The Leaving Year

by Pam McGaffin

  “Yeah, I figured it was something like that.”

  “I didn’t really come up here to get a canning job.”

  Jody eyes me with suspicion. “So what are you doing on Nagoon?”

  “Okay, I came to Nagoon mostly to see Sam. But there’s this lady, this, um, friend of my dad’s I’m going to go see in Ketchikan.”

  Jody looks more confused than ever, but I’m too tired to go into it. Maybe later. “It’s complicated.”

  “That’s okay. You don’t have to explain.” She leans back and rubs the palms of her hands on her sleeping bag.

  “Thanks.” I reach over and pat one of her knees. “In any case, you don’t have to worry about me getting drunk every night.”

  She grins. “Then you won’t have to worry about me, either.”

  CHAPTER 24

  Anchor Watch

  A crewman assigned to watch the ship while anchored to make sure it’s not drifting

  Every part of me wants to sleep—my muscles, my bones, my hair. But I made a pact with Jody. Coming to this beach party was her idea. She heard that Connor, the hunky Native forklift driver, would be here. “This may be my last chance,” she said.

  When I told her there would be a keg, she noted that it would be outdoors, so it technically wouldn’t violate her alcohol rule.

  She asked me to keep an eye on her, though. If she so much as touches a beer, I’m supposed to tackle her to the ground. I agreed to the first part, the watching, but even that isn’t easy with all these people holding white Styrofoam cups. The keg is under someone’s hooded rain jacket so that, from far away, it looks like a very small, very still person standing under the trees—with many tall friends.

  There must be more than sixty people here, mostly slimers, newbies, and second-year vets like Jody. The real veterans, the manongs and other “lifers,” don’t mix with us. According to Sam, they weren’t amused by the canned-fruit caper. Even I can sense the resentment in their flat expressions. They know we don’t really need these jobs. We can leave after our Great Alaskan Adventure.

  That doesn’t mean we don’t work hard, though. It’s late July, the peak of the run, and we’re putting in twelve- to fourteen-hour days. Jody says that’s light. The long days used to be longer, before the earthquake in ’64, before they started seeing drop-offs in the numbers of fish. Still, it’s more than enough work for me. When I close my eyes, I see running water and the pale orange cavities of fish. A spastic jerk of my head jolts me back to reality, our bonfire on the beach, mesmerizing in its shapes and colors. From blue to green, then pink to orange. Sam and I sit like stacked chairs, his chest to my back, his knees serving as armrests. The flames pop and sputter, sending up tendrils of smoke.

  Jody finally convinced me to try salmon cooked the Indian way. Mounted and trussed on sticks, it tastes like no salmon I’ve ever had. It’s crisp and smoky, almost sweet on the outside, and so tender on the inside.

  “The Tlingit believed salmon were a tribe of people who lived in the ocean and traveled upstream on invisible canoes,” she says, blowing cigarette smoke out her nose. “Pretty trippy, huh?”

  “So does that make us cannibals?” Sam asks.

  “Yes, it does … just kidding! But you do have to show the proper respect. My grandmother tells stories about day-long ceremonies to welcome home the first salmon. They would take the bones back to the ocean to make sure the salmon people kept returning. Nowadays, though, we just throw our bones in the garbage like everyone else.”

  “That’s sad.” I search for the words to explain why, but Jody’s attention is elsewhere. I follow her stare straight to Connor, who’s standing at the water’s edge, about a hundred yards away from us, skipping rocks. With an effortless side arm and flick of his wrist, they leap over the calm surface of the water before trailing off in countless tiny ripples. Even trying to balance a cup of beer in his non-throwing hand, he’s able to skip without fail. And I have to admit, he’s easy on the eyes, with no shirt and the fang of some animal swinging from a chain around his neck. Even here, where guys outnumber girls at least three to one, Connor could have his pick.

  “Have you two talked yet?” I ask.

  Jody sucks on her cigarette, rolls her eyes, and blows the smoke skyward. “Yes, we’ve talked.”

  “More than hello?”

  “Ye-es.”

  “Okay, just checking.”

  To look her best for Connor, Jody took a shower before putting on her cleanest pair of dirty jeans, some makeup, and the necessary bug spray. She even took my advice and ditched her red baseball cap so Connor could see her eyes better.

  “Go on, walk up to him. Start a conversation.” I nudge her with my foot. “What have you got to lose?”

  She presses her lips together. “Oh, just my pride.”

  Sam’s snort makes me turn around. “What’s so funny?”

  “It’s just that guys are the same way about girls. We’re scared too.”

  “I’m not scared!” Jody crushes her cigarette on a log and throws the stub in the fire. “Fine. All right. Here goes.”

  She stands up, brushes the sand off the seat of her pants, and starts toward him. On the way, she picks up a chunk of granite the size of a fist. That’s one way to get your man. Knock him out first. Of course, she doesn’t hit Connor over the head. She waits until he’s between throws and hands him the rock. I can’t hear what she’s saying as Connor turns the chunk around and around in his hands. Then they stop talking. Eyes on the water, Connor plants his feet and squares his shoulders. He swings his arm back and flings that rock so perfectly level that it skips. Twice. So Jody hands him another, bigger rock. It might have skipped, too, but for the fat wake thrown up by some guys in a passing motorboat. The driver turns around and comes back for another pass, pumping his fist in the air as the waves from his boat slap the shore.

  “Hey!” Connor yells as the boat roars past a third time, angling toward the beach like it’s going to crash our party—literally. The driver, a wild-haired guy with a big red beard, cuts the engine just in time to pull it up before the propeller scrapes bottom. Then he and his friend jump out to pull the boat to shore. Once the boat is secure, the bearded guy reaches under the seat and pulls out a bottle and something else. They survey the beach, fixing on our fire pit gathering.

  Bear, who has been watching them, straightens his back. “They’re coming over.”

  Sam and I privately dub the boat’s driver Red Beard because he reminds us of a pirate. He even has a dagger holstered in his belt. His friend has a Popeye body with big tattooed muscles. I can see a naked lady on one arm, a skull on the other. His waist is so narrow his jeans hang down, revealing grimy white underwear. They both have that glazed, red-eyed stare that I now recognize as being stoned.

  “Hey, I know what this party needs,” Red Beard says to his friend so loudly we can hear. With the bottle in one hand, bag in the other, he raises his arms as he enters the light of the fire. His skin glows red, sunburned. His friend sways on his feet, eyes at half-mast.

  “You all canners?” Red Beard asks, looking around the circle.

  No one says anything. Finally, Valerie answers, “Duh.”

  Red Beard grins. “Mind if I …?” He plops down, squeezing between her and Pandora, giving them both a squeeze around the shoulders while staring south of their faces. His friend, who volunteers that he goes by Hoggy, finds a cozy spot between Marlene and Jill. If he were a dog, he’d be drooling.

  Red Beard takes a swig from the bottle and passes it to Valerie, who surprises me by taking a drink.

  “Yeah, that’s right.” His voice is guttural, his gaze approving. He turns his attention to the brown pouch in his lap, pulling out a pipe and something in a plastic bag that looks like a turd and has a name like a sneeze. “Ha-sheesh,” he calls it. He fills his pipe, lights it, and takes a long drag. Still holding the smoke in his mouth, he hands the pipe to Pandora. She takes a dainty puff on it and passes it along.

 
“Man, you gotta get on a fishing boat next summer,” Red Beard says to no one in particular. “That’s where the real bread is, not this canning shit. I made four grand last summer, and that’s not counting what I spent on entertainment. That peeler bar in Ketchikan.” He chuckles to himself. “Man, those chicks was fat and ugly.”

  “Hey, dude.” Bear leans in like he’s going to challenge him, but all he does is slice his hand across his throat. The universal cannery signal for stop.

  Red Beard’s grin goes slack. “What? I walk into the Queen’s tea party or something?” His friend laughs, but no one else does. “Sorry, ladies, guy talk.” He gives a bow. “Hey, drink up. Take a toke. Let’s loosen things up around here.” He waves his arms in opposite circles. “Everybody happy, eh?”

  Sam and I pass on the bottle and the pipe. I don’t want to swap spit with these two. Some of the others don’t appear to mind, though, including Jill, who I always thought was so dainty with her pale-frosted lips. Beyond her shoulder, I notice the beach emptying of people. Jody and Connor aren’t skipping rocks anymore. I don’t know where they are, but if she’s with him she’s probably okay. After all, he’s why we’re here.

  “Yeah, that mess you got yourselves into,” Red Beard is saying, “makes me proud to be Canadian. Any draft dodgers here?”

  Sam’s muscles tense. I squeeze his knee just in case. These guys aren’t worth a fight. But Bear doesn’t see it that way. He shoots Red Beard a murderous glare.

  Red Beard holds his arms up in surrender. “Hey, it’s cool, dude. Didn’t mean no offense.”

  His friend looks at Bear then back at Red Beard then back at Bear again, mouth straining to keep a smile. Red Beard gets his bottle back. He takes a long, sloshy swig, and finishes with an exaggerated “aah.”

  “Any you slimers been out on the water? Really should see the scenery while you’re here. Clarence Strait is real pretty by boat, and I got one right over there.”

  I’m not sure what he’s offering, whether it’s the use of his boat or a sightseeing trip with him as a guide. No one takes him up on his offer either way.

  He looks around, casting a wary glance at Bear. “No one wants to go for a spin? Nice boat, comfortable seats …?”

  I make the mistake of smiling at him. “How ’bout you, sweetheart? Yer boyfriend can come, too. I don’t discriminate.”

  “No thanks,” Sam says.

  I shake my head.

  When it finally sinks in that he isn’t going to get a date from any of us, Red Beard says, “Well, okay, have fun canning, eh?” He staggers to his feet. He collects his pipe and he and his friend leave our circle to try their luck down the beach.

  “God, I wouldn’t be caught dead with that guy,” Jill says when they’re out of earshot.

  Josh does a dead-on impression of Red Beard talking about “peeler bars, aye!” and we all laugh. I look up the beach to see where they’re going next, and that’s when I spot the friend, Hoggy, talking with Jody. They’re just standing there smoking, but it makes me nervous seeing her with him. Red Beard has left them to visit the keg.

  “What’s wrong?” Sam asks.

  “Jody’s talking with Hoggy.” Sam doesn’t know about the secret agreement we have, but I think he senses my worry.

  “She can take care of herself,” he says.

  “I hope so.” I watch them until they go their separate ways, Hoggy to join Red Beard, and Jody to join Connor and … is that Murf? They’re sitting on a log littered with white cups. Jody appears to reach for one, but her hands go to the small of her back in a stretch. Cannery work is hard on the lower back. Mine is stiff too. I decide to give Jody the benefit of the doubt, because I really, really don’t want to tackle her.

  Murf, on the other hand, is obviously drunk. Leaning back, she almost loses her balance on the log, prompting Connor to reach out an arm to catch her.

  Jody’s got competition.

  The boat stays on the beach. No one’s going for a ride with those guys. They’re just too weird, and the air is too cold. I’m content in my cozy nest by the fire, curled next to Sam, head resting on his chest, a tired numbness taking hold.

  I don’t know how long I sleep, but when I wake up, a big, black bird is pecking at the remains of our salmon. “God, that crow is huge!”

  “It’s not a crow,” Sam says.

  I’ve never seen a real live raven before. This bird is magnificent, and just a bit scary with its large, hooked beak and shiny black eyes. As it steals morsels from the still-smoldering fire pit, I can see why ravens have come to symbolize death and the underworld. I can sense the quick intelligence that inspired Edgar Allen Poe and the Native trickster tales. This is no ordinary bird.

  “Wow,” I say, transfixed. It’s almost enough to take my mind off my full bladder. Almost. “I really, really have to pee.” There is no public restroom. My choices are the beach, which is way too exposed, or the woods. I start for the latter.

  “Hold on,” Sam says, slowly getting to his feet. “I’ll go too. Don’t want you getting dragged off by a bear … or pirates.”

  I roll my eyes. Then I notice that the boat’s gone. “They left.”

  We walk up the beach and into the forest. Under the thick cover of evergreens, it’s more like real night. It’s probably much later than it appears. No doubt the sun has already set in Annisport. I wonder if Mom is asleep or awake. Maybe she can’t sleep because she’s too keyed up. I really should call her again. I said in my postcard that I’d call. She probably thinks that, because I haven’t, something horrible has happened. She’s probably cleaning the grout in the bathroom right now because she can’t stop imagining all the terrible possibilities. The guilt weighs on me, making the need to pee even more urgent. Squatting behind a fat tree trunk while Sam stands guard, it takes me an embarrassingly long time to empty my bladder. Meanwhile, Sam’s done before I know it.

  “Guys have it easy,” I say as we walk back to the fire, just embers now. The party has thinned out considerably. Couples are silhouetted in the glow of the coals, against the blues of sky and water. I’m reminded again of those impossibly hard 5,000-piece jigsaw puzzles that are half one color, and you can’t tell what’s what. I recognize Murf’s head poking above a beach log. She looks like a boy. And there’s Connor with his arm around her.

  Wait a minute. “Where’s Jody?”

  “What?” Sam asks.

  “She’s not with them.” I scan the beach for her short, muscular body, a head with a ponytail. “Oh my God, Sam. She’s not here.”

  I run over to Murf and Connor, feet slipping over the rocks. “Where’s Jody?”

  “Christ!” Connor jerks away from Murf mid-kiss. Murf looks up at me, all dreamy. Suddenly I hate her. I hate her for stealing Connor. And I hate Connor for being stolen. I hate them both for making Jody so mad or depressed or both that she took off. Maybe she’s drinking. Maybe she’s already drunk. Maybe …

  Up the beach near the water’s edge, a glossy black bird hops over a groove in the rocks where a boat once was.

  “Do you know where Jody is?” I try to stay calm, but my heart is pumping so hard I’m amazed they can’t hear it.

  Connor shrugs. “Sorry.”

  “But she was with you guys!”

  Connor’s jaw clenches. “You her chaperone or something?”

  I spin around, almost running into Sam, who I didn’t know was behind me. There’s a black blur in my peripheral vision. The raven flying off. Sam’s eyes reflect worry and fear, like he doesn’t know me, like I’ve just been body-snatched. Maybe I have. I turn back to Connor and Murf. “I was supposed to keep an eye on her to make sure she didn’t drink because, well …” I’m about to explain Jody’s family history, but stop myself. “Anyway, now I’m really, really scared that she did drink and then left with those guys.” I flap my arm toward the spot where the boat was.

  Sam puts a hand on my shoulder. I know my fear makes no sense to them. How do I explain the fluttering in my stomach? If
only I hadn’t been so tired. I’m not tired now. I’m wide awake.

  “You know, come to think of it,” Connor says, “she said she was going for a walk.”

  I suspect Connor may be trying to get rid of me, but I ask him where.

  “Down the beach, I think.”

  “Did she go alone?”

  “I think so.”

  “How long ago?”

  “I don’t know, twenty minutes, half an hour? I wasn’t really paying attention.”

  “Obviously.” I glare at Murf.

  As Sam and I turn to go, Murf wishes us luck, but with her slurring speech, it sounds like “suck.”

  CHAPTER 25

  Devil Seam

  The seam in the planking of a wooden ship that’s on or below the waterline and therefore very difficult to seal in the event of a leak

  The wind kicks up. Sam and I scan the beach for signs of Jody. The sky glows. It’s not light but it’s not dark, either. Our long shadows stretch across the rocks.

  Then I see it. Something white caught by the wind. A Styrofoam cup.

  “Well, someone passed this way.” I catch it before it blows off again, smell inside.

  “What are you doing?” Sam asks.

  “Seeing if it smells like beer.”

  “Does it?”

  “Hard to tell.” I stuff the litter in the pocket of my jacket. “Jody!”

  “Jody!” Sam’s voice breaks as he shouts, like he just woke up.

  Our nap was much too short. Besides the long day of canning, we’ve been going for almost twenty hours. Every time my foot slips on the rocky beach, I startle awake. The crunch of our steps echoes in my brain, like we’re walking in some gravelly tunnel.

  “Sorry to drag you into this,” I tell Sam. “I was the one who promised to look after her, not you.”

  He shrugs. “I couldn’t let you go off by yourself.”

  Sweet, loyal Sam. Sworn to protect, just like his sailor dad. He’s standing by me even though he probably wants nothing more than to crawl onto his cot and get a few precious hours of sleep before our shift. I grab his hand and squeeze it. He squeezes back. Jody is his friend too. Together, we’ll find her. We have to. I imagine her drunk and despondent over Connor, staggering down the beach alone, a big, fat target for pirates. Red Beard and his friend could have scooped her up and taken her anywhere to do whatever.