“Tourists are flooding the banks of the Kenai River during king season, they’re navigating our waters, they’re packing the marine ferry system and coming to our dock in droves. Cruise ships are going to start bringing thousands of people up here, not just hundreds. I know Ted’s charter business has doubled in the last two years and you can’t get a seat at the diner in the summer. Word is that the foot ferry between us and Seldovia and Homer could be filled every day.”

“We came up here to get away from all that,” Dad shouted.

“Why are you telling us all this, Tommy?” Large Marge called out from the corner.

“Glad you asked, Marge,” Mr. Walker said. “I’ve finally decided to spend some money on the Moose, fix the old girl up. It’s about time we had a bar that didn’t blacken our palms and the seat of our pants.”

Someone whooped out in agreement.

Dad got to his feet. “You think we need a citified bar, that we need to welcome the idiots who come up here in sandals, with cameras hanging around their necks?”

People turned to look at Dad.

“I don’t think a little paint and some ice behind the bar will hurt us,” Mr. Walker said evenly.

The crowd laughed.

“We came here to get away from the Outside and that screwed-up world. I say we say no to Mr. Big Shot improving this saloon. Let cheechakos go to the Salty Dawg to drink.”

“I’m not building a bridge to the mainland, for God’s sake,” Mr. Walker said. “My dad built this town, don’t forget. I was working at the saloon when you were trying out for Little League in the Outside. It’s all mine.” He paused. “All of it. Did you forget that? And now that I think of it, I better fix up the old boardinghouse, too. People need somewhere to sleep. Hell, I’ll call it the Geneva. She’d like that.”

He was needling Dad; Leni saw it in Mr. Walker’s eyes. The animosity between the two men was ever-present. Oh, they tried to walk a wide berth around each other, but it was always there. Only now Mr. Walker wasn’t moving aside.

“Do you frigging believe this?” Dad turned to Mad Earl. “What’s next? A casino? A Ferris wheel?”

Mad Earl frowned, got to his feet. “Hold on a sec, here, Tom—”

“It’s just ten rooms, Earl,” Mr. Walker said. “It welcomed guests a hundred years ago when Russian fur traders and missionaries walked these streets. My mother made the stained-glass windows in the lobby. The inn is a part of our history and now she’s all boarded up like a widow in black. I’ll make her shine again.” He paused, looked right at Dad. “No one can stop me from improving this town.”