Wild At Heart (Wild 2)

“Everyone needs someone to care about. Even that old grump.” Her gaze narrows on something in the distance. “You expectin’ someone?”

“No?” I follow her sight line to see a small plane descending, angling for our airstrip. I had heard the buzz of the engine but tuned it out, having grown accustomed to the sound.

“This is private property. Pilots can’t just land wherever they want. They gotta call it in!” She sounds offended.

“Maybe it’s an emergency.” And there’s no one to call. I’m all the way out here.

When it becomes clear that this plane is in fact landing on our airstrip, I head for my ATV.

* * *

I feel the blip of excitement the moment Bobbie’s blonde head emerges from the plane. George’s plane, I realize now, taking in the familiar blue-and-green stripes along the fuselage.

But it’s the small figure that pops out from the back passenger seat next that has my heart skipping and my legs propelling me forward in a jog.

“I didn’t know you were coming today!” I throw my arms around Agnes’s slight shoulders. I haven’t seen her in months. We’ve tried to plan a visit several times, but between work and school and the weather, it’s never panned out.

She returns the embrace with ferocity. “Didn’t Jonah mention it?”

“Uh … No.” I greet Bobbie with a hug.

Agnes smiles, the corners of her eyes crinkling. “George and Bobbie are on their way up to their cabin, so we hitched a ride. Thought we’d come hang out here for a while, if that’s okay.”

“Yeah, of course!” I turn to see a taller Mabel round the other side of the plane, a backpack slung over her shoulder. George lumbers behind her. “Holy cow! You’ve grown!” It’s only been four months but she has changed considerably—her hips rounder in more fitted jean shorts, her legs shapelier, her face thinned out. The biggest change, though, is her hair. She chopped her espresso-colored locks, and they now sit at her jawline in a sleek bob that makes her look years older.

“We tried calling on your birthday but we kept getting your voicemail.” Mabel smiles. It’s not the wide, toothy grin that I remember, but it’s a smile, nonetheless.

I close the distance to give her a tight hug.

“I take it you know these people,” Muriel hollers, her approaching footfalls heavy and slow.

“Yes,” I laugh and make quick introductions.

“Well, if this isn’t perfect timing!” Muriel studies Mabel with keen interest. “We have a whole patch of strawberries waitin’ to be picked.”

* * *

I step out to the screened-in porch carrying two lattes.

“This is fancy.” Agnes accepts her mug with a murmured thanks. “You just missed the fox. He went that way.” She points to our left toward a small, covered woodshed used for firewood.

“Yeah, he comes around every night at this time. I think Phil was feeding him.” It used to startle me, looking up to see his orange face watching me, but I’ve grown accustomed to it. I’ve even snapped a few pictures. The moose haven’t been around for months. I’m beginning to think that has less to do with the planes and more to do with Oscar.

Agnes sighs through a sip, her near-black eyes on the lake where Jonah and Mabel float in our aluminum boat, rods propped in their grips. Jonah came home early from work tonight, well before dinner. They’ve been fishing for an hour, ducking out for some one-on-one time while the sun graces Denali’s western side with a late-day glow.

Watching them brings me back to that day on a remote lake with my father—the four of us dangling our lines at opposite corners of a tin boat, Mabel repeatedly mistaking the current for attracted fish, Jonah reprimanding me for my whining, my father chuckling at the lot of us. Nothing bit my line that day, and the hours seemed long and tedious. What I would do to travel back in time to that day, just for a moment.

“You two sure have a good thing here, Calla.”

I catch Agnes’s gaze flickering to my neck, and I realize I’ve been toying with my pendant. I smooth my hand over it. “So, when did you decide to come? Was it after Jonah called you on Saturday night?” Is she that worried about us, that she’d take time off work and fly here?

She returns her focus to the lake, smiling softly. “This visit was long overdue. For all of us.”

That’s not an answer, but I don’t push, because it doesn’t matter what Agnes’s reason is for being here. She’s here, and she brings with her an inexplicable sense of comfort.

“Some days are really hard,” I admit in a whisper, leaning against the porch post.

“Some days were never going to be easy.”