He inhales deeply, his smile fading. “I can’t take all the credit.” He holds the small gold plane between his thumb and index finger. “This necklace, it’s not only from me.” His pale blue eyes dart upward to meet mine. He swallows hard. “About a week before he died, Wren asked me to get in touch with this friend of his, up in Nome.” The lump in my throat inflates. “He wanted you to have something to remember him by. Something you could open on Christmas morning.” Jonah clears his throat. “For a while there, he was hoping he’d last this long.” I clasp my hand over my mouth to muffle my sob.
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