Chapter Thirty-Four

“Calla.”

“Hmm?” I crack my eyelids.

Jonah looms over me with a mug in his hand. “Figured you might need this.” He sets it on my nightstand. The rattle of a pill bottle sounds as he slips it from his pocket and sets it next to my coffee.

Just enough daylight creeps in from the hallway for me to note the frothy milk. “Did you make me a latte?”

“I owed you one from yesterday, remember? That machine isn’t as complicated as I thought it would be.” There’s no hint of anger or resentment in his voice. If anything, I’d say it’s strangely docile.

“Thank you.” I check the clock. It’s after nine. “Is Diana awake?”

“She’s been up since five.” Jonah moves to draw the curtains, upsetting the shadows with sunshine. The forecast called for another warm day with no promise of rain anytime soon, in the driest, warmest June on record for this area. “Muriel’s here. She took her out to the garden.”

“I should get up, then.” And rescue her. I groan and heave myself out of bed, wandering to the bathroom to relief myself and brush my teeth, dismayed by the puffy, sore eyes that stare back at me in the mirror—physical evidence of the disastrous end to my birthday. I’m not sure I can even force a smile at this point.

I climb into the shower, hoping that ten minutes immersed beneath a stream of hot water will help clear my head and my heavy heart. I was far drunker than I realized. At least that hopeless despair I carried to sleep has faded with the alcohol. But it’s been replaced with an odd emptiness, a melancholy.

Regret.

And lingering confusion.

All the things we said to each other last night …

I cringe. What would possess me to become so wrapped up in jealousy over Marie? In the light of a new day, I feel like an idiot. It wasn’t about her at all. Granted, I still don’t trust her intentions, but I allowed it to drive a wedge between Jonah and me when we have much bigger, more pressing issues to face.

Jonah thinks I haven’t tried here?

Could he have a point? Did you come here seeing Alaska as only temporary?

I hear Simon’s British lilt in my mind as readily as if the phone were pressed to my ear. Years with my stepfather have taught me to try to weigh all sides and opinions—even those I don’t agree with—but I’m struggling. Maybe because I now have this niggling, gnawing feeling in my gut. Maybe because it would mean I’ve fallen into the same trap my mother did all those years ago, of not trying with my father when she claimed that she had.

How many times have I told myself—and my mother, and Simon, and Diana, and even Agnes—that I’m willing to try Alaska because Jonah said he was willing to leave?

My stomach clenches with that mental count.

Have I been clinging too tightly to that all these months? From the very beginning?

And is he right? Have I been spending all this time focused too much on everything Trapper’s Crossing and this house and my time in Alaska is not, instead of everything that it is?

I thought I was embracing it, making the best of my less than ideal situation, but maybe I’ve been going about it the wrong way. What I do know is that our relationship slid down a steep, muddy slope yesterday. How do we climb back to the top? Is there even a way back up for us from this?

Panic begins to swirl. Maybe the docility that greeted me this morning wasn’t docility at all, but resignation. Has Jonah recognized something I’m not willing to admit yet?

Has it become not a matter of finding a way back up but a way out for him?

What I feel for Jonah, I’ve never felt a fraction of for anyone ever, and the idea that this could be the beginning of the end—that I might lose Jonah over this—has me slamming my hand on the tap and scrambling to dry off, nausea churning my stomach.

I barrel out of the bathroom with a towel hastily wrapped, intent on dressing quickly and finding Jonah wherever he is downstairs, to fix this mess I’ve made of us.

But he hasn’t left our bedroom. He’s perched on the edge of the bed, his focus on his clasped hands in front of him.

I can’t get the words out fast enough. “I’m so sorry, Jonah. I’m such an asshole.” My voice is unsteady. “Please tell me you’re not giving up on me yet.”

He offers me a small smile that momentarily distracts me from the dark circles under his eyes. It doesn’t appear like he had a good night’s sleep, either. “We’re both assholes. How about that?” He reaches out, beckoning for me to come.

I rush toward him, but hesitate when I get there—part of me wants to throw myself at him, the other part is terrified that he’ll hold me at arm’s length, that it’s too late, that the slope we fell down yesterday was too steep, the climb up too slippery.

That he’s already decided he doesn’t want to even attempt it.

But then he clasps my thighs with warm hands and his thumbs stroke my skin, offering me hope. “Using work as my excuse to take off yesterday morning was a dumb move. I just didn’t think you’d react like that. But I should have seen it coming.” His eyes shine with sincerity. “I’m sorry.”

I swallow the growing lump in my throat. “I overreacted—”

“No, you didn’t.” He steers my body in between his parted legs, pulls me down to sit on one thigh. I use the opportunity to curl my arms around his shoulders and slide in a touch closer. “You reacted. To something you’ve obviously been sitting on and not saying anything about for a while.” He presses his forehead against my collarbone. Drops of water linger on my skin.

“I don’t want to stop you from doing it, Jonah,” I whisper. With tentative fingertips, I stroke his bearded jaw. “I can see how much you love working with Sam. I mean, you’ve been geeking out with textbooks at night.”

He chuckles. “It’s been a while since I’ve learned something totally new. I actually like it.”

“I just don’t know what I’m doing here, besides being with you. And don’t get me wrong, I love being with you, and I love it when you come home at night, and there’s no one else I’d rather be with, but I feel like …” I struggle to find the right words to articulate this swirl inside me. “I don’t know who I am here. At least with The Yeti, we were starting that together—”

“We still have it, Calla.”

“I know, but it’s different now. You’re off, doing your own thing. It’s kind of like your backup now. It doesn’t feel like ours anymore.”

Jonah nods slowly. “Fair enough.”

“And I don’t think I’m made for spending so much time alone. I’m not blaming you for that,” I add quickly. “But I’m beginning to think the reason I stayed at home with my mom and Simon all those years had less to do with high rent prices and more about me just liking being around my family.” I had the best of both worlds—freedom and privacy, but I never felt alone. I thrive on being on the go and being around people. “I guess I’m more like my mother that way than I care to admit.” We both live for schedules packed with appointments to make, social outings to keep, and tasks to complete. “It’s a big adjustment for me.”