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I can’t help but sense that Jonah would prefer the former of those two options. After my epic meltdown at the cabin, I wouldn’t blame him.
I smile, even though it stings to think he wants time away from me. “I think I’ve had enough flying excitement for one day.” My nerves are frazzled by that emergency landing. “Go do what you have to do.”
He peers at the second, unopened pregnancy test. He opens his mouth to say something but decides against it. Leaning down, he plants a quick kiss on my forehead and then turns for the door.
“Jonah?”
He pauses, his back to me. “Yup?”
“Are we okay?”
“Of course, we are.” He turns back to flash a comforting smile that doesn’t reach his eyes.
Chapter Twenty-Three
I’m practically skipping out of the bathroom and down the stairs the next morning, despite the heavy cramping in my abdomen, buoyant with the knowledge that the crisis has been averted. I am without a doubt not pregnant. I don’t know what caused the delay in my cycle, but I will certainly never forget a single pill ever again.
It’s only 6:30 a.m. and a quiet calm hangs in our house. I heard Jonah leave through the front door as I was waking, likely not expecting me up for another hour or two. My guess is he’s in the hangar, itching to fetch Archie from his temporary parking spot in the remote wilderness.
Toby dropped everything yesterday to come help him. They took off in Veronica, first to the plane so he could assess the damage. He confirmed what Jonah suspected—that several seals and lines weren’t tightened properly during maintenance, causing an oil leak. All fingers point to Bart, or whoever he had doing the work because Alaska Wild’s mechanic was known for pawning off basic maintenance to grounds crew who swore they knew what they were doing. He would normally double-check their work, but maybe, with everything going on at Wild, he missed that step.
The guys flew to Anchorage to buy the necessary parts, then back up the mountain to try to fix Archie on-site—because what else do you do when your plane is stranded on a lake? There’s certainly no tow truck you can call.
The sun was setting by the time Veronica’s floats broke the calm of our lake once again, both men wearing tired faces but chuckling over the idle threats Jonah plans on making to Bart the next time he sees him. Toby seemed confident that there wasn’t any permanent damage to the engine. Jonah, less so, and he’s already hired Toby to do a full, top-to-bottom service of the plane next week to make sure nothing else arises.
Something so simple as sloppy maintenance could have killed us had we not had somewhere to land, had Jonah pushed our luck, had the engine stalled before we touched down.
But it didn’t, and the plane is fixed, and I am not pregnant, and everything needs to go back to the way it was between us when Jonah yanked the covers off the bed yest
erday morning.
My nerves stir as I text Jonah.
Calla: You at the hangar?
I make myself a latte while I wait for an answer.
Jonah: Yup. Sam’s giving me a ride up the mountain to get the plane. He’ll be here at eight. I’ll swing by the house before I leave.
Jonah seems to have bonded with the wiry, bald firefighter in the yellow plane who rescued us from our predicament yesterday.
Calla: So it’s safe to fly?
Jonah: It better be or Toby’s a shitty mechanic.
I smile. At least he’s starting to joke about it.
Calla: BTW … False alarm.
I watch for the three bouncing dots that signal a response. It takes a full minute before they appear.
Jonah: OK.
“Okay?” I don’t know what answer I expected from him.
You must be so relieved.
Let’s make sure we’re more careful.
