The Simple Wild

by K. A. Tucker

  I rush all the way through and beyond to the hangar, my arms curled around my chest for comfort and finding none.

  Veronica sits alone in the corner. She must be inside for maintenance work. I dash for her now, climbing up with ease to curl into the pilot’s seat—my dad’s seat. I smooth my hands over the yoke for a moment.

  And then I pull my legs to my chest, bury my face in my lap, and let myself cry as reality sinks in.

  The door opens with a creak. Somehow I know it’s Jonah without having to look.

  “He’s not going to last much longer, is he?” I ask through my sniffles.

  After a long moment, a warm, comforting hand smooths over my shoulders. “He’s going downhill fast.”

  Finally, I dare tip my head up to rest my chin on my knees. I can only imagine how red and blotchy my face is. For once, I’m glad to be makeup-free. “I should have called. All those years that I didn’t call, I wish I had. And now there’s no time left. You and Max and everyone else have all these great memories with him and the luaus and the winter barbecues and the stupid ducks, and I am never going to have that! I don’t have enough time!” I thought I was all cried out, but a fresh set of tears begins to trickle.

  I’ve spent the last twelve years dwelling on all the things Wren Fletcher isn’t.

  I should have had the guts to come and find out all the things he is.

  Loaded silence lingers in the plane.

  Jonah sighs. “You should have called him. He should have called you. Your mom should never have left. Wren should have left Alaska for you. Who the hell knows what’s right, and what it would have led to, but it doesn’t matter because you can’t change any of that.” His thumb draws a soothing circle over my spine, just below my neck. “My dad and I didn’t have a great relationship; I think you’ve probably figured that out. It always seemed to be a power struggle with him. He didn’t take too well to not having control over my life. Said a lot of shitty things and never once followed them up with an apology.

  “Cutting him off and moving up here was the right thing to do; I knew that in my gut. Still, in those last few days, watching him go, listening to him tell me how much he regretted trying to force what he wanted on me, I kept playin’ conversations in my head, over and over again, finding things I should have said or done, times I should have reached out. You can spend an entire lifetime doing that and still get nowhere.” He lifts his baseball cap off his head and lets it settle onto his knee. “I found this a few days after the funeral, in his closet. There was a whole box of USAF stuff. Hat, sweatshirt, jacket . . . all still with tags on them, along with a card he wrote to me, telling me how much he loved me and how excited he was that I’d get to experience that life. I guess he had it all ready to give me after I was officially enlisted, and then he shoved it in the closet and tried to forget about it when it didn’t happen.” Jonah’s lips press together. “He’s been gone five years and I still feel guilty every time I look at this damn thing.”

  I rub away my tears.

  “You’re not alone. You’ve got me. And I’ve got you, and we’ll get through this together.” He slides a gentle hand up and down my arm.

  “Even if I’m in Toronto?”

  His chest swells with a deep breath. “There’s this thing called a phone.”

  “You are actually mocking me about a phone.”

  “Oh wait, that’s right. You don’t like calling your friends,” he mutters wryly.

  I know he means to lighten the mood, and yet my stomach clenches. “Is that what we are? Friends?”

  He curses under his breath, and then sighs again. “We’re complicated. That’s what we are.”

  There’s that goddamn word again.

  “Have you heard of a goose-wife?”

  There’s a pause and then Jonah chuckles, sliding his hat back on. “Ethel and her tales.”

  “She said you were the raven and I was your goose-wife. What did she mean?”

  “It’s just a silly story, about a raven that falls in love with a goose.”

  “And what happens?”

  He chews his lip, as if deciding if he should continue.

  “Fine. I’ll just Google it.” I slip my phone from my pocket.

  He reaches over to seize my hand within his and sighs in resignation. “They stay together for the summer, and when she leaves just before the first snowfall, he decides to follow her south. But there’s no way he can survive the flight across the ocean. Finally, he has no choice but to say goodbye and go home.”

  “Why doesn’t she go back with him?”

  “Because she’s a goose. She can’t survive the winter,” he admits reluctantly.

  My chest tightens. “That story doesn’t sound so silly after all.”

  In fact, it sounds a hell of a lot like us. Maybe not the falling-in-love part, but certainly the rest of it. Though, whatever I feel for Jonah, I’d be fooling myself if I didn’t recognize it as much more than a frivolous crush on an attractive guy.

  “No, I guess it doesn’t.” The look on Jonah’s face tells me he sees the truth of it, too.

  Jonah and my father are waiting next to Veronica when I pull into Wild’s parking lot in Jonah’s truck.

  “Did you sort out all the accounting stuff?” I ask, my spirits oddly high today, thanks to the clear blue skies and warm sun. In the three weeks that I’ve been here, this is by far the nicest day we’ve had.

  “Yup,” Jonah mutters, his arms folded across his chest and a severe look painted across his face.

  “What’s going on?” I ask warily.

  “Nothin’,” my dad murmurs, smiling, and I try to ignore the heavy feeling weighing down my chest as I take in his thin frame and his tired eyes. He went to bed last night right after barely eating dinner and was still asleep when I came home from Jonah’s.

  “So . . . where are we going today?”

  “You and I are gonna go for a little spin around the block, kiddo,” he says.

  “Just us?” I glance at Jonah, to see his jaw clench. That’s what’s pissed him off so much.

  “It’s fine.” My dad smiles with assurance. “Just this once.”

  I hold my breath.

  After a moment, Jonah finally nods.

  “You good?” My dad’s voice fills my headset as he grips the yoke, his contented smile focused on the wide-open sky.

  “Yeah.”

  “You sure?”

  “It just feels strange,” I finally admit. “This is my first time flying without Jonah in one of these planes.”

  He chuckles. “He’s like George’s hula girl, Jillian. He makes you feel safe.”

  “Jonah, the hula boy,” I joke. “Ironic, isn’t it?” I think back to the flight in that Super Cub. He didn’t start out that way.

  “You two sure have come a long way. I’m glad to see it.” The headset carries his heavy sigh. “I’m giving him this plane, along with Archie and Jughead. Those weren’t included in my deal with Aro.”

  “That’s good. He’ll take care of them.”

  “And his house. I’m leaving him that. It’s not worth a lot, but at least he’ll have a roof over his head.”

  “Dad, I don’t want to talk about—”

  “I know you don’t. But just humor me, will ya?” he says softly.

  I listen numbly as he goes through the division of his assets—of the houses, of the truck, of the checkerboard. That’s going to Mabel. And the money from the sale of Wild is going to me. I don’t know what to say about it, and I don’t feel that I deserve it, but if there’s one thing I’ve learned about my father, it’s that there’s no point trying to change his mind once it’s made up.

  “Dad, why did you really want to come out with me alone today?” I finally ask. It can’t just be for this. We could do that on the ground.

  It’s
a moment before he answers. “Talked to your mother last night.”

  “Really? She called you?”

  “No. I called her. Thought it was time we caught up. I told her how sorry I was for hurting her. How much I wish I could have been what she needed. How much I still love her.”

  I turn my gaze out, toward the green tundra below, so he can’t see me blink away the tears. I’m not stupid. He called her to say goodbye.

  “I also had to tell her how proud I am of the woman you’ve become. Your mom and Simon, they did so good by you, Calla. Better than I ever could.”

  “That’s not true,” I manage to choke out.

  “I wish . . .” His brow pulls as his voice trails. “I wish I’d called. I wish I’d got in that plane and seen your graduation. I wish I’d stolen your mom away from that doctor of hers and convinced her to come back with me. I wish I’d made sure you knew how much I thought about you. How much I’ve always loved you.” His voice grows thick. “I wish I’d been someone different than who I am.”

  “I love you, too,” I rush to say. “And I like who you are.” It turns out he is the man on the other side of the phone, listening to me prattle in childish wonder. He’s exactly who I wanted him to be, despite all his flaws, and all the pain he caused.

  Pain that, oddly enough, has faded. Maybe with time.

  Or maybe with forgiveness that I’ve managed to find in all this.

  “This is my last flight, kiddo,” he announces with grim certainty. He reaches over and takes my hand, and the smile on his face is oddly at peace. “And I can’t think of a better person to have spent it with.”

  “You just cheated.”

  “I did not.”

  My dad gives me a knowing look.

  “It’s not cheating if I don’t know the rules.”

  He smirks. “Even though I’ve explained them to you a dozen times now?”

  “I wasn’t listening.” I push another piece across three squares and over five. “That’s okay, right?”

  “Sure, why not.” He lets out a weak chuckle and his head lolls to the side. It’s too much effort to keep it up these days. “I think I’ve had enough for today.”

  “Oh, darn.” I smile teasingly as I slide off the hospital bed that the kind and soft-spoken Jane from hospice arranged to have set up in my father’s living room. Collecting the checkerboard, I move it to the bookshelf in the corner.

  And then I check the time on my phone.

  “Expecting to hear from someone?” he asks, wincing as he struggles to adjust his gaunt body to no avail. “That’s the eighth time you’ve looked at that thing in the last five minutes.”

  “Yeah. I’m just . . . Jonah was supposed to message me.”

  “He’s finally learned how to use a phone?”

  “Apparently not,” I murmur, fluffing my dad’s pillow for him.

  “Don’t worry. He’ll get here when he gets here.” He pauses. “Where are Agnes and Mabel, by the way?”

  “They had a knitting thing in town.”

  “Knitting?” He frowns. “Since when do they knit?”

  I shrug. “Since now?” I avoid his gaze as I adjust his bedsheets.

  If he’s suspicious, he doesn’t press. He’s too tired to question much these days. “Jonah gonna stay here again tonight?”

  “Yeah, I think so. If that’s okay with you?” I stopped going over there at night two weeks ago, when it became clear that my dad shouldn’t be left alone. So Jonah took it upon himself to strip my dad’s double bed and clean his room, and insist that he would be coming over here instead. We’ve been staying in there ever since.

  “Yeah, that’s a good idea. I want him here in case . . .” His voice drifts.

  In case he dies at night. That’s what my dad’s saying.

  “It’s not happening tonight, Dad.” Jane spent a lot of time walking us through what to expect. The shortness of breath, the organ shutdown, the mental deterioration.

  All of us, including my dad, know it’s coming and soon.

  But not tonight.

  I turn the TV on to the sports highlights for him. “I’ll be back in a sec with your pills,” I say, adjusting his covers and planting a kiss on his forehead.

  I’m in the kitchen getting my dad’s nighttime medications ready when Jonah’s Escape pulls up into the driveway. Throwing my shoes on, I dart outside into the chilly evening, not bothering to get my jacket.

  I breathe a shaky sigh of relief. “You made it.”

  Mom takes one look at me and, with a hand over her mouth, begins to cry.

  “Hey Calla, would you mind grabbing me some water?” my dad calls in a croaky voice.

  “Yeah, sure.” I reach for the glass I’ve already filled, along with the pills.

  My mom, as stylish as ever in a simple black turtleneck, fitted jeans, and collection of jewelry, wordlessly slips them from my grasp. With a deep, shaky breath, and one last thoughtful glance at the mallard ducks, she makes her way into the living room, her socked footfalls soundless against the normally creaky floor.

  In fact, she’s said very little since climbing out of Jonah’s SUV. This must be utterly surreal for her, to be back in Alaska after twenty-­four years.

  To see my father again, after so long.

  Jonah wraps his arms around my torso from behind as we watch the reunion, one my father knows nothing of, that Agnes and Mabel intentionally stayed away for, to give them space. “Your mom is smokin’ hot,” he whispers into my ear, too quiet for it to carry over the sportscaster’s droning voice.

  “That’s because Simon didn’t hide all her makeup like some psycho,” I whisper back.

  Jonah pulls me tighter against him as we watch her quietly round the hospital bed. I’m trembling, I realize.

  Probably because this is the first time I’ve ever seen my parents in the same room, that I can remember, and it’s on my father’s deathbed.

  “Hello, Wren.” Mom’s eyes glisten as she holds the glass out in front of her with two perfectly manicured shaky hands, gazing down at the man who stole her heart so many years ago. Who she has spent almost as many years trying not to love.

  Jonah’s body stiffens, and I realize he’s holding his breath along with me, as we wait three . . . four . . . five seconds for my dad to say something.

  Anything.

  My dad begins to sob.

  And just like that, I sense a circle closing. Back to the beginning, and near to the end.

  A calm washes over me, even as I turn and cry into Jonah’s shirt.

  Chapter 26

  “I think I saw a black one roll under the woodstove,” I call out from the wicker seat on the porch, a warm coffee mug in my grasp. “They bumped the bookcase when they were moving out the hospital bed.”

  A moment later, I hear Mabel’s holler of, “Found it!” through the open window, followed by the click of the checkerboard latching in place.

  “Good,” I murmur, adding too softly for her to hear, “You can’t play if you lose pieces.”

  And yet we’re all going to have to play on with a big missing piece, I accept, as a painful ball swells in my throat.

  Dad passed away five nights ago, surrounded by his loved ones, just like all those newspaper obituaries read.

  He died as he lived. Quietly, with a resigned sigh and a smile of acceptance.

  Leaving a giant hole in my chest that I can’t see how time will ever close. And yet I wouldn’t trade this emptiness for anything.

  A waft of subtle floral perfume announces my mother’s presence before she steps out onto the porch. “It’s still so surreal, being out here,” she murmurs, edging into the wicker loveseat next to me. “I can’t believe he kept all this.”

  She’s an anomaly here—in her silk blush blouse and pressed dress pants, her hair smooth, her makeup impe
ccable, her wrists sparkling with jeweled bracelets.

  It’s hard to believe these once were all her things, a long time ago.

  “He kept everything that had to do with you, Mom.” Including his love.

  She takes a deep, shaky breath, and for a moment I think she’s going to start breaking down again, as she has done countless times—the evening he passed, and the long, emotional days that have followed. But she holds it in as I reach to take her hand and squeeze, trying to silently convey my gratitude to her. I’m so glad she came. So glad I didn’t have to argue or negotiate or beg. All it took was one text, one line of I think you need to be here, and she was on a plane three days later.

  My father would never have asked her to come, but I sensed the utter peace around him as she sat in that chair next to him those last few days, holding his feeble hand.

  I caught the smile that curled his lips as she laughed out loud over something on the TV.

  And I saw the tear that rolled out from the corner of his eye, as she leaned forward and kissed him one last time.

  “Jonah’s at work?” she asks softly.

  “Yeah. He said he’d be late tonight.” He’s been late every night. I can’t tell if it’s because he’s avoiding dealing with my dad’s death or because of the fact that I’m leaving soon. Probably both. I sense him slowly detaching himself from this—us—in probably the only way he knows how. I can’t blame him, because I’m having a hard time coming to terms with our looming end myself.

  She opens her mouth.

  “Don’t, Mom. I just can’t hear it right now.” He’s the raven, I’m his goose-wife. He’s rural Alaska, thriving on quiet nights and wild, crazy rides in the sky to save lives. I’m the girl who, now that my dad is gone and this house is eerily quiet once again—even more so—is feeling the pull of the city bustle. Of her old life.

  One that Jonah does not fit into, no matter how much I wish he could. I wouldn’t ever force him to try. In truth, I can’t imagine it.