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I roll my eyes as I reach for the gate to the coop, my gaze landing on my engagement ring. Storm clouds are swiftly moving in, smothering any chance of catching the sun’s glitter off the countless facets, but a thrill courses through me, nonetheless. I haven’t stopped admiring the intricate snowflake design since Jonah slipped it on my finger.
Jonah and I are engaged.
We’re getting married.
He’s mine, forever.
Roy does a double take, his focus lingering on my hand a moment, before he moves into the coop to rinse out the chicken feeder. Several birds have darted out the open door, only to turn around and scurry back, clucking as Oscar steps toward them. “So, I guess you can head on home, then. Got no reason to be draggin’ yourself over here anymore.”
“No, I guess not.” An unexpected disappointment stirs in my chest with the reality that my duty here is done, and a week earlier than I anticipated. But Roy has fully mended, almost two months after his accident. He’s right, though. There’s no need for me to be here, other than for the simple reason that I’ve grown accustomed to coming. I’m used to the long, bumpy drive up the laneway every day, to completing simple tasks and trading painless barbs with a man who has never once used the words “thank you” for the meals I’ve drop off or the help I’ve provided. He’s thanked me in other ways, though. With the eggs he tells me to take home and the jars of goat’s milk he sends with me for Jonah. I happened to mention Jonah loving moose meat, and the next day Roy thrust a frozen roast into my hands, claiming it was rancid from being in the freezer too long. But I cooked it following Agnes’s detailed instructions and Jonah said it was one of the best cuts he’d had in a long time.
No one will ever accuse Roy of being “nice,” and yet I’ve come to believe that if I ever needed him, he would step up. My life here would certainly be less interesting without him in it.
I slip the catalogue page from the back pocket of my jeans. “Hey, so I was wondering if you’d consider building me this.” I unfold it before I hand it to him.
He frowns at the picture. “A table?”
“Yeah. Live edge. We have all this family coming in for Christmas, and I don’t have a proper table yet.” What does Roy do for Christmas? Nothing, I presume.
“Why don’t you buy it, then, with all your money.”
I shrug. “I’d rather have something locally made, not mass produced.”
He grunts. “I don’t do custom orders.” But he’s studying the picture, I note.
Toby did tell me that once, so I was prepared for the pushback. I school my expression. “Well … what if you just happened to feel compelled to make this table that seats, say, ten people, and then, when it was finished, I just happened to see it and buy it from you?”
His bushy eyebrow arches. “Compelled, huh?”
“Yes. Compelled.” I pause. “Unless you think it’s too hard for you to—”
“I could make that damn thing in my sleep! It’s nothin’. Just some lacquered wood and legs.”
Jonah said basically the same thing about the overpriced living room tables I want. Something tells me this would be far more complicated.
“Okay, great! So, while you’re sleeping, if you happened to make it …” I back away, moving for the pickup truck, before he can thrust the page back into my hand. I’m excited to get home to see Jonah, anyway. We parted ways soon after he slipped the ring on, both of us having places to be. He’ll be back by now. “Oh! Also, I want to hire a carpenter for some built-in shelves beneath our staircase, if you know anyone who’d be interested. Meals and delightful company included, of course.” I turn before he can see my smile.
“Hey!” he barks as I’m about to climb in.
I turn, holding my breath.
“Congratulations.” He nods once and then turns back to his task.
* * *
The ramp where Jonah secures Veronica is still empty when I coast up our lengthy driveway, home from Roy’s. I frown as I check my watch. Jonah’s a half hour late. I know he arrived at Mark’s cabin as scheduled because he called to touch base. Which means he’s likely standing on his float, waiting for a break from Mark’s incessant gabbing to fly home. I look to the north where dark storm clouds hang.
My phone rings and Diana’s mocking duck-face profile picture appears on my phone. An excited thrill bubbles in my stomach as I answer. “It took you this long to call me? What kind of best friend are you?” I say in greeting, a wide grin on my face as I continue up the driveway, past our hangar, toward the house. It’s been exactly four minutes since I sent her a text with a picture of my ring.
“We’re both getting married!” she shrieks.
The truck’s cab fills with the sound of our collective screams and laughter.
* * *
I stand in front of the window, huddled in a sweater, the rain and wind pelting the glass as the storm rages outside. “He should have been home by now, and he’s not answering.” My heart feels like it’s lodged in my throat.
“Mark likes to gab sometimes—”
