Or Roy.
“You had no choice. You don’t think he could smell that little girl sittin’ in the truck? And he still came up, lookin’ for a meal.” He throws a hand toward where the bear fell. Nothing but a small pool of blood remains.
Roy’s right. I never noticed how close that bear was to her until now. And she had no clue. That bear could have strolled right past her open window. It could have tried to get in … A wave of cold dread hits me as my memory replays that deep, grating growl and those vicious claws.
“Can’t have bears like that roamin’ around. It’s only a matter of time before somethin’ bad happens. I’ll bet you surprised the hell out of him tonight. That could have gone a different way for you.” His brow wrinkles, as if he’s considering another scenario. When he catches me watching him, he smooths his expression. “Then I’d be dealin’ with a pile more people here tonight, and what a pain in my ass that’d be.”
I can’t help but laugh. “Yeah, that would be a real inconvenience for you.”
His lips quirk. “That’s right. It would be. Go on and get some rest.” He turns for his door.
“By the way, I signed your carvings for you!” I call out after him.
He pauses. “You put my name on those things?” I can’t tell if he’s angry.
“Not exactly. See you in the morning.”
After a long moment, he shuffles inside and shuts his door softly.
On instinct, I hang back a few beats, holding my breath as I watch through the tiny window that gives a view of his kitchen. Roy fishes one of the two remaining pieces from the wooden crate, flips it over, and squints at the writing on the base.
His bearded cheeks lift with a smile and a moment later, a low chuckle carries through the quiet night.
I’m disappointed when Jonah starts the truck’s engine and drowns out the sound.
Chapter Thirty-Eight
August
The shower is running when I arrive home. I head upstairs.
“Hey!” I holler, stepping into our cramped bathroom. I push the toilet lid down and take a seat, eying Jonah’s shampoo-laden head rinsing off beneath the stream of water. “You’re home early.” It’s only three and, while Jonah has been working less these last few weeks, this is an unusually short day for him.
“I went north today. There’s a fire burnin’ up near Mile 91.”
“I heard they closed down the highway.” It seems like fires are sparking all around us. “How bad is it?” We’re only about twenty miles south of there.
“They’ve got it about 70 percent contained.”
I sigh with relief. “Good.”
“We’re supposed to get rain tonight and into tomorrow.”
“Oh! So that means you’ll be grounded?”
“Can you try not to sound so excited about that?” His wry tone makes me laugh.
The truth is, mention of rain does get me excited, not just to keep Jonah to myself but also for the garden. We haven’t gotten nearly enough. I spend a good hour watering every day. It’s therapeutic when I don’t have things to do. When I do, it’s a pain in the ass.
“How was your day?”
“Good.” I examine my fingernails. They’re short and naked, but healthier after having months without tips. “I took those pieces of Roy’s to that art shop in Anchorage.” The more elaborate carvings were too nice to sell at the Trapper’s Crossing Farmers’ Market, where I have successfully offloaded dozens of pieces for Roy over the last month. I’ve come to enjoy the surprise in his eyes every time I show up with an envelope of cash, as if he can’t believe people would appreciate his woodwork. He’s even offered to cover the cost of the table fee, now that I’m out of strawberries to sell. “She’s putting them up on consignment. She thinks she can get a good price for each one.”
The water shuts off. Jonah yanks the curtain open wide and grabs the towel from the hook.
My mouth goes dry as I watch him wipe down his body.
He steps out, stopping long enough to stoop and kiss my lips, before he tosses the towel back on the bar and strolls into our bedroom. “Does that asshole have any idea how much you’re doing for him?”
I trail him, enjoying a sublime glimpse of his backside as he roots around in his dresser drawer for underwear. Things with Roy have become more than tolerable. I go there in the morning and the evening. We work around each other, completing chores. Our conversations are sparse, but that perpetual air of annoyance that used to swirl around him seems to have evaporated. It could be because he’s feeling better—the gash and bruising on his face have faded, his ribs and collarbone seem to have mended—but I’d like to think it’s something else.
I’d like to think it’s because Roy Donovan enjoys my company.
I look up to find Jonah smirking—he caught me with my admiring gaze trained low. “He doesn’t need to know.”
Jonah chuckles, drawing his boxer briefs up his muscular legs. “Mark Sheppard asked me if I could fly him and his buddy up to their cabin near Murder Lake.”
“Fill out an itinerary,” I warn him.
He chuckles. “Yeah, yeah. It’s not far. Actually, I was gonna see if you wanted to come.”
“As much fun as flying to a place called Murder Lake sounds and having my ears talked off—” Mark loves to talk. I once called his office to arrange billing and it took me forty minutes and five I should let you gos before I could break free. “I have to meet Emily in an hour to go over our plans ahead of next week’s meeting, and then I’m heading over to Roy’s.”
I was nervous, approaching Emily about my ideas, given the weak start to our relationship. But she has warmed since then. She’s still painfully shy, but she’s also collaborative and talented with drawing and photography and willing to help me come up with a fun and creative social media campaign.
“Isn’t he all healed up yet?”
“Cast comes off next week.”
Jonah tugs on his jeans. “I talked to my mom today. Told her we were staying in Alaska for Christmas.”
“How’d she take it?” It’s been a few years since Jonah saw his mother.
He sighs heavily. “They want to come here.”
“Oh my God, it’s actually happening.” A week with my boyfriend’s mother—whom I’ve never met—and a stepfather whom Jonah despises. Throw in my psychoanalyzing stepfather and a mother who fusses over minute details, and this could spell disaster.
“Huh?”
I push my worries aside. “That’s great! So … We’ll have a full house.” We really need a dining table.
“Yeah.” He snorts. “Both sets of parents and Aggie and Mabel? How the hell are we gonna fit everyone in?”
“Are Agnes and Mabel coming, too?”
“Damn right, they’re comin’. If I have my way, they’ll be living here by then.” He shakes his head. “Maybe we can put my mom and Dickhead up in a hotel.”
“We can’t put them up in a hotel on Christmas after they’ve flown from Oslo.”
“Fine. Maybe we can stay at a hotel,” he mutters, buckling his belt. “I wonder how much one of those places at the McGivneys’ would cost to build. We could build a cabin to stick them in for the week. We have enough property.”
I watch him pull a T-shirt from another drawer and yank it over his head, hiding his body. But my mind is spinning. This is as good a time as any.
“Hey, can you spare a half hour? I want to show you something.”
* * *
The hinges creak noisily. “Put that there?” I nod at the small boulder.
Jonah props the door open, and we step inside.
His curious blue eyes roam the four dark corners. “Can’t believe Phil never said anything about this place.”
“I know, right?” I mentioned the cabin that same day Oscar’s foot got caught and intended to bring Jonah out, but time passed and it has sat here, alone.
But not forgotten.
“What do you think about fixing it up?”
“This place?” His hand strokes his beard in thought as he does a slow circle, searching the walls. “I don’t know. It’s small. And it wouldn’t be cheap.”
“It’s not as bad as I thought it would be.” I grin sheepishly. “I already had this guy from Anchorage who restores old cabins come up to see it and give me a quote. His name is Steve and he said it was built really well, and it looks like Phil somewhat maintained it through the years.”
“So, he did maintain something?” Jonah asks wryly, but he’s smiling. “How long have you been thinkin’ about this?”
“Since Diana was here, and then Agnes and Mabel.” I shrug. “I like having people around. We have an incredible spot here. We could rent it out for weekends. Put it on Airbnb. I’m sure couples would love it.”
He ambles outside, peering upward. “Needs a new roof.”
“And windows, and some more weatherproofing, and heating, and plumbing, and a laneway in …” I recite all the expenses I’ve been tallying. “And I’ve been looking at ways to make it ecological. I think it’d be neat, you know? To have an efficient cabin here. And see how close it is to the water?” I cut through the trees, adjusting the rifle slung over my shoulder as I push through branches to reach the rocky shoreline, thirty feet away. After the bear incident at Roy’s last month, Jonah set up a target in our backyard. I’ve become adept at loading and firing.
Jonah sidles up beside me to look out on the lake, at our log cabin on the opposite side. “You’d never know this is here.”
“We’ll have to cut down some of these trees so there’s a view.”
He looks from our place to the cabin behind us. “We can’t get this done by Christmas. There’s no way.”
I exhale slowly. “Actually? I kind of already hired Steve and started the work. All the permits came through this week. They’re coming to cut down trees for a laneway and then they’re going to do all the exterior work and plumbing before the snow, so they can focus on the inside in November. This is why I decided to not go to Toronto, so I can be here to make sure the work happens. And I know we agreed to discuss big spending and this is way more than a thousand dollars, but I’m really excited about it. I was trying to find the right way to tell you because I was afraid you’d think I was insane.” I hold my breath as I offer him a hopeful smile.
Jonah’s jaw hangs. He stares at me, his expression unreadable beyond shock.
I want to offload all my fantastical planning before he blows up. “So, the laneway will branch off from our main drive over there.” I point to the far end of the lake. “And then we could use all that wood from the trees to build another cabin—something bigger—for Agnes and Mabel to live in, because I loved having them here, and I think that if there was a place for them to move in to, Agnes would agree to it—”
“Marry me.”
My rambling words die on a croak. “What?”
He collects my hands in his and pulls me into him. His earnest eyes roam my features. “Marry me, Calla.”
My heartbeat, which was already racing, now pounds in my ears as I search for words. “Because I went behind your back and spent a shit ton of money?”
“No.” He leans forward, pressing his forehead against mine, his breath skating across my lips. “Because I want to be here when you renovate this old shack, and build a cabin for Aggie and Mabel, and build a thousand more cabins on our property, if that’s what you wanna do. I want to be here for it all.” His throat bobs with his hard swallow. “You’re thinking about the future? Well, so am I, and don’t want any future that doesn’t have you in it.”
I let out a breathy laugh. The last time Jonah intended to propose, it was a scripted event. Now, we’re standing in the thicket, I’m coated in bug spray, a gun slung over my shoulder. I was not expecting this. Not here, not today. “What about not rushing?”
He brushes strands of wayward hair off my forehead. “You think we’re rushing?”
“No.” I shake my head.
“Me neither.”
A bubble rises inside me, of nerves and excitement and emotion, ready to erupt. My eyes burn with tears of happiness. “Are you sure, though? Because you can’t ask me something like this and then change your mind later.” A sense of déjà vu hits me, of an early morning in the airport last November, surrounded by the bustle of travelers, when I decided to alter the course of my life. Though, truth be told, it had been forever changed the moment I met Jonah.
“I’ve never been surer of anything in my life,” he promises, cupping my face with his hands, brushing his lips against mine. “Is that a yes?”
“My answer will always be yes to you, Jonah. Yes.”
The kiss he presses against my lips is deep and slow. “I don’t even have your ring. I mean, I have it, but it’s at the house—”
“I know. I’ve seen it already.”
He pulls back, showing me his quirked brow.
“It fell out of your coat pocket. It was totally accidental, I swear! And it’s beautiful.”
His melodic chuckle carries over the water as he folds me into his arms.
* * *
I stare in shock as I set a Tupperware container of dinner—a spicy penne dish with beef and homegrown tomatoes—on the porch. “What the hell happened to your cast?” Roy’s appointment to have it removed isn’t until next week, and yet here he is, dragging the hose toward the chicken coop, no cast to be seen.
“I didn’t need it anymore.” He stretches his right arm out in front of him as if to prove it. It seems to be working just fine.
“So you, what? Cut it off?”
“Yeah. With a handsaw,” he says matter-of-factly, as if that’s a reasonable option.
A mental image of a rusted blade cutting through flesh hits me and I cringe. “Jesus, Roy. You could have cut your arm off! What would you do around here? How would you survive?”
He snorts. “No, you don’t sound like Muriel at all.”
I roll my eyes as I reach for the gate to the coop, my gaze landing on my engagement ring. Storm clouds are swiftly moving in, smothering any chance of catching the sun’s glitter off the countless facets, but a thrill courses through me, nonetheless. I haven’t stopped admiring the intricate snowflake design since Jonah slipped it on my finger.
Jonah and I are engaged.
We’re getting married.
He’s mine, forever.
Roy does a double take, his focus lingering on my hand a moment, before he moves into the coop to rinse out the chicken feeder. Several birds have darted out the open door, only to turn around and scurry back, clucking as Oscar steps toward them. “So, I guess you can head on home, then. Got no reason to be draggin’ yourself over here anymore.”
“No, I guess not.” An unexpected disappointment stirs in my chest with the reality that my duty here is done, and a week earlier than I anticipated. But Roy has fully mended, almost two months after his accident. He’s right, though. There’s no need for me to be here, other than for the simple reason that I’ve grown accustomed to coming. I’m used to the long, bumpy drive up the laneway every day, to completing simple tasks and trading painless barbs with a man who has never once used the words “thank you” for the meals I’ve drop off or the help I’ve provided. He’s thanked me in other ways, though. With the eggs he tells me to take home and the jars of goat’s milk he sends with me for Jonah. I happened to mention Jonah loving moose meat, and the next day Roy thrust a frozen roast into my hands, claiming it was rancid from being in the freezer too long. But I cooked it following Agnes’s detailed instructions and Jonah said it was one of the best cuts he’d had in a long time.
No one will ever accuse Roy of being “nice,” and yet I’ve come to believe that if I ever needed him, he would step up. My life here would certainly be less interesting without him in it.
I slip the catalogue page from the back pocket of my jeans. “Hey, so I was wondering if you’d consider building me this.” I unfold it before I hand it to him.
He frowns at the picture. “A table?”
“Yeah. Live edge. We have all this family coming in for Christmas, and I don’t have a proper table yet.” What does Roy do for Christmas? Nothing, I presume.
“Why don’t you buy it, then, with all your money.”
I shrug. “I’d rather have something locally made, not mass produced.”
He grunts. “I don’t do custom orders.” But he’s studying the picture, I note.
Toby did tell me that once, so I was prepared for the pushback. I school my expression. “Well … what if you just happened to feel compelled to make this table that seats, say, ten people, and then, when it was finished, I just happened to see it and buy it from you?”
His bushy eyebrow arches. “Compelled, huh?”
“Yes. Compelled.” I pause. “Unless you think it’s too hard for you to—”
“I could make that damn thing in my sleep! It’s nothin’. Just some lacquered wood and legs.”
Jonah said basically the same thing about the overpriced living room tables I want. Something tells me this would be far more complicated.
“Okay, great! So, while you’re sleeping, if you happened to make it …” I back away, moving for the pickup truck, before he can thrust the page back into my hand. I’m excited to get home to see Jonah, anyway. We parted ways soon after he slipped the ring on, both of us having places to be. He’ll be back by now. “Oh! Also, I want to hire a carpenter for some built-in shelves beneath our staircase, if you know anyone who’d be interested. Meals and delightful company included, of course.” I turn before he can see my smile.
“Hey!” he barks as I’m about to climb in.
I turn, holding my breath.
“Congratulations.” He nods once and then turns back to his task.
* * *
The ramp where Jonah secures Veronica is still empty when I coast up our lengthy driveway, home from Roy’s. I frown as I check my watch. Jonah’s a half hour late. I know he arrived at Mark’s cabin as scheduled because he called to touch base. Which means he’s likely standing on his float, waiting for a break from Mark’s incessant gabbing to fly home. I look to the north where dark storm clouds hang.
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