The Simple Wild: A Novel(115)

“I’ll drive if no one else wants to!” Mabel chirps, her eyes lighting up. “I know how.”

“You hear that, Calla? Even Mabel knows how. She’s twelve.”

“Of course she does.” I climb into the SUV with reluctance. “I don’t want to do this right now, Jonah.” It wouldn’t be so bad if we were on the empty road by my dad’s house and we didn’t have my dad and Mabel with us.

“Hey. Just trust me, would you?” He peers over at me, and I see a raw pleading in those blue eyes.

As if I can say no to that.

“Fine,” I grumble, jamming the key into the ignition. “But for the record, this is a bad idea.”

“That’s what you usually go for, isn’t it? Bad ideas?” he murmurs.

“Oh, you’re so clever.” And relentless, with the quips that keep corralling my mind right back to me and him.

“Do you guys ever stop arguing? God!” Mabel bursts, clicking her seat belt in place.

“Sometimes we do. Right, Barbie?”

We definitely weren’t arguing last night. Or this morning, before getting up to come here.

Twice.

My dad clears his throat from the seat directly behind me. “Just stay to the right and stop when the sign says stop. You’ll do fine.”

“And don’t hit the people walking on the side of the road,” Mabel adds.

“I can’t believe I’m getting driving tips from a twelve-year-old.” With a sigh, I crank the engine. “I can’t even reach the pedals!”

“Here.” Jonah leans forward, gripping the back of my seat with one hand while he slides his arm down between my knees to the floor in front. With a click and a tug, my seat moves forward. “Better?”

I stretch my legs out. “Yeah.”

“All right.” His warm, strong hand lands on my knee, giving it a tight squeeze. “Just do what I say and we might make it home alive.”

I grip the steering wheel, my nerves churning in my stomach. Suddenly, the streets of this dusty little frontier town seem too busy. But at least it gives us all something to focus on besides my dad.

I shake my head and start to laugh.

Damn yeti. That’s exactly why he’s doing this to me.



“Oh my God, no, Calla. Seriously. Forget about the stupid studded shoes.” Diana sighs heavily in my ear.

“Whatever. I’ve already got it mostly done, anyway, with what you sent me.” I toggle over the screen, testing the links to the pictures of Diana posing downtown with the city bustle in the background—the blur of people whizzing by on bikes and in cars, hordes of pedestrians milling at a street corner waiting for the light to change, rows of white tents that signal one festival or another. I can almost hear the buzz of life and I ache for it. “Aaron took some decent shots.”

“And he complained through every minute of it. You wouldn’t believe the things I had to promise to get him to agree in the first place.”

“You’re right, and I’m positive that I do not want to know.” But I’m glad she’s found a replacement for me.

She sighs. “So . . . when do you think you’ll be back?”

I drop my voice. Even though the living room window is closed, I can hear Mabel’s bursts of laughter and goading exclamations as she and my dad hover over the checkerboard. “I have no idea. A month? Maybe two?” Or will it be longer? Will I be here to see the first snow fall? Because, aside from some woolen socks, I am not prepared for that.

“God. That’s . . . a long time.”

“Yeah. But, I’m sure I’ll keep busy.”

“How’s the Hot Viking?”

Oh man. “Still hot,” I murmur, as an odd tingling sense courses through my entire body, like it does every time I think of him now. There’s so much I have to tell her, but now is not the time to even hint at it. “I’ll talk to you later.” We end the call just as Agnes pokes her head out onto the porch.

“There’s still some chicken left, if you’re hungry. I already set aside plenty for Jonah.” Agnes and Mabel walked into my dad’s kitchen around three, while he was napping, Mabel’s arms hugging her latest plucked catch from the farm, Agnes’s laden with potatoes and carrots, and lettuce for a green salad. We hadn’t made plans for dinner, but I was thankful to see them show up all the same.

By the time my dad staggered out of his bedroom, the house was smelling of roasted meat and we’d settled into solitary tasks—Agnes with a book, Mabel with a game on her phone, and me with my computer—as if we all lived here.

He didn’t say anything, didn’t question it. Just smiled at us and sank into his La-Z-Boy.

“I’m full, but thanks.” I offer Agnes a smile before turning back to my screen.

But she lingers, pushing the sliding door shut behind her. “Still working on Wild website stuff?”

“No.” Is there any point? “Just keeping my mind busy.” I toggle over to another screen, one of about thirty I have open, to pictures of my time here so far.

“That looks like Kwigillingok,” Agnes murmurs, edging closer. “That’s a nice one.”

“No.”

“No?” She frowns in thought. “I think it is.”