I struggle to keep my expression calm as my emotions war inside me. Disappointment swells after a day of counting down the hours and minutes until I’d meet the real-life version of the picture, until I’d hear the soft, easygoing timbre of his voice again. But with that disappointment comes a wave of the same pain-numbing resentment that absorbed me so many years ago, my way of coping with the raw realization that I would never be a priority for him.

And then tucked somewhere in the recesses of these volatile emotions is relief that I have a bit more time with my feet on Alaskan soil to gather my strength before I have to face him.

“How were your flights?” Agnes asks, as if sensing my suddenly heavy mood and wanting to keep it light.

“Fine. For the most part, anyway.” I steal a withering glance over my shoulder. Jonah’s tinkering with something on the plane, seemingly ignoring us.

Agnes’s eyes trail mine and when they reach the burly pilot, her brow tightens a touch. But she’s quick to shift her attention back, to wander over my face, stalling on each feature. “You’ve grown up so much.” She must see my confusion because she adds quickly, “Your mother used to send your school picture to Wren every year. He kept them in a frame on his desk and swapped them out when a new one’d come.”

Aside from my university graduation picture, the last school photo my mother would have sent was from eighth grade, which means Agnes and my father have known each other for a long time.

It feels awkward to ask within minutes of meeting this woman, and yet I can’t hold back anymore. “So, are you and my dad married?” There’s no ring on her finger, but she also doesn’t look the type to wear jewelry.

“Me and Wren? No. We’re just us. It’s complicated.” Her gaze shifts downward, skittering over my wedge heels before landing on the worn track bag. “Yours?” she asked doubtfully.

It doesn’t sound like I’m going to get more out of her about their relationship yet. “No. My luggage is back in Anchorage. It wouldn’t fit. I can’t believe I fit, to be honest.” I explain what Billy said about sending my bags over tomorrow.

She shakes her head. “I’m sorry. I told him to take one of the Cessnas.”

Wait a minute . . . “Jonah told me that that one was the only plane available.”

“Don’t know what she’s talking about,” he calls out, though his focus seems glued to a clipboard as his giant hand passes over it with a pen, casually checking things off.

My mouth drops open as I stare at the lying bastard.

A soft sigh escapes Agnes. “Come on, Calla.” She reaches down to grab the strap of the nylon bag and then hoists it over her shoulder as if it weighs nothing at all, even though it’s probably half her size. “Let’s get you settled before your dad arrives. I’m sure your mother would like you to check in.”

“There’s Wi-Fi at the house, right?” I wave my phone in the air. “Because I haven’t been able to get a signal since Seattle.”

“You must be dying,” Jonah mutters under his breath, but loud enough for me to hear.

I roll my eyes.

“No, you won’t get a signal. Only GCI works around here. But yes, you’ll be able to connect from home,” Agnes says. “Jonah, take care of things here for me, will ya?”

He grunts an answer, which I assume is an agreement.

Agnes seems to take it for that. She beckons me to follow her with a nod of her head, toward a small crop of vehicles parked on the far side of the office building.

“Wait! Do you mind taking a picture?”

“Oh . . . sure,” Agnes says, her eyes widening with surprise.

I hand her my phone and then pick my path gingerly through the puddles to lean against the plane, angling my body in a pose that I know is especially flattering, my left hand pressed gently on the top of my hat.

“Smile!” Agnes calls.

“Oh, no, it’s okay!” I call out as I look into the distance, at another plane that’s descending from the clouds. Keenly aware of Jonah’s eyes on me, my ears pricked to catch whatever snide comment he might have to make.

Thankfully, whatever thoughts he has, he keeps them to himself for once.

“I took three. Is that good?”

“Perfect. Thanks.” I avoid Jonah’s gaze as I collect my phone and follow Agnes. “So, you work here?”

She smiles at me warmly. “Going on sixteen years now.”

“Wow.” My dad and Agnes have known each other since I was ten. That’s four years where we were talking and he didn’t mention her. Has it been “complicated” for all that time or just part of it? “And what do you do here?”

“What don’t I do is more like it. Fly planes . . . I don’t do that. But I keep busy with a lot of other stuff—dispatch and payroll, bookings and shipment contracts; all that boring stuff. And I take care of the guys. We have . . . thirty-five pilots on payroll now.”

My eyes widen. “Seriously?”

“’Course, they’re not all full-time and they’re scattered all over the place. We’ve got one guy in Unalakleet, two in Kotzebue . . . Barrow, of course, for the summer season. A few in Fairbanks . . . all over the place. It’s like having dozens of sons. They can be a handful and I don’t see some of them for months on end, especially the ones up north, but I love ’em like they were my own.”