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 yesterday 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.
Don’t worry, I love you and next time, we’ll both be ready for it.
“OK” seems so … not okay.
That feeling begins to gnaw in my stomach again, that our relationship took a major hit yesterday with this pregnancy scare. But I could also chalk it up to Jonah not being keen on texting. And it’s easy to misinterpret thoughts and feelings in texts. It’s too easy for your own insecurities to breed falsities in a simple word.
What I do know is that I can’t let him fly off like this, with my head and my heart spinning, not until I’ve talked to him, face-to-face.
I charge for the hallway, for my red plaid jacket—the one Jonah bought me last year after he bled all over my favorite cardigan—intent on getting out to the hangar and spending the next hour fixing this tension however I can before Sam gets here. In my haste, I knock Jonah’s wool jacket off the hook.
A small box falls out of his pocket.
I frown at the small black jewelry box as I collect it from the floor. It takes a few beats to process what it could be.
No way …
With my pulse pounding in my ears and a furtive glance out the door to confirm Jonah is not about to walk into the house and catch me snooping, I pop open the lid.
I gasp at the diamond ring that stares back at me, and the pieces fall into place.
Jonah was wearing this jacket yesterday. The surprise trip to the cabin … the lunch … the bottle of champagne … him, acting so strange …
He was going to propose.
Before his words triggered the pregnancy scare, he was talking about spending the rest of his life with me. I remember—vaguely—one hand leaving my face, reaching toward his pocket.
He was literally in the process of asking me to marry him when I panicked about being late.
“Seriously?” Wild flutters stir in my stomach. With no warning? No marriage conversations beforehand? I mean, we’ve only been living together for five months! We’ve known each other less than a year, and yet, here is this ring—this stunning diamond ring designed to look like a snowflake, with countless diamonds of various sizes—and he was going to propose to me yesterday.
And I would have said yes, I realize with absolute certainty.
I would have been shocked speechless when he asked, but I would have said yes, as I said yes to Alaska and yes to this house, because being with Jonah is not optional. Because, despite knowing him for less than a year, I can’t imagine my life without him in it anymore. I never want to be without him again.
I would have said yes.
I would be wearing this ring. We would be engaged.
Instead, I freaked out about the possibility of being pregnant and probably not in a way that screamed, “We should get married!”
An ache stirs in my chest as I think back to that look on Jonah’s face—of hurt and disappointment. He’d planned the entire day—the location, the lunch. He’d even brought champagne. And me, being entirely caught unaware, never put two and two together.
Oh my God.
What if he doesn’t want to marry me anymore?
“Yeah, but a baby changes everything, Jonah. It’s permanent. It’s for life.”
“As opposed to what we are?”
Did I unwittingly create a fissure between us with my rambling?
I shut the box and slide it back into its hiding spot in his pocket, fixing the jacket as best I can so I don’t let on that I’ve discovered Jonah’s secret.
And then I head for the door, hoping a walk to the hangar will give me enough time to figure out what the hell I’m going to say to him.
I frown at the silver truck parked next to ours outside the hangar. There’s no doubt whose it is. A magnetic sign with her veterinarian clinic name clings to the door.
But what is Marie doing at our house at 6:45 a.m.? Does this have something to do with Oscar? As far as I know, the wolf dog is back home with Roy, slowly healing from his leg wound.
“… and then everything blew up from there.” Jonah’s voice carries from the gaping hangar door, stalling my feet.
“So, I guess you didn’t get a chance to ask her, then.” Marie’s soft, sympathetic voice answers
“You kidding? There wasn’t exactly a way to segue back to marriage after that.”
It’s clear they’re talking about what happened yesterday. Jonah must have told Marie he was going to propose. I guess I shouldn’t be surprised. She’s his closest friend. And yet, an unpleasant feeling settles in the pit of my stomach, knowing that he has obviously divulged the pregnancy scare to her as well. It feels like a betrayal of confidence. It’s something private between the two of us that we haven’t fully discussed, and yet here he is, talking about it with her.
That’s why Marie is here. Jonah must have called her. He needed to talk about it with someone who isn’t me.
Hurt pricks my chest as I edge in closer and eavesdrop shamelessly.
Jonah sighs. “I’ve never seen her like that before. I mean, I’ve seen her snap plenty, believe me … but this was somethin’ else.”
“She is only twenty-six, Jonah. And she’s gone through a lot in the past year. Her whole life has been turned over, more than once. She’s obviously not ready to have it flipped again yet. Cut her some slack.”
Yes! Exactly!
“No shit.” He snorts. “But five or six years? I’ll be almost forty.”
“You’re not that old,” Marie chides.