Lumber Jacked(19)

I could hear it as she bit her nails on the other end, obviously nervous about my response.

I took a moment and breathed in deeply, tried to collect myself, and asked, “Can I come see you? I want to see you.”

My voice broke a bit at the tension and I stopped myself before I actually begged her to come back to me. I heard her tiny gasp over the line and knew she was just as upset. We both sat in silence for a moment, unable to speak.

Anna finally cleared her throat and said, “Jack, I think we both know this can’t go anywhere. We had fun… so much fun. But long distance relationships never work. And I deserve more than that.”

She was right. She did. I had no right to ask her to give up her dreams for me. I had chosen a life of isolation far from civilization. But Anna had too much life in her for that. That inner fire was one of the things I loved about her.

I heard the smile in her voice, the innuendo lying just beneath the surface, but she spoke again: “And I’d be lying if I said I didn’t fall for you, more than I should have. But this is my dream, Jack. This is a really big deal for me. There’s nothing for me in Alaska, Jack. Nothing but you. And that’s—”

“Not enough. I know, princess. I know.” I took a staggered breath as the weight of her response settled. She had no idea that I was ready to leave the cabin and Alaska behind, that I had reached out to the startup company the day after she left and started the process of working my way into Buchanan Industries. That I was done with my solitary confinement. I considered saying it then and there, but I held back. I didn’t want to burden her with my tentative ideas and aspirations. I wanted to give her something that was real, honest and steady. That’s what she was, and that was what she deserved. And so I said, “Anna, I’m so proud of you. Look at you, out of Alaska and into the Big City.” I forced a smile into my voice, though it was softer than usual and tinted with sadness.

I heard the crackle of her smile, the brush of her cheek against the phone, and knew it was time to say goodbye.

“We’ll talk soon, princess. Good luck with the job. I wish you nothing but the best,” I told her in my best impersonation of a man whose heart wasn’t actually in shards on the floor.

Again, I heard her tiny intake of breath, a small sob, before she laughed and said, “Talk to you soon, City Boy.” We hung up and I walked back outside, down to the dock, and I stared out onto the water.

The lake, the trees, the mountains in the distance; they all seemed like a prison now. I felt the expanse of the space in front of me, felt the emptiness of the place beside me. I knew, even before my call with Anna, that my time in Alaska had ended. She had forced me back to life, woken up parts of me that had been dormant and hurting for too long. What I now understood was that I was in love with a tough-as-nails, independent, frustrating woman who was hell bent on living her dream. I loved Anna, I realized, because she followed her dreams out of Alaska, despite my best efforts to keep her here.

She had crafted her own life and stuck to it despite the obstacles in her path. What had I done when faced with obstacles? I had retreated into myself, to this place. I had hidden from reality, while Anna had run towards it. I turned my focus back to the cabin and decided that, while it had been a refuge for a while, it was not my reality any longer. My reality was Anna. The way her strawberry blonde hair smelled, the sound of her giggle against my neck, the fire in her eyes when we argued and talked trash. And her dreams and aspirations. All of those things were now part of my reality. I took a deep cleansing breath and stepped inside my cabin looking around, really seeing, for the first time.

Hell, there wasn’t even anything here worth the time to pack.





Chapter Eight





Anna




Two Months Later




I sat in the cockpit and attempted to organize the flight plan my copilot had just handed me. I noted that the flight was fairly short, just a quick jaunt over to Vancouver Island and back. The lights on the dashboard blinked comfortingly; a cockpit had always felt like home and this rig was no different. It was much nicer than my dad’s old floatplane, though. The joystick didn’t fall off when you pulled up, for starters. Just then, the air traffic controller crackled over my headphones and informed me that my cargo—two passengers and their luggage—were headed my way on the tarmac. We’d be all systems go in ten minutes or less.

Since I started my new job in Seattle, I had flown people, not cargo, to Vancouver Island, the San Juan Islands, and even more remote spots in Washington. It wasn’t exactly what I wanted to do, but it was an amazing start.