Running Wild: A novel

by K. A. Tucker

“Cute little place, though, huh?” Jonah pats the porch post. The sleeve of his blue T-shirt falls back to show off the scar he earned from the surgery to reset his bones last year. Aside from that, no one would know the arm had been broken, the muscle tone even with his other. “Two bedrooms, two baths. Not bad for a prefab. Took them no time to put it up.”

  “I can’t believe it’s already done.”

  His eyes drag across the overhang. “Almost done. The plumber and electrician are finished. Bathroom and kitchen are functioning. Floors are in. Now it’s just a lot of finishing touches.”

  “Agnes must be getting excited?” I’ve known the Alaska Wild office manager for as long as I’ve known Jonah. She is the kindest woman I’ve ever met—a soft-spoken Alaska Native without a judgmental bone in her body.

  His smothered smirk reminds me of a boy trying to hide his delight—and failing. “I talked to Aggie this morning. Everything’s sold or donated, their suitcases are packed. They’re ready to go.”

  No matter how much Jonah loves Calla, I know he struggled with leaving Western Alaska. He built a full life there, with villagers who depended on him as a pilot, and friends who were like family. But then Calla came into the picture—a city girl visiting from Toronto, reconnecting with her estranged father—and that full life was suddenly empty without her.

  Jonah had to make a choice, and he chose to build a new life, here with her. He chose Calla, but he hated leaving Agnes and her daughter, Mabel, who he’s watched grow from a stumbling toddler to the fourteen-year-old she is now. He’s been pushing them to move here for over a year. I honestly didn’t think he’d convince Agnes, but as I look around at this perfect life they’ve assembled for themselves in Trapper’s Crossing, with log cabins on a lake, the mountain peaks in the distance, the planes floating on standby, and the community that has welcomed them wholeheartedly, how could anyone say no?

  “When are you flying out to Bangor to get them?”

  “First thing tomorrow morning. That way we can get back ahead of the fish fry. You’re coming to the Ale House tomorrow night, right?”

  “Wouldn’t miss it. Muriel and Teddy always throw a good party.” The couple and their son, Toby, who I dated ever so briefly last summer, run a three-season fishing resort down the street, complete with cabin rentals and a lodge that serves fries and burgers and beer. Plenty of locals find themselves at the tavern on the weekends in the summer months.

  The McGivneys have become more than neighbors to Calla and Jonah. In many ways, they’re the family Jonah and Calla have come to love and depend upon as if they were blood relatives. Not that they had much choice. Muriel is a nosy busybody who rammed her way into their lives, dragging her jolly husband along for the ride.

  “Goddamn it!” A loud clatter inside the cabin accompanies the familiar voice. “Son of a bitch!”

  I lift my eyebrows in question.

  “You good in there, Roy?” Jonah calls out.

  “Yeah. My level’s shot, though.”

  “Let me check the workshop. I’m pretty sure there’s one in there.”

  “If it’s Phil’s, then it’ll be a piece of shit.”

  Jonah sighs with exasperation. “Lemme look, anyway, and we’ll go from there.”

  “He’s in a good mood today,” I whisper dryly.

  “Eh, he’s just pissed off that Calla decided to go with stock cabinets for the kitchen instead of letting him build custom.” Jonah scratches absently at his beard. “But custom would have taken forever, and she didn’t want him tying up his days. There’s still a lot to do in there, and his family is flying up from Texas this month.”

  “Right. I forgot about that.” The daughter that Roy hasn’t seen since she was a baby and grandchildren he’s only ever met over video calls. People that Calla has somehow befriended. I only know bits and pieces of the man’s past. I don’t think even Jonah knows the whole truth, but Calla and their ornery neighbor have an odd relationship that no one can understand. “He must be a bit off-kilter?” Though it doesn’t take much to ruffle Roy’s feathers.

  Jonah grunts. “You don’t know the half of it.”

  “And they’re staying with you?”

  “Yeah. Up at the house.” He nods toward their place, a green-roofed log cabin on a peninsula that juts out into the lake. “Calla’s been busy getting everything ready. Between that and this place, and all the stuff she’s doing for the farmers’ market, she’s dog-tired. Can barely stay awake at night.” There’s a hint of reverence in his voice when he speaks about his wife.

  Another clatter and curse sounds inside.

  “I better go and get that level.” Louder, Jonah hollers, “Be back in a minute, Roy.”

  A grumble is the only answer he gets.

  “Take a look around inside if you want. Ignore him.” Jonah hops on the ATV and takes off for the old shed next to the hangar.

  I climb the porch steps and stroll through the open door, inhaling the scent of wood that permeates the air. Whereas my little log cabin in the woods is nothing more than a room divided into sections for living and sleeping and eating, with a bathroom carved into the back corner, this is a real home—all new and clean and fresh—with an eat-in kitchen on the left and living room on the right, and stairs behind the kitchen that lead up to the bedrooms.

  It’s not large, but I’ve been to Agnes’s bungalow before, and it’s more space than what they’re leaving behind.

  And it’s currently occupied by a crusty old Texan wearing sawdust-coated jeans and a deep scowl while he chisels out the slots for door hinges. The pine door to the bathroom leans against the wall, waiting to be hung.

  “Hey, Roy.”

  He pauses in his work to look up. The scowl softens a touch. “Oh. It’s you. Hi, Marie.”

  That’s as much enthusiasm as I’ll get from the old grouch who Calla has dubbed the Curmudgeon, but it’s more than what most receive.

  I’ve always thought Roy an interesting fellow—a hermit with a southern twang who hides in the woods and has gone to great lengths to scare people away while he spends his days building stunning furniture and his nights whittling wood into artful collectibles. It’s Calla of all people who has wormed a hole through his prickly exterior. He moans and he growls, and yet apparently he’s making appearances here almost every day now, whether it’s to work on one of the many buildings on the property or to trim their goat’s hooves or use Calla’s computer.

  “This place is looking fantastic.”

  He juts his bearded chin toward the manufactured kitchen cabinets. “I told Calla not to hire those people, but she never listens to me. So? This is what she gets. Goddamn cheap, crooked cabinets.”

  The cabinets look straight to me, but I know better than to say that. Roy is a carpenter by trade, and fussy to a fault. “I’m sure you’ll be able to fix it for them.”

  He mutters something under his breath that I don’t catch, and it’s probably for the best.

  “So? Have you been building anything new and exciting in that shop of yours?”

  “Bed frames for Agnes and the girl. Mabel.” He adds after a moment, as if coaching himself to remember—and use—names. I suppose that’s what happens when you spend decades shunning everyone. You have to relearn basic social graces.

  “I’m sure they’ll appreciate it.” They’re coming with nothing but their suitcases. It’s not worth the cost of flying their furniture here, and there are no roads that connect the two sides. The place is already furnished with a few staple pieces to get Agnes and Mabel settled—a kitchen table and chairs, a soft gray couch, and a TV near the woodstove.

  “As if I had a choice in the matter. You know Calla. Always gets what she wants, eventually.”

  “She does, doesn’t she?” A spark of envy stirs inside me. As I look around this perfect life, she seems to have gotten everything she could’ve wanted, and a lot she never imagined.

  I feel Roy’s shrewd gaze on me. He’s no fool. Thankfully, he keeps whatever t
houghts inside his head to himself. “I was thinking I need to come by to see Oscar and Gus soon. They’re due for their shots.” More like overdue, but Roy isn’t the type to bring his dogs in for regular checkups. I doubt those two had ever seen a veterinarian before last summer, when Calla called me in a panic because Oscar was caught in a trap. I was able to save his leg, but he’ll forever walk with a limp.

  “Whatever you say, Doc.”

  Roy also may not be the type to book appointments—he doesn’t even have a phone—but we’ve fallen into an arrangement: He doesn’t argue when I ignore his multitude of No Trespassing signs and show up to check on them, and I don’t mention the fact that his dogs are more wolf than the malamutes he claims them to be, and those are illegal to own in the state of Alaska.

  And he always pulls out the tin can with his money and pays, right down to the penny.

  Roy toils away quietly while I mill around the cabin, testing the new stainless steel appliances and a few kitchen cabinet doors, stealing a peek upstairs at the cozy bedrooms—each with high-quality, Roy-built beds and dressers—until the familiar buzz of the ATV approaches.

  Jonah is in the kitchen when I reach the landing. “From Calla.” He holds up a quart-size basket of strawberries. “We’ve got them coming out our ass.” There’s another large basket on the table, next to a muffin, I assume for Roy, who is preoccupied with scowling at the level Jonah brought.

  “No good?” Jonah asks.

  “Why do you think every shelf in that house of yours was lopsided when you moved in?”

  “’Cause Phil was always drunk?” Jonah answers glibly as he accepts the tool back. “Lemme run and grab a new one. You comin’, Marie?”

  “Where? To the hardware store?”

  “Unless you want to hang out here with Chuckles?”

  I check my watch. I don’t have to be at the clinic until this afternoon.

  He jerks his head toward the door. “Come on, Lehr. Let’s go for a ride.”

  “Don’t cheap out on the level, neither!” Roy barks after him.

  * * *

  “I haven’t done this in a while.”

  “What? Bought a tool?” Jonah throws his truck into gear and pulls out of the hardware parking lot.

  “Nothing. I haven’t done nothing in a while.” I stare out the window. It’s one of those in-between days—overcast, but not raining, dull and gray, but with a warm breeze to trick you into thinking it’s nicer than it is. At least it’ll help dry up some of the rain from the past few days.

  “What’s botherin’ you, Lehr?” Jonah steals a glance my way. “You seem down. Not yourself.”

  He always has been able to read me. I shrug. “Just stuff with work and home.”

  “Okay?” he prompts, and I know it’s a push to elaborate.

  “Harry Hatchett ‘fired’ me because I took on his neighbor’s kennel, and they don’t get along.” I air-quote the word fired.

  Jonah scowls. “He can’t fucking fire you! You’re not his damn employee!”

  I smile at Jonah’s outburst. I can always count on him to rage on my behalf. “That’s what I said. Sort of.”

  “Well, fuck him. That arrogant little shit. Whatever. So you’re trading one kennel for another. Don’t give that idiot another second’s thought.”

  “Tyler’s is a lot smaller, though.” And I’ve crunched the numbers. Without having a baseline for him, it’s hard to calculate exactly how much I’m going to lose, but no doubt, it’ll hurt.

  “Still, you’ll be fine. It’s not like your parents can’t cut you some slack on rent if it takes a couple months to catch up.”

  My laugh is awkward. “Right. About that.” I fill him in on the talk around my parents cashing in the property.

  “Everything? The clinic and all?”

  “That was the plan, so they can move in with Liz and travel, but now with my sisters being pregnant—”

  “Whoa. Wait a minute.” Jonah holds up a hand. “Sisters?”

  “Did I forget to mention that? They’re pregnant. Both of them. The one who just had a baby and the one whose husband got snipped five years ago.”

  He snorts. “What’re the odds of that happening?”

  “Higher than you’d think, actually. Anyway, Vicki and Oliver are moving in with my parents to save money and so Vicki can finish her hours for her certification, which is a smart plan. Liz is beyond livid.” She didn’t even come to last Sunday’s family dinner. She claimed morning sickness, but everyone knows she’s pissed. “She was banking on her surprise pregnancy guaranteeing her my mom as a live-in nanny, but my mom will be tied up for the foreseeable future with two other kids.”

  It took an hour of frank conversation with Vicki to help her make the smart decision, but she’s under the delusion that this’ll only be for a few months, that they’ll be in an apartment before the new baby’s born. I’d bet money that a few months turns into a few years once she starts leaning on my mother for childcare that would otherwise be impossible to afford.

  Liz has figured this out, too, and isn’t happy about it. But Liz can afford a sitter for her Friday wine nights with her friends. She just has to clear the expenditure with her prudent husband.

  Jonah shakes his head. “Too much family drama.”

  “Don’t get me wrong, I’m happy for my sisters.” More so Vicki than Liz, if I’m being honest, because I like her more and because, selfishly, her mistake is buying me some stability. “And I can’t blame my parents if and when they do decide to sell. It’s their money and their life, but it kind of feels like I’m in a holding pattern now, until mine is blown up.” I’ll lose my clinic and my home. I’ll have to start over.

  “Yeah, I know that feeling.”

  I offer him a sympathetic smile. “I know you do.” Jonah put ten years in at Alaska Wild. He was Wren’s right-hand man, running that place—a family business that had kept the villages connected for decades. Wren offered to sell it to Jonah when he knew the cancer was terminal, but Jonah couldn’t afford it.

  Just like me. I can’t afford to buy my parents’ property. In hindsight, maybe I should be farther along financially than I am, despite my student debt.

  “Don’t worry. It’s just a building. It’s you they’re coming to see.” He reaches over and pats my forearm. “It’ll all work out.”

  “One way or another, right?” I sigh. “And is it just me, or does it feel like everyone around us is pregnant or just had a baby or is getting married?” Or otherwise moving forward with their lives. And here I am, in the same place I’ve been for years.

  And if my parents end up selling the clinic in a few years’ time and I have to work for someone else because I can’t afford to open my own place, it’ll feel like a giant step backward.

  “Not everyone.”

  I steal a glance at Jonah to see if there’s any animosity behind those words—I know he’s desperate to start a family, too, the millisecond that Calla’s ready—but he’s focused on the bald man standing next to a red truck in the parking lot of the drive-thru coffee shop ahead, wiping a glob of ketchup off his shirt with a napkin. “Shit, that’s Sam. I gotta stop and talk to him.” Jonah barely slows as he veers into the pothole-riddled parking lot. “I’ll only be a minute.”

  Any time Jonah gets into a conversation with another pilot, it’s never just a minute. “It’s fine. I think I need a coffee.”

  “Grab one for Calla, too. She’s on a kick. What are those things called?” He snaps his fingers. “A fog something or other?”

  “London Fog?”

  “Yeah. With soy milk. And lavender.”

  I feel my face screw up. “Lavender? Here?” I throw my hand toward the little blue-and-green shack on the side of the road—a tourist landmark, its walls plastered with mushing-themed signs, the roof’s ridge adorned by wooden sled dogs and a sled, and a Porta Potty next to the back entrance.

  “I don’t know?” He shrugs. “That’s how she makes it at home.”

&nb
sp; I burst out with laughter, and it’s a welcome reprieve from the weight I’ve been under. “I never thought I’d see the day.”

  “Yeah, yeah, I know.” He grins. “Just get whatever they have. But make it soy.”

  I hop out of the truck and walk toward the shack. I stop at the vacant window, my hungry eyes drifting over the assortment of danishes and other treats on display.

  The window slides open. “Marie Lehr! Is that you?” Charlotte tosses her long gray braid over her shoulder. “My God, it’s been years!”

  At least three since Micky, her cocker spaniel, passed. That’s how I know everyone in the Mat-Su area—by their four-legged family members.

  “What can I get you today?”

  I put in the order for Calla and myself—a plain old black coffee for plain old Marie—along with an order of biscuits and gravy that I will regret in an hour and Jonah will complain about. And then I listen as Charlotte fills me in on the latest local gossip while toiling in her little kitchen shack.

  When my food is up and the rumble of a truck behind me says there’s another customer waiting in line, I quickly depart.

  Jonah is still deep in conversation with Sam, so I head toward the picnic tables. I’m halfway there when I realize that I know the man sitting at one of them, leaning over to make faces at the baby in the car seat while a woman fumbles with a diaper bag, in a frantic search for something.

  I stumble over my feet as I stop abruptly. Of all days … seeing my ex and his adorable little family is the last thing I’m in the mood for. Before I can make a sharp turn left toward Jonah’s truck, Jonathan looks up and sees me.

  His hand lifts halfway before he falters, as if suddenly recalling how badly I hurt him. I’ve heard through mutual friends that he still sometimes drops comments that hint at lingering resentment. Finally, he commits to the wave.

  With my hands full and a clear, straight path toward them, I’m now stuck.

  Deep breath in, I force a smile and close the distance. “It’s been awhile. How are you?” I hover rather than taking a seat, silently hoping Jonah will rescue me soon.