Page 20 of Harper

I sit down across from him, next to his girlfriend, Layla. Like me, she’s Native. I’ve known her forever.

“Hey, Joe.”

“Hey, Layla. How’s it going?”

“All good here. You going to Sandra’s later?”

“Supposed to,” I say, taking the margarita Wyatt pours for me. “Bottoms up.”

The lemony nectar splashes down my throat, a mix of sweet, sour, and salty. I chug the whole thing, then slam the glass back down on the table.

“Whoa, Joe!” says Wyatt with a chuckle. “Thirsty, eh?”

“Next pitcher’s on me,” I promise.

I flag down a waitress and order two more pitchers, just to be safe, then finish off another margarita as we wait for more to come.

“That seat taken?”

I look over my shoulder to find Hunter Stewart standing behind me, gesturing to the open spot beside Wyatt.

Great. Just great.

“Hey, Hunter!” says Wyatt with his broad Aussie grin. “Come join us! Joe just ordered more margies!”

Hunter slides onto the picnic table bench, smiling at me and Layla. “Happy Fourth, folks.”

“Happy Fourth, Hunter,” I say, wondering if any other Stewarts are planning to spend the afternoon at the 4thStreet block party. I can’t help but take a quick look around for another blonde head, cursing my disappointment when I don’t see the one I want.

“You good, Joe?” asks Hunter.

I turn back to him. “Fair enough.”

“Did I see you sitting with my sisters at Smuggler’s Cove?”

“Yep.”

“Long time since I’ve seen you sitting next to Harper,” he says with a twinkle in his eye.

I’m not in the mood to deal with a teasing Stewart sibling. Not today.

“Free seat,” I mutter, giving him a sharp look. “That’s all.”

He nods. “Got it.”

The pitchers arrive, and I pour everyone a glass of margarita and a double for myself. After finishing half of it, I can’t help asking:

“Hey, Hunter…speaking of Harper, where’d she go, again? When she dropped out of UDub?”

“When she dropped out of college?” He thinks for a minute. “Umm, let’s see. She, uh—I think she lived with my aunt in Oregon for a little bit, then worked for National Geographic. Not the magazine, the travel company. Like, on a boat in Antarctica or somewhere cold like that. Polar Region Travel, it was called. In the pictures, she was always wearing one of those bright orange parkas, and surrounded by ice and snow.”

Hunter holds my eyes casually as he answers, and his tone is level and easy, which means he believes what he’s saying.

“Sounds exciting. Why’d she come back to Skagway?”

He shrugs. “Her family’s here. And it’s just as cold.”

“That’s for sure.”

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