“By going kamikaze?”

“By being in his favorite place, high up in the sky, getting away from everything he’d lost down on the ground.”

I can’t tell if she’s defending my father’s choice to let his family go or trying to explain it. Either way, there’s a glaring distortion to reality. He was never a victim. “He didn’t have to lose us. Alaska skies aren’t the only skies. There are plenty of bush pilot jobs all over the place. The Pacific Northwest, British Columbia, Alberta, Ontario. He lost us because he didn’t even try.”

She’s silent for a moment, her eyes narrowed on the approaching plane, as if weighing her words. “Did you know that your dad lived in Colorado for a while?”

“Uh . . . no.” But there’s a lot I don’t know about my father, so I guess I shouldn’t be surprised. “When was that?”

“He was twenty-one. He went to stay with his uncle—your grandmother’s brother. That’s where your grandparents were originally from. They moved up to Alaska a year before Wren was born. Anyway, Wren had never been outside of the state. He wanted to see what it was like in the Lower Forty-eight before he took over Alaska Wild for good. So he went down and got a job with a search-and-rescue team. He’d been flying up here since he was fourteen and he had more than enough experience. He had three offers within the day.

“He traveled a bit while he was there, too. California . . . Arizona . . . Oregon. Can’t remember where else. Oh, New York, for one weekend.” She chuckles. “He hated that city. Said he couldn’t get out of there fast enough. And even after a year of living down there, he felt like a visitor in a foreign country. It was so different. The people were different. The lifestyle was different. Priorities were different. And things moved too fast. He was terribly homesick.”

“So he moved back to Alaska.”

“He didn’t have much choice. Your grandfather got sick and had to go to the hospital in Anchorage. So Wren came back and took over Wild. He always knew he would, but it was a lot sooner than he expected. You know, he was only twenty-three when his dad died.”

“I didn’t realize he was that young.”

“It had to be overwhelming, though Wren’s never been the type to complain. This place was a lot for him to take on, for a lot of years. Your grandmother helped as much as she could. But still, it was a lot of responsibility. In some cases, people’s lives.” Agnes watches the approaching plane with keen eyes. “Life up here may be simple but it’s not easy, and it’s not for everyone. Water runs out; pipes freeze; engines won’t start; it’s dark for eighteen, nineteen hours a day, for months. Even longer in the far north. Up here it’s about having enough food to eat, and enough heat to stay alive through the winter. It’s about survival, and enjoying the company of the people that surround us. It’s not about whose house is the biggest, or who has the nicest clothes, or the most money. We support each other because we’re all in this together.

“And people either like that way of life or they don’t; there’s no real in-between. People like Wren and Jonah, they find they can’t stay away from it for too long. And people like Susan, well . . . they never warm up to it. They fight the challenges instead of embracing them, or at least learning to adapt to them.” Agnes pauses, her mouth open as if weighing whether she should continue. “I don’t agree with the choices Wren made where you’re concerned, but I know it was never a matter of him not caring about you. And if you want to blame people for not trying, there’s plenty of it to go around.” Agnes turns to smile at me then. “Or you could focus on the here-and-now, and not on what you can’t change.”

I get what she’s saying. That maybe the demise of my parents’ marriage doesn’t fall just on my dad’s shoulders, that maybe my mother never really tried, either, despite what she claims.

The small white-and-black-striped plane grows closer, descending in the sky, lining up with the short runway below, its wings teeter-tottering from side to side. “Do they always look so unstable coming in?” I ask, warily.

“Depends on the crosswinds. Don’t worry, though. Wren could land that thing in his sleep.”

I distract myself from my growing anxiety with a gaze around the lot. Several of the planes that were being loaded when I arrived are now closed up and appear ready to go. “What are those planes carrying? I saw the guys loading up boxes.”

“Cargo. Lots and lots of packages and other mail to the villages.”

“Wild delivers mail?”

“Oh, yeah. We’ve had a contract with USPS for years. We fly out thousands of pounds of cargo every day. Letters, online orders, food, fuel. Water treatment chemicals. Two weeks ago we flew two ATVs up to Barrow on the Sherpa.”

“Wow. I didn’t realize the scope of the business,” I admit sheepishly.

She nods knowingly. “It’s quite an operation. There are a lot of people working here, between all the locations. Used to be even more, but our competition has been poaching our hunt camps and tour guide companies away from us. Even the private one-off bookings coming in from the Lower Forty-eight are less and less.” She snorts. “There was one day when Wren made me call all our lines to make sure they were working, the phones had been so quiet. But . . . we’ll manage.” She says it almost airily, but the tightness I see in her profile tells me it’s nothing to take lightly. She smiles with assurance when she sees the worry in my face. “It’s nothing for you to think about, Calla.”