“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.