The Simple Wild

by K. A. Tucker

I see my mom’s nod in my peripherals, as her gaze wanders over me. “You seem so different, Calla.”

  I snort. “I haven’t worn makeup in weeks.” My detangler magically showed up on my dresser a few weeks ago, after I threw a teary fit about my matted hair, but there’s still no sign of my cosmetics bags.

  “I can’t believe you haven’t murdered him for that.”

  “I know.” I think of how angry and annoyed I was at him in that moment. It makes me chuckle now. God, Jonah can be such a stubborn bastard.

  “But, no,” she murmurs softly, still studying me. “I don’t think it’s even that. I don’t know . . .” She lets her thoughts drift into the stretch of tundra beyond. “Are you sure you don’t want to fly home with me? Simon checked and there are still some seats available.”

  “Yeah. I’m going to help Agnes clear out the rest of the house. See what other help she may need.” That’s a lie. I mean, I do want to help Agnes, but that’s not why I’m lingering.

  And the look Mom gives me says she damn well knows it.

  With a heavy sigh, she reaches out to smooth a consoling hand over my leg. “I did warn you about falling in love with one of those sky cowboys, didn’t I?”

  “Yeah, you did.” I try to laugh it off.

  Until finally I relent to the onslaught of tears.

  Because I’m not going home with one giant hole in my heart.

  I’m going home with two.

  “You can take that one with you.” Jonah nods to the tattered paperback I was thumbing through when he stepped into the bedroom. “You know, for when you learn how to stay awake while reading a book.”

  My nostrils catch a waft of his minty toothbrush all the way from my spot on his bed. The guy spends an unnatural amount of time in the bathroom brushing his teeth every day, which is I guess in part why he has such a perfect smile.

  I roll my eyes at him while brazenly gawking at his powerful body as he peels off his cotton shirt and tosses it into his hamper. Next off are his baggy, unflattering jeans, revealing muscular thighs and calves. “I’m going to teach you how to buy pants that fit you,” I murmur mildly.

  I expect a quip about treating him like a doll or something along those lines, but he merely chuckles.

  Because it’s an empty promise and we both know it.

  This is the last night I’ll be curled up beneath the blankets in his bed, watching him undress after a long day of flying, feeling my body warm to the promise of his hot skin and his hard torso and his enveloping arms.

  I’m leaving tomorrow.

  And this crushing weight on my chest tells me I’m nowhere near ready to say goodbye.

  The mattress sinks under Jonah’s heft as he sits on the edge, his broad, muscular back to me. He pauses a moment there, his gaze on the bedside lamp, but his thoughts seemingly far beyond it.

  He hasn’t said a word about my departure, besides confirming basic logistical details. He hasn’t said much about my dad being gone, either, and I know that it’s hit him hard; his jaw has been permanently taut since my father took his last breath.

  For a guy who has always dealt with sensitive issues like a bull charging at a waving red cloth, I think my “Fletcherism” of avoidance has finally rubbed off on him.

  In this moment, I’m thankful for it, because I’d rather spend our last night together making a memory than dreading our separate futures.

  I push aside my sorrowful thoughts and crawl over to rope my arms around his chest from behind. I press my body in a tight hug against him, reveling in the feel of him this one last time.

  I huddle in my layers of fleece and cotton as Jonah sets my two silver suitcases next to me. It’s turned frigid these last few days. If I stayed any longer, I’d need to buy a winter wardrobe. Forecasters are calling for snow early next week. Villagers have been loading their boats with necessities ahead of the coming freeze, knowing they could be waiting weeks before their icy highway is safe to handle their ATVs and snow machines.

  Meanwhile back in Toronto, my mom arrived to an unexpected autumn heat wave.

  Jonah lifts his hat and smooths his thick ash-blond hair back. “That’s everything?”

  “I think— No, shit. I forgot my purse.”

  “Give me a sec.” His shoulders are curled inward as he trudges back to Veronica.

  And I wonder, for the thousandth time, if I’m making a mistake by leaving him.

  “Here.” He hands my purse to me, his glacier blue eyes meeting mine for a second before shifting away.

  I hesitate. “Jonah—”

  “You don’t have to leave.”

  I guess we’re finally going to have this gut-stabbing conversation after all, then.

  “I do. My dad is gone. It’s time for me to go home.”

  “You’ve got a home here, for as long as you want it.”

  “It’s not the same. I . . . Your life is here, and my life is back there. This was only temporary.” A lump forms in my throat.

  “And you don’t even want to try.” His tone is thick with accusation.

  “That’s not fair.”

  “None of this is fair,” he mutters, sliding his hands into his pockets, his gaze wandering to the nearby planes.

  “Are you willing to give all this up and move to Toronto to be with me?”

  His jaw tenses, and he curses under his breath.

  “You know I’m right.”

  “Yeah. I know. Doesn’t mean I have to like it.” He looks at me with those light, piercing eyes, and I nearly lose my resolve. “Doesn’t mean I don’t want you to stay.”

  I take a deep, calming breath. “Maybe you could come visit me, sometime?”

  He sighs with resignation, his eyes dropping to the gravel in front of us. “Yeah, I don’t know when that’ll be. Someone’s got to keep Wild going until this deal closes. That’s not for another two months.” He kicks a stone with his boot. “And I told Aro I’d help them run things. Make the transition go smoother.”

  “How long will that take?”

  He shrugs noncommittally. “Who knows. It’ll take as long as it takes.”

  I nod. “So then maybe after.”

  “Maybe.” He finally meets my eyes.

  And I have the distinct impression that it will never happen. That time and distance will wear away at our feelings for each other, leaving nothing but stark reality and fond memories.

  And that’s probably all we were ever meant to have.

  “Hey, Jonah! Calla!”

  We both turn to find Billy standing there, with a wide, oblivious smile.

  I swallow again. “Hey.”

  He reaches for my suitcases. “I’ll throw these into the cab for you.”

  “Thanks.” I check my phone. “I should get going. My flight is in less than two hours.” And if I stay here any longer, I’m afraid I won’t get on that plane.

  Jonah pulls me into a fierce, warm hug that I let myself sink into one last time, cataloging the delicious feel of his strong arms around me and the intoxicating scent of his soap and him, though I’ve long since memorized it.

  “We both knew this was never going to be easy,” I hear him whisper.

  “Yeah, I guess. I just didn’t think it’d be this hard.”

  The sound of Billy’s boots dragging along the gravel nearby steals the private moment away. “You know where I am if you need me,” he murmurs, his voice hoarse, as he pulls away, peering down at me. His thumb brushes against my cheek, and I realize that I’m crying.

  “Sorry.” I try to wipe the streaks of black mascara off his shirt, but only rub them in more. He quietly handed me my cosmetics bags this morning when I was packing. They’d been hidden in his attic, all this time.

  With a sharp inhale, he seizes my hand in his and holds it still for a few beats against his chest—against h
is heart—and then he breaks free and marches away, hollering, “Safe flight, Barbie!”

  “You, too, you big angry yeti!” I manage to get out, my words cracking with sorrow.

  I linger another moment, to watch him climb into his plane. To remind myself that in the long run this is the right choice.

  I linger just long enough that my heart shatters fully.

  And then I head home.

  Chapter 27

  Two months later . . .

  “You know they have more cabs per capita in Bangor, Alaska, than anywhere else in North America?”

  I catch the Uber driver’s eyes flash to me in the rearview mirror before returning their focus to my street.

  “There’s this one driver named Michael. He’s only twenty-eight and he has eight kids. No, wait—six kids.” I frown in thought. “Seven kids in December; that’s right. His wife should be having it next month.”

  “You said this house on the corner, right?” The driver eases in front of our big brown brick house.

  “Yeah. Thanks,” I mutter. He clearly has no interest in knowing about Bangor, Alaska’s staggering cab population. I sensed that the second I climbed in, and yet I couldn’t help but prattle on, as I’ve found myself doing more and more lately, as the acute pain of my losses morphs into a hollow throb with the passing days.

  Still, each morning and each night and almost every hour in between, my thoughts wander to memories of fresh crisp air against my skin and the smell of coffee filling the tiny moss-green house, to the pound of my feet against the dirty, quiet tundra road, to the vibrating hum of Victoria’s engine as she carried us through the vast, open Alaskan skies. To my father’s soft, easy chuckle. To the way my heart would skip beats under Jonah’s knowing, blue-eyed gaze.

  I think about it all and my heart aches because that time in my life is over. My father is gone for good.

  And so is Jonah.

  I haven’t heard from him in almost a month. We texted back and forth a bit, those first few weeks. But the messages were ­awkward—as I’d expect, coming from a guy who hates ­technology—and they quickly dwindled in frequency. That last text from him, the “Aro’s keeping me too busy for anything else” felt like a brush-off. At least that’s what I convinced myself it was. It was easier that way. It gave me an excuse to cut the cord that was already barely hanging on by a thread. But I still haven’t found a way to stop thinking about him—wishing for him.

  With my house keys in hand, I slide out of the Acura and begin slowly making my way up our driveway. The temperature is hovering just below freezing, enough to keep the asphalt coated with the light dusting of snow that fell earlier tonight.

  I ease past Simon’s car, and then my mom’s, past the array of garbage and recycling and . . .

  “Ah, crap,” I mutter. It’s garbage day tomorrow. Well, today, technically, as it’s now one a.m.

  I toss my purse on the stone pathway and then backtrack, to start hauling the bins down the driveway, one at a time. On my third trip back to fetch the recycling, I give the handle a sharp yank to pop the bin on its wheels. The lid lifts and a furry black face pops up in front of me.

  I let out a shriek as I stumble back in my heels, barely catching my balance.

  “God dammit, Sid. You get me every single time!” I yell through gritted teeth, my heart racing. “Why won’t you hibernate!”

  He chatters back and then leaps out of the bin to run under Simon’s car, scattering a few cans on his way. Tim scampers behind.

  A deep, warm chuckle from our front porch fills the silence.

  My lungs stop working.

  There’s only one man who laughs like that.

  I dart up the stone path, ignoring my heels in the cracks, to find Jonah settled into one of the chairs, his legs splayed, his arms lying casually on the rests. As if it’s not cold out.

  “How do you know which one’s which?” he asks casually.

  “The white patch above Tim’s eyes is wider,” I mumble, still trying to process this.

  Jonah’s here.

  Jonah’s in Toronto.

  Jonah has no beard.

  “What’d you do to your face?” I blurt.

  He runs his hand over his chiseled jaw. He looks so different without it. More like that picture of him with my dad from a decade ago. “I lost my groomer a while back and I couldn’t find another one as good.” His icy blue eyes rake over my black dress and heels as I climb the steps, my legs feeling wobbly.

  “How long have you been here?”

  “Since about nine. You were already out.”

  “Diana and I went out to dinner. And then out to a club.” I frown. “You should have called. Someone should have told me—”

  “You kidding?” He chuckles, nodding toward the driveway. “That was totally worth waiting out here for.”

  I stand there for another long moment, dumbly. I’m still in shock. “You stopped answering my texts.”

  The amusement vanishes from his face. “It was too hard.”

  “It was,” I agree, offering him a sad smile. I knew I shouldn’t be writing him, shouldn’t be saying good morning and good night. I knew that keeping that connection wouldn’t help either of us move on in the long run. Still, it took everything in me to stop myself.

  And now Jonah’s sitting in front of me.

  “What are you doing here?”

  “What do you think I’m doing here, Calla?” He sighs, shaking his head. “It’s not the same.”

  “What’s not?”

  “Alaska. You’ve ruined Alaska for me.” His tone is playful, and yet there’s a hint of accusation buried within.

  “I’m sorry,” I mumble.

  “Are you really, though?”

  “No. Not totally,” I admit with a sheepish smile and a tiny spark of hope, because maybe I’m not the only one who has been unhappy. Maybe I’m not the only one who might have accidentally, unintentionally found themselves in love.

  He holds out a hand. I take it without pause, allowing him to pull me into his lap. I fall against his hard body and can’t help the tiny sound I make. It feels even better than I remember it feeling.

  Is this really happening?

  Did Jonah fly all the way here, just to see me?

  He hooks a hand around the backs of my thighs to pull my legs up, tucking my body closer to him, and then takes my hand in his, tracing the tips of my freshly filed and lacquered nails with his thumb. “Have you been—”

  “Miserable.” I push his baseball cap off, letting it fall to the porch floor, and press my forehead against his. “Nothing’s the same here anymore.” Or at least, I’m not the same. Sure, I still go out with Diana and our friends, but I ghost the second I can, preferring to linger on the couch next to my mom and Simon, listening to them bicker in their funny ways. Diana’s drive to make something of Calla & Dee is still there, but I’ve been spending my time focused on my memories of Alaska, and my father, and Jonah—posting pictures that make me smile or laugh, and sharing the stories behind them, even if no one but me is going to read them. Simon says it’s therapeutic for me. Maybe it is, but I just want to keep those days fresh and alive in my mind for as long as possible, because I know I’ll never get them back.

  I never wear makeup for my runs anymore and even when I do put it on, it’s with a lighter hand. And the jacket Jonah bought me hangs in the front closet. I reach for it every time I find myself needing comfort.

  It’s ironic that no sooner had I gotten back to the city bustle that I was craving than I missed the simple calm and peaceful quiet that I’d just left.

  Jonah smirks with satisfaction. “Good.”

  I can’t stop myself from grazing the light stubble of his jaw with my palm and dipping down to press my lips against his, knowing that letting ourselves fall back into this routine will only m
ake our parting that much more agonizing.

  But I’ll take whatever I can get, for as long as I can get it.

  His tongue darts out to taste his bottom lip. “What have you been into tonight?”

  “Just a martini.”

  His eyebrow lifts.

  “Three martinis,” I admit with a cringe. I was feeling the alcohol in the car, but oddly enough, I’m suddenly dead sober.

  He groans, and smooths my hair off my forehead, his eyes roaming my face. “What the hell are we gonna do, Calla?”

  “I don’t know.” I toy with the collar of his jacket, itching to slide my hand beneath it. “What about Wild? How’s that going?”

  “It’s not gonna be Wild much longer. They’re already talking about a new Aro logo for the planes. I told them I’ll stick around for another two months, and then I’m out. I just . . . I can’t.” His jaw clenches. “Wren’s gone. And, soon Wild will be gone, too.”

  The ball in my throat flares. “I miss him.”

  “Yeah. Me, too,” he admits hoarsely, blinking several times. Against glossy eyes, I realize, and it makes me curl myself tighter into him.

  “So what are you thinking of doing then, if you’re not going to be at Wild?”

  “I’m going to start up my own little charter company, for off-airport landings. Wren left me three planes.”

  “Yeah, he told me he was going to. That’s good. People trust you to fly them in.”

  “Figured I’d sell Jughead and get something smaller. And then I could set up closer to Anchorage. You could help me with all the business marketing stuff, seeing as you’re good at that. Figured being closer to a big city might work for you.” He swallows. “Is that something you’d be interested in doing?”

  “What? I . . .” I stammer, caught off guard. Set up closer to Anchorage? “What do you mean? Are you asking me to move there?” Is Jonah asking me to move to Alaska?

  He fixes his eyes on mine. “That’s exactly what I’m asking.”

  “I . . .” My heart starts beating wildly in my chest. “I don’t know.” That would mean going to Alaska for Jonah. Leaving my life for Jonah. Doing the exact same thing my mother did. “But what if I don’t like it?” I blurt out.