Forever Wild Page 8

  Jonah frowns. “You talked to Roy about this?”

  “I wanted an impartial opinion.”

  He barks with laughter. “Well, yeah, Roy definitely doesn’t give a fuck about us getting married.” He leans in to press his forehead against mine. “Then, we’re doin’ this? For real?”

  I smile, even as nervous flutters stir in my stomach. “For real. If you’re sure.”

  “We wouldn’t be here if I wasn’t.” He lets out a slow, shaky breath. “Guess we should drive to Wasilla and get that marriage license, then.”

  “Yeah. After we drop off the eggs. And gravely disappoint my mother. And my best friend.” A twinge of sadness pricks my chest. My mother won’t be the only one disappointed; I’m about to devastate my best friend. “And I guess I’ll call Muriel and tell her the good news?”

  “She’s still up at the house.”

  “What? You left her in there with them?”

  “She said she was leaving, but she hasn’t yet.” Jonah’s brow furrows. “They should be fine. Simon’s there.”

  I groan and, collecting his hands, tug him toward the door.

  Chapter Eight

  I’m not sure what I expected to walk into, but Muriel, my mother, and Astrid sharing a laugh at the counter was certainly not it. The wedding magazines have been closed and stacked in a tidy pile, the broken coffee mug cleaned up as if it’d never happened.

  Simon is still puttering at the stove.

  And Björn is at the sink, quietly washing dishes.

  “What the fuck happened while we were gone?” Jonah murmurs as we quietly shed our boots and outer things.

  “Had to be Simon.” He’s always the voice of reason, though I don’t know what he could have said to flip the mood so quickly. I hold up the carton. “Roy had a dozen.”

  “Oh! You’re back. Brilliant. I think I’ve managed to keep everything else warm.” Simon, still in his apron, trots over to collect the eggs, offering me a secretive wink. “It’s your wedding. You tell us what you want and we’ll happily fall in line.”

  “What about Mom-zilla over there?” I whisper.

  He shushes me, but says, “Even her. Maybe not as happily, but she’s already had two weddings of her own. If she wants a third, she’ll have to divorce me first.”

  Muriel turns in her seat to offer her wide, face-transforming smile. “I was just tellin’ them about the time Toby surprised a grizzly out behind the Ale House. He didn’t have nothing on him and the thing wouldn’t back off, no matter how much he yelled, so he did the only thing he could think of—broke out in a rendition of ‘The Star-Spangled Banner.’” Muriel’s shoulders shake with laughter.

  “And what happened?” I ask curiously. Obviously nothing too horrific, because my friend is alive and well.

  “Haven’t you heard that boy try to carry a tune? The poor animal hightailed it outta there.” Muriel is chuckling as she climbs off her stool. “I guess we should get this place set for brunch.” She rounds the counter to the cupboard that holds our dishes. Sometimes I think she knows this kitchen better than I do. “Here, Björn. I could use your help. My right hip isn’t what it used to be.”

  There’s nothing wrong with Muriel’s hip.

  Before Björn realizes what’s happening, she’s handed him a stack of plates. “Go on. Over on that table Roy built for them. It’s high time it got used.”

  With nothing more than a glance Jonah’s way, he saunters over to set the table.

  Astrid beckons Jonah with an outstretched hand. He closes the distance instantly. “I’m living the life I want to live, and I’m happy,” she whispers, cupping his cheek. “Just as you are permitted to do.”

  He sighs heavily. “I’m sorry for being a jerk.”

  Mom catches my eye. Her brow pulls together as she mouths, “I’m sorry. I got carried away.”

  I smile and mouth back, “I know.”

  Mom rolls her eyes but then smiles. Her emotions sometimes lead her to act irrationally, especially when she has an idea in her head. At least she always sees it after the fact.

  “What time are Agnes and Mabel arriving?” Muriel asks, her hands full of cutlery.

  “They’ll be here around one.” I steal a glance Jonah’s way to find him watching me closely, that crooked smile that is my downfall touching his lips. I reach for him and he sidles up beside me, curling his arm around my shoulder. I look to him—because he’s truly the only one who matters here—when I add, “Which will give Jonah and me enough time to drive to the courthouse to apply for a marriage license, because we’ve decided we don’t want to wait anymore.”

  There’s a clatter of silverware, as Muriel empties her hands onto the table, freeing them to slap together in a loud clap. “Well, hot damn! We have ourselves a wedding to plan!” she exclaims, her voice full of uncharacteristic glee.

  “Calla? You down there?” Jonah’s deep voice booms from the top of the stairs.

  “Yeah!”

  “You callin’ Diana?”

  Shit. I need to do that, too. “Give me ten.” I settle into my desk chair, the stack of identification and other paperwork that we need to apply for our license next to me.

  Upstairs, I can hear the hum of voices. Astrid’s reaction to our news was in line with Muriel’s, though far more subdued. My mother, on the other hand, took a few deep breaths and then started talking out loud about an intimate wedding she arranged the flowers for a few years back and how lovely it turned out.

  Now, they and Muriel are upstairs discussing the order of what needs to be booked, and what are our limited options. Obviously my mother will do the flowers and Astrid has graciously offered to bake the cake, but there are so many things up in the air.

  I shake out my hands as I wait for my MacBook to power up. My frazzled nerves at the moment have nothing to do with the fact that Jonah and I are getting married next week, though. That decision, I’m confident in.

  This one … not so much.

  I open my email server and hit Compose.

  Before I lose my nerve, I type out a message I pray will change someone’s life as much as a phone call one night in July changed mine.

  “If that’s Jonah again, tell him we’re five minutes from home.” His worry is equal parts endearing and annoying.

  My mom slides on her reading glasses to read the text. “It’s Toby. He says that Muriel says Connie can do it—slow down, Calla. You’re making me nervous.”

  I ease my foot on the brake pedal to navigate the right-hand turn onto our side road. When my mom, Agnes, Mabel, and I climbed into the Jeep at seven a.m., on a mission to Anchorage to find a wedding dress, the roads were clear and only the odd snowflake drifted from the sky. We had every intention of being back in time for a late lunch. But one failed bridal store led to the next, and then another, and by the time we hit the road for Trapper’s Crossing, it was after one, and the winter storm the forecasters have been threatening us with was well on its way in.

  “Connie who? I don’t know any Connies.”

  “Well, I definitely don’t know this Connie, but apparently she’s sewn all the costumes for the school’s drama club. Muriel’s on her way over there now to ask her.”

  “And you told her the dress needs major alterations?” I had all but given up on finding the wedding dress after sifting through dozens of generic strapless ball gowns and over-the-top beaded options and was about to settle on a nice but “seen it a thousand times before” option when Agnes discovered a simple but elegant dress with a round neckline and long sleeves, buried deep within a rack. Even my mother approved. The only problem? It’s several sizes too big. A problem that the bridal shop owner promised could easily be fixed with a skilled seamstress. Unfortunately, there is no way hers can get it done in time.

  “Yes! Almost word for word.” Mom reads her text message out loud to prove it.

  “Okay. Well, if she thinks this Connie woman can do it, then I have to believe she can do it.” I doubt there will be a lot of �
��asking” involved when poor Connie opens her door to a determined Muriel McGivney.

  “You know, we’re putting an awful lot of trust in your neighbor.” Mom slides her reading glasses off. Her brow is pulled with worry. “I hope you’re not disappointed in how this all turns out, Calla.”

  My stomach squeezes, that little voice in the back of my mind echoing her thoughts.

  Once Jonah and I arrived home from the courthouse, it became a mad dash to get the ball rolling on making decisions. Simon suggested we call Muriel to help us. I agreed, and she arrived not twenty minutes later with an eight-and-a-half-by-eleven coil notebook tucked under her arm. Her bible, she called it—tattered and bent and marred with countless scribbled names and numbers—that would help us with the hows. But first we needed to decide on the when and where and who.

  The when was easy. New Year’s Eve. With the holidays, we won’t get the license before the thirtieth and the parents are all leaving on January 2 so our window of opportunity is small.

  As for the who, Jonah and I crafted a guest list on the drive to the courthouse. We came up with twenty-five people—more than I’d anticipated.

  The where was the biggest challenge. There are only three wedding venues in the area and a few quick phone calls confirmed all were unavailable. Muriel was ready to pencil us into the community center despite my insistence that it lacked character and was too big for twenty-five people. We were resigned to cramming everyone into our house for a reception. And then Muriel was struck with an epiphany—the Ale House. It’s cozy, it has character, and with a bit of elbow grease, she was convinced it could be ideal.

  Best of all, it’s close and available.

  I had to admit, it wasn’t the worst idea, and it would keep the chaos out of our house, which is already chaotic enough with all the guests.

  Mom cautiously suggested we see “this Ale House of yours” before we committed to a wedding reception there.

  So we drove over, and Mom spent a half hour walking in circles, pointing at things that would need to be put away or cleaned up—the cluttered bulletin board, the cheap folding tables, the fishing trophies.

  Muriel agreed without argument. Shockingly.

  My mother’s exact words were, “I can work with this.”

  And so it was decided that our reception would take place at the Ale House.

  With the biggest decisions nailed down, Muriel began listing all our resource options, both obvious and unconventional, given the tight timeline. Twenty-one-year-old Lacey Burns, who won a photography competition for her candid high school yearbook pictures and happens to be home from college for Christmas break; Michael and Anne Bowering, music teachers who play seven instruments and sing at church every Sunday; Gloria from the Winter Carnival planning community, who has been taking culinary classes in Anchorage for years, and is the best cook Muriel knows.

  There wasn’t a question she couldn’t answer or a quandary she couldn’t recommend a solution for.

  Muriel was in her element.

  And I’ve never valued her more.

  A few hours and a dozen phone calls later, we had a photographer, musicians, and our caterer lined up. My mother phoned every florist between Wasilla and Anchorage to survey our options for flowers, and Astrid was throwing cake flavors at me.

  It all seems too easy.

  Maybe it is. Maybe this is going to be a disaster.

  “She’s marrying Jonah. It’s going to be perfect, no matter what happens,” Agnes, always the angel on my shoulder, chirps from the back seat.

  Mom seems to absorb that. She turns to meet Agnes’s gaze. “You know what? You’re right. Calla is marrying her sky cowboy—”

  “Oh God, Mom!” I cringe through the chorus of laughter.

  But she’s right.

  I’m marrying Jonah.

  In eight days, I’ll be Mrs. Calla Riggs.

  The wife of the furry-faced dickhead pilot who all but wrote me off that day Agnes sent him to pick me up from the airport. Who would’ve ever seen this coming? Certainly not me.

  Butterflies erupt in my stomach as my attention drifts to the diamond snowflake on my finger. Jonah had a custom band made at the same time, but he has refused to show it to me, and I have yet to unearth his hiding place. Not for lack of trying.

  Suddenly it dawns on me. “I need a ring for him!” I completely forgot.

  “Oh. Right.” My mom’s deep frown says she forgot, too.

  I check the clock. It’s after three p.m. on Christmas Eve. “I’ll drop you guys off and see if I can find something in Wasilla.”

  “What? No. You’re not going back out today. This storm is getting worse by the minute.” My mom shakes her head firmly.

  “But he needs a ring.” Guilt stirs inside me that this is the first I’ve thought of it. Jonah’s always been so considerate, with the plane pendant that he flew hours away to have custom made, and with my engagement ring.

  “We can find one on Thursday,” Agnes promises. “Men’s wedding bands are simple. He won’t want anything flashy.”

  “Yeah, but they’ll have to resize it. He’s got those big yeti hands.”

  Mabel, whose enthusiasm over dress shopping dwindled half an hour into the first store and who’s mainly sulked for the remainder of the time, snorts.

  “Will he even wear it? I mean, he doesn’t seem the jewelry type. You know, your father would leave his band lying around the house all the time. I’d get so mad at him. He finally lost it once and for all while out flying one day.”

  “Jonah needs one for the day. It doesn’t matter if he wears it later.” Though he had better.

  “We got your dress today. We’ll get the ring on Thursday. No problem. It’ll all work out.”

  I steal a glance in my rearview mirror to meet Agnes’s crinkled eyes. “I need a pair of your rose-colored glasses.”

  Her smile widens. “That’s convenient because I got you a pair for Christmas.”

  My phone rings over the Bluetooth system then and a second later, Diana’s name appears on my Jeep’s screen.

  “We’ll be home in five minutes. You can talk to her then.” My mom wrings her hands nervously.

  When I called Diana yesterday to explain the situation, she shrieked, told me she hated me, and then demanded that I not replace her with some imposter until I’ve heard back from her. I’ve been anxiously awaiting her call ever since.

  I hit the answer button on my steering wheel. “Tell me you have good news?” I hold my breath.

  “Get that hot tub ready because your maid of honor is arriving next Monday night!” Diana’s voice blasts over the Jeep’s speakers.

  “Seriously? You made it work? Oh my God!” I shriek, a thrill coursing through me.

  “Alaska, twice in one year! This is crazy!”

  Tears sting my eyes and the weight on my chest lifts. “You have no idea how happy I am! I hated the idea of getting married without you here!”

  “Calla, slow down!” my mom yells over our excited chatter.

  I feel the moment my tires lose traction as we’re rounding the bend. On instinct, my foot slams on my brake, sending us careening off the road.

  Chapter Nine

  “What do you mean you’re not calling him?” My mother is brushing caked snow off her jeans when she pauses to glare at me. “What else are we supposed to do?” She throws a hand at the front end of my Jeep, barely poking out from the ditch, its grill facing the sky.

  “Call a tow truck?” It comes out as a question; it isn’t much of one.

  There was a moment of sheer terror as I gripped the useless steering wheel and we slid down the steep embankment; I was bracing myself for a flip or a crash into the tree line. Thankfully, we spun just enough to slide in backward and my Jeep landed in the snow with a thud and a crunch, leaving us with nothing more than racing hearts. After a nervous chorus of “Is everyone okay? I’m okay. Are you all okay?” and reassuring a panicked Diana, who listened in horror to the entire ordeal, we
tested our doors.

  Escaping the vehicle was a challenge. Climbing out of the gully in knee-deep snow was an almost comical level of hell—one that has left my mother in a sour mood over her ruined suede ankle boots.

  “If you had just listened to me—”

  “Stop.” I hold up a hand. “Give me a minute to think, okay?” I feel like an idiot. I was going too fast around that bend given the snow cover. I was distracted. And I made a rookie mistake, hitting the brakes the way I did.

  And I am never going to hear the end of this from Jonah.

  Mom takes a deep, calming breath. “You know what? No one’s hurt. We’re only a couple miles from home. It’s Christmas Eve. We’re going to laugh about this later.” She sounds like she’s trying to convince herself.

  I leave her to it. “How bad is it?” I call out to Agnes, who’s trudging around in the ditch, her short legs disappearing with each step as she surveys the situation.

  “We won’t know until we pull it out of here, but we’re definitely not gonna be able to drive it out. Does Jonah have a winch?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe. What’s a winch?” Phil left so many tools in the workshop.

  “I doubt it’d be strong enough on that old truck of yours, anyway.” She looks much like a child, packed in that oversized parka and using her mitt-covered hands to climb out to the road on all fours.

  “Kelly’s coming to get me,” Mabel announces. Her thumbs fly over her phone’s screen, sending a response to her new best friend, a fourteen-year-old girl she met at the farmers’ market this past summer. “Her house is, like, two minutes from here.”

  Agnes’s brow furrows. “Don’t you want to spend time with—”

  “I’ll be back for dinner.”

  After a moment, Agnes simply nods. She may be frustrated with her daughter, but she’ll never outright scold her. That’s never been Agnes’s way. It also could end up being her downfall, raising a headstrong teenaged girl on her own.

  Agnes shifts her attention back to me, blinking against the flurry of snowflakes that even her deep cowl can’t shield. “Do the McGivneys have a winch?”