Caribou Island Read Online Free Page A

behind them, the square gate in the bow above the waterline now, the boat no longer a barge. They rolled a bit on each wave, but no slamming, no spray. Irene’s teeth chattering again.
    A long way from the island to the campground. Gary going slow, the bilge pump working. The campground and truck came into view finally and he cut the motor, landed on the beach beside the ramp. The waves pushing the stern up and down and slewing it to the side.
    We could skip the trailer, Gary said. The waves are too big here. It’ll be a nightmare. We could just pull the boat onto the beach a ways and tie it to a tree.
    So they did that and were home in minutes. So close, and they’d been freezing for so long. Pointless, Irene thought.
    Gary took a quick hot shower, and then Irene ran a hot bath. Painful to sit down into it, her fingers and toes, especially, gone partially numb. The heat delicious, though, surrounding her. She sank into it and closed her eyes, found herself crying carefully, without sound, her mouth underwater. Stupid, she told herself. You can’t have what no longer exists.

On his way back to the office after lunch, Jim swung by the Coffee Bus for a sticky bun. Brown sugar, honey, and nuts, and it meant supporting Rhoda’s brother, too, who might be in need of that kind of thing. Loiterers out front, as usual, but this time, one of them was so beautiful he didn’t realize he was staring until too late, which made him feel like an ass, of course, which then pissed him off. Probably little more than half his age, but her gaze made him feel like his willie was standing out in the breeze for everyone to look at.
    Jim gave his customary grunt and half-smile in her direction. This was rarely loud enough for anyone to hear, and many in Soldotna who didn’t know him well considered him a misanthrope because of it, he knew, but this amazed him. To him, this muffled greeting sounded like a full and cheery, if soft-spoken and not overly aggressive, hello.
    The woman, leaning against the side of the bus, nodded to him in return, pulled her old down coat tighter, and Jim walked stiff-legged and awkward up the wooden steps to the window, trying not to look at her. She was only a few feet away now, and he was embarrassed. Desperate, also. Desperation reached like a cold hand through his genitals into his lower back.
    Hey Jim, said Karen. Sticky bun?
    That would be the item.
    Mark came to the window and stuck his hand out.
    Jim shook it. How are you?
    Meet a friend of mine, Mark said. Jim, this is Monique. Monique, this is Jim. Jim’s a dentist, fastest drill in the west. Monique’s a visitor to our fair state, come to see the wild lands.
    Monique put a hand out, and Jim reached down to shake it.
    Hi, Jim said. Having a good trip?
    I am, she said. Mark and Karen are taking good care of me. Then she waited as he stared. She seemed, to Jim, not just to have time but to be the one behind it. Like the Wizard of Oz, maybe, in his little booth.
    Maybe you could tell me, Monique said. You’re a dentist. I have a tooth that feels cold sometimes and hurts a little if I’ve been in the cold. It hurts today, for instance. She rocked her jaw a bit, feeling it. Is that a cavity, or just something else?
    Could be, Jim said. I’d have to take a look to know for sure. Jim checked his watch. One thirty-five. Actually, I could take a quick look now before two if you’re free.
    Huh, Monique said. Then she shrugged. Okay.
    So Jim drove her to the office. No one else back from lunch yet. He flipped on the lights and took her to one of the chairs in the back. Oh, maybe I should have given you a tour first.
    That’s all right, Monique said, sitting back in the chair. Lovely ducks on your ceiling. Jim had glued the undersides of rubber ducks up there, webbed orange feet paddling around midair as if the office were underwater.
    For the kids, Jim said.
    For the hunters.
    Yeah, maybe so, Jim said, trying to chuckle lightly, not sure whether or not she