Leni felt a jab of worry. Lack of sleep wasn’t good for Dad; it made him anxious. So far, he’d been sleeping great in Alaska.

“Drinking does all kinds of bad shit to you, Red. I know better, too. Well, that’s it,” he said, pounding the last nail into the suede work glove that had been used to make the door’s hinge. (Large Marge’s idea—these Alaskans knew how to make do with anything.)

Leni climbed down and dropped to the ground, the coffee can full of nails rattling at the movement.

Dad rammed his hammer into his belt and started climbing down.

He dropped down beside Leni and tousled her hair. “I guess you’re my little carpenter.”

“I thought I was your librarian. Or your bookworm.”

“Your mama says you can be anything. Some shit about a fish and a bicycle.”

Yeah. Leni had heard that. Maybe Gloria Steinem had said it. Who knew? Mama spouted sayings all the time. It made as much sense to Leni as burning a perfectly good bra to make a point. Then again, it made no sense at all that in 1974 a grown woman with a job couldn’t get a credit card in her name.

It’s a man’s world, baby girl.

She followed her dad from the cache to the deck, passing the bones of their new greenhouse and the garbage-bag-wrapped makeshift smokehouse. On the other side of the cabin, their new chickens pecked at the ground in their new enclosure. A rooster preened on the ramp that led to the coop’s entrance.

At the water barrel, Dad ladled out a scoopful and splashed his face, which sent brown rivulets running down his cheeks. Then he went to the deck and sat on the bottom step. He looked bad. Like he’d been drunk for days and was sick from it. (Like he used to look, when he had nightmares and lost his temper.)

“Your mama seemed to like Tom Walker.”

Leni tensed.

“Did you see the way he shoved our noses in his money? I can loan you my tractor, Ernt, or Do you need a ride to town? He looked down at me, Red.”

“He said to me he thought you were a hero and it was a dang shame what happened to you boys over there,” Leni lied.

“He did?” Dad pushed the hair out of his face. A frown creased his sunburned forehead.

“I like this place, Dad,” Leni said, realizing suddenly the truth of her words. She already felt more at home in Alaska than she ever had in Seattle. “We’re happy here. I see how happy you are. Maybe … maybe drinking isn’t so good for you.”

There was a tense moment of silence; by tacit agreement, Leni and Mama didn’t mention his drinking or his temper.

“You’re probably right about that, Red.” He turned thoughtful. “Come on. Let’s get you to school.”

*   *   *