Page 75 of Harper

“I get it that you don’t like me, but I don’t respond well to threats.”

“You Barbie-doll-look-alike bitch,” she says. “I should deck you for what you did to him.” Her eyes slide to my belly. “But I guess I’ll wait a few more months for the honor of kicking your ass.”

He told her that I’m pregnant.

“Where is he?” I ask, stepping back to block Joe’s front door so Sandra has no choice but to talk to me.

Her eyes narrow. “Am I here to answer your questions, princess? No, I am not. I’m here to water some fucking plants. Now, get out of my way.”

“I need to talk to him.”

“You need to go—the fuck—to hell.”

“Sandra, please.”

“Please…what?” Her face contorts. “Do you have any idea how much you’ve fucking destroyed him? He would have done anything for you, you piece of shit, qat’sqaq. Casuutekegkunaku. Leave him alone. You hear me?”

I step away from the door, and Sandra steps forward, unlocking it. Before she can slam it shut—

“Sandra!” I speak fast. “My first appointment is with a perinatologist at the children’s hospital in Anchorage. Providence Hospital. Tuesday after next. Joe’s welcome to meet me there. If he…if he wants to. Tell him to text me for details.”

For a second, she doesn’t move—just stands in the doorway with her back to me. Then, she nods once, reaches for the doorknob, and pulls the door closed.

***

Joe

When I woke up on Sandra’s couch almost two weeks ago, my head hurt so much, I could barely stand it. Four Advil and half a gallon of water later, sitting at the kitchen table with her and Bart, I told them everything that Harper had told me the night before.

I cried. I raged. I called Harper Stewart every unsavory name in the book—names that I wouldn’t let another man call her without dislocating his jaw.

“It was too much at once,” said Sandra.

“What’re you going to do?” asked Bart.

“You should go over to Kodiak and have a think,” said my cousin. “Stay on Afognak, up at Mark’s lodge. Tribal lands. Be good for you.”

“A hunting and fishing lodge? During high season? Yeah, Sandra. I’m sure they’ve got plenty of rooms available at the last minute.”

“He’s my second cousin on my dad’s side.” She shrugged. “I’ll call him. He’ll fit you in.”

I knew for sure that I’d be shit at my job for the foreseeable future, so as soon as she heard from Mark, I took Sandra’s advice. I cashed in two weeks of vacation time and caught a puddle-jumper to Kodiak Island. And yes, being here in Afognak has been good for me in some ways; without work, I have loads of time to think. But so much thinking has got me in knots, too.

Somewhere in this world, I have a daughter named Raven—Moriah Raven—who is about nine years old. And I don’t know her, and she doesn’t know me. It makes me sick to my stomach, then taut with rage.

I want to know her. I want her to know me. And yet, Harper’s words circle in my head. She has a life. She has parents who love her. Who am I to invade her safe, stable, happy life? Is that what a loving parent would do?

I’m grateful Sandra suggested that I get away to this remote part of the world. Because if I’d stayed at home, I may have gone off half-cocked—reached out to these adoptive parents and tried to muscle my way into my daughter’s life. And that would have been wrong.

My anger is with Harper for keeping my daughter from me. My frustration is with Harper with her lies and deceit, with the years I’ve lost knowing my child.

But if—no, when—I finally meet Moriah Raven, I don’t want it to hurt her or traumatize her. I don’t want it to cause fear or anxiety or insecurity for me to suddenly appear in her life. If her parents have been good to her, as Harper claims they’ve been, I will reach out to them first and follow their lead about meetingmy daughter. I would like to know her in a way that’s organic and peaceful for all of us, but especially for her.

When I get back to Skagway, I’ll ask Harper for the name of the adoption registry she used, and I’ll reach out to the Calvins on my own.

Ask Harper.

Jesus, even the thought of having to speak to her makes the fury inside of me boil and hiss. I’m so angry with her—so hurt and betrayed—I don’t know how I’ll ever be able to look at her again.

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