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“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.
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.
He grunts. “I don’t do custom orders.” But he’s studying the picture, I note.
“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?”
“I could make that damn thing in my sleep! It’s nothin’. Just some lacquered wood and legs.”
“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.
“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.
“He should have been home by now,
“I have a really bad feeling, Agnes.”
There’s a moment of silence on the other end, and then Agnes quietly says, “Call it in, Calla.”
“Come on. Let’s keep our minds busy with—” “I can’t!” I shriek, tears erupting in rivulets as I face off with Muriel. “I can’t do anything right now! I can barely breathe!” All three of them pause, sympathy filling their expressions.
“He asked me to marry him today,” I continue in a hoarse whisper. The ring on my finger suddenly weighs a hundred pounds. “We’re supposed to spend the rest of our lives together. He’s my entire world. Why can’t he just come back?”
Roy came. Why is Roy here?
My vacant stare is searching the dark when the porch door creaks open and Roy slips in, wearing the same outfit he wore that night to the Ale House. Our eyes glance off each other and for a moment, I fear the insensitive comment that will fall from his mouth, that will somehow make this worse. But then he slips off his cowboy hat and strolls over to settle into the wicker chair beside me, stretching his legs out in front of him, boots crossed, as if to get comfortable.
Another long moment passes and then Roy’s exhale cuts into the silence. “Any news yet?” I shake my head. “Well … No news is good news.”
“He wanted me to go with him. I should have gone.” “Then you’d be wherever he is right now.”
“You’ll survive this. You’re tough.” I laugh, the sound hollow. “No, I’m not.” “Yeah, you are. You’re tough in your own way, Calla. You’ll survive this.” “What if I don’t want to survive this?” I’ll never complain about Alaska again. I’ll live here until I’m old and gray, never thinking of a way out, never wishing I were somewhere else, as long as I can have Jonah. I feel idiotic now. I let such trivial worries consume me for so long. “It’s never up to us, though, is it?”
“I don’t like tea,” I admit after she’s gone. “Neither do I, but every once in a while, I let that battle-ax get her way.”
“Why’d you do it?” Roy doesn’t answer for a long moment, his eyes roaming the dark, as if trying to make out the tree line from here. “Because I owed her. Because a long time ago, she was the one out there, searchin’ for my kin.”
“When the locals caught wind, a bunch of ’em spent days combing the forest and the road, lookin’ for her. There was this one girl with ’em. She was older than me by a few years and had a gun slung over her shoulder. She seemed tough as nails. I told myself I needed to be tough like her if I had a hope in hell of survivin’ up here.” His lips quirk. “They finally found my mother. She was frozen solid. They figure she got lost ’cause she was way off course. Probably died that first night.”
And that tough-as-nails girl out there helping search for his mother was Muriel. “Does Muriel know?” She didn’t sound like she did. He shakes his head. She doesn’t remember, and he’s never told her.
“That cabin was built really well.” Steve the contractor was amazed at how well it has withstood the elements. Everything had been done right—the solid foundation, the right wood, the wide overhangs, the drainage slope. The fact that the area has overgrown has helped protect it from the sun. “You can go see it. I mean, if you want.” His lips twist. “I’ve been by a few times over the years. To clean out the gutters. Phil woulda let it rot.”
Roy’s been preserving his family’s history in Alaska, however tragic it was.
“What are the chances she’s put arsenic in mine?” he studies it warily. “Lord knows I’d deserve it.”
“I wasn’t always this pleasant.” I snort at his twisted attempt at humor. He brings his tea to his lips, and takes a long, slow sip. “I’ve had trouble with vices in the past. Booze … pills … that sort of thing. And I could get real nasty when somethin’ set me off.
“When I sobered up and saw what I’d done to Nicole’s face …” His head shake is almost indecipherable. “It’s how I remembered my mother’s face, after one of their fights. Swore I’d never be like him.” “We do that, don’t we?” I murmur absently, thinking how many times I’ve promised myself the same. “Nicole was always too good for me. She knew it, I knew it. Her family damn well knew it. So, I packed my bags and they made sure she didn’t stop me.”
What does he deserve? Roy has spent three decades in a form of exile, where he couldn’t hurt anyone he loved ever again, where he wouldn’t let anyone near him ever again, unwilling to take even one painkiller for fear of what he’s capable of when he loses control. What exactly does Roy Donovan deserve?
“I can’t.” The two words are almost inaudible as I struggle to breathe. Roy hesitates for only a second before collecting my phone. He takes a deep breath and then answers.
Roy ends the call and sets my phone on the table. “They found his plane in a valley north of Palmer,” he confirms somberly. “He’s alive.”
“Two crashes in a year since I’ve met you. I’m beginning to think you’re bad luck, Barbie,” Jonah croaks from his hospital bed. I burst into tears at the sound of his voice as relief overwhelms me.
“I’m sorry.” He pulls my hand to his mouth. His lips are so dry. “I took a stupid risk. I didn’t think the storm would be that bad and if I stayed low in the valley, I’d be fine. I just … I wanted to get home to you so bad.” “You almost didn’t make it back again, ever.”
“Me and Roy are twins now.”
His jaw tenses as he stares at the ceiling tile above his bed. “They said Veronica’s totalled.” “Yeah. I’ve already called the insurance company.” “That was Wren’s favorite plane.” It was his favorite plane. It was the last plane he ever flew, with me in the passenger seat. And I know that wrecking it hurts Jonah more than all his injuries combined.
“And he’d tell you that it’s just a plane and he’s happy you’re all right. I know because it’s what he said the last time you crashed his plane.”
“There was a stretch there, when I woke up, and couldn’t get out, couldn’t move—”
“And all I could think about was you, and how I was gonna break my promise about finding my way back. How you were gonna wish you’d never met me.”
“I could never regret you, Jonah.”
“I know you’re going to fly again, and I would never try to tell you not to. Just please promise me you’ll never take a risk like that again. I’d rather spend a hundred nights alone if it means you were going to come back to me safe at the end of it.” “That promise, I know I can keep.”
“Listen, you need your sleep. I’m going to get Agnes and Mabel before you fall asleep. They’re in the waiting room. George flew them in.” “Have you told them about their cabin yet?” I laugh. “No. You can. Take full advantage of their pity for you and make them agree to it.” He smirks. “Done. Come and give me a kiss first.”
Jonah lets out a contented sigh. “I can’t wait to get home so you can wait on me hand and foot.” “Oh, you think so.” I laugh. It feels so good to laugh with Jonah. “Can you get me a cowbell?” “Sure. I’ll also tell you where you can shove it.”
He laces his fingers through mine. “Am I still pretty enough for you?”
Oscar and Gus catch up, their tails wagging. “I win!” I tease, giving Oscar a head scratch as I climb off my seat. Lately, the wolf dogs spend more time here than at their home.
“People keep asking her who The Curmudgeon is.”
Roy takes a break from glaring at the level on the countertop to glare at me, before shifting back. “I wish I’d made the bases smaller, so you wouldn’t have any room to sign ’em.”
As with everything wood-related, Roy has been meticulous with each cut and angle of this interior. I knew he would be when I rolled up to his place a week after Jonah’s crash to ask if he’d be interested in refinishing the inside of his family’s cabin.
He seemed surprised to see me that day, and doubtful that I’d actually want to work with him. I assume that’s because of the confession he made on what I can only hope will remain the darkest day of my life.
I’m still trying to figure out why Roy divulged those details in the first place. For distraction? To warn me away from him? But I’m not afraid of Roy. And I haven’t repeated his sins to anyone, not even Jonah, who likely wouldn’t be too keen on this arrangement if he knew.
All I know is the man Roy is now, and that man was there for me. And one day, if and when he decides he’d like to reconnect with his daughter, maybe I can be there for him, too.
“Hey, I was wondering if you’d mind hanging this outside, by the door.” Collecting a nervous breath, I slip out the plaque I picked up from Wasilla this morning and hand it to him. “You think they did a good job?”
