The Simple Wild (Wild 1)

A soft sigh escapes Agnes. “Come on, Calla.” She reaches down to grab the strap of the nylon bag and then hoists it over her shoulder as if it weighs nothing at all, even though it’s probably half her size. “Let’s get you settled before your dad arrives. I’m sure your mother would like you to check in.”

“There’s Wi-Fi at the house, right?” I wave my phone in the air. “Because I haven’t been able to get a signal since Seattle.”

“You must be dying,” Jonah mutters under his breath, but loud enough for me to hear.

I roll my eyes.

“No, you won’t get a signal. Only GCI works around here. But yes, you’ll be able to connect from home,” Agnes says. “Jonah, take care of things here for me, will ya?”

He grunts an answer, which I assume is an agreement.

Agnes seems to take it for that. She beckons me to follow her with a nod of her head, toward a small crop of vehicles parked on the far side of the office building.

“Wait! Do you mind taking a picture?”

“Oh . . . sure,” Agnes says, her eyes widening with surprise.

I hand her my phone and then pick my path gingerly through the puddles to lean against the plane, angling my body in a pose that I know is especially flattering, my left hand pressed gently on the top of my hat.

“Smile!” Agnes calls.

“Oh, no, it’s okay!” I call out as I look into the distance, at another plane that’s descending from the clouds. Keenly aware of Jonah’s eyes on me, my ears pricked to catch whatever snide comment he might have to make.

Thankfully, whatever thoughts he has, he keeps them to himself for once.

“I took three. Is that good?”

“Perfect. Thanks.” I

avoid Jonah’s gaze as I collect my phone and follow Agnes. “So, you work here?”

She smiles at me warmly. “Going on sixteen years now.”

“Wow.” My dad and Agnes have known each other since I was ten. That’s four years where we were talking and he didn’t mention her. Has it been “complicated” for all that time or just part of it? “And what do you do here?”

“What don’t I do is more like it. Fly planes . . . I don’t do that. But I keep busy with a lot of other stuff—dispatch and payroll, bookings and shipment contracts; all that boring stuff. And I take care of the guys. We have . . . thirty-five pilots on payroll now.”

My eyes widen. “Seriously?”

“’Course, they’re not all full-time and they’re scattered all over the place. We’ve got one guy in Unalakleet, two in Kotzebue . . . Barrow, of course, for the summer season. A few in Fairbanks . . . all over the place. It’s like having dozens of sons. They can be a handful and I don’t see some of them for months on end, especially the ones up north, but I love ’em like they were my own.”

“I’ll bet.” Though how anyone but legitimate flesh and blood could love Jonah is beyond me.

I’m so distracted with my thoughts that I’m not paying attention to where I’m walking. My left foot lands in a deep puddle. I cringe from both the shock of the cold, muddy water against my toes and the damage it’s going to do to the suede insole. “I guess it just rained?”

“It always ‘just rained’ around here.” Agnes tosses the duffel bag into the back of an old black GMC pickup truck that’s seen better days—the side of it is dented and scratched, and rust is eating away at the wheel well. “I hope you brought good rain boots with you.”

“I did. Beautiful, expensive red Hunter boots.” I pause for effect. “They’re in Anchorage with the rest of my clothes.”

“I’ll make sure we get your things here soon.” Agnes’s eyes flicker back toward the rows of planes. She opens her mouth as if to say something more, but then decides against it. “Let’s get you home.”

I hazard a glance. Jonah is strolling across the lot toward the hangar, his gait casual and assured. He turns my way once, before dismissing me entirely without so much as a wave.

Good riddance. If I don’t have to deal with him for the rest of the week, I’ll be more than happy.

The drive to my father’s house is not far—not even five minutes—and along lonely roads, the paved one riddled with yawning cracks, the dirt ones peppered with countless potholes. The few houses we see as we pass are basic, functional structures, mostly modular homes clad with colorful siding, all of them sitting above the ground on wooden legs. Because of the permafrost, Agnes explains.

I’ve made a mental note to look up “permafrost” in the dictionary when I have internet again.