Caribou Island Read Online Free PDF Page A

and fish entrails and whatever else was down there. He came right up to Monique, who closed her book.
    Fishing not good? she asked.
    Carl grabbed her by the shoulders and kissed her hard. God, I feel better, he said.
    Monique smiled and grabbed him for another kiss. This was one of the things she liked about Carl. Given enough time, he could recognize shit. And unlike most men, he didn’t persist in stupidity just because someone was watching.
    Rhoda came home to find Jim with a drink on the coffee table beside him. Facing the windows, drinking and looking out to sea. Very strange, since Jim almost never drank at all, and certainly never alone. Rhoda began noticing the random things she noticed during tragedies: the refrigerator clicked on only briefly then clicked back off; sunlight reflected off the dark wood of the coffee table but wasn’t hitting his drink; the house seemed unusually warm, also, almost humid, claustrophobic. She set down the grocery bags and walked over to him.
    What’s wrong? she asked in a voice that sounded to her like fear. She touched his shoulder lightly as she said this.
    Hey, he said, perhaps a bit flushed as he turned to her, but not drunk, his speech fine. How was your day?
    What is this? Why are you sitting here drinking?
    Just having a little sherry, Jim said, and he picked up his glass and swirled the ice around. Enjoying the view.
    Something’s up. I thought someone had died or something. Why the sudden change in behavior?
    Can’t a man have a drink? Jesus, you’d think I was burning down the house or writing on the walls with crayons or something. But I’m forty-one years old, a dentist, I’m in my own house, and I’m having a glass of Harveys after work.
    Okay, okay.
    Lighten up.
    Okay, Rhoda said. I’m sorry, all right? I picked up some chicken. I was thinking maybe we’d have lemon chicken.
    Sounds good. Which reminds me, by the way. I may have found a new partner for the practice. A dentist out of Juneau, named Jacobsen, and I was thinking I’d have him over for dinner tomorrow to talk about specifics. So I’m wondering whether you’d be willing to make other plans for just a few hours in the evening. Would that be okay?
    Sure. That’s fine. I’ll have dinner with my parents. I’ll call Mark tonight to let Mom know.
    Great, Jim said. Thanks. Then he looked out to the inlet again and the mountains beyond, the snow on Mount Redoubt, and he thought how clever he was, and how deserving.

Irene was sick and miserable the day after the storm, but the following morning she woke with something much worse, an awful headache that started at her eye socket and spiraled across her forehead. If she closed her eyes, she could see red tracery of the pain. A new pattern with each blink or pulse, a dark limitless sky. Coming from behind her right brow, so she pressed all around the eye, and if she pressed with her thumb at the top inside corner of the socket, this helped briefly.
    She couldn’t breathe through her nose. Her throat sore, perhaps from breathing all night with her mouth open. She swallowed, and that felt raw and painful.
    Gary, she managed to croak out, but no answer. She curled on her side, not wanting to leave the warmth of the comforter and blanket, but now she could feel the draining from her sinuses into the back of her throat, drowning. She sat up and grabbed a tissue, blew her nose, but it was all locked in, rock solid. Blowing only pressurized her ears. It didn’t relieve anything.
    Gary, she called again, more desperate this time, but still no answer. She looked at the clock and saw she had slept late, after 9:00 a.m. She lay back down and moaned. The pain in her head unlike any she’d experienced before, so focused, so insistent.
    She got out of bed and walked to the bathroom. Needed to pee, and then needed painkiller. Took two Advil, and then two more, and walked back to bed. It hurt to walk. She could feel the impact of her footsteps in her head. The back of