And having a place where he can readily access and fly his planes is ideal. I’d much rather roll out of bed and walk two floors down to our “office” than venture out into the cold every morning.
I don’t think I’ve ever seen Jonah so excited before. I certainly haven’t seen an ounce of this enthusiasm over any of the other prospective house listings I’ve showed him.
Maybe he’s right. Maybe this is perfect for us.
I feel my resolve begin to wear away. “You should have told me before we got there, Jonah.”
“You’re right. I’m sorry.” His light blue eyes brim with sincerity. He reaches across the table to collect my hands. The rough calluses he’s earned chopping wood and shoveling snow scrape against my palms. “It’s a good setup for us though, Calla. I wouldn’t be pushing for it if I didn’t think so. It’s the best of both worlds. It’s got somethin’ for both of us.”
And we are in this together, which is going to mean compromise, I remind myself. Truthfully, I’ve been trying to picture Jonah—a guy who lands planes on glaciers and mountains—feeling at home on an urban street lined with houses and minivans, and I’ve been struggling. Worrying that we’ll choose the wrong house, in the wrong area, that he’ll regret leaving Bangor for me. I am not the only person giving up what I know and love. I need to consider Jonah’s needs, too, and he’s been hinting subtly—that is so unlike Jonah, I missed the cues—what would make him happy.
An hour-and-a-half drive to Anchorage.
Twenty-five minutes to ten thousand people. And a Walmart. I spent that much time commuting into work every day for four years, I remind myself.
“Aggie thinks it’s a good idea.”
“You’ve already talked to Agnes about this.” I’m not irritated though. If there’s anyone who knows how to listen and not judge or cajole, it’s her.
“I wanted to make sure I wasn’t insane. And, for the record, she told me I shouldn’t spring this on you.” He offers me an apologetic smile.
“How much does Phil want for it?” All that land, a hangar, and a log house that does have its own charm. “It can’t be cheap.”
Jonah shakes his head. “Double what we were planning on spending. And Phil is lookin’ to move sooner than later. Before the winter’s over.”
I let out a slow whistle. “If Phil can’t wait, we’d have to try to get a mortgage.” Something Jonah was vehemently opposed to, and frankly something that may not be an option at all, given our current employment status.
His head shake only confirms it. “We don’t have time for that. He’ll sell to the other couple. But I’ve gone through the numbers and we can do this. Between the money I got when I sold Jughead to Aro, the sale of the house, and my savings over the last ten years, it’ll more than cover the cost.”
“I won’t be able to give you my half until March or April. Maybe later.” There’s still some estate red tape to process before the funds are released to me.
“About that.” Jonah’s brow furrows. “Look, the land and hangar must be worth at least half the cost, so I’m willing to cover all that plus half the house—”
“What?” I glare at him. “No.”
“Come on, Calla. Wren left you that money so you can set yourself up for life. So you can invest in something.”
“I am investing in something.” I frown. “Us.”
He shakes his head. “I know what Wren sold Wild to Aro for, and I don’t ever want you or anyone else thinkin’ that I’m takin’ advantage of you.”
“Since when do you care what anyone else thinks?” My tone is escalating again, along with my irritation.
“I care what Susan and Simon think,” he says.
Did my mother say something to him? I make a mental note to confront her. “The only thing they care about is that I don’t go and blow it all and have nothing to show for it.”
Jonah’s jaw sets in that stubborn way of his. He’s being a prideful ass.
For once, though, I have the upper hand. “We are in this together. This is going to be our home together, and our life together, which includes the charter company. There’s no reason why I shouldn’t be paying for half of it.” I make sure to enunciate the next words slowly and clearly. “The only way I’ll agree to this is if we’re in it together, all the way. Fifty-fifty.”
He opens his mouth to speak but then closes it, as if thinking better of whatever he was going to say. “So … does that mean you’re saying yes?”
I let out an exaggerated sigh. “I am saying I will consider it.” Maybe I should also consider therapy, because I can’t believe I’m humoring Jonah with this.
“Hey, Jonah!” Chris hollers from the bar, the phone receiver pressed to his ear. “You still planning on taking Andrea’s truck up to Trapper’s Crossing today?”
“Uh …” Jonah watches me hopefully.
I feel my face twist with bewilderment. “Unbelievable! So, they were in on this, too? It’s a conspiracy!”
He shrugs sheepishly. “We needed to borrow their truck, anyway, for the open houses. I figured we could drive up and check out the area while we’re here. See what you think.”
I fall back into my seat, letting out a groan.
The slow-blooming sly grin on Jonah’s face tells me he thinks he’s already won.
I shake my head at his arrogance. “I have conditions.”
His eyes narrow warily. “Like what?”
“I’ll let you know when I come up with them. And they’re nonnegotiable, by the way.” A thought strikes me. “But for now … two words”—I hold up my fingers for emphasis, leaning across the table toward him, to mouth in a mock seductive way—“The Yeti.”
Jonah grimaces and I catch the whisper of “Ah, fuck” under his breath.
My lips curl into a vindictive smile.
* * *
Jonah’s hands grip the steering wheel of Andrea’s pickup truck as we ease to a sliding stop on the slick road. Nothing of Phil’s property is visible here, the driveway a long lane curving around the trees—spruces with their limbs sagging beneath the weight of snow and naked deciduous trees serving as a natural wall.
But ahead of us is where my attention settles, on the vast white wilderness, on the jagged peaks that reach far into the dusky sky, the mauve hue of the last moments of sun caressing the looming mountain before nightfall.
Never in my wildest dreams did I expect a view like this where I live.
And we can have this every day.
“You haven’t said much.” I feel Jonah studying my profile, hear the worry in his tone. “Tell me what you’re thinking.”
I’m thinking … Trapper’s Crossing is sleepy, but it’s not dead. I watched as we drove along the main road—Main Street would be a misleading name for the paved, two-lane highway banked by a handful of shops and services—and I saw signs of life. A man huddled in winter gear, briskly walking his golden retriever among the trees that dapple the properties; three young kids laughing as they dart out of the colorful bus that has been artfully converted into a burger shack; dozens of cars angled around gritty, plow-made snowbanks in the small grocery store parking lot. A lumber mill, a hardware store. It reminds me of the Northern Ontario towns I’ve driven through on my way to cottages—quiet, functional communities who thrive on tourism, collections of people, some born and raised there and others having escaped from elsewhere. A place where you find yourself wondering what people do with themselves all day long, what their Friday nights look like.
It didn’t take long to see the bulk of what Trapper’s Crossing has to offer. Jonah navigated around the town, pointing out the community center and library, the one-floor health center for minor ailments only. There is nothing resembling an urban subdivision here. It’s all roads cutting through a seemingly endless forest, with houses interspersed.
But then he settled his palm onto my thigh, squeezing gently as we passed the small, boxy elementary school. A memory of him holding a chubby toddler at Sharon and Max�
�s farewell party flooded my mind, and my thoughts suddenly shifted from all the things Trapper’s Crossing isn’t to all the things it could become, if I embrace it.
If I give this dream of Jonah’s an honest chance.
A life for Jonah and me. A log cabin in the woods with a million-dollar view has a lot of charm, I must admit, especially when I’m sharing it with this man. Thoughts of George and Bobbie’s cabin come to mind—with the Christmas bows and strings of light. Christmas will be nice here.
I meet Jonah’s blue eyes, see the unease in them. The hope. I think he’s holding his breath. “We’ll need a sign to advertise. Over there.” I point at a crop of naked birch trees. “And it’s not going to be one of those ugly billboard-looking signs, like the ones I keep seeing all over the place.” Corrugated plastic with faded print lettering advertising business hours and peddling wares.
Jonah releases the air from his lungs in a heavy sigh. “You can put up whatever the hell you want. You’re better at that stuff than I am, anyway.”
“Wait, is there cell reception out here? Because I can’t survive without basic—”
“There’s a tower nearby. We get four bars here.”
It’s my turn to sigh with relief, though I’m far from finished. “And you are not going to take off all day, every day, and leave me here, all alone, to fend for myself.”
“I make my own schedule. And you can fly with me. It’ll be like old times.”
“And no overnight trips. I’m not spending my nights all alone.”
“Believe me, I don’t wanna be anywhere but lying in bed next to you every night.”
“And you need to take me driving more, so I can get my license as soon as possible.”
“Good, ’cause I’m tired of cartin’ your ass around.”
“And I’m in charge of decorating. This will not be one of those dingy log cabins with dead animals and guns all over the walls.”
He puts his hands in the air in a sign of surrender. “You can paint the whole goddamn place white if you want, Calla.”
I frown. “Seriously?”
“I mean, it’d be a fucking horrible idea and Phil will probably come back here and shoot us both if he finds out, but I don’t give a shit.” He smirks. “Just don’t get pissy with me when I get it dirty.”
“Maybe just one white room,” I mock.
He collects my hand and brings it to his mouth to press a kiss against my knuckles. “Whatever makes you happy.”
I’ve only ever seen that look on his face once before—standing in front of the US entry gate at the airport, when I told him I’d move to Alaska for him.
“Making you happy makes me happy,” I answer truthfully.
“Well then … you’ve just made me the happiest guy on earth. God, I love you so much.” Cupping my face between his two large hands, he gently pulls me to him and captures my lips in a deep kiss. The kind of kiss that stirs instant need in my body. The kind that has me unfastening my seat belt and sliding over to get closer to him, ready to fog these windows and defile Chris and Andrea’s truck on the side of this desolate road.
Jonah breaks free as my palm finds an appealing spot pressed against his fly, his breath ragged. “You know what this means, right?” His forehead rests against mine. “This is a big commitment.”
“I moved to Alaska for you, didn’t I?” Haven’t I already committed to him?
“Holy shit.” Jonah exhales. “So? Should we go tell Phil that we’ll take it?”
I steal a moment for my own calming breath as I eye the long driveway ahead. “Do you think he’s even sober enough to have this conversation?” It’s been a few hours since we first visited. That’s a long time for an old man and his bottle of whiskey, alone in the woods.
“Let’s find out.” Throwing the old truck into Drive, Jonah eases up the driveway. Our new driveway, soon. A nervous flutter churns in my stomach.
My hand is firmly clasped within Jonah’s the entire way.
Chapter Nine
March
“I swear, I really do want to come, but I don’t think we can afford it this year, with all these bills! Plus, there’s his sister’s wedding. We have to fly to freaking Costa Rica. Who makes their entire family pay thousands of dollars to see them get married?”
I smile, thinking about that time Diana mentioned how nice a destination wedding would be. Now’s not the time to remind her of that, though. “What if I pay for your tickets?” Since Diana moved into an exorbitantly priced one-bedroom condo in Liberty Village with her boyfriend this past January and decided she’s going to law school, she’s been nonstop complaining about money. Or maybe I’ve noticed it more because money isn’t going to be an issue for me soon.
“That’s generous of you, Calla, but you know Aaron … He’d never accept that.” And God forbid Diana spent a few days away from him to come here on her own. “We’ll figure it out. When are your parents coming up?”
“I don’t know. My mom mentioned end of June for my birthday, but the shop is so busy with weddings that it’s probably going to be impossible.”
“I’m sure she’ll make it work. And I will, too, I promise! If not this year, then definitely next year.” Diana’s remorseful voice rings in my ear.
“I can’t wait.” It’s been two and a half months since I hugged my best friend goodbye, an emotional farewell the night before I flew here. While we still text like we’re in the same city, the weight of missing weekly meet-ups and laughs lingers in the background, suitably masked by the flurry of activity tied to my move, flaring on the rare occasion that I hear her voice.
“I know! Oh my God, Aaron hasn’t shut up about Alaska since I brought it up. I regret ever mentioning it.”
“No, you don’t.”
“No, I don’t,” Diana agrees, and I can hear her smile. “Our own personal pilot and our own airstrip! Jonah will fly me wherever I want to go, right?”
I laugh, picturing the flat look on Jonah’s face when he finds out he gets to play chauffeur to my high-spirited friend. If he thought I didn’t fit into Alaska, just wait.
“Calla! You ready?” Jonah’s deep voice booms from my father’s kitchen.
“Almost!” I holler back, tracing the faint pink edge of my mother’s hand-painted calla lilies with a fingertip. Agnes will be effectively erasing them with a coat of warm white next week, in preparation for the renter. She sold the house to Barry on condition that he rent the house for the next few years. While I don’t know if that stipulation would ever hold up in court, a handshake and neighborly goodwill seems to be enough for Agnes.
There’s more than enough land around it to cultivate. She even found Barry his renter—a new pilot working for Aro—and agreed to do the painting and cleaning up. Jonah and I offered to help, but she smiled and shook her head, and said we have enough on our plates, that this is something she needs to do on her own.
We’ve spent the last month sorting, cleaning, and packing up Jonah’s house. Most of the furniture is staying behind. It’s not worth the cost of flying to Trapper’s Crossing. All that’s left to take are clothes and personal effects, and a few sentimental things—namely my father’s impressive collection of Julia Roberts movies. Some of it will remain here, boxed up, to come when George flies Archie, Jonah’s second plane, to Trapper’s Crossing in a few weeks.
“Listen, Di, I’ve gotta go, but I’ll text you when we’re all settled. It’ll be a few days before we have internet and cable and all that set up.”
“Okay, but don’t wait too long to post something.”
“I’m on hiatus, remember?”
“I know! But everyone wants to know when your hot Alaskan pilot proposes.”
I roll my eyes. Diana has created an entire section on our website dedicated to my new life in Alaska, lovingly coined “The Beauty and the Yeti.” It has become fodder for the romantics among our followers. While neither of us are as active as we once were with Calla & Dee—absorbed by moves and our future care
ers—we made a tearful pact the night before I left that we’d make the effort to keep our site going in one form or another.
For me, that has become chronicling my new life in Alaska.
“Don’t roll your eyes at me!” she exclaims, as if she can see through the phone. “I’ll bet he proposes by the end of the year.”
“Oh my God. Don’t start with that.” I laugh, even as a rash of nervous butterflies erupts in my stomach. It’s not that the thought hasn’t crossed my mind. It has, more than once. But I’ve promptly pushed it out, telling myself that it’s far too soon. “We have enough on our plate with this house and the company.”
“Calla!” Jonah hollers.
“I’ve gotta go. The yeti is getting impatient.”
“’Kay. Enjoy your first day in your log cabin in the wilderness. You’re crazy! Love you! Bye!”
She hangs up before I get a chance to respond.
Yes, maybe I am crazy for agreeing to this.
But I’m also crazy in love with Jonah.
I slide open the empty dresser drawers in one last perfunctory check to make sure we haven’t missed something important of my father’s, and then I make my way down the hall, stealing a glance at the vacant living room, my focus instinctively darting to the corner where my father’s hospital bed once sat. The old, shabby furniture is gone and the scent of fresh paint permeates the air.
It’s no longer Wren Fletcher’s home, I remind myself.
I walk into the kitchen to the sound of tearing. Jonah is ever so slowly peeling a strip of the atrocious mallard paper off the wall. “Figured I’d help Aggie out.”
“Did that feel good?”
He studies the letter-sized piece he managed to pry off. “Yeah, actually. Fuck, yeah.”
He holds it up for me, the nipples that he and Max, another Wild pilot, drew on each duck as a joke visible. “What do you think about framing this and puttin’ it up on the wall at our place?”
“It’s a great idea.” I grin as warmth blooms in my chest. “And I think you need to stop giving Agnes grief about driving my dad’s truck and come out of the closet, you big nostalgic baby.”
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