"Silly goose," she puffed, as their heavy jackets rustled together. The Alaskan air was waiting on the other side of the door; an unkind visitor lurking before them, the weeping willow was wrapping its arms around itself in a protective stance. The pair watched it carefully, a whine erupting from the mouth of the toddler, as her fingers gripped her mother more carefully, who tickled the insides of her legs, heart stockings covering knobby knees and many a scrape and bruise.

“Mama let me go!” Margot set the fidgety toddler on the floor, her small heels clicking as she started around the room. She felt meaninglessness without something to hold on to, her pockets were empty, turned into sticky remnants of holding candy, or storing nicotine patches away from reach. Her fingers held onto the silver doorknob, the cold metal relaxing her fingers until she could remove them gently. The street was barren; the frantic wind a monster to the houses. The bang of clattering shutters the background noise to the ghostly sound of whipping wind.

Imogen was quiet. Margot flinched as she turned the lock, flipped the sign in the window and chased after the terror.

“Mummy doesn’t! MUMMY.” She spoke around her pudgy thumb, her blonde hair bobbing as Margot hooked her left index finger around the digit and pulled it out of her mouth, lips still pursed in an O shape. The other replaced it momentarily. Margot knelt down, her child leaning into her side, as she stacked the Nora Roberts books sloppily.

She held tightly to the sides of Imogen’s coat, as she unzipped the front and the toddler started to wiggle, her feather coated pink leotard protruding from the depths of the parka like a wild animal. A sparkling wing poked out from one side, flapping in the cold stale air of the bookshop. One arm out of the sleeve and the girl took off, the piece of clothing dragging along the creaking wooden floors like a mutation.

Flyers for yard sales and piano lessons wallpapered the four windows that made up the from wall of Sticky Raspberry Books. The rising sun could barely penetrate the layers of construction paper and thin computer sheets. The stores namesake, the Slurpee machines were in front of the desk that Imogen sat underneath. Every few minutes a flutter of paper would call their names as the ticking revolving fan cast a breeze. The ceiling high oak bookshelves created a haven of privacy, a gift shop area of designs from local people who had too much time on their hands. The raised platform was eye level with Margot as she stood up.

Margot reached under her shirt, squashing down the nicotine patch; it was a dud. Her fingernails found the edge, peeling it off slowly, the red skin beneath it yelling for air. Margot crushed the patch between her fingers, pulling out a barely full pack of smokes. Imogen rounded the corner, devilish actions in her eyes, and she held tightly onto a naked Barbie, its hair cut raggedly into a bob much like her own.

The sticks of cancer felt a great deal too warm in her hands, and the Barbie plummeted to the floor as the door vibrated within its hold. It lay face up as Imogen watched her mother bend down to flatten her hair and place it back into her bag before zipping up the child’s coat. The zipper complained as Margot forced it up underneath Imogen’s chin, pulling her hood down securely and zipping her pockets, wool gloves finding their way to protect her fingers.

Disoriented, the small child closed her gray eyes, hugging her mother’s legs as Margot shyly reached down and touched her noticeable scar, a pink procession from the end of her right eyebrow up to her temple. Her pudgy cheeks stood out as she made a fish face, grabbing on to Margot’s fingers as she made her way to the stroller, making careful steps like the ballerina on the walls of her bedroom.

Margot leaned over with wide eyes, pressing a butterfly kiss to each of her cheeks. The child's hood to her parka covered her giggling gaze, her sticky fingers clamped together around Margot's pale skin. Hoisting Imogen into the air, her daughter's Mary Jane's clacked together around her waist, as she nestled her soft face against the smooth curve of mother's skin sweetly, echoing Margot's heartbeat as she watched her daughter. Imogen pressed a sloppy, purple lipstick kiss, sticking to Margot's skin as her gray eyes fluttered shut.

Margot pushed through the door with her shoulder, making a speedy exit of the store, leaving the door to bang shut behind them. Both members of the pair, had weighed down eyelids with the dreary weather, and an outlook of another lagging day, much like the rest of the week. Left to their own plans of having the houseboat to themselves, all they had to look forward to was Margot’s knack of burning food without touching it, and TV until they gave in to the touch of night.

The red tarp had seen many seasons, the thin material faded by sun and wind. Dirty fingers had made it fly in the air, settle down over top the wet sandbox. Imogen's shoes walked through the damp slush that blanketed the playground, Margot being tugged along as she followed a beetle to the bottom of the green plastic slide. Brown leaves were gathered at the bottom, piled into the mess that the toddler slid right through, her mother at the bottom to scoop her into a hug. She released Imogen into the world, wobbly feet carrying her back to the top of the lunging slide.

Back turned to the sprawling palace of dirt and germs, Margot cupped her hands around a clove cigarette, the wind threatening to put out her life source. The sound of cotton on static plastic surrounded her, as she stuck a hand into her jean pocket, chin pointing to the sky, squeals of her daughter making a smile haunt her tired face.

The sky was a ghostly grey, clouds firmly in place as the wisps of white spirals mimicked the ones coming out of end of her cigarette. They curled out of her nostrils, disappearing into the thick, salty air surrounding her. Closing her eyes, Margot inhaled deeply. The gravel beneath her feet shifted, she positioned her feet into one of the many ballet moves Imogen brought home every week.

Her jittery hands caused the ash to fall onto the tip of her rain boots, the rubber disintegrating as she watched, shaky fingers fumbling as she hurried for another taste. She squatted down, her eyes on the discarded food wrappers and pieces of gum.

A half-eaten box of Fig Newtons waved under Margot’s red nose. “Girlie you couldn’t quit smoking if smoking quit you.” Gravel crunched under Audrey’s pink shoes as she shifted her weight and dropped her bookbag. Margot replied with bitter silence, grinding out the rest of the tobacco from its wrapper. She gazed at it despondently; flicking it aside as Audrey sat herself down, leaning her head on Margot’s slumped shoulders.

“I’ll have you know the circus is coming to town,” Audrey grinned, her shaded eyes covered by thick sunglasses, slim eyebrows creeping up her forehead. “I was supposed to hang these, but I figured you cannot exactly overlook a lion on a beach. And plus I didn’t want to harm the public with these eyesores.” DON’T MISS YOUR CHANCE TO SEE THE CIRCUS! Screamed the colorless poster. What looked like traced animal crackers danced around the border.

"Rowdy little children, fattening cotton candy, and then loud animals on top of it all being abused for the pleasure of kids? She still hates me because dogs don't live on boats." Margot motioned to Imogen, swinging with her eyes downcast, legs sticking out of the bucket seats as she reached her hands towards her toes. Audrey's slender frame wrapped into Margot's curvier one, as Imogen finally recognized her. She sat herself down in Audrey's lap, posters being blown away before her.

"Aude what is THAT?" Imogen snuggled into Margot's side, wide eyes fixed firmly on Audrey. She would never let a question go unanswered. Her pipe cleaner wings poked Margot's rib cage and she shifted automatically, twisting to hold up Imogen as she started to fall. The awkwardness never ended. Like the five pounds she could not shed or the extra body always by her side. Only one had she accepted.

"Top secret classified information! Do you know the password?" The child tucked her chin into her chest, while fiddling with one of the many pink sequins on her leotard beneath her parka.

"Polly...pocket?" Burying her face into Margot's hair, twirling it around her small fingers and the sky continued to darken in the distance. Frowning at the sky, Margot wrapped her child's hand in hers. If it was off into the distance, it meant the ship had already encountered it, and whatever was left was ready to batter Nome.

"You've outsmarted me Imogen! Are you positive you want to know the secret?" Imogen nodded, too excited for words, and did the opposite, shaking her head violently and closing her eyes.

"The circus is coming to town! Lions, and tigers and bears oh golly!" Audrey stood up and twirled around, making the layers of her skirt fly up over the top of mid-thigh tights. The child laughed with a high-pitched hoot, her eyes glowing, and cheeks red from the cold.

"Mom," Imogen whined, her lips pushing out, eyes lidded almost closed. "Can we please go?" She poked Margot in the side, nuzzling close. "Can we please?"

"Sure," she hissed, standing up and dusting off her pants. "Time for a nap."

The child held steadfastly onto both the teenagers' hands as they lifted her off her feet, tip of her shoes dusting the ground as they rounded the corner slowly. The store was possibly emptier than it was before, an empty faint shadowy presence of work and books with cracks in their spins holding up the walls.

Heaving Imogen up so that their heads were level, the tired child's eyes closed momentarily, as Margot rested their foreheads together, rustling their jackets together until they reached the backroom. She reemerged along a moment later.

“What do you want most at this very moment in time?” Audrey sat back in her chair, balancing on its two back legs, a game of Collapse! on the computer screen in front of her. Her dark chocolate hair braid slapped her cheek as she hurried to steady herself, the loud bang startling the quiet store, louder than a gunshot. Margot leaned forward, resting her head on her forearms, chewed pencil sticking up behind her pointed ears. They hadn’t seen a single customer all day, tongues pink from the cold slurpees. Not bothering to take off their heavy jackets, the two sat in near silence until Audrey lost a game too many against her invisible opponent.

“To rewind time so I don’t have to go to a fucking carnival.” Margot fidgeted as she spoke, carefully and slowly, raising and lowering the height of her chair. The metal end of her pencil clicked in her mouth as she hit it against the insides of her teeth, clicking gently as she watched the line of cars outside. Bumper traffic, Margot knew all the happy beachgoers were inside, snarling about the line of clouds and raindrops with no pattern.

“Wow. I didn’t…seriously. Christ. I don’t…why are you thinking about who doesn’t want to go instead of who wants to?” Audrey shook her head, following Margot’s gaze out the window. She dropped the pencil, and banged through the door to the lounge, feet stomping on the dirty wood floors.

Imogen breathed heavily through her nose on the couch in the back room, swathed like an Eskimo in a fleece blanket, her wings resting carefully on the floor beside her. Her delicate fingers held the cover in place beneath her chin. The television on before her showed some cartoon, thunder rumbling overhead as she dipped her head to her chest, smoothing back Imogen's greasy hair with the tip of her fingers.

Her own hand was warm as Margot wrapped her long nimble fingers around each other, feeling the absence of Imogen's bouncing body beside hers. The deckhands were shouting instructions to each other, each more infuriated then the next as the pots swung into place, as the skipper organized his logs, as Imogen was hosted into the air by her father and Margot did not step foot onto the boat. Tomorrow the boat would be gone, and she would stand on the pier, wondering. She unwrapped the purple lollipop, pulling it from its plastic wrapper, and hooking her fingers through the loop as the melting candy stuck to the roof of her mouth.

Imogen was on the deck, her jumper wet at the hem from the damp deck, watching her father in awe as he held a fish out before her, her hands behind her back as she watched but did not touch. Squealing in delight as he made the fish's mouth open and close he tossed it back onto the pile of bait, swinging her upon his shoulders as they made their way under the deck. The lollipop tasted of salt water and Margot pitched it into the water.

"Death means a lot of money, honey. Death can really make you look like a star." Her father wrapped his arm around her shoulder, Margot stiffening as Imogen was set on top of the crab pots, her hair blowing away from her scalp in the bitter breeze. Her feet danced on air, and Margot's eyes began to tear, the tips of her fingers wrapping themselves in the fraying ends of her gray stained sweatshirt.

“A little Warhol never hurt anybody.” She craned her head to see his leathery face, the etched wrinkles stretching as he frowned. Margot squirmed her way away, her head downcast as she watched his shoes take a hesitant step forward, then two back. They pointed towards her, and then faced the boat once more.

“You may resent me for the decisions I’ve made and the reasons for which I’ve made them. But I will not endanger you by having you aboard this ship and there will be no child on a moving vessel that I have control over.” His voice was steady and firm, just like how he drove his ship. Margot leaned harder on her feet, hearing the exhausted dock squeak like an injured animal beneath her shoes.

“Tell me, why is it that you have to have control over everything? Like me? I’m pretty grown up if you haven’t noticed, I’ve been tying my shoes and everything around eighteen years now. I'm nineteen.” The words came out bitter sounding, rushed and jumbled together. Her pale fingers poked around from a growing hole near the neck of her shirt, the cotton popping as she pulled the neck down to her chest. Her breathing was slowing, as she licked her dry lips, feeling the blood bruise where she had bit down too hard days ago.

His shoes left the dock, an unspoken barrier broken between the two of them. It left a gap bigger than the one she could self-create with her fingers. He would leave upset from the conversation and would come back weary and in the mood for silence when he returned. Margot sat down carefully at the edge of the dock, feet extremely conscious of the dark water yards below. It lapped at the barnacle covered support poles looking worse for the wear.

She pulled a single white clove smoke from up her sleeve, holding it in her hand like a pencil, pressing it down into her palm until it snapped, plopping into the unforgiving water. It floated away quickly, the abrubt tide splashing farther and farther up the poles at every turn of the waves. Licking the broken end of her cigarette, Margot rested her elbows on her knees, cradling the side of her head on one hand. Twilight licked at the ends of her hair, black bangs pulled back from her sticky forehead. The air was thin, getting lost in the heavy clouds, full of rain ready to be released.

“You could hurt somebody, focusing like that. Penny for your thoughts?” Sebastian nudged her with his knee; rubber suit squelching as he dropped to the edge, boots swinging in place, legs bouncing in endless anticipation. Margot jerked, thoughts ending as soon as he pulled her hand supporting her head, blue gloves enlarging his hands. He squeezed, as she swirled to look at him, eyes at his eyes.

“Something…” he turned around, scratching his head, “on my face? My money not good enough for your brain waves?” His long legs kicked hers, sending them into disarray. Her shoe slipped, her toes catching them as they balled together, her fingers finding the space between the wood boards. The dark sky masked his 5 o’clock shadow that she knew was there faithfully. His close cut brunette hair swayed in the breeze, it sending his deep smell of ocean air and cheap supermarket cologne towards her nose. Margot’s eyes narrowing as she tried harder to make out his distinctive features. Sharp jaw, ever presence piece of gum that he always popped and which she hated.

"That's a bit overpriced…even for you." He laughed quietly, leaning back on his hands as Margot tried hard to not look back at him, focusing her gaze through the many windows that looked in on the captain's office, her farther showing Imogen the controls, the many computers and maps of the Bering Sea, many cups of old coffee that he would never get around to throwing out, pens of all colours, packs upon packs of cigarettes and energy bars for the many days coming. A suitcase or two, extra pairs of socks upon her reminding him, he wouldn't think of it once they were on his feet, just glad that they were there.

"What a wound to my pride. Please don't tell me you're going for my non-existence prejudice next." She left his comment open, standing up to smile ethereally at her daughter. Imogen gave a small wave, holding on to her grandfather's hand, as he shouted at Sebastian. Her toothy smile grew as he reached into the trash bin and pulled out a starfish, handing it to the wide-eyed toddler.

"Psycho Raymond's on the prowl again." Sebastian jumped the gap onto the ship recklessly, Margot sucking in her breath, with an exclamation of "Sweet Jesus." He did not waver as she frowned at him, sticking the cigarette back into her mouth, relishing how her lips found their way around it. It masked the confusion in her mind, the knot in her stomach and the dead taste in her mouth. She had numerous gums and all brands of patches at home in the top drawer of her bureau, but nothing helped more than the real thing.

Margot stirred the pot of macaroni and cheese imperturbably, not bothering to watch it as the purple clouds signified a thunderstorm that had come and gone, leaving the city with orange streaks and pink swirls in the atmosphere. Imogen stood in front of the refrigerator, already in her pajamas of an old, thin University of Alaska shirt that reached towards the floor. She moved the magnetic letters around to conjure words that made sense only her in her mind. A steady drizzle rumbled on the roof, calming down both of their hasty beating hearts. As soon as the phone rang, in the middle of spooning heaps of mushy orange noodles onto a plate, Margot dropped the spoon with a clatter and was upon the handset before it had a chance to complete it’s chime.

"Want to hear about the dream I had last night?" The crackly voice wasted no time with 'how are you' or 'hello.' By the time Margot had nodded firmly into the receiver Sebastian was already blabbing on animatedly about a strawberry stand called Wood and a puppet master and students performing a musical with that song name that he didn't remember but whatever, it wasn't important anyway. And the cat was threatened that if it said it's name one more time it would die and by that time he had already woken up because the dream was giving him déjà vu and he knew that it was going to be stolen and made into a movie so he had to share it before his talent was used and abused.

"And you were a pimp," she concluded for him, how his dreams always ended, being carted off to jail for helping people find what he could only explain as 'everlasting happiness.' Imogen was staring up at her mother with big eyes, pleading for the phone as she bounced on her toes, eyes getting watery as Margot shook her head, turning back to the nightfall, balancing the phone between her shoulder and cheek as she pulled the carton of milk out of the fridge.

"Well yes, but I wasn't just any pimp. I was John Malcovitch. And so they are not the same thing. Like Snoop Dogg and Willie Nelson. I bet they are friends in real life." Margot hummed enthusiastically, ignoring Imogen as she stomped around the widespread room. She could sense an oncoming storm, not from the heavens, but her daughter. Picking up the wooden spoon, she banged it around sloppily, like a farmer calling the pigs to dinner.

"MUM!" Imogen's red face looked like a version of Pompeii, jaw trembling and Sebastian was silent as Margot pondered, handing the phone over silently. Her sticky fingers grabbed it greedily, marching to the sofa, leaving her mother to fiddle with the blue plastic glasses, milk sloshing to the floor as she bit down on her bottom lip, sitting the drinks in the sink as she washed her hands. The backs had many freckles decorating her skin; she could run her fingers over her veins, as she watched them shake, until she couldn't take it anymore.

The clattering of plates against the worn oak kitchen table, Cinderella and Jasmine smiling up at her until Margot hatefully covered their faces with the orange mush. She sat down facing Imogen, her head hanging off the sofa as she fiddled with her long shirt. Her big smile explained it all, she watched her mother. Margot stood up, bringing the smaller plate with her.

"Well there is Peggy Sue, Belinda the fairy, Cowboy Joe, my BESTEST friend April, and there's Edmond, Mr. Willoughby, and Commander Billy. Mommy named Mr. Willoughby. And we all get along and they sleep under my bed and in my shoes and when I'm asleep they braid my hair and they catch the bad dreams." Imogen was awestruck by the conversation, shyness coating her sweet voice. She ignored her mother, whose hand was out for the phone until Margot tugged it away, replacing it with the plate.

Sebastian was silent as Margot murmured a goodbye, heading towards her bedroom, closing the door behind her as she heard the plate fall to the floor.

"So I was thinking Guy, if it's a boy and then...herm, perhaps, no that won't do. Cassie Lynn for a girl because you can draw it out, and it sounds like a name for a dog with ribbons in it's hair. Maybe Girl, because what is the deal with being able to use the name Guy and not Girl. It's like calling a girl Kitty but you can't name a fella Doggie. I reckon that with a name like such there won't be any gender confusion problems. Like what if he or she gets a bowl cut and the kids on the playground are like 'What the fuck is going on there?' It took me the whole movie to find out that Pixie Stick girl was actually a girl, because The Breakfast Club? I thought she was going to be a fruit or probably a bagel with cream cheese." 

The sky above them was suspicious, the stars still coming out, as they blew on pieces of grass, sharp whistled emitting. Honeysuckle buds littered the space around them in a circle. Margot fell backwards, the bottle of watered down whiskey still in her hands.

"I was thinking that we not talk about it." Her frenzied laugh splattered the whiskey on her hands and shirt, mixing with her own sparkling sweat in a confused fusion. The ticklish grass made the back of their legs turn red in the dark air. She liked how her hair fanned out around her head like a halo, and he didn't notice but she didn't care.

Two days since she had investigated the reason behind her stomach churning in the morning, and only one since she had believed it. She still may have not, but wasn't it behind the curvature of all things normal to be pregnant at seventeen? Margot shook her head in the night; hair slapping her cheeks as the cricket rubbed their wings together in the distance and lightning bugs preformed their routines.

"Will you still like me when I'm fat?" Her mouth tugged downwards in a frown, nose twitching as her hands brought the bottle back to her mouth, pathetically she found it empty and it rolled away.

"No, but I might call you when you get your figure back. Search me why." Perpetually Sebastian was a jerk, but she focused on the obscured owl's hoot, and his hand sneaking back towards her as he leaned forward on his legs.

"Search me why the fuck I don't spurn you." She drunkenly moaned, her knees rubbing into the dirt, toes curling as she ran her hand through the grass.

"You know, as the old folks say, it takes two to tango, except for those freaks whom dance with their mother's ironing board or the lone broom. I think they are the minority though." His deep voice was masked with confusion as he tickled the bottom of her feet and she plucked a lonesome honeysuckle from the grass, sticking out her tongue as far as it would go, shaking it harmfully and throwing it aside once it was free of its nectar.

Margot propped herself on her bony elbows, crab pendent hanging from her gold chain between her teeth as she smiled around it. It fit right below the dip in her collarbone. They both waited impatiently for the other to make the first move. Sebastian stood up, hands in his pockets and shoulders raised. He was a bit of a hunchback, to tall to properly stand up straight, broad shoulders harvesting various bruises that traveled all the way down his sides.

"No more nookie." He beamed cockily, facing his eggshell blue trailer. The dimmed lights inside said a hello, the back door cracked as he had left it moments before. "I'm sorry but I'm going to have to put a hold on it. If you need any you can speak to your nearest representative and they will put the desired amount on layaway." Seb conversed with a serious tone, bending down to nudge a stepping-stone back into place. "I'm going to need you to be staid for a sec Marge."

She wrinkled her nose, prodding her left hand into the soft soil by the back chain metal fence. "God made dirt and dirt don't hurt," Margot sung, in a monotone voice. Closing her drowsy eyes, she wiggled her fingers, scooping the damp earth and letting it ooze between her long fingers. He approached her angrily as she studied the clothesline above his head. Her empty hand flexed gawkily, as they both stared at it. He did all the talking like normal. It was a choreographed dance that they had memorized.

His resentment didn't reach his tone, or his movements but it was apparent in his expression. With his jaw clenched and nostrils flaring he cooed, "What are you going to do?" Falling to the ground beside her, he let his fingers brush her leg as she pulled her hand from the ground. It laid palm up, lifelines marked with filth, she examined her fingernails, cuticles astray. She never did have pretty fingers.

"I was thinking, that perhaps you could take me inside and I could clean my hands." It was an empty hope, he already had closed his eyes, in what looked like pain and Margot quickly got up. "And then I thought that I would just go home." Brushing her hands against her thighs, she watched Sebastian grab a handful of grass, his face flushed in the light wave of heat that floated above their heads.

She waited for his voice to call out for her, as she held her shoes in her hands, toes curling as her feet conformed to fit between the rocks. She did not hear anything besides the sighing from her mouth, smelling of smoke. "And then I thought…" Margot opened her mouth, waiting for something to come out, sitting at the beginning of the driveway, where gravel driveway met gravel road. "Then I thought that I'd just walk away."