Page 94 of Untamed Coast

Marco leaned in.

Lena—2014

Daphne—2016

Crystal—2017

Marco fought back tears. He ran his fingers over the rough engraving, each name etched with a different stroke, each groove aged differently.

He pictured the three young women sharing this space over the years, battered, terrified, lonely, hopeful—reaching out to each other across time for courage, comfort, and a companionship of sorts.

He imagined Joe Baxter crawling down here in winter to retrieve his food supplies, braving the harsh Alaskan weather and solitude. Trying to find his own leverage against the crush of the Great Depression.

He visualized Anya in her younger days, taking a minute for herself during a fishing break to have a cigarette, finding her own brief refuge from whatever demons stalked her.

Marco turned toward Anya, studying the lines in her face. “I’m glad you were here for her.”

“She’s safe now.” Anya turned off the lantern, started up the ladder, then paused. “New life, new identity—I thought you should know, but we have to protect her secret.”

Marco followed her down the path back toward shore. “Of course, I will.”

“I apologize for misjudging you, Marco,” Anya said. “I’m having the work that our boatyard did on your boat comped. I’m also paying for the spill cleanup and any other damage. Also, next time you need bottom paint and so forth on that beautiful vessel of yours, it’s on me.”

“I’m sorry I stumbled into your way,” Marco said.

“We never meant to harm you, Marco.” Anya looked down. “But if you want my advice, you’ll get yourself back out there and find yourself a partner, instead of traipsing around Alaska looking for damsels in distress.”

Marco felt the knot in his stomach begin to relax. “I’ve had my great love already. I don’t think I’m really—”

“You’re a handsome man with a lot of good years left,” Anya said. “And you are clearly a good guy, the way you tried to help Crystal. The world could use a few more good men. I could introduce you to a few dozen—”

“That’s thoughtful of you,” Marco replied. “I’ll think about it. You taking that advice yourself?”

Anya chuckled. “Oh, and there’s also this.” She reached into her bag, her hand emerged cradling—round, smooth, glass. “I am deeply sorry that our boatyard crew misplaced this when your work was being done. I wanted to return it to you personally with my apologies.”

Marco’s knees buckled, and he caught himself on a tree trunk. A great weight of sorrow rose from his core. He opened his mouth to speak but couldn’t form words.

Michelle.

“I think we have a lot in common, Mr. Franco.” Anya placed the snow globe into Marco’s hands and squeezed them with both of her own. “I’d like to be friends, if you can see your way clear to forgive me.”

They emerged from the woods into the clearing. The fishing boat was gone. Orange beanie guy stood waiting on the beach alongside his flat-black RIB and Marco’s dinghy.

“Where did your boat go?” Marco asked.

“Fishing, I hope.” Anya chuckled. “Not gonna make any money just sitting there at anchor.”

Chapter 73

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Inian Pass, AK

2018—Marconi Franco

Marco gave the snow globe a couple of good shakes and set it back on its perch above the helm. “This may be a bit of a rough ride.” The glitter snowflakes swirled around the Chief Johnson totem pole and drifted down onto the plastic Creek Street boardwalk.

Radio Flyer swayed and twisted in the current as she bucked four knots of tidal outflow through Inian Pass. Marco hadn’t timed the route well and arrived near max ebb. He revved the engine to maintain steerage and stood at the helm ready to react to any eddies or whirlpools he might encounter.