I fight against heavy eyelids as I burrow beneath our duvet, sated with food and wine, waiting for Jonah to come to bed. He and Roy battled the blizzard for close to an hour, working to haul my Jeep out of the ditch. I spent that time tackling the endless pile of dishes Astrid dirtied while cooking until my guilt over my carelessness overwhelmed me.
I was yanking on my boots, ready to take the snowmachine out to check on them, when the approaching glow of my Jeep’s headlights appeared in our driveway.
Surprisingly, it sustained minimal damage in the crash—shattered brake lights, a few scratches along the bumper, and a dent that Jonah says is cosmetic. All things that are easily fixed.
Jonah was too tired and cold to give me any grief, and thankfully my mother laid off on the blame game, too busy settled into the chair by the fire with Astrid’s mulled wine and my laptop, researching rustic winter reception décor ideas for the Ale House.
What started out as a hectic day transformed into an enjoyable night of food, family, and laughter. Astrid presented plate after plate of hearty Norwegian dishes—pork ribs she called ribbe, tender boiled potatoes, brussels sprouts and red cabbage from our garden haul, and a gelatinous cod dish called lutefisk that I swiftly passed on. After dinner, Jonah tore off the roof of the gingerbread house and then parked himself on the couch to watch Christmas movies, while Björn busted out the Swords and Shields board game. Even Mabel was interested in learning how to play, and I was hit with a wave of nostalgia as I watched her frown of consternation and listened to her competitive trash talk. For a few hours tonight, we had the old Mabel back—the one who used to sit across from my father at his checkerboard night after night.
“Come on, Jonah,” I groan. If this were any other time, I’d holler for him to get his ass up here. But everyone else said their good-nights well over an hour ago and the house is silent, save for Björn’s steady snore.
I reach for my phone to send Diana a Merry Christmas text that she’ll get when she wakes up.
My heart skips a beat when I see the notification.
Delyla answered the email I sent her yesterday morning.
My thumbs fumble to open the message. I hold my breath as I read the lengthy response.
I’m on my second reread when Jonah strolls into our bedroom, peeling his sweater over his head as he shuts our door. “I won’t be surprised if the power gets knocked out all day tomorrow. At least the generators are ready to go …” His voice drifts. “What’s wrong?”
I let out a shaky breath. “Roy’s daughter wrote me back.”
His eyes bulge. “You actually contacted her?”
“Yesterday.” With all the wedding frenzy, I didn’t have time to mention it. To be honest, a part of me didn’t want to mention it, not until I knew if my efforts were worthwhile. If Delyla would even respond to the woman who lives down the road from her estranged father.
She responded all right.
Jonah tosses his sweater onto the dresser. “And?”
“And she thanked me for contacting her. She wants me to call her.” Whenever I’m free, the sooner the better. There was no missing the impatience and enthusiasm in her words.
He sheds the rest of his clothes, changing into a thermal flannel sleep set I bought him. “Are you going to?”
“Call her? Of course. This is Roy’s second chance.”
“What if he doesn’t want a second chance?”
“He does. I know he does. He wouldn’t have kept the card and those pictures if he didn’t.”
“And when she asks why you’re the one calling, and not her father?”
“I’ll tell her the truth. That I think he’s scared.”
Jonah seems to consider that as he yanks off his wool socks and tosses them into the hamper in the corner. “You’re doing something good for him, even if he won’t see it like that.”
“You know what? Even if he hates me for a while, if it means he could have a relationship with his daughter, it’ll be worth it.” I wonder if Agnes felt this same nervousness when she went behind my father’s back to call me.
With a sigh that rings of exhaustion, Jonah peels off his watch and sets it onto the nightstand before lifting the duvet to slide in.
He freezes, his eyebrows popping, and it’s then I remember the scandalous red lace and white faux-f
ur-trimmed baby doll dress I slipped on tonight, partially hidden beneath my pajama top while I waited. I bought it two weeks ago while shopping in Anchorage. An impulse purchase, sparked when I walked past a department store’s Christmas lingerie section and decided maybe Jonah would like me in something other than oversized flannel.
“Merry early Christmas,” I say coyly. I was eager to show him this an hour ago. Now, my limbs have been lulled by a soft mattress, my skin accustomed to the warmth. I reach for the covers to tug them closer.
He’s too fast, though, yanking them down and making me shudder. “I need you to get up and walk around for me a bit.”