by K. A. Tucker
I’m tugging on my winter hat when the side door creaks open and Muriel plows through, stomping her heavy boots on the doormat. She must have driven her truck in because I didn’t hear an engine approach.
“Morning, all!” She saunters in, bringing a draft of cold air with her.
I make quick introductions.
“Oh, I’ve heard plenty about all of you. Your kids have been counting down the days to have you here.” Muriel’s shrewd gaze halts on the gingerbread house displayed in the middle of the dining table. “Would you look at that.” She marches over to get a closer view, leaving snowy footprints across the floor. We’ve had words about her bad habit of tracking mud and snow across our hardwood floors. She’s gotten better about it. Most of the time. “Calla said you were busy baking the other day, Astrid?”
Astrid smiles. “Yes. It is a passion of mine.”
“Too bad we didn’t have that for the auction, right?” I step into my boots.
“I don’t know. I think people’d feel guilty eatin’ this thing.” After another appraising look, Muriel shifts her attention back to me. “Where you off to?”
“Roy’s. We ran out of eggs and Simon’s cooking breakfast.”
“And you are more than welcome to join us,” Simon offers cordially.
Muriel waves him off. “That’s kind of you, but I ate hours ago. I can’t stay. I just wanted to bring this moose roast over.” She holds up the bulky, butcher-paper-wrapped package from under her arm. “Figured you folks probably don’t get moose too often and you might enjoy it one night for dinner.”
Jonah’s all smiles as he retrieves it from her. “You know I will. Thanks.”
Muriel dips her head. “That’s what neighbors do, isn’t it? We take care of each other.”
Astrid smiles warmly, watching the exchange. “Did you get that during this year’s hunt, Muriel?”
“Me? No. I don’t go moose hunting much anymore. Not since …” Her voice trails with her stern frown, and I know she’s thinking about her missing son. “No, this is from my cousin Eddie. He must have put his name in that lottery ten … fifteen years ago. I told him he’d never get the call but a couple weeks ago, he got the call and made a liar out of me. A fourteen-hundred-pound bull!” She shakes her head. “How that driver walked away from that wreck, I’ll never know.”
My mother frowns at the package in Jonah’s hand. “What do you mean? Is that—”
“Roadkill. We don’t waste good meat in Alaska. It all tastes the same. Don’t matter if it’s a bullet or a grill that took it down, does it?” If Muriel notices the disgust flitter across my mother’s face, she ignores it, turning her attention to me. “I heard you want Teddy to perform your wedding ceremony. Now, he’s more than happy to do it, no problem there, but if you want it done a hundred percent legal, you need to get down to the courthouse to apply for the marriage license today, because they make you wait three business days before they’ll issue it.”
I’m momentarily stunned. I didn’t expect to be blindsided like this. “I didn’t—”
“And with Christmas, everything’s going to be all messed up. ’Course, you can go through the motions while everyone’s here and then he’ll sign the license after the fact, if you can’t get it before they all have to fly home.”
I’m going to kill Toby.
“Calla? What on earth is she talking about?”
I face my wide-eyed mother who looks like she blinked and suddenly found herself in a stranger’s house. On another planet. “There was a suggestion made that we get married while you’re all here, to make it easier on everyone.”
“But you’re not considering it, are you?” Her jaw drops. “Oh my God, you’re pregnant, aren’t you?”
“Hell, I wish.” Jonah barks with laughter.
“Jonah!” Astrid admonishes softly, but her lips curl with a smile as if she’s struggling to hide her amusement.
“But you can’t get married before we leave. That’s … that’s … absurd. I mean, where will I find flowers for your bouquet? And a dress! In a week? Good luck! And what about the venue?”
“Already checked and the community center is available,” Muriel chirps, thinking she’s being helpful. “You could reuse all the decorations from Saturday night, too. I’ll tell Jamie to leave it up.”
“The community center!” My mother’s laugh is bordering on hysterical now. “Okay. Let’s say for a moment that we go with that. Who’s going to do the catering?”
“I’m sure I could get another roast or two out of Eddie,” Muriel counters, serious.
“So, my daughter will be serving roadkill to her wedding guests.”
“She’s just trying to help,” I snap, not appreciating the caustic tone my mother is taking with Muriel. “And this is my wedding, Mom! Not yours!”
But she’s barely listening, too wrapped up in her own head. “What does it matter. You won’t have any guests. Who could attend? This is crazy!” She looks first to Simon, then to Astrid. “Right? Our only children, eloping in some sort of backwoods Hee Haw celebration?”
Astrid shrugs. “I’ve always preferred a simple, low-key affair. And it’s far more practical financially. Right, Björn?”
“Huh?” He peels his attention from his book to peer at his wife. “I’ll have mine fried. I think they call it sunny-side up?”
“Way to stay on brand.” Jonah shakes his head at his stepfather. “She’s not a waitress asking for your fucking egg order.”
Björn scowls first at Jonah, then at his wife. “Some mouth on that son of yours, Astrid. If Karl or Ivar spoke to me like that …” His words drift, as if he need not say more.
“You’d what, Björn?” Jonah questions, a taunting gleam in his cold blue eyes. “What would you do, huh? Something that required you to get off your lazy ass?”
Björn utters something in Norwegian. He tosses his novel onto the side table, narrowly missing the full cup of coffee just delivered, and stands with surprising speed to face Jonah. “I was the reigning arm wrestling champion for six years, you pompous little shit!” He yanks up his shirt sleeves to show off substantial forearms.
“I like taking care of my husband, Jonah! Now, both of you. Stop this!” Astrid explodes, throwing her arms in the air as if to say “enough.” Her hand inadvertently catches the corner of her coffee mug. It topples over and hits the floor, the coffee splashing, the ceramic shattering.
While that commotion is happening, my mother has cast her reading glasses onto the pile of magazines. “Simon, would you talk some sense into our daughter? You’re the only one she seems to listen to.”
She pulled out the “our daughter” card.
Simon’s brow furrows, and I know he’s choosing his words wisely before he dares utter them, because there is no rationalizing with my mother when she’s this emotional.
Muriel tracks back to join me in the hall, watching the flurry of anger unfold. “Bit of a can of worms I might have opened there, huh?”
“You think?” I grab my mittens and keys, and head out the door.
Chapter Seven
This time when I roll up to Roy’s cabin, he emerges from the barn, shutting the door tightly behind him.
I take my time, pausing to scratch Oscar behind the ear and give Gus a pat. Really, I just need another moment to gather the courage I wasn’t able to find on the ride here, too busy battling this rising dread that I’ve finally pushed Roy too far.
“What do you want?” he calls out in his typical gruff style, his arms folded across his chest. He’s in his usual outfit—a faded, forest-green, quilted plaid jacket and worn jeans, dusted in wood shavings. I’m not sure they’ve ever been washed. There’s no washer or dryer anywhere on this property, and of the hand-washed things I’ve seen on the drying rack or clothesline, they’ve never been included.
There’s no point in attempting small talk, not that Roy’s ever been for it. “Jonah’s mom used all my eggs and didn’t tell me, and Simon’s in the mid
dle of making breakfast. I was hoping I could grab a half dozen from you.” I brace myself for him to bark that he’s not a damn grocery store, to get the hell off his property, and out of his life once and for all.
“There’s a full carton inside.” He waves a hand toward his cabin, a signal that I should go and get them myself.
“Oh. Okay. I’ll just …” I begin moving for the front door before he can change his mind.
“Did that garden basket fetch any money for the auction?” he hollers after me, stalling my feet.
“Yeah.” I hesitate. “Some might say too much. You know, because of that faulty handle.”
The corner of his mouth twitches. “How are things going over at your place, with the big meet and greet and all that?”
He’s actually making an effort to have a conversation. That’s a good sign. “Well …” I find myself wandering back closer. “My mom thinks Jonah and I are having a shotgun wedding next week and serving everyone roadkill at the reception, so she’s having a coronary, and I wouldn’t be surprised if Björn and Jonah are arm wrestling when I get back.” Agnes and Mabel arrive today, and it’s a blessing they’re staying in the cabin across the lake. At least they have somewhere to escape.
Which reminds me—I need to get out there to prepare it. George and Bobbie said they’d be dropping them off around one, on their way to their cabin up near Fairbanks.
Roy’s brow pinches with curious amusement. “And why does your mother think you two are getting married next week?”
“Because Muriel told everyone that we are.” I explain Astrid’s health condition and Toby’s suggestion, in as few words as possible because Roy gets impatient with too many details.
By the time I’m done, he’s shaking his head. “The day that woman stops meddling in people’s lives is the day she stops breathing.”
“She meant well,” I defend half-heartedly. “And Astrid probably shouldn’t be flying back and forth from Oslo like this. It is risky. I’d feel terrible if something happened to her.” A reality that’s weighing more on me as time passes. “It’s just not what I was picturing for myself. It’s definitely not what my mother pictured.”
Roy leans back against the barn’s frame and folds his arms across his chest. “So, you gonna go through with it next week, then?”
“I don’t know?” Without much thought, I add, “Should I?”
Roy’s bushy eyebrows pop with a flash of surprise. “You askin’ me? For wedding advice?”
“I don’t know. Sure.” I chuckle. “Why not?” Roy was the first one to find out about our engagement, before my mom and Simon, even before Diana. He was the first to offer congratulations.
And, of all the people who waited with me for news of Jonah’s whereabouts on that dreaded night, it was Roy who I found myself leaning on for support.
“You must be lost, then.” His thoughts seem to wander as his gaze drifts over the tidy woodpiles beside his truck. “Nicole’s parents never wanted her to marry me. At first, they refused to pay for the wedding, but when they realized she was hellbent on doin’ it no matter what, even if it meant standin’ in front of a judge with a stranger to sign on the witness line, they changed their tune. They gave their daughter the wedding she deserved, even if it was to a guy who didn’t deserve her.” He drops his eyes to his work boots. “All that money they poured into that fancy affair, and what did it get her? Not happiness, I can tell you that much. At least not with me.” He snorts. “Jim … that was the guy. I knew she’d end up back with him.”
“She did get a beautiful daughter because of you,” I remind him gently. “And then two grandchildren.”
He glowers, pulling away from his relaxed stance. “I don’t give a shit what other people want, and you shouldn’t, either. Marry Jonah while you’re standin’ in an empty barn wearin’ your woolens and surrounded by goat shit, or marry him next year in some big, expensive dog-and-pony show with a bunch of strangers lookin’ on. It shouldn’t matter to anyone who means anything to you. It sure as hell won’t make a stitch of difference to your marriage, ’specially not when the ‘for better or worse’ hits those ‘worse’ parts.” He reaches for the barn-door handle. “And, for what it’s worth, if anyone could pull a wedding out of their ass in a week and make it not suck, it’d be you.”
I smile. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”
“Take it however you want.” The barn door rolls open with his tug.
“Hey, why don’t you come for dinner tonight?”
“And deal with that shit show you got goin’ on over there? No, thanks.” The door slides shut with a soft thud behind him.
I take this opportunity to grab the wrapped gifts from my back seat. Inside Roy’s cabin, I set them on the floor beside the trunk where the Christmas tree still sits, despite Roy’s vehement complaints. Only now, the card from Delyla is propped next to it, and tucked in the corner of the old framed picture of Nicole and Delyla is the four-by-six of her and her children.
“And yet you’re not going to call her, are you, you old bugger?” I shake my head as I collect the dozen eggs from the counter where Roy said they’d be.
I take my time on Roy’s lengthy driveway and then the road, not in a rush to return to whatever mess is waiting for me. But the entire ride, I’m thinking about Roy and the daughter he won’t contact, no matter how badly I suspect he wants to.
I spot the blue snowmachine parked at the hangar when I coast up our driveway. Jonah must have escaped “that shit show” as Roy so aptly described it. As much as I need to get these eggs back to Simon, I divert from my path.
Inside, I find Jonah rifling through the emergency kit stored in Archie. He looks up at the sound of the door slamming shut. “Roy give you some eggs?”
“A dozen.”
“Should be enough.”
I shudder against the chilly air. Even with the heating system in place, it’s never truly warm in here. Jonah is accustomed and unbothered by it. I am not. “What are you doing?”
“Replacing all the granola bars I had in here. I was hungry the other day, so I pulled one out and it tasted like cardboard.”
I close the distance and rest my cheek against his shoulder. “What happened after I left?”
“You mean after you abandoned me?” He smirks as he tosses two stale bars into the nearby trash bin before pivoting to lean against the table, facing me. “Let’s see … Björn started chirping at me in Norwegian because he knows it pisses me off, so I told him I’d be more than happy to drive him back to the airport. My mother told me to stop being an asshole. I probably deserved that.”
“And what about my mom?”
Jonah chuckles. “Muriel promised her that the plumbing issue in the community center usually doesn’t act up in extremely cold weather, and that everyone would be more than willing to bring food if we held the reception there.”
“Oh my God. A potluck wedding in a community center.” I groan. “So basically my mother’s worst nightmare.”
“Sounds pretty good if you ask me, but that vein on her forehead was pulsing. That’s when I left.”
I fall against Jonah’s broad chest, welcoming his comforting arms around me. “Why did Muriel have to do that?”
“It’s not her fault, and none of this is a surprise. We knew we were going to get the gears about setting a date from both sides, and that your mother would be pushing hard for a wedding in Toronto.”
I inhale the familiar scent of Jonah—spearmint gum and woodsy soap—as I think about Roy’s words. “What do you want to do, Jonah?”
His chest heaves with his sigh. “I’ll do whatever you want—”
“What the hell!” I pull away to stare him down, my annoyance flaring. “You’re never afraid to tell me how it is or how you think it should be, but for some reason, you have no opinion about our wedding? How is that possible?”
His jaw tenses. “Fine. You want to know what I think? I think we should get married now. Today. Or in three days, i
f that’s when we can get a license. Hell, I was ready to sign those papers the day I put this on your finger.” He reaches for my left hand, his thumb grazing my engagement ring. “Everyone who matters to me is already here, or will be, in a few hours. I don’t want to spend the next year of my life stressing over some big party so a bunch of fucking people I’ve never talked to before and will probably never talk to again can tell me congratulations and hand me an envelope of cash. I don’t want to listen to what other people want us to do. I don’t want to get married in Toronto, or Oslo. I want to get married right here, right now. In Alaska, where I met you, where I fell in love with you, where I’m building a life with you.”
He exhales deeply, as if relieved that he could finally pull the cork on that bottle and let it all out. When he speaks again, it’s in a much slower, calmer tone. “But I get that I’m not the only one in this relationship and that weddings are a big deal for a lot of women, so if you want the big day and the big dress and the hundreds of people, then I’m okay with that, too.”
“I don’t.” The moment I say it, I know it’s true. I thought I did want all that, or that I might want it. But I’d much rather spend the next year living my life with Jonah than planning a single day.
Jonah’s eyebrows arch. “You don’t?”
“I mean, I want something nice and special. Not the community center, with recycled Christmas dinner decorations,” I clarify. “And I want to wear a dress, but it doesn’t have to be something I custom-ordered six months in advance. I want to be able to look back on our wedding day in fifty years from now as one of the best days of my life, but I don’t need the big dog-and-pony show.” I smile at Roy’s words. “All I need is you. And the people who are around us right now.”
Jonah’s breath hitches. He reaches up to tuck a loose strand of hair beneath my knit cap. “So, what are you sayin’, exactly?”
I struggle against the goofy grin that threatens to emerge as my excitement bubbles. “Roy did say I could pull a wedding out of my ass in a week and make it not suck.”