The Simple Wild: A Novel(94)

Marie’s face splits into a wide grin. “It always feels too long for me, Wren. I thought you got rid of that chest cold already.”

“Yeah . . . Guess it’s hanging on there.” No one not the wiser would notice the way he shifts on his feet, as if uncomfortable with the lie. To Jonah, he says, “The report says the fog has cleared for the time being, but there’s heavy cloud cover. Possibility of light rain.”

Jonah stands upright with a resigned sigh and I can’t help but admire the shape of his chest, remembering what my hands felt like pressed against it just this morning. “I’ll fly low. It’s probably as good as it’s gonna get.”

“What’s going on?” Marie asks, her eyes seemingly absorbed with Jonah’s face.

“Going to pick up some hikers. They’ve been waiting at the checkpoint since Thursday.”

“You want company?” she offers eagerly.

“I’ve already got it, thanks. Promised her a flight up that way. Might as well kill two birds with one stone.”

It takes me a moment to realize Jonah’s talking about me.

I struggle to wipe the shock from my face. He never promised me anything. Is this his way of avoiding time alone with Marie?

Or spending more time alone with me?

This is where I need to decline, to tell him to go ahead and take Marie. It’ll send a clear message that this morning was a mistake, and that I’m not interested in repeating it.

“Are you ready?” He looks pointedly at me.

“Yeah, let’s do it.” Oh . . . Calla. An odd blend of excitement and fear churns inside me. Am I ready? Forget whatever’s happening with Jonah for the moment. Am I ready to get back in a plane after watching him crash just two days ago?

Why does this feel like a test? Another “let’s find out what you’re made of” Jonah adventure.

Only this time, I care if he likes what he sees.

My dad eyes the two of us for a moment, as if weighing something in his head. Finally he turns to Jonah. They share a long look. “No risks,” he warns him.

“In and out,” Jonah promises solemnly.



“There’s another one!” I exclaim, aiming my camera lens downward to try and capture the moose as it cuts through the river that snakes along the valley, the broad crown of antlers atop its head almost regal. “Those things are huge.”

My eyes have been glued to the ground ever since we spotted a small herd of caribou grazing near the opening of the mountain range. It’s an entirely different landscape on this end of the Kuskokwim River than the side that weaves through the tundra. Here, the valley is a mingling of tall, tapered evergreens, meadows with smatterings of pink and purple wildflowers, and wide, rocky river shorelines, the colors that much more vivid against the murky gray ceiling.

“You’ll find pretty much everything up here. Wolves, caribou, reindeer, sheep . . .” Jonah’s attention is on the flight path ahead, which I’m thankful for because we’re flying low and on either side of us are mountains, their tops shrouded by mist. “Keep an eye out and you might catch a grizzly or three.”

“Are there a lot?”

He chuckles. “You’re in bear country. What do you think?”

I shudder, and yet find myself scouring the waters with new interest. “How long have these hikers been in here, anyway?”

“We dropped them off eight days ago.”

“Eight days?” I try to imagine what that means. That’s eight days of slugging camping gear up and down mountains. Eight days wandering around the wilderness—with bears, sleeping in a tent—with bears, searching for food—with bears. Eight days without a toilet or a warm shower. With bears. “That’s crazy.”

“That’s pretty normal for up here. It’s crazy if you don’t know what you’re doing. Hopefully these two did. They’re a husband and wife from Arizona. I think they said it was their fifteenth anniversary, or something.”

Pooping in a hole for eight days. “How romantic,” I mutter wryly.

“Some people think so. Out here, in the middle of nowhere, you can do pretty much whatever you want,” he counters, and I get the distinct impression that he’s speaking from experience.

“Yeah, it’s just them, a million mosquitoes, and the giant grizzlies roaming around their tent at night.”

He chuckles. “They don’t usually bug you unless you do something stupid. But that’s why I bring a gun when I camp.”

“And what, load it and tuck it under your pillow?” I shake my head. “Hell, no . . . You couldn’t pay me to sleep out here and I don’t care how experienced the person I’m with is.”

“No?” A pause. “Even if you were with me?” He throws that out there so casually, and yet his words weigh heavily with meaning.

I swallow against the sudden flutter in my gut, unprepared for this quick turn of conversation, even though I’ve been rubbing my sweaty palms against my thighs in anticipation of it ever since we pushed through the doors of Wild. Jonah’s been all business since takeoff, though, his fists gripping the yoke tightly to keep the plane steady against crosswinds that I was sure would sweep us off the runway.

He’s been on the radio with other pilots almost constantly, heeding their warnings and navigating around patches of fog and heavier rain. Based on some of their reports, it doesn’t sound like this weather system is in any rush to leave this side of the state.