My dad’s lips press together in thought. “Agnes is everything I should want in a wife. She’s kind, and funny, and patient. She loves her family, and Alaska. She takes care of me even though I don’t ask her to. I honestly don’t know what I’d do without her. She’ll make someone an incredible wife one day.”
I wait for the “but” that I sense hanging in the air. Though I think I’ve already heard it before.
Yeah, well . . . I’m not Susan. That’s what Agnes said my first night. She didn’t sound bitter. More like resigned to the fact.
My dad sighs. “I keep telling her that she should find someone. There’s been interest from other men. But she’s never given them the time of day. I think she’s getting as set in her ways as I am. So . . . we all just keep living like we do.”
“I think it’s nice, the way things work around here. The way you all look out for each other. I mean, Mabel brings you dinner . . . you leave a pot of coffee out for Jonah every morning . . . It’s nice. It’s like family.”
“Yeah, well . . .” He scratches the gray stubble coat
ing his chin. “They are my family.”
“I’m glad to know you have people here who care about you.” Who will take care of you after I’m gone. “And that I got to know them.”
His mouth curves in a thoughtful frown. “Even Jonah?”
“Even him,” I admit reluctantly, adding an eye roll. Jonah, who thankfully seemed to be giving me a wide berth today as he helped my dad and Agnes rework flights after yesterday’s delays, while I hid in a corner with my headphones on, finishing Wild’s “history” page with a picture of my grandparents standing beside the first plane they ever bought.
Pretending I didn’t notice every time he strolled by.
“Well, that’s something.” With a yawn, he shimmies out of his chair and reaches into his vest pocket. “Listen, I’m gonna step outside for a minute and then head to bed after. I’m beat.”
I can’t help but glare at the pack of cigarettes in his hand.
He notices, and sighs. “I’ve been a smoker for over forty years, Calla.”
“And it’s going to kill you if you don’t stop.” A reality that has been there since the moment we met face-to-face in the hallway for the first time, and yet it concerns me that much more now. Probably because I don’t feel like I’m looking at a stranger anymore.
“Doc says it won’t make much of a difference, so why put myself through that.”
“I guess. If that’s what your doctor said.”
He opens his mouth, but then hesitates. “You’re yawning. Go to bed, kiddo.”
I am exhausted after last night’s restless sleep. “Hey, do you think we could start locking the door at night?”
Dad frowns. “Why? Something got you spooked?”
“Besides the neighbor who wants to take hedge clippers to my hair?”
“Is that what Jonah said he’d do?” He chuckles. “He’s not actually going to do that.”
I level him with a knowing look.
“I would never allow him to do that to you,” he corrects, a touch more sternly.
“You said so yourself . . . he’s not going to let me get away with it, even if it’s a huge improvement.” Even if my blood raced every time I so much as heard his voice today, and my attention was only ever half on what I was doing, the other half wading through our past conversations, replaying words and looks, only now from the new version of Jonah, the one who’d stop me in my tracks if we were passing on the street.
I’ve somehow conveniently forgotten all the unpleasant exchanges and his games. Those were all the work of the angry yeti. My mind—or more likely my hormones—seems to be trying to compartmentalize Jonah in some sort of Jekyll and Hyde situation so I can freely lust over the hot Viking version.
“Don’t forget, he hasn’t been cleared to fly by the FAA yet. One call from me . . .” My dad winks.
I’m sure he’s only kidding, but I appreciate it all the same. “Can we just lock the door anyway?”
He shrugs. “If that makes you sleep better, sure.”
“Good, thanks.” I collect our dinner dishes. “Oh, and I’m making overnight oats for breakfast. Do you want me to make you some?”