The Alaskan Laundry Read Online Free Page A

pinched. In her family people said their piece, then moved on. Although, when she thought about it, her father stewed—until he raged.
    She looked back down at the letter. It would be a peace offering, she decided. Not an apology, but something close.
    Â 
The island is strange, though, not what you think of when you imagine Alaska. It’s a rainforest, and you can feel it and smell it. When I got here my boss picked me up with his dog, quiet and watchful. Kind of looked like a wolf.
Anyway, I know there’s more to talk about, but I’m so tired. I’m sorry you feel bad. But I miss you very much.
More soon.
Youse,
Tara
    Â 
    As she addressed the envelope she imagined the snicker he’d give at “youse.” He never broke into full-throated laughter. They were different that way. Although, thinking about it, she couldn’t recall the last time she had really laughed either.
    She licked and stamped the letter, then set it on her nightstand. Turned off the light and pulled the covers to her chin.
    When she closed her eyes she saw South Philly encased in a plastic bubble, one of those snow globes you shook, flakes sifting between the blocks of brick row homes. Vic cutting hair, Connor’s mom at the library scanning barcodes with her red wand. How lucky she was, she thought, to have escaped. Perhaps patience wasn’t her strong suit—but what the hell, impatience had gotten her this far. As grim as the island had appeared out of Fritz’s dirty windshield, shrouded in fog, she still considered her decision a good one.
    A year. Time enough to prove to her father, to Connor, to anyone who doubted her, that she didn’t need another person’s roof. She would find her own home.
    As for her mother, even if the idea of her daughter taking off for Alaska would have frightened her, surely Tara’s larger effort to crack open this world of fish and boats, life on the water, would have pleased Serena.
    Then her mind darkened and she saw her father in his billing office, smoking his cigars one after the other. His yellow highlighter hovering over orders for more milk, more butter, more flour.
    You told me to get out. Now you do the same
.
Just get out of my head and leave me alone.

4
    OPENING HER EYES , she patted the sheets for her watch. A pale strip of light ran down the center of the curtains. “FUUUUCK!” she yelled into the rafters. It was 8:17 A.M.
    She threw off the comforter, hauled on her jeans, grabbed her Eagles hat, and ran. At the bottom of the hill she saw a door propped open with a cinderblock. Green tanks surrounded a bunkerlike building. She headed down a set of narrow wooden stairs and saw Fritz talking to a few workers slouched on stools. He crumpled a wax muffin wrapper, shot it into the trashcan, then rapped his knuckles against the glass clock above him.
    â€œI thought bakers woke early.”
    Breathing hard, she looked over his shoulder. It was 8:36. Not such a big deal.
    â€œNow, I don’t know what you thought it would be like up here, but I can tell you one thing. We get to work on time.”
    â€œThe four hours mixed me up.”
    â€œIf that was true, you should have been here four hours early.”
    The other workers shifted. After a moment, he continued—something about the importance of recording data in the logbook: water temperature, antibiotics, and sample growth rates of salmon. “All right, to work, then. Newt, you fill our newest addition here in on what she dozed through.”
    Fucker,
she thought, watching his brown boots disappear up the stairs.
    From a shadow in the corner a small man emerged. She made out layers of clothing—a soiled thermal, T-shirt, outline of a wife beater—beneath his overalls. Knobs of bone showed along the back of his neck. With his wispy white-blond hair spinning off his skull, and moon-pale skin, he reminded her of an albino rat—or, more generously, a newborn chick.
    She moved