Two more sets of boots clomp up the six wooden steps of the porch then, these ones heavier, and moving more slowly.

I peer over and find unreadable glacier-blue eyes watching me intently from the other side of the window. I can’t help but glare back at him, even as my chest tightens with anxiety.

A single knock sounds, followed immediately by the creak of the door opening.

“Doesn’t smell like muktuk,” my dad says, bending over to unlace his boots. His voice instantly stirs something familiar inside me.

“Thought we’d ease Calla into Alaska before I start feeding her whale blubber.”

I struggle to keep the disgust off my face, earning Agnes’s chuckle.

“Did she catch a fat one this time?”

“Fat and slow, apparently. Not as slow as you two, though. I was beginning to think you weren’t coming.” Agnes smiles, even as she softly reprimands him for being late.

“You know how it is.” He saunters in farther to study the platter of chicken, my eyes on him the whole time as my hand moves mechanically, crushing the white potato flesh as I’m absorbed in a surreal fog.

I’m actually here, in Alaska. With my father. I’m a spectator, watching his daily life as it happens, surrounded by his people, inhaling the faint waft of cigarette smoke that trails him.

“Mabel home yet?” he asks.

“Washing up. She’ll be out in a minute.” A bit lower, but loud enough for me to catch, “As soon as she hears Jonah’s voice.”

My dad groans. “I’ll be happy when that crush wears off.”

Mabel has a crush on Jonah? My eyebrows pop in surprise as I peer over my shoulder, just as the supposed object of her affection comes into view, having removed his outer clothes and hat.

I’ll admit, he’s far from bad-looking, even with all the hair. If only I could take a pair of scissors to him . . . My fingers twitch just thinking about it.

And then Jonah’s words from earlier ring in my ear—his claim that I’ve been picking everyone apart since I got here—and guilt has me turning away from mentally grooming him.

I find my dad’s gentle gray eyes watching me keenly.

“So? How was your day, Calla?”

Simon’s words echo inside my head.

Is he running? Or are you chasing him away?

You can’t control him, but you can control how you act toward him.

“It was . . . good.” Aside from the tongue-lashing from his right-hand man over there. I press into the potatoes. “Quiet.”

He nods slowly. “I suppose it’s a lot different from what you’re used to.”

“Yeah. A little bit.” I smile my agreement. How many days will I be able to survive out here, before I long to be back in my city? Or any city, for that matter.

“Did the truck give you any problems? Getting into second gear has been a bit sticky lately.”

“Uh . . .” I glance at Agnes questioningly, to see the subtle head shake. I guess she didn’t tell him that I can’t drive. And, obviously, neither has Jonah. Should I?

Things are already uncomfortable between us; I don’t need to make them more so by pointing out all the things he doesn’t know about me right out of the gate.

“Nope. No problems.”

“Good . . . good . . .” His head bobs slowly. An awkward moment stretches.

“Did Calla’s suitcases come in?” Agnes asks.

“Right. About that . . .” Dad scratches his graying hair, hesitating. “They couldn’t make room for them on today’s flight.”

“You’re kidding me!” My disappointment swells. “But I need my clothes! My rain boots!”

“We can do another load of laundry tonight,” Agnes offers.

“Yeah, I guess,” I mutter, though that’s not the point. “How could they all of a sudden not have room?”

“There were some last-minute supplies that needed to get to one of the villages today. It’s just the way things go around here.” My dad gives me a sympathetic look.

“Food. Medicine. You know, real necessities,” Jonah adds, his tone laced with amusement.

“We’ll get your things in tomorrow.” Agnes smiles with assurance, even as she adds, “Probably.”

“Don’t worry, I’m sure Billy’s taking really good care of it all.”

I grit my teeth and return my focus to the potatoes while I take a calming breath and work my frustration out, because there’s nothing I can do about the luggage and bludgeoning Jonah to death with this potato masher would put a damper on dinner.

“Hey, Aggie. I grabbed these for tonight.”

“Wow! First flowers from Calla. Now this?”

A familiar clanking sound against the counter has me turning in time to see Jonah set a six-pack of Budweiser cans down.

My jaw drops. I abandon the potatoes—which are basically pulverized—to face him. “You said I couldn’t buy beer in Bangor!” My voice is thick with accusation. “You said it was a dry community.”

“You can’t,” he says simply, pulling two cans off the rings and tossing one to my dad, who smoothly catches it.

I glare at his smug face. Another one of his fucking games. He probably hatched it from the grocery store aisle as he was lying right to my face.