4. Willow
Chapter four
Willow
“ N o further leads have been discovered in the mysterious death of local trapper Jim Reese , who was found mauled by wolves last week,” the man on the radio’s voice crackles.
I suppressed a shudder. The wolves I heard that night – were they the ones who killed him?
The local news seemed to think so. Even though there was no reason he should have been out there in the middle of the night. He didn’t even have traps out with him. I wasn't really a crime buff or anything. I’d been following the story out of boredom more than anything.
Dad walked by and turned off the radio. “Don’t listen to the AM channel news. You’ll get depressed.”
I forced back a bitter laugh. Like we weren’t both the textbook definition of depression every day, anyway?
I sipped my coffee and checked my phone for any new notifications. Nothing. The texts from Poppy slowed since the beginning of the semester. She must be busy with actual in-person classes.
I sighed and flipped my phone over so the empty screen would stop taunting me.
Dad slurped back a long drink of black coffee, leaning against the counter before speaking. “Willow, why don’t you come into town with me?”
I looked up. “What?”
“You haven’t left the property since we moved in,” he continued. “Town is just a few miles from here, and I have to do some stuff. Why don’t you come with me?”
The strain in his smile struck me in the heart. He’s trying. He’s trying so fucking hard for things to be normal.
“Sure, Dad,” I said, snapping my laptop shut and leaving the homework for another time.
***
The town of Grayling Pass was really stretching the definition of what could be considered a main street. Everything was clustered: a general store, a pharmacy, two bars, and a hardware store. The general store sold basic groceries, which would be easy to get to because our nearest Safeway was in Fairbanks.
The two bars caught my eye. One looked like a classic dive bar, all dark wood and neon signs. The other was more modern, with seasonal outdoor seating for the five days per year that it'd be warm enough here to enjoy the patio. It was closed, apparently only open for tourist season, whenever that was.
I followed Dad to the general store, trailing behind like a puppy.
Stepping into the general store felt like stepping back in time. The wooden floorboards creaked underfoot, and the air smelled faintly of dust and coffee beans. The shelves were packed with a surprisingly diverse array of goods – canned foods, boxes of pasta, bags of flour and sugar, cleaning supplies, and toiletries. A glass-fronted cooler hummed quietly in the corner, stocked with milk, eggs, and a few pre-made sandwiches.
The few customers inside glanced at Dad momentarily and then stared at me. Typical. They had probably never seen a darker-skinned girl in their life. Hell, people around here probably still used the word “mulatto”.
I ignored it the best I could, filling our basket with the essentials as Dad chatted with the lady at the counter, who seemed to be knitting between customers. She’s about my grandmother’s age. She’s Inupiaq, marked proudly with tattoos on her chin.
“Willow,” my dad said as he waved me over. “Come meet Mrs. Rose.”
“Hi,” I did a little awkward wave as I set down the basket.
I waited while my father talked this poor lady’s ear off. I was looking around and pretending to be interested in the candy by the cash register when something outside caught my eye.
Well, everyone’s eye.
There was a loud squeal as a battered pick-up truck came to a stop just outside the general store. People ran out of the bar across the street and flung the door open. A middle-aged guy staggered out, a bottle of vodka in his hand. He stumbled and fell into the snow.
Rose made a disappointed sound.
Without a second thought, Dad ran out to help, and I was left standing with our basket.
“That boy is going to kill someone someday,” Rose muttered as she took my money. God, groceries were expensive as hell this far up north.
“Huh?” I ask, looking away as the driver began throwing up all over the snow. Thankfully, a few people were trying to help him get up. The second-hand embarrassment was intense.
“He’s still not over the divorce,” Rose continued, mumbling to herself before noticing that I was listening. “Harvey. My ex-son-in-law,” she said with a tightness in her voice.
I nodded, unsure what to say, and shoved the change into my pocket. I quickly threw our groceries in a reusable tote bag.
In the blink of an eye, the crowd’s energy shifted. The man starts throwing punches.
“Dad!” I shouted, dropping the tote on the floor as I rushed out.
The drunk guy, Harvey, started swinging at my dad.
"C'mon, buddy," Dad's voice was gentle but firm. He’d seen enough of this stuff when we lived in the city. He always had a soft spot for bums and homeless people. He’d stopped countless fights that he had no business being involved in. It was just his nature, I guess.He was the kind of guy who cared deeply for other people. Even strangers.
The drunk swayed, his gaze landing on me. "Leave me alone," he mumbled, his voice thick with bitterness. "Just leave me alone."
I stepped back, a wave of unease washing over me.
Dad put himself between me and the drunk. “We’re just trying to help."
Harvey's head snaps up, his eyes burning with a sudden fury. "Help? No one can help me. She's gone. She's gone, and it's all my fault." He lunged forward, his fists aimed at Dad.
Dad was quick for a man of his size, sidestepping the clumsy swing.
"Easy, friend," Dad soothed, his tone still calm. "It's okay to hurt, but you don't need to hurt anyone else."
The drunk stumbled, his anger turning to despair. He sunk into the snowbank, sobbing into his hands.
Dad crouched beside him, his hand resting lightly on the man's shoulder.
I stepped back as the crowd surrounded him again. A man with a big beard from the bar across the street grabs the keys from the ignition. “Someone get this guy home where he can sober up.”
A lady shook her head. “One day, he’s going to hurt an innocent person.”
“Then the Winston brothers will take care of him,” someone added in a dark tone.
Some of the townspeople exchanged glances at those words. The fear in their expressions made my stomach turn.
The Winston brothers?