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Jonah notices something else sitting on the stoop. “What are these?”
I push through the porch door and see the wooden objects in Jonah’s grasp. One is a woman in a flowing summer dress, her long hair trailing behind her with a loose braid woven in, her hands clasped behind her back to hold a hat. The other is an animal with large ears, its surface rougher, the details less defined. “Those are Roy’s carvings. They’re his. He makes them,” I mumble, pulling out my phone.
Toby answers on the second ring.
“Hey, did you leave something on my porch from Roy?”
“Uh. No.” His voice carries over speakerphone.
“I’m being serious.”
“So am I,” he says warily.
“What about your mom?”
“My mom? Nah, not unless it was before six. She’s been in Palmer since this morning.”
This wasn’t here when we left for the airport, which means Roy himself must have ventured over.
“Why? What’s goin’ on? It’s not somethin’ dead, is it?”
I frown at Jonah. “No. Why?”
“Because it’s Roy.”
Jonah snorts. “Yeah. Fair point.”
“I passed along your message. You know, about him needin’ to apologize before you ever came back again.”
Jonah’s eyebrows arch. “You expect that guy to apologize?”
I shrug. To Toby, I ask, “And? What’d he say?”
“He said something like, ‘I am what I am,’ and then he got this big grin on his face and he went inside. It was weird. I’ve never seen that guy smile.” There’s a pause, and then Toby urges, “What did he leave you?”
“My plate from last week, some eggs, and two wooden figurines that he made. One’s a woman and the other is a …” Jonah holds it up, allowing me to inspect it more closely. “Donkey?”
“A donkey?” Toby echoes, sounding as baffled as I am.
A few beats pass and then Jonah’s head falls back, and his booming laughter disturbs the serene calm of the lake. “‘I am what I am.’” He shakes his head. “Fucking guy gave you a jackass, Calla.”
“What?” I feel the confusion fade as it dawns on me. “That’s what I called him on Friday.” When he was being disparaging about Toby.
“Yeah, well, this is him admitting it.” Jonah sets the wooden figurines in my open palm. “And I’m guessing that’s as close to an apology as anyone is ever gonna get from Roy Donovan.” He disappears into the house, chuckling to himself.
I study the figurines. He must have plucked them from his collection. There’s no way he could have carved these in such a short time, and with a broken arm. The detail on the woman—right down to her delicate face—is astonishing. Ethereal, almost. Is she is supposed to be me?
The donkey is far less polished—the surface rough, the chisel marks choppy.
Much like Roy, I guess.
“So, does that mean you’re gonna start going back to his place?” Toby asks. “Because I don’t mind helpin’ out, but I’m kinda swamped at the resort.”
“I don’t know,” I say truthfully. This might be the closest Roy will ever
get to saying he’s sorry for all that he said, but is it enough?
“He gave you eggs,” Toby points out, a hint of surprise in his voice. “He doesn’t give anyone anything.”
