and the Red Run Roustabouts playing garage band rock and roll until midnight, when there would be fireworks detonated from the Grosdidier brothers‘ dock. It would still be light out, so mostly people would see clouds of smoke drifting across the river in the half-light of a sun that was teetering its way around the horizon, but that was okay. Nobody expected anything different, and everyone enjoyed whining about it afterward. She wondered if there was a chance of Jim getting back in time for a swim before they turned in for the night, and smiled to herself at the prospect.

For the moment she leaned back, closed her eyes, and wallowed in an Alaskan summer. Her enjoyment was all the richer because it was so unaccustomed. At this very moment she should have been counting fish on the deck of the Freyain Alaganik Bay, one boat to starboard, another to port, both crews pitching an unending silver cascade of red salmon over the gunnels and if she was lucky into the hold. Half a dozen more boats would be waiting their turn to deliver and more pulling their nets to get in line. Old Sam would be in the galley, writing out fish tickets and cursing fishermen and tender summaries and Fish and Game catch reports with a fine impartiality.

Instead, she had coerced Old Sam into hiring Petey Jeppsen in her place. Old Sam did not take kindly to newbies stumbling around his old wooden tub, tripping over head buckets and deck boards and mooring lines and incapable of telling a humpy from a dog, but after the requisite amount of grumbling, he took Petey on. When she shouted him down, he took on Phyllis Lestinkof as well. Turning the Freyainto a goddamn orphanage, Old Sam said, but in about seven and a half months Phyllis was going to need every dime she could lay her hands on, and she knew her way around a drifter so deckhand on a fish tender wouldn‘t be that big a learning curve. Meanwhile, Kate remained on her homestead and attended to her garden, reveling in the vibrant plant life, the warm temperatures, the hours she had to potter around doing long-delayed chores, or read a book. Or lie back on her rock and enjoy the sun on her face.