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“I guess”—he pauses, searching for words—“we need to find out for sure first. There’s no point worrying until we know for sure.”
As usual, Jonah is right. “I’ll do a test as soon as we get home.”
Uncomfortable silence fills the cabin, the previous nostalgic mood obliterated, replaced by something sour. Jonah has stepped away from me—to give me space, perhaps?—his hands now occupied with his coat pockets.
I’m searching for the right words to get back to our previous conversation when Jonah sighs heavily. “Maybe we should head back. I don’t think either of us will be able to think about much else.”
That’s probably for the best.
I barely nod before he’s moving for the door.
* * *
I steal another glance behind us but all I see are jagged mountain peaks. The cabin and valley are long gone from view.
Jonah has been chattering back and forth with another pilot on our frequency. I can’t tell if it’s because he’s enjoying the idle conversation with a stranger, or if he’s avoiding conversation with me.
Right now, I’m fine with either.
A baby.
I take a deep breath, trying to reconcile myself with the concept of becoming a mother at twenty-seven years old. It certainly wasn’t part of my plan. Then again, moving to Alaska wasn’t, either.
If there is anyone’s baby I’d want to have, it’s Jonah’s. I’ve felt the desire, in momentary flashes and twinges, whenever I’ve seen him watching a child at the grocery store with amusement. He’ll make an excellent father—a quality I never even considered in any guy I dated until I met him. These facts tell me that I’ll get there, eventually.
But we’ve only been living together for five months, in this house for not even three. It’s far too soon. We’re just finding our bearings as a couple. Things between us are perfect.
A baby would change that.
I think of Sharon, twenty-three and sitting in the receptionist desk at Wild, her belly bulging, her ankles swollen, rocking a passenger’s mewling newborn. She confided in me that she’d been waiting to have a baby since she was seventeen, after her first date with Max. The fact that I’m feeling nothing more than shock and fear tells me that no matter how much I love Jonah, I’m not ready to go there yet.
A warm hand slips over my thigh. I turn to meet Jonah’s furrowed brow. He offers me a thin-lipped smile but says nothing. He doesn’t seem to hate me for my glaring lack of excitement about our predicament, but he can’t hide the disappointment in those blue eyes.
Jonah is ready to go there now.
“When do you have to work again?” I ask, craving a safe topic of conversation.
“Day after tomorrow. I was thinking we could fly out to Bangor. Visit Wren’s grave and see Aggie. Yell at Mabel, get her to smarten up.”
“Yeah, because rebellious teenagers respond well to that,” I say sarcastically, noting how he emphasized the “was,” as if flying west is no longer an option.
“Maybe not, but I need to say something before she fucks up her life—” He stops talking abruptly and frowns at the gauges in front of him.
“What’s wrong?”
He curses under his breath.
“Jonah?”
His attention darts between the sky ahead and his panel, up and down, up and down. Not answering.
My pulse begins to race. “Jonah, what’s going on?”
“Just, uh … an issue with the oil pressure,” he says in an odd
ly calm, detached tone that only makes his words sound more ominous.
“What does that mean?”
