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“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.
I see my mom’s nod in my peripherals, as her gaze wanders over me. “You seem so different, Calla.”
I snort. “I haven’t worn makeup in weeks.” My detangler magically showed up on my dresser a few weeks ago, after I threw a teary fit about my matted hair, but there’s still no sign of my cosmetics bags.
“I can’t believe you haven’t murdered him for that.”
“I know.” I think of how angry and annoyed I was at him in that moment. It makes me chuckle now. God, Jonah can be such a stubborn bastard.
“But, no,” she murmurs softly, still studying me. “I don’t think it’s even that. I don’t know . . .” She lets her thoughts drift into the stretch of tundra beyond. “Are you sure you don’t want to fly home with me? Simon checked and there are still some seats available.”
“Yeah. I’m going to help Agnes clear out the rest of the house. See what other help she may need.” That’s a lie. I mean, I do want to help Agnes, but that’s not why I’m lingering.
And the look Mom gives me says she damn well knows it.
With a heavy sigh, she reaches out to smooth a consoling hand over my leg. “I did warn you about falling in love with one of those sky cowboys, didn’t I?”
“Yeah, you did.” I try to laugh it off.
