Jonah whispers in my ear, “Your dad?”
My breath catches in my throat, but I manage to answer. “He made it through. He’ll be okay.”
“Good.” Jonah brushes my hair back, kisses my forehead. “That’s good.”
I nod as I snuggle further into his embrace. Even the scent of his skin comforts me. Jonah’s arms are my fortress. His fingers brush against my cheek, and I turn my head to kiss them lightly.
Libby’s voice calls out again, even louder. “Aunt Vivi, who is that? Do you know him?”
That makes me laugh, and I even see Jonah smile. “Of course I know him, sweetie. This is my friend Jonah.”
“Hi,” Jonah says. Apparently he reserves his hellos for little children. But I can’t resent it, not when I hear how gently he speaks to her. “I came to visit Vivienne. That’s all right, isn’t it?”
Obviously Libby likes being asked her opinion on this subject. Her chubby little face becomes grave. “It’s all right, but you have to help me color later.”
Jonah gets a deer-in-the-headlights look. I whisper, “A little rusty with your Crayolas?”
“You’re the artist,” he says.
It’s only a small joke. But it’s such a relief to smile, to let everything else fade into the background for a moment.
On the porch stand Anthony, hands in his pockets, and Chloe, one arm slung possessively around her husband’s shoulders. Neither of them seems ready to welcome Jonah with open arms—or to welcome him at all. I glance up at Jonah. “Ready to run the gauntlet?”
He picks up his suitcase and takes my hand. “I’ve walked through a lava field,” he says. “I think I can handle this.”
? ? ?
“Well,” Chloe says as I show Jonah inside. “I hardly expected you to bring a date for the occasion, Vivienne.”
“I’m here for moral support.” Jonah holds out his hand. “Jonah Marks.”
Sometimes “Southern hospitality” is just another term for hypocrisy. But those good manners are carved into Chloe so deeply that she can’t resist them. With a small, pursed smile, she says, “Chloe Charles Whedon. This is my husband, Anthony, and our daughter, Olivia.”
“Call me Libby.” Already Libby thinks she’s made a conquest. “Are you Aunt Vivi’s boyfriend?”
“You’d have to ask your aunt about that.” He looks away from her just long enough to smile at me.
Anthony steps forward, almost a swagger. “What line are you in, Jonah? In soybeans, myself.”
Chloe chimes in, “He’s so modest. Anthony would never tell you his family runs the largest soybean farms in Tennessee and Mississippi.”
She always says this like growing soybeans is better than winning a Nobel Prize. Which makes it even more delicious to watch their faces as Jonah says, “I’m in volcanoes.”
“Beg pardon?” Anthony says.
“I’m a professor at UT Austin. I study volcanoes and earthquakes.”
Libby pipes up, “You study them in books?”
“Not only in books.” Jonah smiles down at her. “I travel around the world to look at geological hot spots. Sometimes I get a plane or helicopter to take me directly overhead. Every once in a while I even have to wear a heat-shield suit, so the lava won’t get me.”
“Coooooool.” Big-eyed, Libby stares up at Jonah like he’s the most fantastic person she’s ever met in her short life. So he’s won over the one family member whose opinion matters.
As for Anthony—it’s as if he’s deflating. All of a sudden he seems to realize he’s shorter than Jonah, and he sits in the nearest chair, like maybe that way nobody will notice.
The formalities have been dispensed with. Jonah turns to me, and it’s as if I’m the only person in the room. “When can you visit your father?”
I glance at the brass-and-marble clock on the nearest mantel. “Two or three hours from now. Mom left for the hospital right after the doctor called, but the rest of us have to wait for him to be moved to his room.”
“Okay.” Jonah slides his arm around me. “We’ll wait.”
Chloe surrenders with good grace. “Would you like some iced tea, Jonah?”
“I’m fine. What about you, Vivienne?”
“I’m good,” I say, thinking, now that Jonah’s here.
At first we all hang out together downstairs. Jonah and I sit on the long velvet sofa, me curled along his side as if we’d been together forever—as if this weren’t the actual day we’d realized how much we might mean to each other.
Jonah must be as rocked by this revelation as I am, but at the moment, his attention is divided. Libby has settled her lap desk on his lap, to make it easier for them to color side by side.
“You must really like volcanoes,” Libby chirps, as Jonah uses the goldenrod crayon to touch up some lava flow.