The Wildflower Series

by Rachelle Mills

  “I’m not sure. It’s when he feels it’s time to come back. No one is going to drag him back. He’s getting back to basics.” I look out the window. Clayton is watering the garden. He’s been taking care of it because I refuse to do anything to help it grow. If it was up to me, I’d let it all die.

  “Do you hate me, Caleb?”

  “No, Rya. I don’t hate you. Disappointed in you, maybe a little, but hey, I’ve made some bad decisions in my life. Who am I to judge you?” Max starts stretching in his arms, waking up from a big sleep. Caleb smiles down at the little pup.

  “Do you think Dallas can ever forgive me?” I can’t look at Caleb when I ask the question. Instead, I pick at the cushion on the seat.

  “Maybe.” One words answers are really not good. Burning pain in my throat makes me gag slightly. I just can’t stomach myself these days.

  Clayton enters the house, and I give him the side eye of hate. I’m not affected by him so greatly; the desire for him is fading. I still can tell when his eyes are on me—my skin shivers with his voice—but the intensity I felt with his presence has faded.

  I can control myself now. I can focus on his words instead of his lips.

  “Ready, Caleb? We should get him back. Kimberly will be home shortly.”

  The first time she came here to pick her male up, she had something so smart to say. Something that scraped along my spine. The wolf inside ascended to look in her eyes. She went to move to get her male, but I blocked her path, asking, “What did you just say?”

  Her posture changes as well, becoming more rigid, more dominant. “I said it’s not the end of the world.” She takes a threatening step toward her, a rumbling growl warning her to stand down, to bend her neck or else I’m going to make her.

  She doesn’t. Instead, she shifts from foot to foot, testing me. A small growl rumbles from her chest, challenging me to do something, and I do.

  We are on each other fast, fists hurting flesh. She’s a juvenile without any training, and I feel as if I’m the wolverine, and she’s me on my first day of training with the Valentine Pack.

  Getting her pinned down so her nose is rubbing into the floor board, her pup is screaming, but I don’t let up. Taking her arm, twisting it back, I’m applying pressure. Still, she doesn’t concede to a higher power, so I apply more power to her arm. It’s going to snap. I come close to her face, letting my teeth out. She’s screaming when she looks into my eyes. Her neck bends to me, a submission earned, yet I don’t let go. I keep exerting pressure. It takes the combined effort of Clayton and Caleb to pull me off that female who needed to be schooled in the art of keeping her mouth shut!

  ***

  Week four

  “Rya, you should try to go back to work.” Clayton comes into my home like he owns it, always at unpredictable times. He only comes once a day now. My family comes around less often because I don’t need them constantly around me anymore. The crisis is passing somewhat.

  “You should knock before you come in.” Irritation drips heavily off my voice.

  “How was your day? What did you do? I can tell you showered, brushed your teeth. Are those fresh clothes you have on?” His eyebrow arches up in question.

  “Yes.”

  “Progress!” He pats me on the head like a young juvenile learning something new for the first time.

  “Rya, it gets better. Trust me on this.”

  “If it wasn’t for you, I wouldn’t be in this mess.” Lashing words meant to hurt him.

  “You kissed me back.” His response always.

  I can’t fight those words because it’s true.

  “You went outside today, Rya.” I just came in from sitting by the water for a few hours. Mother Nature’s healing beauty surrounds me. I forgot to look at her for so long that I just need to sit and reflect on what I have, not what I don’t have.

  He’s carrying a bag of groceries for me, everything in my fridge gone because he and Caleb ate everything. I only can stomach certain things; heartbreak does that, makes you have no appetite, makes you crave things that aren’t good for you.

  Taking the bag out of his hands, I grab the cold container.

  All you need is a spoon and a tub of chocolate ice cream to make you feel better. Reaching back into the bag, I pull the Oreos out. This is what I have been dreaming about all day long. The crunch of the cookie along with the cold melting ice cream going down my throat has me almost moaning in pleasure.

  Clayton’s staring at me funny but knows better than to say anything as long as I’m eating. His presences makes it easier for me to eat; it’s as if he has a calming effect on me.

  Caleb comes into my home looking like he’s going out for the night. All dressed up and smelling like a male trolling for something to pass the time with.

  “Rya, really. Where’s the bowl? That’s just gross. Use a spoon.”

  “Caleb, you don’t live here. I can do what I want to do in my own house.” He grabs a spoon, taking a big scoop and a row of Oreos for himself.

  “Those are mine.” I try to take them back, but he holds them above his head out of reach.

  “I could fight you for them, number two.”

  “Rya, why do you have to be that way? I thought we were friends.” Holding his heart, he makes his face look sad with downward lips.

  “Stop coming here and eating my food, Caleb.” Before the words come out my mouth, he’s going to the fridge, pulling out the milk, putting two Oreos in his mouth, and sucking back milk from the container.

  He’s insane.

  ***

  Week five

  Looking in the mirror, I still avoid my eyes, but I brush my teeth, comb my hair, get dressed. I still can’t eat very good, but it’s the little steps that are important. My breath hits the mirror, tainting it with my regret.

  Decisions.

  I’ve been contemplating my life, what I want, what I need.

  I’ve decided that I need to leave, get out on my own for a while. Live my life.

  Clayton has been hanging out by the lake waiting for me to get home. His hands are in his pockets, as if holding himself away from me.

  “Where have you been, Rya?”

  “I was at my parents’ house saying goodbye.”

  “Goodbye?” Clayton’s body visibly stiffens, a tension in his shoulders starting to build up.

  “I always wanted to travel. I have things I want to do. Places I want to see. I’ve got some money saved up. Why not waste it on me?”

  “Will you be back?” He rubs his chest as if it hurts.

  “I’m not sure. I don’t know.” It’s my truth. I’m not sure, but for now, I know I want to go. Not because anyone is forcing me to leave, but because I want to leave. Start to live my life that I am going to start living. I can’t wait on Dallas to come back here. What happens if he never comes back? I would have wasted my life waiting for a dream that never will happen.

  “When are you going?”

  “I’m leaving in the morning.”

  “So soon. I thought maybe that—”

  “Clayton, I need to tell you something.” Taking a breath in, I square my shoulders to him. He does the same. Ready to meet what my words have to say.

  “I’ve been doing a lot of thinking, and I just want you to know that I forgive you. I won’t forget, but I can forgive you. I can’t move on unless I do this.” I grit my teeth together.

  “I just want you to know that I only want you to be happy in the future. Thank you for helping me through my time of need. I think in time you’ll be happy. It’s hard to get over someone you’ve loved.” Both of us just look at one another, deep orbs of pine looking at a glacier blue.

  A sadness spreads inside me for a lost past, but excitement is starting to build up for a hopeful future.

  Letting go is okay. It hurts, but it will be okay in the end.

  If you let them go, will they come back?

  Chapter 16

  Scenic Route

  The sun filter
s through the window of the car, its path switching directions on the dashboard with every turn and change in direction. The light flickers and fades before glaring into my eyes, depending on the path I take.

  I’m not sure where I’m going, just that I want to end up with my feet in the ocean. I’ve never seen the ocean before. I thought that’s a good place to start. It’s going to take a week to get there. Instead of taking the highways to my destination, I’m taking the slow scenic route. The road snakes and twists as the tires roll over the blacktop through the little communities I pass through.

  I only stop for gas. I’m trying to put as much road and distance behind me as I can. Southeast is the direction that is calling to me; I’m not sure why.

  Following instinct, I go with my gut.

  I stop for the night at a cheap motel and go to bed early. Closing my eyes as I lay my head on the overstuffed pillow, I can still picture the curve of Dallas’s face. The way his mouth tastes, the way his skin feels underneath my hands that were so greedy to take what his body offered me. The wolf inside me gives a whimper with my thoughts. She’s been so quiet, not wanting to do anything. She’s content to just lie around with her tail over her eyes in stillness. She’s hurting just like me, and all she wants to do is sleep.

  The early morning comes, and I’m back on the road, driving, looking for interesting places to stop. Little curiosity shops in these towns hold the neatest things. I like how some of these communities have angled parking. It has such a small town feel to it.

  I pull off at all the scenic signs along the way, taking in the view that no picture can give justice to.

  Mother Nature is so powerful, her art is magnificent.

  The next gas station has postcards of the last scenic place I took pictures of. Buying two, I scribble out a little note for my parents and leave the other one blank for Clayton. Looking for a place to mail them, I pass by a salon. The glass window holds my silhouette, not a crisp image, more just the outline of features.

  Glancing at my reflection, I notice the braid that goes over my shoulder, the same braid I have always worn. I used to change my style so much when I was younger, never afraid to try new things. With a big breath, I push the door open, and little chimes to go off above my head.

  “Hi, can I help you?” the lady behind the counter says with a soft smile.

  “I was wondering if anyone has time to cut my hair.” I feel awkward, unsure of the proper wording. It’s been so long since I had a real haircut, not just a trim to cut the dead ends.

  She looks at the braid that’s over my shoulder. “Do you know what you want?”

  “I just need a change. I’m looking for something different.” Now her eyes light up with ideas.

  “Well, you’ve come to the right place. Let’s get you in the chair and talk about what you want to be done.” Leading me to her chair, she puts a black cape over my shoulders. She takes the tie out of my hair, running her fingers through the strands.

  “Is this your real color?”

  “Yes.” Humans are always shocked at the white blonde.

  “You have beautiful thick hair.” Her hands make my head tingle in delight. “Your eyes are very unusual.” I can tell they creep her out slightly with the way she needs to look away from them. It’s always the same; humans have a hard time holding a conversation while gazing into my eyes. They look away as if I’m just not right in a certain way…an instinct born in them that says this person is just off slightly, but they can’t put their finger on it. The next thing I need are contacts. It will make it easier on everyone, especially if I bump into any wolves along the way.

  Watching my hair fall to the floor, laying in little clumps, has my stomach rolling on itself slightly. Another worker sweeps the mess away. By the time the clippers hit the back of my neck, my head feels lighter, less heavy. Putting down her scissors, she’s giddy with her work. You can tell the pride in her eyes when she’s looking at the completed masterpiece.

  She swivels me around in the chair, and my gaze fall on my head. Gone, all of it. A short pixie cut greets my happy eyes. It suits me in a very simple way in a risk-taking way. It’s just hair, but for me, it feels as if I’m cleaning the old me off and starting the new me.

  My beginning.

  I touch the back of my head, turning left to right and back again. She holds a mirror up to me so I can see the back.

  “Perfect!” When saying the word, she breathes a sigh of relief. “Thank you, it’s just perfect.” I mean it; this is what I needed.

  Walking out of the shop, I have a lighter step. It’s weird how just a haircut can make you feel.

  Every so often, my hand goes to the end of the braid that’s no longer there. I’ll get used to it. Finding an eyeglass store in the next town, I purchase my first set of non-prescription contacts. The eye doctor asked me several questions, if I can see color, if he could examine my eyes for free, no charge—he’s never seen color like that before. He’s been a doctor for over thirty years, and this is a first for him. I decline his offer, paying for the contacts that are the color of a perfect blue sky.

  A few days later, I stop for the night in a town bustling with excitement. The fair has come, and I was lucky to get the room. Some last minute cancellation has me snagging the last room available before the no vacancy sign comes on.

  The clerk said I should go check it out; food trucks will be there, that’s new this year. I remember Caleb watching the Food Network, groaning over the pictures on the screen.

  Looking into the mirror, I smile at myself; hair that’s super cute, eyes of the sky. Lips have a tint of pink to them. My outfit is eccentric, a mismatch of contrasting colors that I loved to wear when I was younger. I’m going back to my roots, what I always wanted to wear but had no ambition to pull those looks off. I stop every so often at unique places to buy a certain item of clothing that just calls to me, knowing if I let the opportunity pass me by, I might not ever see that style again.

  I’m buying things for me.

  The long skirt drags slightly on the ground while I walk toward the sounds of this festival. Music and laughter hit my ears. The gears of the rides grind with the screams of the adventurous. My nose catches the scents of many different food items. The one that hits me the most are the deep fried funnel cakes. My mouth waters with the need to consume that particular item.

  Adults laugh while their children explore the rides. High school girls in halter tops, boys chasing after them. It makes me smile. This is the first real fair I have ever been to, and I can’t help but take it all in.

  I see a tent set up with a fortune teller, and it’s an internal debate whether to go in and get a reading. Stopping at the sign, I contemplate hard. Do I want to know my future?

  No, my future is up to me. No one can predict it.

  The funnel cake truck has a long line. I read all the items they offer until my eyes focus on a deep fried peanut butter and jelly sandwich that I have seen on TV with Caleb. He groaned at the thing.

  Placing my order, I get that funnel cake, but I also get that deep fried bliss it seems most people are ordering.

  Sitting down at the picnic table just outside kiddie rides, I watch the crowd going by.

  I’m a people watcher now.

  Opening up the middle of the sandwich that is surrounded by a sweet, deep fried crust, the contents ooze out warm and sticky. Licking the ends of my fingers, I snap a picture, sending it to Caleb with the caption,

  Don’t hate.

  Instantly, he sends me a text back.

  Caleb: What’s that?

  Rya: Deep fried peanut butter and jelly sandwich with a side of funnel cake. The cake has a dusting of powdered sugar that gets all over my face with the first bite. One napkin won’t be enough.

  Caleb: Where are you at?

  Rya: Some town.

  I don’t want to get too specific. I snap a picture of the food truck for him to see. I’m living what he’s been only able to watch on TV, smiling to mys
elf at that thought.

  Caleb: I’m jealous.

  Rya: I know, that’s why I sent you the pic. Have a good day.

  Caleb: You too.

  Our conversation ends. Filling my face with sugar and dough, I can’t seem to get enough. I’m actually contemplating going up to get two more.

  The smell circles around me, a slightly sour smell. A she-wolf is in the area. Looking around, I spot her looking at the toddler rides. Her eyes hold a certain longing in them. I watch the way she’s gazing at the little ones. The desire to have something she will never have. My heart goes to her because I’ve always looked at them the same way.

  A male comes up from behind her, holding her close to his chest. He whispers in her ear before giving her cheek a quick kiss. I watch this intimate moment between mates.

  He tucks a stray hair behind her ear. “Are you okay?” His words can only be heard faintly above the carnival noise.

  “Yes.” She tries to smile at him, but it’s just lost in longing.

  “I love you.” It’s hard not to get a little emotional with the way he says it.

  As if they can tell someone is peeping on them, the eyes of the wolves regard me. I don’t look away. I could help them; I could give them what they desire the most if I wanted to stay for a little while.

  The big male approaches my table, hands going on the wood.

  “Female, this is my territory. You’re intruding.” He shows a flash of fang, not happy with me.

  “I’m just passing through, taking in the scenery. I’ll be gone in the morning.” I don’t bend my shoulders but keep them straight.

  “Where are you staying at?” His mate comes up beside him, looking at me with eyes that hold years of misery in them. Sadness ages you. It has a way of leaving its mark on your soul, and I can see it inside her.