Page 94 of Harper

But my cousin’s fear is justified. The way my chest swelled with love when I walked into the clinic is too fresh a memory. I can’t help the way I feel, and my feelings for Harper are still…there.

“What about forgiveness?” I ask.

“What about it?” asks Sandra.

“If she’s truly sorry, which I think she is, I could forgive her. And once you forgive someone, you can reconcile with them, can’t you?”

“She’s only sorry because she got caught.”

“No,” I say softly. “I think she’s always been sorry. I don’t think she liked carrying the secret around. I think about all the years she couldn’t look me in the eye. I think it tortured her. I think there’s even a chance she thought she was protecting me.”

Sandra throws her napkin on the table. “You’re driving me crazy.”

“I’m just trying to look at it from all angles!”

“Here’s the only angle you need, Joseph…she kept your kid from you for nine years. She lied, by omission, for nine years. There’s no way to come back from that. You can forgive all you want. But you won’t be able to forget. And if you can’t forget, you’ll always be suspicious of her, which means you’ve got nofuture with her. You’ll never be able to trust her.” Sandra crosses her arms over her chest and sits back in her chair. “You give any more consideration to Wasilla?”

Yes. No. Fuck.

If Sandra’s right—if I’ll never be able to trust Harper again and therefore, can’t build a future with her—then I should start thinking about what’s best for me and my child. And maybe a fresh start is what I need. No, I never envisioned being a single parent so far away from Skagway, but having him or her visit me during school breaks and for three months every summer would be…

Stable? Steady?

Awful.

“I don’t know,” I say, leaning back in my own chair, my appetite gone.

“Well, at least you didn’t say no,” says my cousin, reaching into her purse. “I made Bart pick this up for you.”

She places a packet of papers on the table between us. On the top it reads City of Wasilla.

“When you’re ready, you can fill out the application and send it in.”

“You’re meddling.” I give her a look. “Big time.”

“So, kill me,” she says, reaching for her beer and taking a gulp. “I care about you.”

Hours later, I sit on my deck with a mug of hot decaf in my hand and the job application on the end table beside me. Picking it up for the third or fourth time, I read through it again, then take a pen from my breast pocket and start filling it out.

Chapter 11

Harper

October is a changeable time in Skagway.

The days get shorter by about three minutes a day, every day—which means that by October tenth, the sun sets just after six, and by Halloween it’s almost gone by five.

The cruise ships come in smaller and smaller numbers until they, too, are gone entirely. The last cruise ship pulls out of port in mid-October, and we won’t see another until early-May.

Our tours taper off to one or two a week; mostly fellow Alaskans enjoying the shoulder season. We Stewarts handle repairs and renovations at our camp, all of us pitching in to wash, dry, fold and bag-up towels and linens that won’t be needed until next year. We sweep out summer cabins and close them up for winter. We restock the pantry to a tenth of its capacity—just enough for us.

Dyea reverts to the ghost town it truly is.

Seasonal businesses in Skagway close down, too, while others open at odd hours only.

We all move at a slower pace because we can. We stop and greet neighbors at the Fairway, catching up on their highs and lows of the season. We chat for an hour over hammers and screwdrivers at the True Value. Friends stop by for chilly campfires before the snow starts falling, and we all look forward to Yuletide in Skagway.

This is the home I know and love—the one I share with a thousand other souls, not ten thousand.

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