by K. A. Tucker
Thoughts of climbing onto Jonah’s lap fade as real life takes over. “We can’t land up there, can we?”
“Not likely, but we should at least look.”
I should have known Jonah would want to do that. He doesn’t seem the type to be able to report a missing person and then simply move on with his day. I sigh with a hint of trepidation. “Okay. If you say it’s fine.”
“It is. Trust me.” Jonah smooths his hand over my thigh, and my blood begins to race. “We can revisit that other conversation later. But for right now, I need your focus. And your eyes.”
“And they definitely said they were going up into Rainy Pass?” I ask as we clear the last section of the mountain range, having found no signs of the hikers but plenty of tense moments where the cloud cover shifted to mask entire peaks. Dense trees and a vast system of lakes stretch before us, as far as my eyes can see. I sink back into my seat, taking what feels like the first deep breath since we took off, wishing for a stiff drink.
Jonah holds up a creased piece of paper with a map and a hand-drawn line with several x marks. “This was the planned route they gave me just in case.”
Which we basically just flew over, as much as we could, anyway.
“So, now what?” I wince, the bumping and jostling from the turbulence having done little good for the blossoming caffeine headache behind my eyes.
Jonah’s shrewd gaze studies the fuel gauge as he bites his bottom lip in thought. “Man, Wren and Aggie are gonna be pissed.”
“Why?” I ask warily.
“Because they hate it when I change plans.” Jonah’s hands are tight on the yoke as he dips our plane to the right and brings us around. “And I’m changing plans.”
“There!” I shriek, my adrenaline surging as I stab the air. A sagging yellow dome tent sits on the ridge to our right. One person—likely a female, given the long ponytail—is jumping up and down, frantically waving her arms in the air. The person beside her remains seated on the ground, propped up by a pile of rocks and covered by a neon-orange blanket. “Is that them?”
“They’re way off course, but yeah, pretty sure that’s them. And he’s hurt.” Jonah eyes the flat patch of ridge behind them with a calculating look that makes my stomach drop.
“You can’t land here.”
“I’ve landed on worse.” After another moment of consideration, he shakes his head. “I could, but I wouldn’t get back up with the added weight.” He curses under his breath, and then with a sigh, he tips the wing toward them before leveling off. A signal that we’ve noticed them.
The woman falls to her knees and throws her arms around the man’s neck, and I’m hit with a wave of chest-warming relief. God only knows what their story is, and what the situation is, but her joy is unmistakeable, even from the air.
Jonah gets on the radio. Within minutes, a search-and-rescue team have the couple’s coordinates and a helicopter is en route.
“How’d you know to look here?” Jonah veered off in another direction on the way back.
“Just a hunch. Sometimes people get these two rivers mixed up.” He drags a finger along the photocopied map. “They were smart enough to camp out where they did, though. If they’d stayed down here, there’s no way we would have seen them and who knows how long it would have taken the rescue guys to fly out this way. They could have been out here for another week, easily.” His chest heaves with a sigh and I catch the faintest “thank God,” under his breath.
“That would have really bothered you, huh.”
“It would have bugged the shit out of me,” he admits. “I would have dropped you off, fueled up, and come right back.”
“Is that why you were in such a rush to get back in the air?” He wasn’t being an ass. Well, maybe he was, but it’s more that he wanted to find them.
Jonah pauses. “Nah. I was just afraid you’d take off your clothes again.” His lips twitch as he tries to hide his smile.
I give his arm a playful smack and the corners of his eyes crinkle with his smile.
He reaches down to squeeze my hand before putting it back on the yoke. “Come on. Let’s go home.”
“This is gonna be a treat,” Jonah mutters, steering the plane in with an air marshal’s guidance, his blue gaze on Agnes as she marches toward us.
“She doesn’t look angry,” I say doubtfully. Agnes’s face is typically serene. Sure, there’s no wide smile to greet us. If anything, she seems hesitant to approach.
“She never does. That’s part of her superpower.”
“Well, at least we found the hikers. They’ll be happy about that.”
“Yeah. They will be.” Jonah sets his headset down with a sigh, smoothing a hand over his beard. “But Wren hates it when I fly in on fumes, and this time I did it with you.”
I frown. “Wait, what do you mean ‘fly in on fumes’?” I look down at the gauge with new alarm as it registers. “Did we almost run out of gas? In the air?”
“Nah. She probably had another five miles or so in her.” He pats the plane’s door affectionately.
Five miles? Probably? “Are you insane?” Thank God I didn’t know about that!
“Relax. I was watching the line and doing the math. If I didn’t think we could make it, I’d have found somewhere to put her down.”
“You mean like on a pile of rocks in a field?” Has he already forgotten that he crashed a plane a few days ago?
I get a sharp glare in return, a warning that throwing that in his face was not a good idea. “No. On one of the sandbars that we passed.”
“Fine. So we would have been stranded in the middle of nowhere, without heat, eating beef jerky and protein bars?” I don’t bother hiding my irritation.
“Hey, you’re the one who was sizing up the backseat of the plane for us.” He slides out before I can get a proper retort in.
Not that I necessarily have one handy.
My flare of anger fades to annoyance as I watch him round the nose. He pulls my door open for me and holds a hand out.
On impulse, I swat it away and hop down. My rubber boots hit the gravel with a soft thud. Just a week ago, showing up here in my wedge heels, I would have needed him.
God, what was I even thinking, wearing those here?
“So now you don’t need me. Funny, I don’t remember you pushing my hand away last night when I was—” He grunts with the impact of my fist against his hard gut.
“Shut up!” I hiss, giving him a warning as I glance around, hoping the air marshal didn’t catch that.
He chuckles and squeezes the back of my neck in a way that could look platonic, except his fingers find their way past my hair to linger against my skin. “Hey, Aggie. Did rescue call with an update on the Lannerds?”
“They’re taking them to Anchorage now,” Agnes confirms. “Apparently, they got disoriented in the fog, and then Mr. Lannerd slid down a washed-out slope and broke his leg. Lost his sat phone in the tumble.”
Jonah snorts. “That’s an anniversary trip they’ll never forget.”
“Oh my God.” Another wave of relief swarms over me. “What if we hadn’t done that second pass?” What if Jonah hadn’t thought to look where we did? He could have been out there with a broken leg for days.
“Feels pretty good helping people in trouble, huh?” Jonah’s gaze searches the plane lot. “Where’s Wren? Might as well get his licks in on me now.”
Agnes’s brow tightens. “Yeah, I . . .” Not until she turns those steady eyes on me do I finally see the pain and sadness that overwhelms them.
I hold my breath as I push through the door.
“Look who made it back,” my dad murmurs, his voice groggy and weak. I’ve only ever seen him in his jeans and layers of flannel. He looks so different, lying there in his hospital gown.
So frail and vulnerable.
Mabel’s
in a chair next to him, her legs pulled to her chest, her arms wrapped tightly around her knees. Her eyes are red and puffy, with the stunned glaze of someone who sat down to watch a comedy, only to have the curtain pulled back and discover she’s about to witness a horror.
They’ve finally told her about the cancer. I find no relief in that, though it was time anyway. She’d wonder why he wasn’t home in the evening for their checkers games.
“Time to go now, Mabel,” Agnes calls from the door.
She doesn’t move.
My dad gives her an encouraging smile. “I’ll be out of here soon.”
“Promise?” she asks, her voice so feeble and childlike, and unlike her.
“Promise, kiddo.”
Unfolding slowly, reluctantly, she climbs out of her seat, her dusty sneakers leaving bits of dirt. She leans in to give him a hug.
“Careful, Mabel,” Agnes warns.
With a quiet nod, she moves to dart past Jonah and me, flashing me a look that is full of sorrow and youthful resentment. She’s figured out why I really came to Alaska and she’s not one bit happy that I kept her in the dark.
“Hey,” Jonah calls out, as she tries weaseling past him. He reaches out and grabs hold of her before she has the chance to get away, effortlessly pulling her against his chest in a hug. She doesn’t struggle, instead bowing her head and burying her face in his jacket. A single sob ratchets up from her lungs and it makes the already painful ball in my throat swell instantly.
Jonah quietly strokes the back of her long, dark hair with his hand for a few moments, and then with a deep exhale, murmurs softly, “’Kay, go with your mom, kiddo.”
They leave, and now it’s just the three of us.
My dad’s gray eyes skitter back and forth between us, before settling on me. “So, Calla? First night stranded in the mountains. How was it?”
“It could have been a lot worse, I guess,” I admit.
“You two stayed at the safety cabin? I’ll bet you’ve never stayed anywhere like that before.”
“No, I haven’t.” And it’s the absolute last thing I want to talk about right now, but I can tell my dad’s trying to avoid dealing with the current situation for just a little while longer.
“Barbie had it pretty damn good, I’d say.” Jonah chuckles.
I shoot him a glare, even as my cheeks flush. “Aside from the mediocre company. I’m looking forward to a hot shower and real food. I’m maxed out on beef jerky.” Who am I kidding? My appetite has vanished.
“Beef jerky?” My dad glances at Jonah, his eyes narrowing curiously.
“From Ethel,” Jonah explains. “Her homemade stuff. Calla liked it.”
“Well . . . that’s good.” My dad lets out a soft cough and then winces.
“Does it hurt?” I look down at his chest, wondering where exactly the doctors stuck that long needle in. The one that drained the fluid that’s been building up in his lungs, that had him wheezing last night.
“It’s actually a lot better than it has been the last couple of days. They’ve got me on some good drugs.”
Despair hits me in a wave. He’s been suffering for days? “Why didn’t you say something—”
“Nah.” He gives me a resigned smile, waving it off. The hospital bracelet slides down his forearm.
“I’m sorry. We should have been there. But the rain and then the fog . . . Jonah said we couldn’t fly.” My eyes begin to burn with tears. It’s all true, and yet I can’t help but ache with guilt for how we spent the night and morning while this was going on.
“If Jonah said you couldn’t, then I know you couldn’t. Besides, I told Agnes not to say anything if he called in. I didn’t want him taking any unnecessary risks to get here sooner. Don’t worry, it’s nothing. Just a complication. Wasn’t even that serious. I’ll be out in a day or two.”
I let out a shaky sigh of relief. “I’m coming with you when you go to Anchorage for treatment.” And I’m canceling my ticket as soon as I get back to my dad’s. I don’t know why I ever wondered if I should be here. Seeing my dad lying there, in that hospital bed now . . . there’s nowhere else I could be.
My dad’s gaze averts to his hands.
“Wren . . .” Jonah’s jaw tenses. “This ain’t right anymore. You need to tell her now, or I will.”
A sinking feeling settles into my body. “What are you talking about? Tell me what?” I turn to my dad. “What’s he talking about?”
“You’re supposed to fly Dempsey and his crew up to their spot today. They’re probably waiting for you.”
“Wren—”
“Okay, Jonah. Okay.” He sighs with resignation, pats the air. “Why don’t you get those guys where they need to go. Give me some time to talk to my daughter.”
Jonah bows his head a long moment, and then he grips the side of my face and pulls my temple toward his lips, pressing a kiss against it, lingering there for one . . . two . . . three beats. “I’m sorry,” he whispers, and then he’s gone out the door.
“Well, it’s good to see you’re finally getting along,” my dad murmurs, smiling.
“Yeah. Um . . .” Despite everything, I feel my cheeks flush.
“Pull up a chair. Stay a while.” He gestures to the seat Mabel just left. It’s still warm when I settle into it.
“What’s going on, Dad?” I ask, my voice shaky with wariness.
He simply studies my face, long and hard.
“Dad—”
“Your grandfather had lung cancer, too. You knew that, right?”
“Yeah. Mom told me.”
My dad nods slowly. “Same kind that I have. Small cell. It’s more rare than the other kind and yet we both got it. And it grows fast. By the time they found it in him, his odds weren’t great, but he figured he should listen to everyone else and do the chemo.” He shakes his head. “Those last six months of his life were hell. He was in Anchorage a lot and when he wasn’t, he barely got out of bed. My mom took good care of him, as good as she could, anyway. But it wasn’t easy on either of them. By the time he called it quits on treatment, he was just a shell of a man.” My dad chews his bottom lip a moment. “One of the last things he ever said to me was that he wished he’d just made peace with it from the beginning. He would have had less time, but at least he might have enjoyed it more. He would have spent his last days on his terms. That always stuck in my head.”
Realization dawns on me, as I begin to understand where my father’s going with this.
And the horrible, sinking feeling that settled earlier gives way to a numbing calm.
“But that was, like, thirty years ago. Everything’s more advanced. The chances of surviving—”
“There’s no surviving this, Calla,” he says with grim finality. “Not this type. Not this far in.”
“But you’re fine.” He’s nothing like Mrs. Hagler was, with her decrepit body and her sallow skin, her oxygen tank rolling behind her. “I mean, obviously you’re not fine right now because you’re in the hospital, but a week ago you were fine.” I don’t sound like myself.
“Nah, I wasn’t. I’ve just been good at hiding it. I don’t have as much energy as I used to. And I’ve been having chest pains for some time,” he admits.
“Because of the tumor?”
“Yeah. Partly.”
“So they can shrink it. That’s what radiation is for. And the chemo will kill the cells—”
“It’s already spreading, Calla.” Soft, gray eyes finally lift to meet mine. “It’s in my lymph nodes. In my bones. All that stuff just buys me a tiny bit more time, and it won’t be good time.”
“How much time, exactly?” The question comes out in a croaky whisper.
“It’s hard to say, but they gave me two, maybe three months, with it.”
I suck in a sharp, shaky breath. “And how much without?”
He hesitates. “Four to six weeks at most, they’re thinking.”
A cold feeling spreads through my chest as his words hit me like a punch to the stomach. How is that possible? He looks fine. “I just . . . The doctors are wrong, obviously. They’re always wrong, Dad! Always,” I stammer as the words tumble out. “I hear stories all the time about how people beat the odds and survive for years.”
He sighs. “Not always, Calla. Those are the stories that people remember because they need to. People need hope. But, not always. Not this time.”
My initial shock ebbs as frustration and anger with his refusal to listen rushes forward. “So, that’s just it? There’s no talking about it anymore? There’s no convincing you to at least try to live? For me? For Mom?” My voice cracks. I’m getting desperate now.
“If I let them pump me with all that shit, I’ll be spending my last bit of time sleeping and puking, and in some hospital room for eight hours a day, five days a week, until I stop or I die. That’s not how I want to go. I want to do it on my own terms.” He reaches for my hand, but I find myself unable to take it and after a moment, his fingers fall lazily next to his side. “I thought about you, when the doctor gave me the news. You were the very first thing I thought about. I didn’t know if I should call you right away, or if I shouldn’t call at all. Wasn’t sure if I had any right to. Figured you might not want to know, after all these years.” His eyes grow glossy and he blinks the sheen away. “I’m glad Agnes didn’t listen to me and did what I didn’t know how to do. What I didn’t have the guts to do. I’m so glad you came.”
Another wave of realization dawns on me. “They knew how bad it was? Agnes and Jonah, they knew?” Have they been leading me on this entire time?
“I never told Agnes. I was planning to. And then the next thing I knew, you were on your way. I didn’t know how you’d take my decision not to—”
“Bullshit,” I snap. “You knew damn well that I wouldn’t be okay with you just giving up. That no one would be. That’s why you’ve been hiding it.”
His lips press together. And then he nods. He’s not denying it, at least. “I know you probably spent a lot of years angry with me. I figured, if I could just have one week to get to know you again, without this hanging over our heads. One week where maybe I wasn’t disappointing you.”