I get a flat look in return, but it doesn’t seem Jonah’s in the mood to argue. “Anyway, I told Björn he could have rented a car and driven himself instead of getting door-to-door valet service.”
“What’d he say to that?”
“That he already spent enough money on plane tickets, and he shouldn’t have to rent a car, too.”
“Flying from Oslo to Alaska isn’t cheap.” I know because I looked up the cost. I was going to offer to pay for their flights. Jonah talked me out of it, saying Björn would consider it an insult.
He waves my words away. “The stingy bastard has plenty of money. He just wants to complain because he’s a miserable prick.”
“He didn’t seem that bad.” Grouchy, sure. A bit abrupt, maybe. “Plus, he’s sixty-nine and he’s probably been awake for a day and a half. I’d be miserable, too.”
Jonah frowns at me. “When did you become so tolerant?”
I laugh. “Shut up.”
“I’m serious. You’ve been hangin’ around Muriel and Roy too much. They’ve conditioned you to put up with too much shit.”
“Oh! Speaking of Roy … I haven’t had a chance to tell you yet.” I shut my laptop and set it on the nightstand, then slither in next to Jonah. He lifts his arm without prompting, allowing me a spot to rest my head against his broad chest.
I relay the details of Delyla’s letter.
“So, you’re telling me you snooped through a highly private man’s personal mail?”
“It was right there.”
“That’s something Muriel would do.”
“It’s not the same!”
“Okay, Mini Muriel.”
I swat his stomach playfully and his muscles tense. “She would have stormed back out to the barn and badgered him with questions. I didn’t do that.”
“Because he’d probably threaten you with his gun.”
“Whatever. Anyway, none of this is the point.”
Jonah smiles, as if humoring me. “Okay. What’s the point?”
“He’s not going to contact her.”
“And that’s his choice. It’s his business. We don’t know what happened between him and his family all those years ago. Maybe he doesn’t want anything to do with them.”
I bite my tongue against the urge to say that, actually, we do know. I know, because Roy told me, that dreaded night back in August when Jonah’s plane crashed in the valley. I’ve never repeated what Roy shared to anyone but Simon, and I did that because Simon doesn’t judge.
Jonah would judge. Harshly.
Roy has already done an adequate job of punishing himself, isolated in his cabin in the woods for the past thirty-three years, relying on barn animals and feral dogs for companionship.
“What about forgiving past crimes and letting go? Aren’t you the one who pushed me to give my father another chance?” And Jonah did that because he didn’t give his father another chance until it was too late.
“Yeah, but Roy’s not dying. Besides, Wren was a decent guy. Roy is … Roy.”
“Roy’s decent.”
Jonah snorts. “Last week, when he came by to trim Zeke’s hooves, he was wearing that goddamn raccoon-fur hat again. Bandit wouldn’t come out.”
“He’s decent in his own way,” I amend. “And, you know, I was thinking, if Agnes hadn’t taken it upon herself to call me, I never would have come to Alaska. I never would have gotten to know my dad before he died. We never would have met.”