“. . . with all the sand kicking up in the wind, the past couple days,” the woman says. “At least today’s not so bad.” She’s a middle-aged Alaska Native woman with a kind face and sooty-black hair tied in a ponytail. She has a slight accent that is similar to my dad’s, and Agnes’s and Michael’s, and pretty much every other person I’ve met who has lived in Alaska their whole life. It reminds me of a girl from university, who grew up almost eight hours away in Sault Ste. Marie. She had a distinctive way of saying things. Vowels sounded longer, certain consonants were left off. In general, she didn’t rush her words. Even though the dialects aren’t the same, there’s a distinctively “northern” sound.

“This should help her out. I’m sorry it took so long to get here.” Jonah does his hair-hat-smoothing thing. I wonder if his hat actually needs adjusting, or if it’s an unconscious move.

“These new ones are so much smaller.” The woman marvels at the case in her hand. “Evelyn said you harassed Anchorage until they gave it up?”

“They were telling her next week and that’s bullshit. They had this one sitting in a storeroom, just in case.”

“You’re a lifesaver, Jonah.” The woman’s curious gaze shifts to me.

“Enid, this is Calla, Wren’s daughter. She’s visiting from Toronto. I’m showing her what we do.”

The woman’s face melts with a smile. “Everyone around here knows your dad. And Jonah.” She nods at him. “They always help. It costs, but they help.”

“Keeping planes in the air isn’t cheap,” Jonah says in a lecturing tone.

She waves it away with a gentle chuckle. “I know, I know. I’m teasing. You guys are the best, though. I can always count on you.”

“We’re gonna head out. You get that ventilator to the little girl right away and call the office if you need anything else,” Jonah says, already taking steps backward.

“Tell Wren to visit soon. I’ll have some red seaweed for him,” Enid calls out.

I smile and, with a small wave, we begin our trek back to our plane.

“Red seaweed?”

“They eat a lot of it here.”

“Does my dad—”

“Hates it, but you never turn down food from a villager. They hunt and gather everything they eat. It’s a lot of work, and it’s a big deal when they offer it to you.”

“Is Enid the doctor?”

“Nah. She’s kind of like a nurse. She’s been trained to give basic care and she reports in to the doctors in Bangor regularly. Sometimes we’ll fly a doctor out to run a clinic and see the villagers.”

“So if someone needs to get to the hospital—”

“Medevac for emergencies, otherwise they call us. We’ve picked up people in some serious pain before.” His tone turns somber. “Those flights always feel five times as long.”

But I’ll bet Jonah never balks at doing them. He may be an ass, but he seems to be an ass with a drive for helping others.

“What’s wrong with the little girl?”

“Severe asthma, and her inhaler hasn’t been helping much lately. She needs the ventilator and the one they had—a dinosaur, from the sounds of it—quit last week. Now, at least the poor kid will be able to breathe again.” He sighs, and in that simple sound I sense great relief.

“Why would her family live all the way out here if she’s got medical problems? If I were them, I’d move to Bangor.”

He steals a glance my way, the frown on his forehead deep. “Because her family has lived here for hundreds of years. This is their home. This is what they know. This is how they want to live.” He says it so matter-of-factly, as if there’s no other explanation and there’s no need to elaborate.

“I don’t get it.”

“You don’t have to; you just have to respect it.”

Now I’m the one getting lectured by Jonah. Another thought strikes me. “Is this why you rushed me out the door this morning?”

“Do you mean, was this little girl’s ability to breathe more important than your vanity?”

I roll my eyes, taking that as confirmation. “You could have told me. Then I wouldn’t have assumed you were just being your usual dick self.”

“Where’s the fun in that?” He opens my door and holds it for me.

“So you do have manners,” I murmur, climbing into my seat.

“I usually reserve them for ladies, but I’ll make an exception in this case,” he throws back without missing a beat, slamming my door shut before I have a chance to retort.

“Bastard,” I mutter, biting my bottom lip against the smile that threatens to form. His cutting quips don’t come with the same sting they did in the beginning, though.

I actually think I’m beginning to enjoy this banter.

I wait for him as he does two slow circles around the plane, his callused fingers smoothing over the metal body, his brow furrowed in intense scrutiny. Finally, he climbs in.

“Is there something wrong with the plane?”

“No cracks, no leaks. We’re good.”

“So . . . Where to next?” I ask, as he starts flicking switches again.

“You mean you’re not bailing on me yet?” He says it in a joking tone, but I sense a degree of doubt.