Caribou Island Read Online Free PDF

her eye a new zone she had never even noticed before.
    She slipped under the covers, moving carefully, and tried to blow her nose again, then tried to just fall asleep. She didn’t want to be awake for this.
    Gary was at the boat, working on the bent bow ramp. A solid break in the rain, finally, and he was taking advantage of it, though he felt like hell, some kind of flu and fever, his stomach weak. He’d spent much of the day before in bed. Irene even worse off.
    With several big clamps and a rubber mallet, he was making progress, swinging hard with both hands, the mallet bouncing but also gradually bending the plate back into place.
    You’d think they would have made this bow a bit stronger. It was a ramp, after all. It should have been strong enough to drive on, the boat big enough to carry a small car. But whoever had designed it hadn’t put enough reinforcement across the center. Gary was an aluminum welder and boat builder himself and had thought about just building a boat with a ramp, but Irene hadn’t wanted that. Too many problems with his cost estimates for earlier boats. A lack of faith. So they wasted a lot of money on this one.
    No other boats two days ago in the storm, but today there was constant traffic on the ramp beside him, five or ten small boats launched. The fishermen looked him over, and several came by to inspect.
    Got a bend there, a man said. He was wearing hip waders with straps over his shoulders, a great way to drown.
    You go in with those, Gary said, the waders become an enormous bucket.
    The man looked down at the bib of his waders. You could be right.
    Yeah, Gary said, and went back to hammering. The man left, which was good.
    Maybe it was just that he’d been feeling sick for two days, his stomach weak, but Gary was feeling self-critical as well. Thinking he didn’t have a good friend up here, after so many years. No one offering to help on the cabin. A few friends, but no one he could call up, no real friendship. And he wondered why that was. He’d always had good friends before, in California, still had a couple of them, though he saw them only every few years. Irene hadn’t helped things, not very social—she was shy, somehow, and rarely wanted to leave home—but still he didn’t know why he didn’t have better friends here.
    The bow plate wasn’t going to get any straighter. He loosened the clamps and could see the fit at the latches still wasn’t a perfect seal. He’d have some water intrusion. But this was good enough.
    Gary picked up his tools and looked at the lake. Small waves, some wind, not like two days ago. No rain. He’d get Irene and they’d take another load out. It was almost eleven, a late start, but they could accomplish something.
    Back at the house, Irene was still in bed.
    The weather’s better, he said. We could take a load out.
    Turn off the light, she said, and rolled over to face the other way.
    What’s wrong? Not feeling well?
    I have a terrible headache. Worst I’ve ever felt.
    Irene, he said, Reney-Rene. And he switched off the light and sat on the bed, put an arm over her. Fairly dark in here, the thick curtains closed, light coming in from the door only. His eyes weren’t adjusted yet, so he couldn’t see her well. Want some aspirin or Advil?
    I tried that. It doesn’t work. It doesn’t do anything. She sounded exhausted.
    I’m sorry, Irene. Maybe I should take you in to a doctor.
    Just let me sleep.
    So he kissed her forehead, which didn’t feel hot, and went out, closing the door. Then he opened the door again. Do you want some lunch?
    No. Just sleep.
    Okay, and he closed it again.
    Gary walked into the small kitchen, crammed with too much stuff, and grabbed smoked salmon from the fridge, capers and cornichons, crackers, sat at their dark wooden table. Like a mead hall, the dark table and benches near the hearth. A big stone fireplace, something he’d always wanted. But the space was too small, too cramped, the ceilings too low. It