“Where’s the woman who got so pissed off at me one night, she shaved my face while I was unconscious?”
I tip my head back and laugh—the sound coming from deep within—and the simple act releases waves of tension that have gripped me since yesterday.
He sighs. “Calla, you’re not like anyone else I know around here, and I’m glad. I don’t want you to be like Marie. You’ve got somethin’ of your own to add to the mix. You don’t have to become someone else. Do what you wanna do. Seriously, if you want to put up motion-activated witches and goblins around our property to scare off bears, do it. If you don’t ever want to learn how to fire a gun, fine. If you want to let Zeke in to mow down everything in that garden, go ahead.”
“I’ve actually liked going out there and picking strawberries.” Even if I don’t eat them. I shrug. “It feels like I’ve accomplished something.”
“Then keep doin’ it! But do it because you want to. Find a way to make Alaska work for you, and soon, you won’t even think about the few little things that don’t.”
“The few little things?” I echo. “Man-eating bears, earthquakes, raging forest fires, giant mosquitos, worrying that you’ll crash every time you leave—”
“All right, all right …” He smirks, but then it fades. “I can’t be the only thing keeping you here. You’re too driven to be sitting at home, waiting for me. You need to find something that’ll make you want to be all in with this.” He presses a gentle kiss against my damp skin.
“Sounds like something Agnes said to me once.” I wish I had the answer.
“That’s probably ’cause she said it to me last night,” he admits.
“That’s who you were talking to on the phone?”
He nods. “I needed to know exactly how much of a jackass I was. She’s always been good at tellin’ me.”
“Agnes would never tell you that.”
“Trust me, she’s got her own special way.” He smiles. “Anyway, she helped me see my part in all this.”
“I’m sorry for mine.” I cup his jaw between my palms. “And I’m sorry about Marie. She didn’t deserve that. I’ll apologize the next time I see her.” My idea of her dating Toby might be good, but my intentions weren’t. If the roles were reversed, I’d probably hate me.
His hand slips beneath the hem of my towel to settle on my hip. “Agnes thinks I have a huge blind spot with Marie. I’m startin’ to think she might be right.”
“What do you mean?”
“Did I ever tell you that she was engaged when I started flying her around to the villages?”
“No.” Jonah has never said much about his friendship with Marie.
“Yeah. We hit it off right away. And I’m not gonna lie, I thought she was hot, and super smart, and nice—”
“Okay, I get it.” I wonder if I want to hear this.
“If she’d been single, I probably would have made a move. But she was gettin’ married, so she was off-limits, right from the start. Anyway, she was only supposed to come out once every two or three months, but she started makin’ trips once a month, sometimes more. We’d spend days together. We got to be really good friends. And then about a year in, she told me she’d broken off her engagement. She said they’d grown apart, that she didn’t love him anymore. I flew into Anchorage to see how she was doin’. We met up at a bar to have a few drinks, shoot the shit. When we were saying good night, she kissed me.”
I knew this. At least, I knew about the kiss—not the how, when, or why. “And?”
“And …” He hesitates, as if he doesn’t want to admit the next part. “For about ten seconds, I was gonna go with it. But then I stopped because it didn’t feel right. I hadn’t looked at her like that in a long time, and she was too important to me as a friend to screw it up. Plus, I knew she wasn’t the kind of girl who was into hookups, that she’d be lookin’ for somethin’ serious, and I wasn’t lookin’ for that, with anyone. I told her all this, too. She apologized, said she was just drunk and not thinking straight, and that us being friends was too important for her, too. So, we agreed to not talk about it again and left it at that.”
“And you believed her?” I can’t hide the doubt from my voice. I know the first thing Diana would say if she were hearing this story—Marie didn’t love her fiancé anymore because she’d fallen madly in love with a certain bullheaded bush pilot. They were close friends. He was attracted to her. That he denied her that night didn’t mean it couldn’t happen in the future, once he was ready to settle. I sigh. “Guys can be so dumb.”
“What was I supposed to do?” He shrugs. “We went back to things being normal and they seemed fine. She didn’t date anyone for a long time. Said she wanted a break after being tied down for five years. She mentioned this guy with a bunch of ferrets who asked her out, and she told him she wasn’t interested.
“And then I met that pilot with the coast guard that I told you about.”
I nod, and in the back of my mind is that little voice that automatically tosses out curious questions like it does every time there’s mention of a woman from Jonah’s past: What does she look like? Does she think about him? Does he think about her? If she had been in the picture last summer, would I be here now?
“A few weeks after Teegan came into the picture, Marie started dating the ferret guy. I figured she’d changed her mind, he grew on her, whatever. I didn’t think anything of it. She seemed happy. I even met the guy once, and he was decent enough.
“Then Teegan and I ended things, and Marie was single again a week later. Said it wasn’t working for her. Again, I didn’t think anythin’ of it. And she never mentioned dating anyone again. I’d ask sometimes, because I was curious, and she’d say she was too busy with work. Last year, she finally admitted that she’d met a guy, but she was waitin’ for him to figure his shit out.” He frowns. “I’m starting to think she was talkin’ about me.”
I give him a look—he didn’t see that coming?—and shake my head.
His gaze drifts along my bare collarbone, over the knot in the front of my towel, and the hint of cleavage peeking out. “And then I met you, and you were like a wrecking ball comin’ into my life, Calla.” He laughs. “A fucking beautiful, hot-pink wrecking ball. And everything changed for me. All these things I didn’t want before, suddenly all I could think about was havin’ them all with you.” His eyes land on my mouth. “And I haven’t stopped thinking about them since.”
I capture his lips with mine, coaxing his mouth open with my tongue as a shaky sigh of relief escapes me. It feels like our first kiss all over again—tentative and brimming with raw need. My hand finds his cheek, the coarse hair of his jaw tickling my skin. “Same. You did that to me, too.” My entire perspective on life seemed to change, and a big part of that was because of Jonah.
He turns his face in to kiss my palm. “I’m so used to having Marie as my sounding board for everything that at first, I didn’t think twice about venting to her after that day up in the safety cabin.” He meets my gaze. “But then she said what she did, and I started thinking that maybe I shouldn’t be talking to her about us. Not because I think she’d ever try to convince me to leave you. That’s not her. But it can’t feel good, to listen to me talk about the woman I want to spend the rest of my life with.”
His jaw tenses, and when he peers up at me, I see a raw, vulnerable pain that Jonah so rarely makes visible. I can’t get close enough to him, twisting and clambering onto his lap, my entire body moulding to his as my thighs wrap around his hips and my arms rope around his head and every other part of me is pressed against him.
I feel a sharp tug on my towel and then it’s unraveling, leaving me naked against his dressed body. But there is no playful foreplay this time around. No pauses, no lingering looks or smiles or touches. Our mouths and hands become tangled and rough in a frantic attempt to touch and kiss every part of each other as we maneuver our way fully onto our bed.
Jonah tugs his shirt and track pants off in a hurry, a
s if he can’t wait another second, and then flattens me beneath his weight as we roll into each other. I coil my legs around his hips, opening myself up for him. He pulls back long enough to peer down at me, the agony in his eyes piercing my heart. “I can’t ever lose you, Calla.”
I wasn’t the only one panicking about our impending doom—knowledge that brings me great comfort.
“You won’t. Ever.” I grip the back of his neck and pull his mouth to mine. A low moan escapes as he slides into me. His hips move rhythmically, never rushing, never relenting. Over and over again, matching the drumbeat of my heart, as our bodies coil tighter, and our sounds grow hoarse, and our mouths whisper sweet promises of always.
Chapter Thirty-Five
“You have everything?”
Diana absently pats the pockets of her denim jacket as she takes inventory of the luggage Jonah unloaded onto the Anchorage airport curb—one suitcase stuffed with twelve outfits for her four-day trip, a backpack, and her oversized purse—and then nods. “I think I’m good. If I forgot anything, it’s yours. Okay! This trip was amazing! Oh my God, I’m going to cry!” She throws her arms out.
My eyes are watering as we embrace, and I’m not sure whose grip is tighter. Her flight to Toronto through Vancouver leaves in two hours, and I want to hold on to her until the last possible second. I want to beg her not to leave.
These past few days flew by in a blur of late-night laughter, premature wedding planning, and sight-seeing, visiting some of the same landmarks we did last summer with my father. We made it to Juneau after all, spending all day yesterday marveling at the glaciers, searching for humpback whales and bald eagles, and touring the picturesque and colorful downtown shops. We arrived home late last night, the glow of a hazy orange sun low on the horizon and my soul aching with a mix of emotions.
Diana has to go back to her reality, though—to Aaron and Beef Stick, to lively nights in her pricy Liberty Village condo and getting ready for law school, which I’m guessing is going to take up much of her focus in the coming years.
And I have to go find my new reality in this sleepy town in Alaska.
“Thank you for everything.” She grips Jonah’s shoulders in a fierce hug, adding in a whisper that I catch, “Take care of her for us.”
“Always,” comes his gruff response.
She discreetly brushes a tear from her cheek and then, slinging her backpack over her shoulder and popping the handle on her suitcase, Diana blows us a kiss and strolls through the doors, her furtive gaze already scanning the signs for directions.
We’re left standing at the curb with cars waiting to take our spot in the passenger drop-off lane. It’s time to go, and yet I can’t seem to make my legs move toward the passenger side.
“It’s going to be so quiet without her around.” A hot tear trickles over my lip.
Too quiet.
“You want me to drive?” Jonah offers.
The prickly lump in my throat flares. “Yes, please.”
But instead of moving for the driver’s side, Jonah slips an arm around me and pulls me into his side to press a kiss against my forehead. “It’s gonna be okay.”
I steal a glance at him, in a soft cotton T-shirt and a pair of faded, worn blue jeans—his favorite, I’ve come to learn. Since our explosive fight on Saturday and epic reconciliation on Sunday morning, things have felt “right” between us again. But now I see worry veiled in his blue eyes. He’s afraid it was only temporary. That Diana was a Band-Aid for our ongoing challenges.
And that’s exactly what she was, if we allow it.
If I allow it.
I hate seeing Jonah like this. He’s supposed to be the confident, assured one. I’m the one who doesn’t have her shit together.
But perhaps that’s where things need to change.
I sink into him, reaching up to cup his chin. I offer him a reassuring smile. “Let’s go home.”
* * *
My shoes kick loose gravel as I trek behind Jonah, my attention on the mountain range in the distance. Denali looms as it does every day, a silent, imposing expanse of rock, its caps still marked with snow. It has become a constant for me here, an anchor of sorts, and seeing it triggers an odd sense of calm that I can’t explain, despite my melancholy over Diana leaving.
“What’s all this stuff?” Jonah stoops to pick something up by the front door. “Someone left two dozen eggs here. And our plate?” He holds it in the air.
I spy the red roses bordering the white china dish through the porch screen door. “I left that at Roy’s last week. I brought him muffins.” That was on Friday, before I took him to the hospital, before our enormous fight.
“You gave him muffins?” Jonah glowers. “I was wonderin’ where those went.”
“Roy must have had Toby drop off these things.” Is this supposed to be a peace offering?
Jonah notices something else sitting on the stoop. “What are these?”
I push through the porch door and see the wooden objects in Jonah’s grasp. One is a woman in a flowing summer dress, her long hair trailing behind her with a loose braid woven in, her hands clasped behind her back to hold a hat. The other is an animal with large ears, its surface rougher, the details less defined. “Those are Roy’s carvings. They’re his. He makes them,” I mumble, pulling out my phone.
Toby answers on the second ring.
“Hey, did you leave something on my porch from Roy?”
“Uh. No.” His voice carries over speakerphone.
“I’m being serious.”
“So am I,” he says warily.
“What about your mom?”
“My mom? Nah, not unless it was before six. She’s been in Palmer since this morning.”
This wasn’t here when we left for the airport, which means Roy himself must have ventured over.
“Why? What’s goin’ on? It’s not somethin’ dead, is it?”
I frown at Jonah. “No. Why?”
“Because it’s Roy.”
Jonah snorts. “Yeah. Fair point.”
“I passed along your message. You know, about him needin’ to apologize before you ever came back again.”
Jonah’s eyebrows arch. “You expect that guy to apologize?”
I shrug. To Toby, I ask, “And? What’d he say?”
“He said something like, ‘I am what I am,’ and then he got this big grin on his face and he went inside. It was weird. I’ve never seen that guy smile.” There’s a pause, and then Toby urges, “What did he leave you?”
“My plate from last week, some eggs, and two wooden figurines that he made. One’s a woman and the other is a …” Jonah holds it up, allowing me to inspect it more closely. “Donkey?”
“A donkey?” Toby echoes, sounding as baffled as I am.
A few beats pass and then Jonah’s head falls back, and his booming laughter disturbs the serene calm of the lake. “‘I am what I am.’” He shakes his head. “Fucking guy gave you a jackass, Calla.”
“What?” I feel the confusion fade as it dawns on me. “That’s what I called him on Friday.” When he was being disparaging about Toby.
“Yeah, well, this is him admitting it.” Jonah sets the wooden figurines in my open palm. “And I’m guessing that’s as close to an apology as anyone is ever gonna get from Roy Donovan.” He disappears into the house, chuckling to himself.
I study the figurines. He must have plucked them from his collection. There’s no way he could have carved these in such a short time, and with a broken arm. The detail on the woman—right down to her delicate face—is astonishing. Ethereal, almost. Is she is supposed to be me?
The donkey is far less polished—the surface rough, the chisel marks choppy.
Much like Roy, I guess.
“So, does that mean you’re gonna start going back to his place?” Toby asks. “Because I don’t mind helpin’ out, but I’m kinda swamped at the resort.”
“I don’t know,” I say truthfully. This might be the closest Roy will ever
get to saying he’s sorry for all that he said, but is it enough?
“He gave you eggs,” Toby points out, a hint of surprise in his voice. “He doesn’t give anyone anything.”
I smile as I head into the house to tuck the figurines on their own shelf in the curio cabinet.
Chapter Thirty-Six
I break from plucking ripe strawberries to brush hair off my forehead with my forearm and look around the garden. The burgundy tops of the beets are breaking the surface of the soil, and two cabbages look ready to cut. Muriel says to leave the carrots in the ground until fall unless we’re eating them fresh.
Beside me are three large baskets brimming with fruit. Muriel has another three beside her. I feel like we’ve barely made a dent. The heat and my excellent watering skills are to be blamed—the crop is better than Muriel’s seen in years. “So, the farmers’ market … how hard is it to get a table for a Friday?”
“Not hard at all! Just call the office and pay your fee. You can book one week at a time, if you want. There’s always a spot. In fact, I think I remember Laurie sayin’ there’s still space this week.” Muriel pushes her foam knee board over two feet and settles back onto it in front of a new plant. “You’re followin’ in Colette’s footsteps. That’s great to hear.”
I sigh. It’s time for some truth. “Actually, Muriel, I’m looking for a way to get rid of all these, because I don’t eat them and there’s no way Jonah can get through all this jam in a winter without going into sugar shock.” Though I did catch him at the fridge, eating from a jar of last year’s batch with a spoon, so maybe I’m wrong.
Muriel settles back on her haunches to frown at me. “This is an awful lot of strawberries to grow for someone who doesn’t eat them, Calla.”
I snort. “No shit.”
“You should have said somethin’.”
“You should have asked,” I say gently, but I say it nonetheless.
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