Did she smile in acknowledgment? She didn’t think so. Even that small a thing was beyond her. This grief was unlike any emotion she’d experienced before, suffocating, weighty. It pulled the color from everything.

They found Mr. Walker in the main waiting area, pacing, drinking black coffee from a Styrofoam cup. Alyeska was seated in a chair beside him, reading a magazine. At their entrance, both tried to smile.

“I’m sorry,” Leni said to them.

Mr. Walker came closer. He touched her chin, forced her to look up. “No more of that,” he said. “We Alaskans are tough, right? Our boy will pull through. He’ll survive. You’ll see.”

But wasn’t it Alaska that had nearly killed him? How could a place be as alive as Alaska, as beautiful and cruel?

No. It wasn’t Alaska’s fault. It was hers. Leni was Matthew’s second mistake.

Alyeska moved in beside her father. “Don’t you give up on him, Leni. He’s a tough kid. He made it through Mom’s death. He’ll get through this, too.”

“How will I know how he’s doing?” Leni asked.

“I’ll give updates on the radio. Peninsula Pipeline. Seven P.M. broadcast. Listen for them,” Mr. Walker said. “We’ll bring him home as soon as we can. He’ll recover better around us.”

Leni nodded numbly.

Mama led her out to the truck and they climbed in.

On the long drive home, Mama chatted nervously. She pointed out the extreme low tide in Turnagain Arm and the cars parked at the Bird House Tavern in the middle of the day and the crowd of people fishing at the Russian River (combat fishing, they called it, people stood so close together). Usually Leni loved this drive. She’d search the high ridges for specks of white that were Dall sheep and she’d scour the inlet for the sleek, eerie-looking white beluga whales that sometimes appeared.

Now she just sat silently, her one good hand lying in her lap.

In Kaneq, they drove off the ferry, rumbled over the textured metal ramp, and rolled past the old Russian church.

Leni took care not to look at the saloon as they drove past. Even so, she saw the CLOSED sign on its door and the flowers laid in front. Nothing else had changed. They drove to the end of the road and through the open gate onto their property. There, Mama parked in front of the cabin and got out. She came around to Leni’s side, opened the door.

Leni slid sideways, grateful for her mother’s firm grip as they walked through the tall grass. The goats bleated, packed in together, and stood in a clot at the chicken-wire gate.

Inside the cabin, buttery August sunlight streamed through the dirty windows, thickened by motes of dust.