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Before leaving the small airport, there was still an airport usage fee to pay.
The charge mainly covered the work of the airport staff, who had cleared snow from the runway in advance to make the landing safer.
They weren't getting paid simply for sitting around and guarding the airfield.
After settling the fee and watching the propeller plane depart, Henry climbed into the passenger seat of Old Tom's pickup and headed out with him.
The radio was tuned to a country music station, a genre beloved by many older white men.
Playing at the moment was John Denver's classic:
"Take Me Home, Country Roads."
As he drove, Old Tom said,
"Hey, kid. Never thought you'd do so well after heading to Los Angeles. Even newspapers up here in Alaska have written about you."
"Hmm, let me guess what kind of articles they were."
Henry smirked.
"'Hollywood outsider invests an absurd amount of money into a ship doomed to sink at the box office.' Was it that one?"
"Hah! Don't be so bitter."
Tom laughed.
"You know how people started talking about you after the King of the World crowned himself at the Oscars."
"'A lucky amateur who rode Director Cameron's coattails and ended up standing above a whole bunch of movie studio executives.'"
Henry shrugged.
"Something like that?"
Tom laughed even harder.
"Success is success. Don't waste time listening to jealous people.
"The purpose of all that venom they spit is either to tear you down or deny your achievements.
"Journalists are generally ignorant, which is exactly why they invented the Pulitzer Prize—to reward the occasional one who manages to say something that isn't stupid."
Hearing that perspective, Henry burst out laughing.
"That's the first time I've ever heard someone put it that way."
"Isn't it true?"
Tom replied matter-of-factly.
"We reward people because most others can't do what they do.
"If something becomes ordinary and everyone can do it, what's left to reward?"
"Fair point."
After a moment, Henry asked,
"Any news from Alaska?"
Over the years, Henry had sent supplies to Tom every few months, but he had never bothered asking about local gossip or day-to-day happenings.
Nothing that happened in Alaska stirred much emotion in him.
This wasn't his home.
It had merely been one stop along the road of his life.
And besides, there wasn't much to talk about.
Especially over the phone.
Even without worrying about long-distance charges, what two men spent hours discussing family trivia?
Now, face-to-face, it was simply a way to pass the time.
As expected, Tom shrugged.
"What could possibly change around here?
"It was like this a hundred years ago, and it'll probably still be like this a hundred years from now.
"If you really want a difference from when you were here, Old George retired a few years back.
"He handed the captaincy of the Annie II over to one of his nephews and became a full-time ship owner."
George Jefferson III.
The owner and captain of the crab boat Annie II, the vessel Henry had once worked aboard.
He was one of the most respected captains in the port.
Henry looked surprised.
"I thought he'd keep captaining forever.
"Why retire?"
"Both his kids work in the Lower 48 now."
Tom shrugged.
"They've got families of their own.
"Now it's just him and his wife left up here.
"He's earned enough money to enjoy retirement.
"Why keep risking his neck at sea?"
"That makes sense."
Henry nodded.
"Didn't he consider moving somewhere with better weather?
"He's still living in town?"
"Where would he go?"
"Hawaii?"
"That's still next to the ocean."
Henry stared at him.
So that's your standard?
As long as it's not the sea?
There was little point arguing with an old man who already had one foot in the grave.
Changing the subject, Henry asked:
"What about Old John?
"His bar was still doing terrible business, I assume."
Tom snorted.
"Anyone foolish enough to walk into his bar during daylight hours had better be prepared to get chewed out.
"That's common knowledge around here.
"So how good do you think business could possibly be?
"Not that he cared.
"He was long past the point where he needed the money."
Looking back now, the bar's operation seemed less like a business and more like a daily check-in system.
If Old John ever failed to open up, everyone immediately knew something might be wrong.
The sheriff breaking in right away and discovering him proved exactly that.
The old man hadn't suffered an accident.
His time had simply come.
He left quietly.
The two continued chatting intermittently throughout the drive.
From time to time, Henry glanced back at Katie in the truck bed.
Alaska's winter didn't seem particularly difficult for a tiger covered in a thick winter coat.
At the very least, she showed no signs of discomfort.
Nor did she curl up to preserve heat.
She simply lay on her side, watching the unfamiliar scenery pass by.
Los Angeles rarely saw snow.
Even the Sheep Hollow Laboratory she frequently visited seldom experienced snowfall deep enough to bury her legs.
The snowy landscape fascinated her.
Every so often she sniffed the crisp air, far removed from the noise of the city.
Then she tilted her ears, listening to the faint sounds of animals searching for food rather than hibernating.
Though most of what she actually heard was the truck engine.
If she could jump down and run through the snow herself, it would probably be wonderful.
Fortunately, Kryptonians didn't possess telepathy.
Otherwise, if Henry knew what Katie was thinking, he would likely use "weight loss" as an excuse and happily let her try chasing the truck through the snow.
It would be interesting to see whether she could catch Ford's proud F-150.
The town soon came into view.
Funeral customs across Europe and America were broadly similar.
Having attended the funerals of both Audrey Hepburn and Howard Stark, Henry was already familiar with the process.
In sparsely populated Alaska, burial remained the norm.
The cemetery sat beside the church.
The nameless town had a small church as well, though no priest permanently resided there.
Only a caretaker, who happened to be a believer, maintained the grounds.
A traveling priest responsible for several parishes would periodically stop by to hold Mass.
Not every Sunday.
Only according to his assigned schedule.
Since this was already the second day after Old John's passing, his body had been prepared and placed in a coffin.
The wake was being held in his bar.
When Henry arrived, he found the place packed.
In broad daylight.
If Old John could see the scene, he would probably climb right out of the coffin in fury.
Everyone seemed to be doing it on purpose.
With the old man gone, they had all gathered together.
After all, while he was alive, the bar had practically been forbidden territory during the daytime.
Anyone who entered got scolded.
If they weren't going to cause trouble now, when would they?
Seeing the crowd, Henry immediately knew bringing the whiskey had been the right decision.
The moment Tom parked the truck, several curious old men looked outside.
Even though Henry now wore a full beard and had his long hair tied casually into a ponytail, someone still recognized him.
"Henry!
"You actually came back.
"Now that's a surprise."
Lifting one of the crates of whiskey from the truck bed, Henry replied:
"Old man, open the door for me.
"Don't tell me you lot already drank the bar dry in the middle of the day."
The familiar labels of premium whiskey immediately caught everyone's attention.
Their eyes lit up.
The door was opened at once.
"It's a shame you missed yesterday's celebration.
"Everyone deliberately came to enjoy daytime drinking.
"Good thing you brought more."
Henry muttered,
"If Old John found out, he'd die of anger.
"Ah, right. He already did."
The room erupted with laughter.
Not a single person looked sad.
Yet there was no mockery in it.
Henry understood.
This wasn't disrespect.
This was simply the way they chose to send Old John off.
A joyful farewell.
Unfortunately, he was practically the only young person present.
If there had been a few more, they might have ended up giving the old man a full-blown dancing pallbearer sendoff.
At that moment, Katie let out a roar from the truck bed.
Several of the old men jumped.
But unlike younger people, they weren't truly frightened.
Instead, they turned to Henry and asked:
"That big cat is real?
"I thought it was some kind of taxidermy display or statue you brought back.
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