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I breathe a sigh of relief when the floodlight illuminates a plain black truck with scratched-up sides parking next to Marie’s truck.
Roy came.
Why is Roy here?
It’s a fleeting question that I quickly dismiss. It doesn’t matter why, I decide, as I sip on the tea Muriel wordlessly brought out an hour ago—now cold in my grasp. There’s nothing else for me to do as I wait for news.
It’s been more than five hours.
My vacant stare is searching the dark when the porch door creaks open and Roy slips in, wearing the same outfit he wore that night to the Ale House. Our eyes glance off each other and for a moment, I fear the insensitive comment that will fall from his mouth, that will somehow make this worse.
But then he slips off his cowboy hat and strolls over to settle into the wicker chair beside me, stretching his legs out in front of him, boots crossed, as if to get comfortable.
A loud clatter sounds inside.
“I take it Muriel’s inside, rearranging your house?” His Texan drawl is rough and grating as usual.
“Who knows what she’s into now?” I don’t have that many jars to wash, but I know she’ll find something to keep herself busy. She and Marie, who showed up about an hour ago, after Toby called her. By the hushed whispers and the fact that he had her number in the first place, I suspect they’ve taken my advice and gone on at least one date.
Another long moment passes and then Roy’s exhale cuts into the silence. “Any news yet?”
I shake my head.
“Well … No news is good news.”
No news just means they haven’t found Jonah’s body yet.
It means he could be lying somewhere, alone, suffering.
There are multiple scenarios running through my head, and none of them look good.
A fresh wave of tears prick my eyes. “How did you know?”
“Toby came by on his way here.”
Why would Toby … I dismiss the question before it fully forms. That doesn’t matter, either. “He wanted me to go with him. I should have gone.”
“Then you’d be wherever he is right now.”
“It’s where I belong.” Beside Jonah, in the sky or in the ground. But always by his side.
I feel Roy studying my profile as I huddle in my blanket.
“You’ll survive this. You’re tough.”
I laugh, the sound hollow. “No, I’m not.”
“Yeah, you are. You’re tough in your own way, Calla. You’ll survive this.”
“What if I don’t want to survive this?” I’ll never complain about Alaska again. I’ll live here until I’m old and gray, never thinking of a way out, never wishing I were somewhere else, as long as I can have Jonah. I feel idiotic now. I let such trivial worries consume me for so long.
“It’s never up to us, though, is it?”
Heavy footfalls sound from inside a moment before the door creaks open. The low hum of voices on the TV carries out. “Oh, you’re here.” Muriel nods to Roy as she plucks the cold mug from my hand, still mostly full. “I’m makin’ you more tea. Roy, you want tea? I’ll make you tea.” With that, she turns around and disappears inside.
“I don’t like tea,” I admit after she’s gone.
“Neither do I, but every once in a while, I let that battle-ax get her way.?
