The Simple Wild (Wild 1)

“Have you taken them before?”

“Yeah. The first time I dislocated my shoulder, back in high school. When I was playing football.”

“Huh. I wouldn’t have taken you to be a team player.” I wander over to the bookcase, noting what I didn’t notice earlier—that there isn’t a TV in here.

“I wasn’t. I got kicked off the team halfway through the season.”

I shake my head but smile as I examine the tatty spines, curious what interests Jonah besides flying planes and being generally abrasive.

“Those are called books,” he murmurs, the timbre of his voice soft and smug.

The Great Gatsby . . . Crime and Punishment . . . “My, aren’t we literary.”

“And what were you expecting?”

“I don’t know . . . How to Skin a Squirrel in Four Steps? 101 Ways to Cook Beaver? What Happens to You When Your Parents Are Related?” I mock.

He chuckles darkly.

There must be over two hundred books crammed in here. “You’ve read all of these?”

“That’s what you do with books, Barbie.”

I ignore the nickname, because he’s just trying to get under my skin, and turn my attention to the one shelf reserved for framed pictures. “Is this your mom?”

“Yup. Way back, when we still lived in Anchorage.”

I study the stunning and svelte woman in the cherry-red bikini, perched on the edge of a dock, her long white-blonde locks looking w

indblown, her slender legs crossed at the ankles. “She looks a lot like this Norwegian fashion Instagrammer that I follow. Really pretty.”

“She is Norwegian, so that would make sense.”

A grinning boy of maybe six sits next to her, his scrawny, tanned legs dangling over the edge, equally light hair glowing under a bright summer sun. His piercing blue eyes, though so innocent there, are an easy match to the man lying on the couch behind me.

“Is she still in Vegas?”

“Oslo. She moved back when she remarried.”

“Do you see her much?”

“It’s been a couple years. I was supposed to go see her this Christmas, but I doubt I’ll be going now.”

“Why not?”

“Because of Wren.” He says it so matter-of-factly, like “why else wouldn’t I go see my mom for Christmas, other than for Wren?”

“Right. Of course.” Jonah will be running Wild and flying my dad back and forth to Anchorage for treatment. Jonah, who’s not even blood-related. “Are you still going to be able to fly him on Monday morning?”

“Me, or someone else.”

A pang of guilt stirs in my chest. Am I wrong to be leaving a week into my father’s treatment? I mean, I pushed my ticket back, but should I be staying longer? Should I be staying to help him while he’s at home? I am his daughter after all, even though we’re only just newly acquainted. Do I owe him that?

And if not for him, then for Jonah, and Agnes, and Mabel, to help share the burden?

And if not for them, then for myself?

I need to call Simon later. He’s always my voice of reason.