Chapter Thirty-Eight

August

The shower is running when I arrive home. I head upstairs.

“Hey!” I holler, stepping into our cramped bathroom. I push the toilet lid down and take a seat, eying Jonah’s shampoo-laden head rinsing off beneath the stream of water. “You’re home early.” It’s only three and, while Jonah has been working less these last few weeks, this is an unusually short day for him.

“I went north today. There’s a fire burnin’ up near Mile 91.”

“I heard they closed down the highway.” It seems like fires are sparking all around us. “How bad is it?” We’re only about twenty miles south of there.

“They’ve got it about 70 percent contained.”

I sigh with relief. “Good.”

“We’re supposed to get rain tonight and into tomorrow.”

“Oh! So that means you’ll be grounded?”

“Can you try not to sound so excited about that?” His wry tone makes me laugh.

The truth is, mention of rain does get me excited, not just to keep Jonah to myself but also for the garden. We haven’t gotten nearly enough. I spend a good hour watering every day. It’s therapeutic when I don’t have things to do. When I do, it’s a pain in the ass.

“How was your day?”

“Good.” I examine my fingernails. They’re short and naked, but healthier after having months without tips. “I took those pieces of Roy’s to that art shop in Anchorage.” The more elaborate carvings were too nice to sell at the Trapper’s Crossing Farmers’ Market, where I have successfully offloaded dozens of pieces for Roy over the last month. I’ve come to enjoy the surprise in his eyes every time I show up with an envelope of cash, as if he can’t believe people would appreciate his woodwork. He’s even offered to cover the cost of the table fee, now that I’m out of strawberries to sell. “She’s putting them up on consignment. She thinks she can get a good price for each one.”

The water shuts off. Jonah yanks the curtain open wide and grabs the towel from the hook.

My mouth goes dry as I watch him wipe down his body.

He steps out, stopping long enough to stoop and kiss my lips, before he tosses the towel back on the bar and strolls into our bedroom. “Does that asshole have any idea how much you’re doing for him?”

I trail him, enjoying a sublime glimpse of his backside as he roots around in his dresser drawer for underwear. Things with Roy have become more than tolerable. I go there in the morning and the evening. We work around each other, completing chores. Our conversations are sparse, but that perpetual air of annoyance that used to swirl around him seems to have evaporated. It could be because he’s feeling better—the gash and bruising on his face have faded, his ribs and collarbone seem to have mended—but I’d like to think it’s something else.

I’d like to think it’s because Roy Donovan enjoys my company.

I look up to find Jonah smirking—he caught me with my admiring gaze trained low. “He doesn’t need to know.”

Jonah chuckles, drawing his boxer briefs up his muscular legs. “Mark Sheppard asked me if I could fly him and his buddy up to their cabin near Murder Lake.”

“Fill out an itinerary,” I warn him.

He chuckles. “Yeah, yeah. It’s not far. Actually, I was gonna see if you wanted to come.”

“As much fun as flying to a place called Murder Lake sounds and having my ears talked off—” Mark loves to talk. I once called his office to arrange billing and it took me forty minutes and five I should let you gos before I could break free. “I have to meet Emily in an hour to go over our plans ahead of next week’s meeting, and then I’m heading over to Roy’s.”

I was nervous, approaching Emily about my ideas, given the weak start to our relationship. But she has warmed since then. She’s still painfully shy, but she’s also collaborative and talented with drawing and photography and willing to help me come up with a fun and creative social media campaign.

“Isn’t he all healed up yet?”

“Cast comes off next week.”

Jonah tugs on his jeans. “I talked to my mom today. Told her we were staying in Alaska for Christmas.”

“How’d she take it?” It’s been a few years since Jonah saw his mother.

He sighs heavily. “They want to come here.”

“Oh my God, it’s actually happening.” A week with my boyfriend’s mother—whom I’ve never met—and a stepfather whom Jonah despises. Throw in my psychoanalyzing stepfather and a mother who fusses over minute details, and this could spell disaster.

“Huh?”

I push my worries aside. “That’s great! So … We’ll have a full house.” We really need a dining table.

“Yeah.” He snorts. “Both sets of parents and Aggie and Mabel? How the hell are we gonna fit everyone in?”

“Are Agnes and Mabel coming, too?”

“Damn right, they’re comin’. If I have my way, they’ll be living here by then.” He shakes his head. “Maybe we can put my mom and Dickhead up in a hotel.”

“We can’t put them up in a hotel on Christmas after they’ve flown from Oslo.”

“Fine. Maybe we can stay at a hotel,” he mutters, buckling his belt. “I wonder how much one of those places at the McGivneys’ would cost to build. We could build a cabin to stick them in for the week. We have enough property.”

I watch him pull a T-shirt from another drawer and yank it over his head, hiding his body. But my mind is spinning. This is as good a time as any.

“Hey, can you spare a half hour? I want to show you something.”

The hinges creak noisily. “Put that there?” I nod at the small boulder.

Jonah props the door open, and we step inside.

His curious blue eyes roam the four dark corners. “Can’t believe Phil never said anything about this place.”

“I know, right?” I mentioned the cabin that same day Oscar’s foot got caught and intended to bring Jonah out, but time passed and it has sat here, alone.

But not forgotten.

“What do you think about fixing it up?”

“This place?” His hand strokes his beard in thought as he does a slow circle, searching the walls. “I don’t know. It’s small. And it wouldn’t be cheap.”

“It’s not as bad as I thought it would be.” I grin sheepishly. “I already had this guy from Anchorage who restores old cabins come up to see it and give me a quote. His name is Steve and he said it was built really well, and it looks like Phil somewhat maintained it through the years.”

“So, he did maintain something?” Jonah asks wryly, but he’s smiling. “How long have you been thinkin’ about this?”

“Since Diana was here, and then Agnes and Mabel.” I shrug. “I like having people around. We have an incredible spot here. We could rent it out for weekends. Put it on Airbnb. I’m sure couples would love it.”

He ambles outside, peering upward. “Needs a new roof.”