Large Marge sat there a long time, then pushed to her feet. “Wait here.” She left Leni sitting on the settee, breathing carefully. She walked back toward the store’s shelving, bumping into one of the steel animal traps hanging on the wall.

Leni kept reliving the scene with Matthew, hearing his screams, seeing his eye roll around in the socket. He needs a diaper change.

Her fault. All of it.

Large Marge returned, her rubber boots squeaking on the sawdust floor. “You might need this, I’m afraid. I always keep one in stock.”

Leni looked down, saw the slim box in Large Marge’s palm.

And just like that, Leni’s life got even worse.

*   *   *

IN THE DARK of an early-fallen night, Leni made her way from the outhouse to the cabin beneath a starlit velvet blue sky. It was one of those vibrant, clear-skied Alaskan nights that were otherworldly. Moonlight reflected on snow and set the world aglow.

Once inside the cabin, she latched the door behind her and stood by the row of parkas and Cowichan sweaters and rain jackets, the box of mittens and gloves and hats at her feet. Unable to move, to think, to feel.

Until now, this second, she would have said blue was her favorite color. (A stupid thought, but there it was.) Blue. The color of morning, of twilight, of glaciers and rivers, of Kachemak Bay, of her mother’s eyes.

Now blue was the color of a ruined life.

She didn’t know what to do. There was no good answer. She was smart enough to know that.

And dumb enough to be in this situation.

“Leni?”

She heard her mother’s voice, recognized the concerned tone, but it didn’t matter. Leni felt distance spreading between them. That was how change came, she supposed: in the quiet of things unspoken and truths unacknowledged.

“How was Matthew?” Mama asked. She walked over to Leni, peeled off her parka, hung it up, and led her to the sofa, but neither of them sat down.

“He’s not even him,” Leni said. “He can’t think or talk or walk. He didn’t look at me, just screamed.”

“He’s not paralyzed, though. That’s good, right?”

That was what Leni had thought, too. Before. But what good was being able to move if you couldn’t think or see or talk? It might have been better if he’d died down there. Kinder.

But the world was never kind, especially not to kids.

“I know you think it’s the end of the world, but you’re young. You’ll fall in love again and … What’s that in your hand?”

Leni held out her fist, uncurled her fingers to reveal the thin vial in her hand.

Mama took it, studied it. “What is this?”

“It’s a pregnancy test,” Leni said. “Blue means positive.”