Jonah had to make a choice, and he chose to build a new life, here with her. He chose Calla, but he hated leaving Agnes and her daughter, Mabel, who he’s watched grow from a stumbling toddler to the fourteen-year-old she is now. He’s been pushing them to move here for over a year. I honestly didn’t think he’d convince Agnes, but as I look around at this perfect life they’ve assembled for themselves in Trapper’s Crossing, with log cabins on a lake, the mountain peaks in the distance, the planes floating on standby, and the community that has welcomed them wholeheartedly, how could anyone say no?
“When are you flying out to Bangor to get them?”
“First thing tomorrow morning. That way we can get back ahead of the fish fry. You’re coming to the Ale House tomorrow night, right?”
“Wouldn’t miss it. Muriel and Teddy always throw a good party.” The couple and their son, Toby, who I dated ever so briefly last summer, run a three-season fishing resort down the street, complete with cabin rentals and a lodge that serves fries and burgers and beer. Plenty of locals find themselves at the tavern on the weekends in the summer months.
The McGivneys have become more than neighbors to Calla and Jonah. In many ways, they’re the family Jonah and Calla have come to love and depend upon as if they were blood relatives. Not that they had much choice. Muriel is a nosy busybody who rammed her way into their lives, dragging her jolly husband along for the ride.
“Goddamn it!” A loud clatter inside the cabin accompanies the familiar voice. “Son of a bitch!”
I lift my eyebrows in question.
“You good in there, Roy?” Jonah calls out.
“Yeah. My level’s shot, though.”
“Let me check the workshop. I’m pretty sure there’s one in there.”
“If it’s Phil’s, then it’ll be a piece of shit.”
Jonah sighs with exasperation. “Lemme look, anyway, and we’ll go from there.”
“He’s in a good mood today,” I whisper dryly.
“Eh, he’s just pissed off that Calla decided to go with stock cabinets for the kitchen instead of letting him build custom.” Jonah scratches absently at his beard. “But custom would have taken forever, and she didn’t want him tying up his days. There’s still a lot to do in there, and his family is flying up from Texas this month.”
“Right. I forgot about that.” The daughter that Roy hasn’t seen since she was a baby and grandchildren he’s only ever met over video calls. People that Calla has somehow befriended. I only know bits and pieces of the man’s past. I don’t think even Jonah knows the whole truth, but Calla and their ornery neighbor have an odd relationship that no one can understand. “He must be a bit off-kilter?” Though it doesn’t take much to ruffle Roy’s feathers.
Jonah grunts. “You don’t know the half of it.”
“And they’re staying with you?”
“Yeah. Up at the house.” He nods toward their place, a green-roofed log cabin on a peninsula that juts out into the lake. “Calla’s been busy getting everything ready. Between that and this place, and all the stuff she’s doing for the farmers’ market, she’s dog-tired. Can barely stay awake at night.” There’s a hint of reverence in his voice when he speaks about his wife.
Another clatter and curse sounds inside.
“I better go and get that level.” Louder, Jonah hollers, “Be back in a minute, Roy.”
A grumble is the only answer he gets.
“Take a look around inside if you want. Ignore him.” Jonah hops on the ATV and takes off for the old shed next to the hangar.
I climb the porch steps and stroll through the open door, inhaling the scent of wood that permeates the air. Whereas my little log cabin in the woods is nothing more than a room divided into sections for living and sleeping and eating, with a bathroom carved into the back corner, this is a real home—all new and clean and fresh—with an eat-in kitchen on the left and living room on the right, and stairs behind the kitchen that lead up to the bedrooms.
It’s not large, but I’ve been to Agnes’s bungalow before, and it’s more space than what they’re leaving behind.
And it’s currently occupied by a crusty old Texan wearing sawdust-coated jeans and a deep scowl while he chisels out the slots for door hinges. The pine door to the bathroom leans against the wall, waiting to be hung.
“Hey, Roy.”
He pauses in his work to look up. The scowl softens a touch. “Oh. It’s you. Hi, Marie.”