Forever Wild(43)

Everyone came.

Even Roy.

He’s standing off to the side, away from everyone, his wide-brimmed cowboy hat hiding his eyes from me. He looks ready to bolt before the ceremony is over.

But he came.

Having greeted everyone with at least a glance, I finally turn my attention to Jonah, my handsome and steadfast pillar in a three-piece charcoal twill suit standing at the end of the lengthy red carpet, the sun an hour from setting above him. Archie sits behind him, waiting to take us on our first flight as husband and wife, an insistence of Jonah’s that I couldn’t refuse. Teddy stands next to him on the left, beaming and ready to officiate, and a polished Marie in a dazzling black dress to act as best woman stands on his right.

The intensity in Jonah’s icy-blue eyes as he watches me approach makes my heart stutter and then pound as strongly now as it did in those hours, days, weeks of first looks, first touches, first kisses. Only now that reaction is roused by something far deeper than a ruggedly handsome face and pretty eyes.

Now, it’s Jonah’s fearless confidence that makes my blood race.

His unwavering loyalty that makes me search for him in every room.

His untamed passion that makes me weak at the knees.

It’s everything—inside and out, good and bad—that makes up this wild man’s heart.

And he’s about to become mine till death do us part.

Jonah leaves his spot, moving swiftly toward me.

Marie is fast, though, grabbing his arm. “No! Remember? You need to wait for her!” she scolds through a chuckle. The small crowd behind us joins in with laughter.

His jaw tenses and he mouths, “Hurry up.”

I sigh as I leave the snow-covered ground and take my first step on the carpet.

“You seem relieved,” Simon muses. “Were you actually afraid he wouldn’t show?”

“No. But I was afraid he was going to wear one of those herrebunad things.” Traditional Norwegian garb with pants that look an awful lot like lederhosen, in my opinion. I’m not sure even Jonah could pull off that look. “He’s up to something. I know it.”

“Ah, yes.” Simon’s brow furrows. “I’m not entirely certain, but I’m a tad concerned it might have to do with that raccoon. And your ring.”





Epilogue





July



* * *



“There was this huge field full of them, so Jonah decided to just land right there. I don’t know if I’ll ever get used to him doing that.” I chuckle as I tuck the bouquet of vibrant purple wildflowers into the mason jar of water and then set it next to the white cross. “Sure was beautiful, though.”

The cemetery is oddly quiet for such a balmy summer day. I drove through Bangor on my way here, and it was bustling, people trudging along the dusty roads, carrying bags of groceries and greeting neighbors. The parking lot at Meyer’s was crammed. Agnes said the store shelves were bare all week after a lengthy storm system lingered, grounding cargo planes for days. I guess they must have restocked.

I adjust the small model plane, shifting it to sit closer to the flowers. “Agnes and Mabel are flying home with us today. You should see their new place.” The construction company we hired to build the prefab log house told us it wouldn’t take long to erect the building once the ground was level. They weren’t lying. One week there was flat ground by the lake’s edge where trees had been. The next? A small but beautiful two-story home. A parade of tradesmen have cycled through since, installing electrical and plumbing, flooring and kitchen cabinetry.

Now it’s Roy’s turn for all the final touches. He’s far from finished, but Agnes is anxious to get settled, her house in Bangor sold and emptied of personality. She also said she doesn’t mind the curmudgeon milling about with his chisel and saw, not saying much. For his part, he doesn’t seem to mind her chattering.

“The garden is growing wild. I must have made a thousand jars of strawberry jam. I mean, it was realistically more like fifty, but it felt like a thousand. And there’s this zucchini that’s already three times the size of all the other zucchini. It’s a mutant. Muriel says we should enter it in some giant vegetable competition when it’s full grown. But, I’ll probably sell it at the farmers’ market.” I trace the letters that spell out my father’s name. They could probably use a fresh coat of paint soon. “Delyla’s coming. Did I tell you that already? I can’t remember if I did. She’s flying up with her kids next week. They’re going to stay with us.” The day after Christmas, I woke up and called her. Before coffee, still in bed. I didn’t wait. I didn’t waffle. I called and she answered on the third ring, her sweet southern twang carrying surprise through the phone line.

I told her all about the Roy Donovan that I know, the one who is always there for a neighbor in need, who may not choose the right words but somehow always ends up letting you know how he really feels. The man that I’ve come to care for as deeply as if he were my own family.

The man who is far more than he seems, and whose regrets are bottomless.

We talked for over an hour, until my mother came in, tapping her watch impatiently.

Delyla thanked me and asked if she could call me sometime in the future.

She called the next week.

The week after that, I emailed her a few candid shots of Roy from our wedding. She thanked me profusely.