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Or because of the cancer inside his body, slowly leaching away his energy? Because, despite any bitterness that may linger beneath the surface, I don’t want my father to die.
I hesitate. “Agnes said you were starting treatment next week?”
His head bobs, the previous humor from his face fading.
“So . . . how bad is it?”
“It’s lung cancer, Calla. It’s never gonna be good,” he says quietly. “But I’ve waited twenty-four years to see you. I don’t want to think about that until next week. You’re here now. That’s all I want to be thinking about. Okay?”
I feel the smile curve my lips, unbidden. “Okay.” It’s the first time he’s made any indication that he’s happy I came.
A car door slams, pulling our attention toward the direction of Jonah’s house, just as an engine comes to life. Tires spit gravel as they spin away a moment later. “I think he might have another flight.”
“Now?” I check my phone. It’s nine p.m.
“Gotta take advantage of the daylight while we’ve got it. These guys work long days in the summer. They’re taking off at six in the morning and still in the air at midnight some nights.”
I grimace. “Where’s he going?”
“You know? I can’t remember him sayin’ anything about going anywhere tonight. But Jonah runs his own schedule most of the time.” He snorts. “Who knows. Maybe he’s on the hunt for another six-pack.”
I force thoughts of my dad’s health from my mind for the moment. “Good. Maybe we can drink that one, too.”
Dad chuckles. It sounds as smooth as it did over the phone for all those years. Warmth spreads through my chest, appreciating that I’m now finally hearing it in person.
“How do you deal with him every day? He’s . . . insufferable.” That’s Simon’s favorite word. Wait until I tell him I used it in a sentence.
“Who, Jonah?” Dad wanders over to the far side of the porch, to peer at the butter-yellow house, out of my view. “I still remember the day he showed up at Wild ten years ago. He was this skinny twenty-one-year-old kid from Vegas, full of piss and vinegar and desperate to fly planes. Damn good at it, too.”
That would make Jonah thirty-one, and only five years older than me. “He said he grew up in Anchorage.”
“He did. He resented his dad for taking them away. Came back as soon as he had the chance. I doubt he’ll ever leave again.”
Just like my dad won’t ever leave, I guess. But why? What hold does Alaska have on them? What makes this place worth giving everything else up?
“He may be a pain in the ass sometimes, but he’s the best bush pilot out there. Possibly one of the craziest, too, but we’re all wired that way to some degree. Some more than others.”
“He’s definitely embraced the whole crazy bush man look. Don’t know if I agree with you about the best bush pilot part yet.”
“The Cub was a bit too small for you.” My dad nods, as if he’s already heard the story.
“He flew that tiny plane intentionally, to scare me. I thought I was going to die.”
“Not with Jonah flying,” he says with such certainty. “He might take risks that even I don’t have the guts to take, but he’s always smart about it.”
Like flying in to save Ethel’s family, I’m guessing. “I almost puked. Had a bag ready and everything.”
My dad smirks. “Well, that would have served him right if you had. You know, this one time, he was flying a group of school kids home from a wrestling meet and two of them got sick on the way. He was the color of pea soup when he climbed out of that plane. He can’t handle the sound of it happening.”
“I wish I did puke now,” I admit, through a sip of beer. Though that may have made landing the plane difficult for him.
Dad’s soft chuckle tickles my ear as he butts his cigarette out in the empty beer can. “I’ll talk to him. Make sure he eases up on you. But he’s not so bad, once you get to know him.
You might even find you like him.”
“Let’s not get carried away.”
Dad wanders toward the door, collecting the empty dinner plates on his way. “There’s a bunch of movies in the cabinet beside the TV, in case you’re looking for something to watch.”
