by K. A. Tucker
“Maybe, but I feel like I’m asking them for help for everything lately. I don’t want to drag Toby out on Christmas Eve, into this.” It seems to be getting worse, the wind picking up to the point that the only relief from snowflakes in my eyes is looking down at the ground. I groan. “I’m sorry. This was my fault.”
“We’ll figure it out.” She pats my arm. “But we might as well get back to your place. It’s getting dark, and I’m guessing it’ll be awhile before any truck makes their way out here.”
“I guess I can’t avoid him anymore, can I?”
Agnes offers a sympathetic smile. “He can be a pain in the butt, but it’s only because he cares about you so much.”
With a resigned sigh, I reach into my pocket for my phone.
“Hello, Simon?” My mom’s voice carries. “I need you to come get us. We’re down the road. Calla put her Jeep in the ditch …”
“Ugh. Great.” Jonah’s going to be pissed that he didn’t hear about this from me. This keeps getting worse!
Agnes nods toward something in the distance. “Someone’s coming.”
I follow her line of sight to the set of headlights. It can’t be Kelly, who will be riding a snowmachine. Jonah and Simon are at home with our only other vehicles.
There’s only one person who lives beyond us on this road, and he doesn’t get any visitors.
We edge to the side as the big black truck crawls forward, coming to a stop beside us.
“Do you know him?” my mom asks.
“That’s Roy.”
“The Roy?” My mom gives me a look.
“Whatever he says, don’t take it personally,” I warn her, though I told him long ago that I might put up with his bullshit, but if he tried it on my loved ones, he’d be dead to me.
“That is a winch,” Agnes says over the rumbling engine, nodding at the front grill where something that looks like a spool of wire is mounted.
“And that’s a grinch,” I counter quietly, earning Mabel’s giggle.
The driver’s side opens with a creak and Roy hops out, tugging that Davy Crockett raccoon-fur hat Jonah loathes so much onto his head. He rounds the front of his truck. His weathered face looks none too pleased as he inspects my predicament.
I decide on humor to kick things off. “My first foray into off-roading didn’t go as planned.”
The corner of his mouth kicks up a notch. “I see that.”
Agnes offers him that wide smile. “Hello again, Roy. I don’t know if you remember us. I’m Agnes. That’s my daughter, Mabel. We met in August.”
He makes a grunting sound that could be considered an acknowledgment, but then adds, “The night Calla shot that bear.”
Agnes nods. “That was quite the night.”
I gesture toward my mother. “Roy, this is my mom, Susan.”
“Roy.” She forgoes offering a handshake—her arms wrapped tightly around her body for warmth—and dips her head in greeting. “Calla has told me so much about you. She took me to see the cabin. Your work is impeccable.”
He studies her a moment before nodding once, and then he turns back to my Jeep. “Everyone all right?”
“Yeah, we’re fine. Just a little shaken up. Could have been worse, though, right?”
“You goin’ too fast, like usual?”
“See? I told you! I told her,” my mom exclaims triumphantly.
“And then she hit the brakes. You never hit the brakes like that when you’re sliding,” Mabel adds matter-of-factly.
Roy frowns at her. “How old are you again?”
Mabel adjusts her stance as if she’s trying to make herself appear taller. “Thirteen and a half.” Though she could pass for sixteen, with her sleek chin-length bob and angular jawline.
“Sounds like you’re already a better driver than Calla.”
Oh my God. “Okay, are we done here?” I snap.
Roy smirks. “Jonah on his way?”
“Yeah, that’s a safe bet.” And I’m sure he’ll be here momentarily.
Roy eyes my Jeep, then his truck, then the winch, and then finally his gaze lands on my mother, who chose to wear her lighter shopping jacket instead of her parka and is shuddering uncontrollably. “You should go on and sit in my truck where it’s warm.”
She rushes for the passenger side, uttering a breezy thank-you.
“You, too, if you want,” he adds to Mabel.
“Nah, I’m good. My friend’s on her way here to get me. I think that’s her.” She points to a small approaching light in the distance.
Roy slips on his gloves and, stooping in front of his truck, unfastens a heavy-duty orange hook. “What were you guys doin’ out in this, anyway?” If I didn’t know better, there’s a touch of scolding in his tone.
“Shopping.”
“Actually, we were out looking for a wedding dress for Calla. Did you hear the good news yet?” As usual, Agnes speaks to him as if he cares. “They’re getting married on New Year’s Eve!”
He merely grunts in response.
Kelly coasts in then on her dad’s yellow-and-black snowmachine.
“Excuse me.” Agnes leaves us to walk over and talk to Mabel before she takes off.
I perk my ears to try to catch the conversation over the idling engine. I’m sure I hear Agnes say five o’clock. I’m also sure that Mabel will come back later than that. More and more, she seems to be testing her mother’s patience, which is endless with Agnes—a flaw in this regard. Jonah and I have already discussed the need to step in and keep Mabel in line when they move here next summer. How Mabel will respond to that, I can’t guess.
“You find one?” Roy’s grating voice cuts into my thoughts.
“Huh?”
“A dress.”
“Oh. Yeah. But I have to get it basically cut in half to fit me. Hopefully it still looks like a dress after it’s dissected.”
“I’m sure it’ll look fine.” He yanks on the cord to unfurl the wire.
And I quietly watch him.
Does he ever wonder what Delyla looked like on her wedding day? Does he regret not being there to walk her down the aisle? Does it burn deep, knowing that his replacement, this man who Nicole spent thirty happy years with, likely did?
How often does Roy think about his daughter, especially now that she’s no longer just a distant memory, a cherub-cheeked toddler in a thirty-odd-year-old department store portrait?
Now that he knows she has thought about him, at least enough to sit down and write that letter?
These are all questions I wish I could ask. If Roy were anyone else, I would.
“So, I guess you decided to pull a weddin’ out of your ass, then?”
“I did. We’re having a reception at the Ale House for family and close friends. Muriel promised to take all the dead animals and tacky signs down and my mom is a florist, so she can make pretty much anything look nice.”
With mention of my mom, Roy steals a glance into his truck’s cab, where she sits huddled. “You look like her.”
I smile. “Yeah, I’ve heard that once or twice.”
His jaw works as if he’s going to say something else, but he must decide against it, choosing silence instead.
“So, you’re going to come, right?”
“To what? Your wedding? Why on earth would you want me there?”
I was expecting some lame excuse, but his response catches me off guard. Or rather, it’s the genuine shock in his voice that surprises me. “Because I do?” I can’t come up with a better response at the moment. His name is on our guest list, below our family, but ahead of Marie, and George and Bobbie. He’s in that in-between category, along with Agnes, Mabel, and the McGivneys—people who may not be in the blood-related “family” bucket but don’t fit into the “friends” bucket. They’re those important people who are woven into the fabric of our daily lives, and their absence would surely leave holes should they disappear.
It’s a long time before he answers. “I got nothin’ to wear to a
wedding.”
There’s the lame excuse. “I’m sure you could figure something out. Does that mean you’ll come?”
He peers down the road behind me. “That must be help.”
He didn’t answer my question, I note.
The headlights are coming from the direction of our house and they’re closing in fast. I know even before I spot the bearded driver that it’s Jonah behind the wheel of the BMW. Simon isn’t in the passenger seat.
He executes a perfect three-point turn in the snow with speed I wouldn’t hazard even on a sunny summer day. He then hops out and marches toward us with his boots unfastened and his coat unzipped, as if he dressed while running out the door. “What happened?” He has that urgent, almost menacing tone that he gets when he’s panicked.
“I slid into the ditch.”
“No shit. Are you okay?”
“We’re fine.” I heard my mom tell Simon as much, but of course Jonah needed to witness that with his own two eyes. He’s always been a “see it to believe it” kind of person.
He shakes his head. “I told you the roads were getting bad. You should’ve come back hours ago—”
“I found a dress!” I exclaim, trying to distract him from his rant.
His shoulders lift with a deep inhale. A telltale sign that he’s fighting his need to continue rebuking me. “It’s what you wanted?”
“It’s perfect. Or it will be.”
He exhales. “Good. I’m glad.”
My mom slides out of Roy’s truck, slamming the heavy door shut behind her. “Simon didn’t come with you?”
“I told him to hang back. Why don’t you guys take the car and head home? I’ll help Roy get this out.”
Mom slows to smile at Roy but only for long enough to say, “Thank you for your help. I hope we see you again soon,” before rushing ahead to climb into the driver’s side.
“Don’t they get snow in Toronto?” Roy asks casually, inspecting the underside of my Jeep. I’m guessing he’s looking for somewhere to attach that big hook.
“Yes. And she hates it there, too.”
Jonah notices Mabel strapping on a spare helmet. “Where’s she goin’?”
“Out with Kelly for a while.”
He frowns. “It’s Christmas Eve.”
“I know, but Agnes told her—”
“Mabel!” he barks. “I want to see you back at our house by four thirty!”
Even in the dusk, I can see her face twist with indignation. “But Mom said—”
“I’ll be watching the clock. And Kelly? You go slow on that. It’s a lot faster than it needs to be.” A warning he makes every time Mabel and Kelly have gone out sledding together.
Mabel turns away, but not before I catch the eye roll.
Jonah doesn’t miss it, either, based on his inward groan.
“You’re gonna make her hate you.”
“That’s fine. At least she’ll live.” He zips up his coat. “Go on, get out of here. It’s miserable out.”
Jonah’s being far more tolerable than I expected. “You’re going to give me another earful later, aren’t you?”
“Yup.” He leans in to kiss me. “But it’s only because I love you. See you at home.”
I smile sheepishly. “Thank you.”
“Oh, you’ll be thanking me later.” He slaps my backside on his way past.
“Hey, Roy. Christmas dinner at our place tomorrow night. Come around four?”
He spares me a glance before turning back to my Jeep to fasten the hook. “Got plans already.”
I sigh heavily. “Right. Christmas with the chickens.”
“And the goats,” he hollers after me.
I fight against heavy eyelids as I burrow beneath our duvet, sated with food and wine, waiting for Jonah to come to bed. He and Roy battled the blizzard for close to an hour, working to haul my Jeep out of the ditch. I spent that time tackling the endless pile of dishes Astrid dirtied while cooking until my guilt over my carelessness overwhelmed me.
I was yanking on my boots, ready to take the snowmachine out to check on them, when the approaching glow of my Jeep’s headlights appeared in our driveway.
Surprisingly, it sustained minimal damage in the crash—shattered brake lights, a few scratches along the bumper, and a dent that Jonah says is cosmetic. All things that are easily fixed.
Jonah was too tired and cold to give me any grief, and thankfully my mother laid off on the blame game, too busy settled into the chair by the fire with Astrid’s mulled wine and my laptop, researching rustic winter reception décor ideas for the Ale House.
What started out as a hectic day transformed into an enjoyable night of food, family, and laughter. Astrid presented plate after plate of hearty Norwegian dishes—pork ribs she called ribbe, tender boiled potatoes, brussels sprouts and red cabbage from our garden haul, and a gelatinous cod dish called lutefisk that I swiftly passed on. After dinner, Jonah tore off the roof of the gingerbread house and then parked himself on the couch to watch Christmas movies, while Björn busted out the Swords and Shields board game. Even Mabel was interested in learning how to play, and I was hit with a wave of nostalgia as I watched her frown of consternation and listened to her competitive trash talk. For a few hours tonight, we had the old Mabel back—the one who used to sit across from my father at his checkerboard night after night.
“Come on, Jonah,” I groan. If this were any other time, I’d holler for him to get his ass up here. But everyone else said their good-nights well over an hour ago and the house is silent, save for Björn’s steady snore.
I reach for my phone to send Diana a Merry Christmas text that she’ll get when she wakes up.
My heart skips a beat when I see the notification.
Delyla answered the email I sent her yesterday morning.
My thumbs fumble to open the message. I hold my breath as I read the lengthy response.
I’m on my second reread when Jonah strolls into our bedroom, peeling his sweater over his head as he shuts our door. “I won’t be surprised if the power gets knocked out all day tomorrow. At least the generators are ready to go …” His voice drifts. “What’s wrong?”
I let out a shaky breath. “Roy’s daughter wrote me back.”
His eyes bulge. “You actually contacted her?”
“Yesterday.” With all the wedding frenzy, I didn’t have time to mention it. To be honest, a part of me didn’t want to mention it, not until I knew if my efforts were worthwhile. If Delyla would even respond to the woman who lives down the road from her estranged father.
She responded all right.
Jonah tosses his sweater onto the dresser. “And?”
“And she thanked me for contacting her. She wants me to call her.” Whenever I’m free, the sooner the better. There was no missing the impatience and enthusiasm in her words.
He sheds the rest of his clothes, changing into a thermal flannel sleep set I bought him. “Are you going to?”
“Call her? Of course. This is Roy’s second chance.”
“What if he doesn’t want a second chance?”
“He does. I know he does. He wouldn’t have kept the card and those pictures if he didn’t.”
“And when she asks why you’re the one calling, and not her father?”
“I’ll tell her the truth. That I think he’s scared.”
Jonah seems to consider that as he yanks off his wool socks and tosses them into the hamper in the corner. “You’re doing something good for him, even if he won’t see it like that.”
“You know what? Even if he hates me for a while, if it means he could have a relationship with his daughter, it’ll be worth it.” I wonder if Agnes felt this same nervousness when she went behind my father’s back to call me.
With a sigh that rings of exhaustion, Jonah peels off his watch and sets it onto the nightstand before lifting the duvet to slide in.
He freezes, his eyebrows popping, and it’s then I remember the scandalous red lace and white faux-f
ur-trimmed baby doll dress I slipped on tonight, partially hidden beneath my pajama top while I waited. I bought it two weeks ago while shopping in Anchorage. An impulse purchase, sparked when I walked past a department store’s Christmas lingerie section and decided maybe Jonah would like me in something other than oversized flannel.
“Merry early Christmas,” I say coyly. I was eager to show him this an hour ago. Now, my limbs have been lulled by a soft mattress, my skin accustomed to the warmth. I reach for the covers to tug them closer.
He’s too fast, though, yanking them down and making me shudder. “I need you to get up and walk around for me a bit.”
“It’s cold!” I whine, though watching the heat ignite in his stare stirs desire in my lower belly.
“Speaking of cold, do you want to hear about how I froze my balls off, sitting in a ditch for an hour during a blizzard on Christmas Eve because my soon-to-be wife has a lead foot?”
My heart leaps with that title, even as he criticizes my driving. “Fine.” I slip from the comfort of our bed, smoothing my hands over my hips as my bare feet touch the cool wood floor. I let the unbuttoned flannel top slide off my arms and tumble off, earning his curse.
The bed creaks under Jonah’s hefty weight as he settles in, shucking the shirt he just pulled on to reveal that ribbed torso and muscular chest I’ve spent countless hours splayed across.
“Any special requests?”
Linking his fingers together behind his head, he lies back against his pillow and bites his lip in thought. “What’s underneath that?”
“Not much,” I tease, my pulse racing. Even now, I still catch hints of that same nervousness I felt the night we were stranded in the safety cabin and stripping off our rain-soaked clothes in front of each other.
“Turn around.” His voice has taken on that gravelly sound I love.
I oblige, making a slow circle to the sound of Jonah’s sharp inhale.
“Show me.”
My fingertips are grazing the faux fur-trimmed hem when the power cuts, throwing us into pitch-black darkness.
“Are you fucking kidding me!” Jonah’s roar of frustration carries into the night.
