by S. J. Pierce
Yeah. Somewhere I’m not reminded of wolves. Which, honestly, would be futile in this town.
I sigh and say, “Some dry clothes.”
“You’re in luck!” Some hangers clatter before she appears behind a rack of plaid shirts. She’s in her twenties (maybe late teens?). Petite. Has an angled bob. Is way too perky.
When she sees me, she halts, eyes flaring. “Ohmygod. Are you okay?
I will be. I’m not much for oversharing, so I just pinch the front of my soaked shirt and give it tug. “Caught in the rain.”
She tsks. “You poor thing. And no jacket.”
After a quick scan of me, her eyes squint to get a better look at my face. She steps closer. “Wait…are you…?”
Great.
I brace myself.
“Are you Maddie’s sister?”
“I am.”
“I thought so. I’ve seen pictures of you on her Facebook.” Her head cocks with a sympathetic look. “Sorry about your dad.”
I nod my appreciation, releasing the breath I was holding. That conversation could have gone any number of ways in this town.
She turns and heads for the racks. “What’re your sizes?” she shouts over her shoulder.
“Four in jeans and a small shirt.”
“Undies?”
“Thirty-two B and small.”
Hangers scrape against metal. “Your sister is the sweetest,” she says. “She was amazing when a friend of mine was in the hospital.” Her head pops over the rack like one of those whack-a-mole games. “She had a bad accident last year.”
“Glad she’s better then,” I say.
“Thanks!” She disappears again.
Awkward silence. I feel strange standing here while she shops for me, so I scope out the trinkets behind the counter—keychains, shot glasses, picture frames. The wolf howls over the speaker again.
“Here you go!” she says behind me, and I nearly jump out of my skin. A ninja with a cute haircut.
She hands over the decent-looking jeans, jacket, and pair of sparkly underwear, and as I think over a polite way to tell her I’m not interested in the underwear, she hops to the nearby rack and pulls out a shirt that says Wild About Wolves on the front.
Oh, hell no.
“My treat,” she says proudly.
I numbly take it from her. “Your treat? Are you sure?”
“Yep.”
Before I can argue, she’s flitting toward the back again. “Fitting rooms are on the right.”
19
The Husband Stealer
She disappears, and I just stand there. Look over at the rack. Contemplate trading it for another shirt. But I glance in her direction and wonder if it’ll hurt her feelings. She was excited about doing me a favor.
Why is everyone so generous with me?
Well…minus the asshole who wrote on my car.
I sigh quietly and head for the fitting rooms. Don’t rob people of their blessings, I hear my mother say, one of the many things I remember about her. She never argued when someone wanted to do something nice for her or her family. Besides, the good thing about jackets is you can zip them over tacky shirts.
At least it will be dry and warm…and free.
Once I’m changed and zipped into the jacket, I head to the counter and browse the memorabilia again. I’m not leaving without at least buying something.
“Here,” she says behind me, and when I turn, she reaches for my wet clothes. She stuffs them inside a plastic bag with “Dazzles” across it. Her eyes roam over me. “Better,” she says approvingly.
“Thank you,” I reply and tug on the hem of the jacket. “You sure you don’t want anything for these?”
“Nope. It’s on me. Sorry about your dad again.”
I nod numbly and turn back to the counter, then bend to get a better look at what’s beneath. “Thank you,” I say to the glass, my damp ponytail sliding across my shoulder and pooling against the surface. The ends are tight corkscrews.
I point to a shot glass with a wolf head etched into it. My friend Kyle will love it. If he were as petite as me, I’d give him this shirt too. “How much for that one?”
“Fifteen.”
“Sold.” My eyes wander to a rack of umbrellas beside the front door. “And one of those, please.” My next stop: the Hot Joy Café.
* * *
Joy isn’t here today, which is honestly fine by me. I’m not in the mood for a catchup session. Or another sympathetic head tilt and heartfelt condolence about my dad.
I pause a moment before leaving, the to-go coffee cup warming my cold hands, and glance back at the café. It looks exactly the same. Unnervingly so. I can practically see me and Trenton sitting across the table from each other in the back corner. Naomi flinging his phone at me when she came for blood.
Without a second thought, I scrunch my nose and continue on my way. I’ll be hard-pressed to find a place around this town that isn’t tainted with bitter memories. I’d say I only have myself to blame, but that isn’t entirely true.
As I’m leaving, two girls rush in to escape the rain. I step back to allow them to pass, and the blonde one does a double take. Something about me snagged her attention. Her friend continues toward the counter.
I keep my eyes focused on the door.
“Hey…” she says with mild recognition, just loud enough that if I happened not to hear, it wouldn’t be awkward. I pinged a memory deep inside. A remembrance.
When I meet her big brown eyes, she searches mine, and though I don’t recall who this cute pixie face belongs to, she must remember me because her expression twists into something like disgust.
I freeze under her glare. Which past offense is she so sour over? Eenie meenie miney moe. Is she a friend of Naomi’s? Ashley’s? Alicia’s? Maybe even a cousin of theirs? Or maybe she’s just a random girl who’s heard about me, the misfit whose reputation precedes her, and she hates me for all the things she knows.
I fight the urge to roll my eyes and ask her what the hell she’s looking at.
Not bothering to open my umbrella, I turn and push through the door. I don’t care enough to do either.
* * *
It’s still a little early for lunch with my sister, but I decide to go ahead and drive home, so I don’t risk running into any more of my ‘fans’ along Main Street. I’m dry and caffeinated and somewhat put back together after the whole Jaxson fiasco, which is good enough, I suppose. Maddie won’t be getting an alarming hot mess. At least not visibly. So, my mission has already been accomplished.
As the old buildings morph into towering pines and wet pavement in my rearview mirror, I think of the girl at the coffee shop. The way she hated someone she didn’t even know. Everyone is so quick to absorb the bad things they hear about people, but it’s rare they give a shit about the good.
I toss back the rest of my coffee and huff a laugh through my nose. I guess I can’t be mad about something that’s so inherently human—people getting sucked into a good story full of drama. It just feels different when it’s your own. More personal. Raw.
Besides, I gave them plenty of material, so I don’t have too much room to complain. The girl they’ve heard about was the rebel, the one who wasn’t going anywhere. And though I moved away and got my act together, made something of myself, that’s not a story they’re interested in.
It’s like traveling back in time, coming here. Here, my sins can find me again. Here, I’m still the selfish, reckless bitch. The screw up. The black sheep.
The husband stealer.
“Don’t worry,” I whisper to my memory of the girl. To the road in front of me. I’ll be gone soon enough.
* * *
By the time I pull up to the house, there’s a small break in the rain. I barely have the car in park when Carson runs out on the front porch. “She’s here!” he yells with his whole being, rocking onto the balls of his feet.
For a moment, the wind leaves my lungs. An ache blooms in the center of my chest.
Last time I saw him, he was three. Shorter. Had more baby fat in his cheeks. And it’s a vicious reminder how little I see him.
Which reminds me…
I reach for the glovebox and pull out a little wrapped package, then shove it inside my purse.
My sister emerges from the house in her sweats and dark hair pulled into a high, messy bun. She waves with a sleepy smile.
Carson looks up at her and asks something I can’t hear.
She nods, and when I step out of the car, he launches down the front steps and plows into me with a hug.
I haul him into my arms and hold him tight, savor the smell of him as his head rests against my shoulder—breakfast syrup and remnants of shampoo from last night’s bath.
I look to my smiling sister. Smile back.
Carson pulls back and cups my face in his small, five-year-old hands. “Momma said you wouldn’t be here ‘til lunchtime!”
I revel.
Facetime and Facebook pictures never do him justice.
He’s beautiful and brilliant and a spitting image of Maddie, thank God. It would have been hell for her if he looked like his father.
“I’m early,” I say, and head for the house, his body still fastened to mine.
“Good. I have Spiderman stuffs to show you.”
“Spiderman stuffs?”
“Spiderman! And after that, I’ll show you momma’s red rocket ship.”
I look at her questioningly as we climb the stairs. Rocket ship?
She cringes. Shakes her head dismissively.
“It’s in her bag,” he continues. “It hums and everything.”
Hums? I smother a laugh. Oh. Vibrates.
That ‘rocket ship’.
“Momma got rid of it,” Maddie explains as we pass, then tussles his hair.
Or found a better hiding place, rather.
20
Wild about Wolves
Maddie eases the door closed behind us and I follow the smell of coffee to the kitchen, Carson still clutching to me like a spider monkey. The boards creak beneath my sneakers in all the familiar places.
I take in the kitchen as I make my way to the far end of the rectangular table in the breakfast nook. The same yellow curtains, though faded with time, frame the bay windows. The same Mr Coffee pot sits between the fridge and stainless knife set. The same outdated light fixture hangs above the butcher block in the center of the kitchen. A light bulb has gone out, and dad, if he were still here, would have fixed it by now. It must have happened after his death.
“Hasn’t changed a bit, has it?” Maddie says as she takes a mug from the cabinet above the coffee pot.
Before I settle into the chair, Carson wiggles down and rushes out of the room. Probably off to find Spiderman stuffs he can show me. “It hasn’t.” My answer is clipped. I change the subject. “Work go okay?”
“Swimmingly,” she sasses, then shoots me smirk as she joins me at the table. “Lots of body fluids…and solids.”
I cringe.
We sit in silence. Look around the kitchen. “He has so much stuff, Rhee,” she whispers, her eyes passing over the cabinets. A heaviness settles across her shoulders and creeps into her expression. The weight of it all, losing Dad, the sudden responsibility of emptying his house and selling it, is simmering beneath the surface. I can feel it. It’s something she’ll only allow to boil over when Carson isn’t in the room to see. “I have no idea how we’ll get through it all.”
“We will,” I say, but it’s not full of confidence. Dad was a packrat. We definitely have our work cut out for us.
“Thankfully, we have some help coming soon.” Her tired eyes go distant through the window. She sips her coffee. The sickly yellow light from the fixture above us ages her ten years. It doesn’t help that she probably hasn’t slept yet. It’s only ten thirty, so she would have had just enough time after her shift to pick up Carson, get here, change into her sweats, and make him breakfast. The hospital is in the next town over, Summermire, just under an hour away. In the same town our dad works. Worked. “Guys from the Sherriff’s office and some others will be here about lunchtime.” Her eyes refocus and meet mine. “Pizza okay? I’d like to feed everyone for their help.”
I nod my assent.
“Hoping we can get most of this done before you leave Sunday.”
“Where’s it all going?”
She absently drums her fingers on a stack of papers beside her. “His will says to donate whatever you and I don’t want.”
So, he has a will. And he was feeling charitable to strangers at the time he wrote it. That’s far more selfless and thoughtful than I thought him capable.
I don’t comment on the whatever you and I don’t want part. I don’t want anything.
I get up and head for the coffee. I can feel her eyes on me the entire way. “A little surprised you’re staying here. Is this not too hard for you?” Her voice is soft.
I don’t immediately answer. In the cabinet above the coffee pot is an array of mugs. Front and center is the World’s Best Dad mug I painted for him in preschool. A piece of the rim has chipped away with time, its handle cracked, but he kept it. And apparently still uses it…used it.
I swallow hard and choose the one next to it. Close the cabinet door harder than intended.
Yes, of course it’s hard…but I’ll never admit it. To her, anyway. To admit that aloud would mean it affects me, and that would mean I have unresolved feelings to work through. And that means her wanting to talk about it, so it doesn’t fester inside and eventually explode. She’s my older sister; it’s what she does. It’s what she’ll always do. But I’m just here to support and help her and Carson, nothing more. I don’t want or need counseling sessions in the meantime. Besides, I know why I’m staying here. Her one-bedroom loft apartment by the hospital would be way too crowded, and I didn’t want to pay for a hotel. Staying here is fine. It’s fine. “I’m good,” I say flatly. The coffee smells slightly burned as I pour it, so I add extra cream.
She doesn’t challenge my response, though I know she knows better.
Carson runs in and leaves a Spiderman on the table. Dashes back out before I have time to react or say how cool it is. “I’ve got another one!” his voice echoes down the hallway. Small feet patter up the stairs. Maddie watches him with heavy eyelids and a bursting heart. “Walk, please!”
I lean against the counter. “Why don’t you get some sleep?”
A sigh as she rubs her right eye. “I don’t have time,” she replies through a yawn.
“Sure, you do. You said the guys won’t be here until lunch. You can sleep an hour or so.”
She seriously considers it, then shakes her head. “It’ll make me feel worse. I just need to rally.”
My lips part to continue badgering her. I know she needs sleep. But she’s made up her mind, so I leave it alone. Neither one of us listen to reason when we’re determined. I guess they call that ‘stubborn’.
She senses my internal struggle. “I will tonight when the guys leave. Promise. I’m off until Monday.” She takes a long sip of coffee, then victoriously holds up her mug. “In the meantime, I’m running on this stuff.”
Carson zips in with another figurine and leaves just as quickly in a blur of superhero pajamas and dark hair. This Spiderman is wearing a black suit.
“So…” she says, drawing out the word with a sly smile. “When’re you gonna tell me about the Sex God?”
A groan rips out of me unbidden, and I roll my eyes.
“Didn’t end well, huh?”
“You could say that.”
“I already kind of guessed. I expected you to be a tad more…chipper when you showed up. But you just look constipated.”
I give her a look.
“See?”
I set the coffee down and work to unzip my jacket. The heat rolling through the vents and the coffee are making me sweat. “I’ll tell you about it later,” I offer. “Maybe over wine.”
“Sounds like a…” He
r eyes squint as she reads my shirt.
I look down, forgetting what I had on.
I groan. Wild about wolves.
She fights a laugh. “Well, that’s…unexpected.”
“Tell me about it.”
21
An Awful Thing
When we’re sufficiently caffeinated, Maddie orders ten pizzas to arrive at noon and we start with the cabinets above the stove. Whatever she doesn’t want, we then decide if it’s donate-able, and if it’s not, we chunk it. Within an hour, we’ve filled six large boxes and four garbage bags.
I down the rest of my bottled water and hop to sit on the counter for a quick break. Maddie drags the latest trash bag onto the front porch. An engine roars outside. Cuts off. Two doors shut.
“Some of the guys are here with a moving truck!” she shouts inside. I move to look through the bay window to see who it is. She said some would be from the Sherriff’s office.
I knew them well.
Barnett and Ralph.
Barnett is the Sherriff and Ralph is one of his two deputies.
My heart warms. Even though Dad didn’t work there, they had a good rapport. Especially he and Barnett. He’s one of the few wolves I don’t despise. He’s always been good to us, and despite having to arrest me a couple times and the grief I gave my father, he was nice to me.
I’ve often wondered if he cut me some slack because of what happened to Mom.
The windows shake as their feet pound heavy against the front porch stairs. My sister meets them at the top with long hugs. She motions inside, and I greet the three of them at the threshold of the foyer. Barnett lights up when he sees me. “Rhee,” he says, and doesn’t bother with chit-chat about how long it’s been or how I’m doing now. He folds me into a strong hug. “Sorry about your dad,” he breathes, then pulls back. Clasps my upper arms in his hands. His eyes glisten with tears. He can’t think of anything else to say. What do you say?
Ralph echoes his sentiment. “An awful thing. We’re sorry.”
