How you feeling, Tracy Sue? He pushed my sweaty hair out of my face. Seems like you were getting better, and now this.
I’m fine, I said. I’ll be on the back of a sled tomorrow morning.
He sighed. Looked round my room, the soft glow of the lamp in the corner, the bookshelves he’d made me, filled mostly with books he’d either suggested or give me when I wanted to learn something new, the rocking chair he’d built Mom when she was pregnant with me. She’d used it when Scott come along, too, then it got moved to the den somewhere along the line, but after she died I drug it up to my room. Sometimes I would sit in it, rock back and forth, and think of her with a baby in her arms. How she must of worried over me, over Scott. Sometimes I think if I hadn’t, she’d told me, you might not be like you are. How loud I must of cried to make her decide to do what she done.
Dad rearranged my blankets, fluffed one of my pillows. He seemed distracted, or hesitant, and finally after he hadn’t said nothing in more than a minute, I said, What?
He sighed again. I don’t want to tell you that you can’t run your race, he said. But—
I know, I interrupted because I didn’t want him to have to say it neither. I know I’m too sick to run. My voice cracked. Silly, the way my eyes stung when I had made this decision myself. But saying the words out loud somehow made it more real.
I’m sorry, kiddo. Dad stroked my hair.
It’s okay, I said and swallowed the sob that wanted to come out of me.
We sat in the dark for a time, neither of us saying anything. Till I cleared my throat. You should run, I said. Before Dad could tell me it was against the rules or he wasn’t ready, I went on, I read over the rulebook, and if it’s an emergency, the race marshal can approve a substitute musher. The fee’s already paid, the team is ready, and anyhow, people want to see you race again.
Trace—
And Steve Inga is practically best friends with everyone who’s ever been involved with the race. He could talk the marshal into okaying a sub.
He shook his head. Even if Steve finagled that, he said, there’s no time. The mandatory meeting’s on Friday—
So? It’s Wednesday. We shipped the food drops before the Junior. All you need to do is pack your sled bag and go.
Dad frowned, but I could see a spark in his eyes. He was thinking of reasons to say no, but there was just as many reasons to say yes. I knew he just needed a push.
There hasn’t been a Petrikoff in the big race since Mom died, I told him. I was too young, and you was suspended. But both of us is eligible now. If Mom was here—
I didn’t need to finish what I was going to say. I could see it in his face, in the way his whole body changed, his muscles seemed to relax even as a sort of excitement pulsed off of him.
Please? I said, for good measure.
He held up a hand. If I race, that means Helen is going to come out and check on you. I might see if she can even stay here, long as you’re feeling poorly.
Fine, I said and sunk back into my pillows, tired and relieved.
Dad smiled at me. Guess I’d better go pack, eh? You want some breakfast before I do?
I shook my head. I think I’m just going to sleep a bit more.
He give me a kiss on the forehead before he left the room. I did sleep afterward, not just for a few more minutes but for the whole day. When I woke it was long past sunset and the house was quiet. I trembled while I dressed, my skin cold now and my head swimmy. I longed to head into the woods, slice open the vein of some lively critter. But I still had work to do.
Jesse had turned in for the night. The beam of my flashlight bounced off the shed’s walls as I slipped off my boots and climbed onto the cot next to him. He woke with a jump, then relaxed when he seen it was me.
You’re freezing, he said. His voice seemed smaller in the dark.
I snuggled closer to him. I hadn’t come out to the shed since before the Junior, even before I’d left for the race I had often been too busy to visit, I ended most of my days by falling into my own bed and not waking till Dad poked his head into my room and let me know coffee was on. I had missed the shed filled with the orange glow from the woodstove, missed the closeness of the room. Waking up to find Jesse next to me. I would miss him again, but if my plan worked, I wouldn’t have to for long.
What happened? Jesse asked.
We hadn’t had a chance to talk private since I’d made Dad drive me home from the Junior and busted into the house, expecting to find Hatch. It took me a second to realize Jesse was asking about the message I’d give him that night. I seen the man from the fair, the man who won the strength game.
Hatch was at the start, I said now. He waved at me. I was certain he meant to come out here while me and Dad was gone. But he didn’t. Or maybe he did, and he seen the three of you, and decided to wait.
Jesse frowned. You think he’s waiting till the Iditarod to come back and—what, exactly?
You tell me, I said. You know him. Why would he of stayed in Alaska so long past the time it took him to heal?
In the dark, I didn’t have to close my eyes to see Hatch gazing at me the way he’d gazed at Jesse. Or feel his hand in mine. Or his weight on me, his breath in my ear, the rake an arm’s length away, my fingers straining for the handle. I came here to start a new life. I didn’t expect the old one to follow me is what Jesse had said about Hatch coming north. I couldn’t imagine a man who would cross so many thousands of miles to chase after someone who didn’t want him. Then again, I didn’t know the man. Not like Jesse done.
You’re right, Jesse said. He’s figuring Bill will race, he’ll be gone, and as far as Tom knows, you and Scott and Helen will go down to Anchorage with him. Maybe that’s what the Junior was about—he staked this place out first.
Seeing if you was still here, or if you moved on, I said.
And now he thinks after Bill leaves, I’ll stay behind. Alone, Jesse said. He pulled his gaze away from the ceiling to give me a look. Is that why you’re not racing?
I’m sick, I reminded him.
He rolled his eyes. Then said, Fine. So we wait for him. And when he comes, we’ll be ready.
I’ll be ready, I said.
What?
You can’t be here, I told him. I can’t do what I need to do, plus keep you safe.
He sat up. What you need to do?
I didn’t answer, only watched the fire, so close to dying the wood had stopped crackling, there was only embers left. No sound from the dog yard outside. Silence growing thicker between us, so dense that when Jesse finally spoke, his one syllable barely broke through.
Oh, he said.
I kissed him then. Tired of talking, tired of thinking and convincing. I had more work ahead of me, but for now all I wanted was to sleep a bit, next to his warmth.
He wasn’t done, though. If one of us is staying behind to deal with Tom, he said, it should be me. I can talk to him. Get him to leave, once and for all.
Has that ever worked before? I said. All the times he found you as you was coming north? You just talked, and he stopped?
Jesse’s face flushed. No, but—
He went quiet. Light behind his eyes, his brain puzzling something together. His mind worked fast, I could almost hear it clicking and whirring like some kind of efficient machine.
Fine, he said after a spell. But I should still be the one to—get rid of him.
I sighed. Then pounced, I wound my legs round his and pinned his arms to the mattress, my teeth pressed against the soft skin of his neck, where a vein throbbed. I could feel his pulse speed up under my tongue. He tried to pull out of my grip, but I held on for a few seconds to prove my point.