Montana Wild

by Vanessa Vale

  “Mike got me into this mess. He can get me out. You can help him all you want. I'm done.”

  Jane met me at the Bozeman airport twelve hours later. She stood alone in the waiting area and pulled me in for a hug. She didn't say anything. Of course, she'd spoken with Goldie and had all of the details. For once, I was glad Goldie blabbed. I didn't have to explain. I didn't have to talk. I didn't have to think. My mind had shut down somewhere over the Yukon.

  “Let's get your bags.”

  I nodded. “And a box of fish.” I was too tired to talk more. In fact, I fell asleep in Jane's car and woke with a start when she pulled up in front of my house.

  “Need anything?” she asked softly.

  “Sleep. Oh, by the way, Goldie has the gnome. She said she'd bring it back for Zach.”

  Lugging my bags into my house, I waved to Jane. She tooted her horn and was off.

  I was alone.

  Home.

  It was quiet, soothing. Ditching my suitcases at the door, I lugged the waxed shipping box of frozen salmon I'd caught in Hope into the kitchen, shoved the vacuum sealed packages—all prepared by my buddy Jubal—into the freezer. The dry ice that had kept things cold was practically gone, so I abandoned the container there on the floor. I peeled off my clothes on the way to my bedroom and collapsed, face first, on top of my bed. I didn't wake up until it was dark. Used to Alaska's lengthy daylight, I was completely confused. The bedside clock read ten. I'd slept the day away.

  I got up for the bathroom, a drink of water. Checked my cell for calls. I'd slept so hard I wasn't sure if I'd missed anything. Nope. Nothing. Depressing. I pulled back the covers, climbed in and went back to sleep.

  For two days I didn't leave the house. I left my bags where I'd dumped them by the front door. I didn't shower, ate the random food I scrounged from my cabinets like olives and cheese and crackers. Canned soup. Watched bad TV. The phone didn't ring. I figured my mother would have called, but she either thought I was still in Alaska or Goldie had reached her and she was thankfully giving me some space. It was only a matter of time before I had to face reality.

  It came in the form of my sister and Goldie at my door.

  “All right. You've had two days to mope. Old Mr. Chalmers said nothing's been going on over here,” Goldie said to me. She wore hot pink shorts that came to just above her knees, a white T shirt that had Cheyenne Frontier Days written across the front and a pair of sparkling silver flip flops. Veronica was much more subdued in a short olive cargo skirt and black T-shirt. “Don't just stand there like an idiot. Let us in.”

  I looked around Veronica's shoulder and waved to Old Mr. Chalmers. He was my nosy neighbor, burglar alarm and cranky old man rolled into one. Fortunately for me, he carried a shotgun around the house loaded with bird seed. It would do in a pinch if I ever had to scare off a robber. Not that it would ever happen in Bozeman. Nothing happened in Bozeman. At least to me. Jane had that crazy guy want to marry her. Then kill her. Veronica had my school principal's crazy wife Lorraine stalk her last winter. In comparison to them, I was dull.

  I walked into the house, plopped myself back onto my couch, let Goldie and Veronica join if they wished. They did.

  “You look terrible,” Veronica told me.

  I gave her the evil eye and chose not to respond because I couldn't disagree. I hadn't showered since Alaska, my hair was a ratty mess, I wore no makeup and I had on my frayed sweats. There was no doubt I smelled. At least like the cheese puffs I had for breakfast.

  Goldie, of course, filled the void. “Are you ready for the latest from Alaska?”

  My heart skipped a beat thinking she referred to Mike, but he wasn't there. He was in New York. Any stories about Alaska would be Mike-free. Enough had happened in the five days I was there. What else could happen since I'd left? “Sure.”

  “Jean-Luc and Marc were a little mopey after they found out you're having Mike's baby and all.”

  That was an understatement. I only had to translate for them that one time, and come to think of it, was never in the same room with them again. They had avoided me so successfully I never had a chance to say goodbye.

  “I think they were really hoping they'd find The One on the trip. They thought it was you.” She winked at me, and then continued. “I don't like to meddle into other people's relationships, but—”

  “Goldie,” Veronica scolded.

  I started laughing. It actually felt kind of good to use my facial muscles. “No way, Goldie, you're not a meddler.”

  “—I felt bad for the twins. So I fixed them up with Susan.”

  I stopped laughing. “What? Crazy Susan?”

  Goldie picked up some old dishes off the coffee table and carried them into the kitchen. Came back. “She doesn't speak French. They don't speak English. What language do they have in common?”

  I thought for a moment. “Ooh la la?”

  Goldie smiled and pointed at me. “Exactly! In fact, she stopped by before Bob took me to the airport and thanked me. She looked positively radiant, like anyone who's had two men at one time should look.”

  “Wow,” Veronica and I both said at the same time.

  Goldie buffed her fingernails on her shirt. “Needless to say, she has a one-way ticket to Paris.”

  I couldn't help but feel a slight twinge of jealousy. “She got the man—er, men—after all.”

  Waving her hand in the air at me, Goldie added. “I doubt it will last, but she'll sure have fun in the meantime.”

  Veronica sat in my armchair listening to us. “I sure missed an...interesting trip. It's hilarious actually. Engaged, a baby, hot French twins? Awesome.”

  “Yeah, awesome. Where's Jack?” I asked her. Her boyfriend was her old flame from high school and they'd reconnected, with a little backwards help from me, last winter. Since then, Jack had moved officially back to Bozeman and had taken up residency in Veronica's house. I was expecting to wear a bridesmaid dress very soon.

  “Hiking with Ty.”

  “Does Mom think I'm really having a baby?”

  “Why don't you call her and ask?”

  I shook my head. “No way. For the same reason she hasn't called me. I'd have to explain the whole situation, which started off as a nice gesture but got blown way out of proportion. From what you said, Goldie, she knows the real deal.”

  Goldie nodded, stacking my magazines on the table. “She does. This is all on Mike. He's got to resolve this with Claudine, and then your mom will start talking. I think she's afraid to let the cat out of the bag before Mike gets a chance to explain.”

  “Yeah, Mike has to get this straightened out with his mom. He did all this to protect her and he's got to figure out how to make it right. It is not my problem. Mrs. O hates me enough as it is. Can you imagine being the one to tell her we faked a grandbaby?”

  Veronica cringed. “Is Mrs. O still in Alaska?”

  “She got back yesterday,” Goldie said.

  I paused, thought out the logistics of that. “What, did they get back from Denali and get right on the plane?”

  Goldie shrugged. “Since all flights out are red-eyes, they had all day to get back, packed up and to the airport. Mike was gone. You were gone. The twins were mooning over Susan. Even Bob was packing up. He's got a thingie for the Civil War in Maryland tomorrow, I think.”

  I was afraid to ask, but I had to. It was like the one thing left unsaid. “And Mike?”

  Goldie's shoulders drooped. “Haven't heard from him. Claudine said she hasn't either. Have you?”

  “Would I look like this if I had?”

  Veronica thought for a moment. “Maybe.”

  “Yeah, maybe,” I repeated. If he'd told me he was officially moving to New York, there was no question I'd be in hibernation mode.

  “Have you been watching the statistics on your book?” Goldie asked, clearly trying to change the subject. It was a good tactic, but I wasn't wild about the topic shift.

  “No,” I replied grumpily.

&nb
sp; Goldie shook her head disapprovingly. “Really, Violet. Your rankings have stayed the same, but you're on a Movers and Shakers list. That's a big deal.”

  “I knew Goldie was making you write a book, but, Vi, wow!” Veronica didn't appear surprised by my writing. She seemed genuinely excited. “Goldie, if I finish that book you made me start, can you publish so I can make tons of money, too?”

  “Your story was good, but not like Violet's. Sorry, sweetheart. Besides, I had you write that book because you didn't have a man. Now you've got Jack and are living your own erotic romance.”

  Veronica blushed. I had no doubt Goldie's words were true. They had to be burning up the sheets. Jack was really hot and they had years of making up to do.

  I didn't have Mike. I had the steamy memories of our time together to keep me company at night. I wasn't living my own erotic romance at all.

  “Definitely,” Veronica said with a goofy smile on her face. “Your story is great, V. Jack certainly liked the perks of me reading it, if you know what I mean. You have to write another one.”

  My mouth fell open. “Jack knows about it? You read it?”

  She nodded. “Of course, I did. Jack thinks it's a riot. Mom thinks it's awesome, too.”

  Where was a sinkhole when you needed one? “Mom read it? Mom?” I squeaked.

  “Well, yeah. You are her daughter.”

  “But it's word porn!”

  “So?”

  “So!” I all but shouted.

  “Violet, give it up. What is going on with you and this book?” Goldie asked.

  I sighed. Loudly. Rolled my eyes. “Fine. I wrote a short story for my creative writing class in college. My boyfriend at the time didn't like it, or the fact that his girlfriend wrote something like that and he dumped me. And remember Mr. Winters?”

  “The English teacher from eleventh...no, tenth grade?”

  I nodded. “He said my writing wasn't that great and I should rethink being a writer.”

  Goldie swore a blue streak. Veronica and I just stared at her, surprised.

  “What?” she asked. “What kind of teacher says that to a student? A young, impressionable student. What's his name again?”

  “Thanks for your protective instincts, Goldie, but he's long gone now.”

  It felt good to have Goldie and my sister in my corner, but my real deep-seated issue was an ex-boyfriend giving me the heave-ho over something that was important to me. I'd been rejected on so many levels and that was what hurt. Still.

  “Was the one you wrote for college erotic, too?” Goldie asked.

  I nodded.

  “That boyfriend was either a closet gay man or a right wing religious nut. Either way, your relationship wouldn't have made it.”

  I paused, thought about Todd. “He was a little odd.”

  “Odd Todd?” Veronica chuckled. “You know the saying: a lady in public, a whore in the bedroom, right?”

  A good girl and a bad girl. Mike liked me being both.

  “The sex would have been horrible with that loser, Violet. You need heat. You need what's in that book you wrote.” Goldie eyed me all-knowingly.

  The sex with Todd had been bad. Definitely forgettable. Then I thought about Mike and all we'd done in Alaska. How I'd given over control to him, given in to my fantasies. Goldie was right. I needed what Mike could give me; what was in my book.

  “Todd was a waste of your time. He was then, and if you're still hung up on what he did to you, a waste now, too,” Veronica added.

  “Mom doesn't care that I write about sex using that ridiculous pen name?” I gave Goldie the evil eye.

  “I was with her when we heard. We both laughed until we cried. It's a riot. You have to keep the name. What? You don't believe me?”

  No. I certainly did not. I shook my head.

  “Fine. Call her. You can't hide in here forever.”

  “What about Dad? What did he say when he found out?”

  Veronica lifted her fingers to her mouth covering a smile. “He said he liked cherries.” She got up, went to my kitchen. I heard her open the fridge. “Can I have a pop?”

  “Sure. On the door.”

  I was hiding. I was moping about Mike, but I was avoiding everyone I knew, which was most of the town. I was afraid to face them if they knew I was Cherry Bottoms. God, that name! It seemed all the women thought it was funny and the men thought I'd picked a good fruit. No one seemed to find it not-funny but me.

  “Want one?”

  “Sure.”

  “Goldie?”

  She shrugged again. “Hell, why not. Move over so we can watch TV with you.”

  My phone rang early the next morning, before an hour that was remotely appropriate. I'd stayed up late watching a James Bond marathon and had no interest in the morning. One of the perks about getting summers off.

  “Hello?” I mumbled, my eyes still closed, face buried in my pillow.

  “Violet? It's me, Jubal.”

  “Jubal? Is everything all right? Where are you?”

  “I'm in Maryland getting ready for the first day of the reenactment. I can't wait!”

  “That's great, Jubal.” Why was he calling me? And at, oh god, five-thirty in the morning? The sun was just starting to come up, my room filled with a hint of daylight.

  “Listen, Violet. One of the FBI guys called me. Said there was some kind of mix-up. I'm not sure how there could be a mix-up with the mix-up, but there is. A mix-up, I mean.”

  I wiped some sleep from my eyes, still more asleep than awake. “Yeah, I hear what you're saying. There's some kind of mix-up.”

  “Right. So Violet, I guess the FBI guy might come to see you. To fix the mix-up. I don't know your address so I couldn't give it to him or anything but he knows your name. I told him you lived in Bozeman, but I wasn't much more help. Just wanted you to know so you're not surprised.”

  “Okay, sure. How come you can't just help them yourself?” Just what I needed. A visit from the Feds. It was only a matter of time before that tidbit, one made out of actual fact, not fiction, got circulated on the Bozeman grapevine.

  “I'm Jubal Early in Maryland. It's the march toward Gettysburg. What can I do from here?”

  He had a point. The feds probably thought he was crazy, anyway.

  “Fine. No problem. Have a good battle.”

  “Thanks, honey. You take care of yourself, the baby, and that man of yours.”

  So much for sleep. I was wide awake now. I'd tried to avoid any thoughts about that man of mine, especially since it didn't seem like he was my man at all. It would be impossible to do anything but think of Mike. And, of course, the imaginary baby. Since Jubal mentioned it, it was pretty obvious Mike hadn't fixed things yet. I was still engaged. I was still having his baby.

  On the flip side, he had to resolve that problem. Somehow. It had been three days since I'd been back. Four, since I'd seen Mike. No word. No action of any kind. When he did do something, he'd have to catch up with me, at a minimum explain how he did it so we could keep our stories straight. Would he come back to Bozeman to do it? Would he do it over the phone to his mother? To me? No. Mike wasn't the kind of guy to do that kind of job over the phone. He'd show up. Eventually. And he'd have to make things right.

  Would making things right include staying with me? He'd used the word 'mine' on more than one occasion. How could a guy be so possessive one minute, then consider moving two time zones away the next? How could I be his, yet be alone?

  Chapter 23

  That night, I finally got around to emptying my suitcases. I made piles of clean versus dirty clothes and a pile of fishing gear to go back out in the garage. My cell rang.

  “Violet? Hi, this is Mrs. Ostranski.”

  Oh, shit.

  “Hi, Mrs. O. How are you?”

  “Fine. Fine, sweetheart. Listen, Violet. I'm with Goldie and Veronica at the store. We were talking about how lovely that necklace you got from Bob was. Goldie was thinking it might be something your sister could w
ear with that new dress she bought.”

  Mrs. O didn't sound right. This was the first time she’d called me. Ever. And she never called me 'sweetheart.' Besides, what was Goldie thinking that Veronica would like the necklace? My sister didn't even own a dress, let alone want to wear one. Unless she was going to be taking communion classes or entering a convent, Veronica would not want to wear a necklace with a large cross dangling from it.

  I needed to test the situation. “I didn't know she got a new dress. She's such a clothes horse.”

  “Your sister certainly got the high maintenance genes in the family.” Mrs. O laughed shrilly.

  Something was officially wrong. Way wrong. She was telling me that and it came through loud and clear. At least to me. Veronica's idea of high maintenance was getting the oil changed on her plumbing van every three thousand miles.

  “Goldie and I would love to see the necklace again and show Veronica. Do you think you can bring it to the store so we can see it?”

  “Right now?” I asked. The clock on the wall said eight-thirty.

  “Right now would be perfect.”

  Someone was there who wanted the necklace. They could have it. I hadn't wanted it in the first place. Jubal had said the FBI was going to contact me. I guess they found Goldie and Mrs. O instead. If something wasn't right, though, I needed to tell someone where I was going.

  “But, Mrs. O, Mike is supposed to stop by.” Not. He probably was still in New York.

  She must have covered the phone with her hand because I heard muffled voices for a moment. “Mike won't care about girl talk. Just send him a text to meet you later.”

  “No problem. I'll see you in a few.”

  After I hung up, I dashed to my closet for some clean clothes. I pulled out the first things I grabbed, a pair of brown shorts, an MSU T-shirt, pink hoodie. I didn't think now was the time to prove I was the high-maintenance one in the family.

  I called Mike first thing. Voicemail.