Chapter Twenty-Five
Someone is shaking me awake.
“Yeah. I’m trying.... Abbi?” Ronan’s sleepy voice fills my ear. I’m
still burrowed against his chest, exactly as I was when I fell asleep. I don’t
want to move, or even open my eyes, which I’m sure are swollen and red.
“Abbi, you need to take this.”
Finally, the urgency in his voice clicks. I peel my face off him to find
him holding my phone in his hand.
“It kept vibrating, so I finally answered it. Seemed important.”
Oh crap. “Who is it?” If that’s Mama, I will never hear the end of
this.
“Some guy named Jed.”
Jed? I frown. I haven’t talked to him since the night I told him that we
were done. I take the phone, a tiny bite of satisfaction lifting my spirits that
Jed called here in the morning and a guy answered. “Hello?”
“Abigail, I’ve been trying to get hold of you all morning. Your dad
had an accident.”
I bolt up. “What do you mean an accident?”
“He rolled his tractor.”
“What?” I heard him, but I don’t believe it. My dad’s been driving
tractors in the fields since he was ten years old.
“On that slope near the back of the property. Your mom called our
house on the way to the hospital, and she asked me to get hold of you.”
“Well, how bad is it?”
There’s a long pause. “It’s bad, Abbi. You know him, not bothering to
buckle up. He was tossed, and then it rolled onto him. Definitely broken
bones, probably internal bleeding. I.... It doesn’t look good. Look, you need
to come home. We don’t know if he’s going to make it.”
A strange wave of shock washes over me, throwing me into an odd
state of calm. “Yeah. Of course. I just.... I don’t know how long it will take.
Just, tell Mama I’m coming. And call me as soon as you hear something.”
“For sure.”
“Thanks, Jed.”
“Of course. He’s like a dad to me.”
I hang up the phone, my blood rushing in my ears. “My dad rolled his
tractor. He’s hurt really bad. They don’t think he’s going to make it.” Is that
even me speaking? It doesn’t sound right. “I need to get home.” I frown at
Ronan. “How do I get home?” I’m in Alaska!
He checks his watch. “John leaves with the supply ferry in half an
hour. Hop on that.”
“Right.” I look around at my little bunk cubby, at the shelf that holds
a picture of my parents when they were young. I guess I should pack. I
don’t know how long I’ll be gone. “Do I call Darryl?” Or Belinda? I
haven’t talked to her since the day I moved to the crew.
“Don’t worry about Darryl. I’ll tell him.”
“Okay, then. I guess... I’m packing.”
And leaving Alaska.
~ ~ ~
“Tell the airline that it’s an emergency and they might be able to work
something out for you,” John says, spinning the wheel with ease. The small
ferry that I arrived on oh so long ago churns water as it heads toward
Homer. “It likely won’t be cheap but emergencies never are, are they?”
“No. I guess not.” I stare back at the hotel, at the guests out for early
morning walks or preparing for a peaceful kayak tour of the cove, their days
full of promise.
I haven’t even had a chance to grasp my current reality. I stuffed my
duffel bag in a mad dash and said a quick good-bye to Rachel and Lorraine,
who were the only ones around. Ronan walked me to the dock and left me
with a fierce hug. He promised to say bye to Connor for me.
But now I can’t do anything but stand idly and wait for whatever’s
going to happen to happen, good or bad.
Penthouse Cabin One is now visible as we gain distance from the
beach, perched atop the cliff and overlooking the waters. I can’t help but
watch it as we drift, wondering if I should have said good-bye to Henry.
Should have apologized again. If that would have made today any less
horrible.
Movement on the front porch catches my attention. I squint against
the blue sky and morning sun to focus on the tall form leaning against the
rail, coffee in hand.
My heart stutters.
It’s him.
Does he see me? The red in my hair isn’t as vibrant as it once was.
Does he even care?
Should I wave?
If I do, and he doesn’t respond....
I grip the railing tightly to avoid the temptation and potential letdown,
the hollow ache in my chest growing.
~ ~ ~
“Miss Mitchell?”
I hear my name called. An older gentleman stands by, watching as
John docks the ferry. He’s dressed in slacks and a golf shirt, and though I
have to guess that he’s local, he looks completely out of place next to the
fishermen busy loading crates and supplies onto their boats, their beard
unshaven, their clothes thrown on haphazardly.
“Yes?” I’m instantly wary. But John’s here, I remind myself. He
wouldn’t let something happen to me.
“My name is Sam. Belinda from Wolf Cove asked that I bring you to
the airport.” He pops open the ferry door and holds out a hand, palm raised.
“Here. Let me take your bag.”
“Thanks.” I hand it to him. The airport can’t be more than a ten-
minute drive from the port, but... okay. That was nice of her.
“You gonna be okay, Abbi?” John frowns at me. “You look a little
green.”
“I took my motion sickness medication on an empty stomach.”
“Oh. Well, alright. Best of luck that you get that flight home as soon
as possible. I’ll say a prayer for your father.”
I smile at the old man. It strikes me that I’ll probably never see him
again. “Thank you, John. Enjoy Alaska.”
“Oh, don’t you worry.” He chuckles, his gray-blue eyes drifting over
the mountain range in the distance. “I always do. Every morning, and every
night.”
With that, I trail Sam along the dock.
~ ~ ~
“Isn’t that the turnoff?” I point at the simple driveway and the rustic
rectangular sign that reads Homer Airport.
“Oh, yeah. But we’re not going there. They asked me to take you up
to the airstrip, about twenty miles north-east of Homer.”
I catch Sam’s eyes on me in the rearview mirror. He must see my
confusion. “You have a family emergency or somethin’, it sounds like?”
“Yeah.” I don’t really want to explain it, so I check my phone, even
though I know there are no new calls or texts. My phone has sat clutched
within my grasp since I left the hotel, as I anxiously wait for any news.
“Well, you probably weren’t gonna have much luck gettin’ a
commercial flight out this morning. Maybe to Anchorage, but then you’d be
waiting a while there. And God only knows where you’d end up next. This
guy, he’ll help get you where you need to go quick.”
I’m picturing a small six-seater plane and a puke bag in my future,
but if it gets me home, then I’ll take it.
I just hope it’s quick enough.
~ ~ ~
“Here we go.” Sam pulls past the chain-link fence, past the helicopter
pad to our left, and towards a white hangar. My mouth drops open when I
read the large black lettering across it.
Wolf Private Airstrip.
“The family built this airport when Walter Wolf started his hotel
chain. He liked to come up to the cabin whenever he could get away. Would
fly his jet up. That’s why the long runway.” Sam’s hand waves toward the
stretch of pavement to our right, where a sleek-looking plane sits on the
tarmac, waiting. “It’s a good thing Mr. Wolf was in Homer, or you’d be
taking that helicopter to Anchorage and looking for a connection.”
It finally dawns on me. This wasn’t Belinda’s doing.
This is all Henry.
He must have heard. I guess this means he doesn’t hate me for what I
did, at least.
That prickly ball already sitting within my throat swells.
“You staff?”
I nod, not trusting my voice.
He shakes his head, more to himself. “Then they must treat their staff
well, because I can’t imagine what this flight will run them.”
Neither can I.
He throws the sedan into park. I don’t bother waiting for him to come
around to open the door.
A man waits by the plane to collect my duffel bag and quickly moves
for the open cargo door, as if he knows we’re in a rush. Despite the dire
situation, I pause for a moment to take in this surreal scene.
Is this actually happening?
“Miss Mitchell. It was a pleasure meeting you. I wish you all the
best,” Sam offers.
With a nod of thanks, I make my way up the narrow set of stairs that
leads into the private jet.
A man in uniform waits at the top of the stairs. “Good morning, Miss
Mitchell. I’m co-captain Jack Rodan. We should be taking off within fifteen
minutes.” He gestures toward the back of the plane. “Any seat you want.”
“Thank you.”
He leaves me to study the cream leather interior. There are six seats to
choose from, the two closest to me facing the back of the plane, and four
more facing this way, each one wide and comfortable-looking.
I move toward the back, to allow me some privacy as I find Henry’s
number on my phone. With only a moment’s hesitation, I hit dial.
Disappointment fills me when Henry’s recorded voice fills my ear.
“Hi. I’m at your airstrip. I guess you heard about what happened.”
Did Belinda call him? Or did he see me on the ferry and ask? Not that it
really matters. “Thank you. I don’t know how bad it is but... this is a lot,
and I just wanted to say, thank you. You didn’t have to. But thank you.” I
hang up before I say too much, settling into chair to focus on the mountain
range in the distance.
This may be the last time I ever see it again.
Will I ever be back? Seeing as I don’t have to pay for a flight home, I
could probably afford it. If Dad was somehow miraculously okay, which he
very likely won’t be, seeing as a tractor rolled over on him.
Please God. Please let him survive this.
A loud roar fills my ear as the engines kick in, and a flutter of nerves
stirs me. This is only my second time in a plane, ever, and this one is a lot
smaller than the last. How safe are these private things, anyway?
I sit patiently, because I can’t be anything but, while Jack Rodan hits
buttons near the stairway again. I guess on a small flight like this, there’s no
need for a flight attendant.
Five minutes pass.
Ten.
Fifteen.
Then twenty, and I begin to get antsy.
“Took you long enough!” Jack yells at someone. A moment later he’s
backing up.
And Henry steps on board.
