The Unbelievable, Inconceivable, Unforeseeable Truth About Ethan Wilder

by Cookie O'Gorman

  “Moral fiber,” he said without missing a beat.

  “All parents are, I guess.”

  “My dad has more than most.”

  “You know, Ronnie says you’re lucky to get one good parent. You ask for two, and you’re just being greedy.” And Ronnie would know. Ms. Scarlett had raised him and his two younger sisters by herself since she’d had Ronnie at seventeen. Mom had had enough trouble raising me with Aunt B’s help. I couldn’t imagine how it must’ve been for Ronnie’s mom.

  “And what do you say?”

  The question caught me by surprise. I looked up, meeting Wilder’s gaze and opened my big mouth without thinking.

  “You know the saying ‘I don’t believe in fairies’?” At his nod, I added, “Yeah, well, I don’t believe in fathers.”

  Wilder smiled. “So you’re saying women make the best parents?”

  Remembering who I was talking to, I tried to backtrack. “Not always. I mean, I suppose there are good dads,” I said. “Just because mine was crap doesn’t mean everyone’s is. Some mothers aren’t all that great either. I mean…sorry.”

  “For what?” Wilder wanted to know. “If I had one good parent, it definitely wasn’t my dad.”

  That surprised me. Wilder’s mom had left. She should’ve been the one he hated, right? Then again, if his dad really was hurting him... It was getting harder and harder for me not to loathe Jim Wilder. In my head, he, Rapier, and Grant McCreary were in a race for most despicable person of the year. So far, it was a three-way tie.

  “Haven’t seen you around here lately,” he said, crossing his arms, leaning against one of the displays. “Doc was starting to get worried.”

  As if he’d heard, the man himself emerged from the storage room.

  “My goodness is that Delilah?” Doc exclaimed. Striding up to us, he looked me over closely. “Is it really you? It’s been so long, I can hardly tell.”

  I rolled my eyes. Seriously, it hadn’t been that long. “It’s me, Doc.”

  “Well, it sure does sound like my Delilah. The ears are the same. Same nose, same hair.” Suddenly serious, he stared into my eyes, using the injured-puppy-dog expression I’d come to know. “Where’ve you been girl? I was starting to think I’d lost my favorite customer.”

  “Never,” I said vehemently. “Nothing and no one could keep me away. I’ll keep coming back until I’m an old hag. Heck, I’ll probably die right here, on this very stool.”

  “No need to be so dramatic.” As intended, my passionate speech had done the trick. Doc was so bewildered his face had lost the wounded expression. “I just missed having you around.”

  “I missed you, too, Doc.”

  “Don’t let Jeanine make you listen to that god-awful country.” He made a face, moving backwards. The store phone had started ringing moments ago.

  “Don’t worry,” I said with matching distaste. Mom did love her country music. In my opinion, it was her only flaw. “I most definitely will not be listening to that crap.”

  “Amen,” Doc said satisfied. “Ethan, you’ll help Delilah if she needs anything?”

  Wilder nodded. “I’ll give her anything she needs.”

  Doc didn’t seem to notice the implication, but I sure did. It had me fighting down a blush as Wilder turned to me, eyes filled with mirth.

  “So...what’s with the bag?” he asked.

  It took me a second to remember the boots.

  “Oh,” I said, glancing down. “It’s for George. Birthday gift.”

  “She a big Care Bear fan?”

  I shook my head, felt myself smile. “She can’t stand them, thinks being that cheerful all the time is just plain wrong.” That was why I’d searched high and low to find the perfect gift bag. Actually, it’d taken longer to find it than the boots. The bag I’d discovered on E-bay, featuring an emo Grumpy Bear, sitting on a rain cloud, wearing his perpetual scowl, was so right for George. I’d be surprised if anyone managed to top it. “You know, she’s having a surprise party.”

  “Is she, now?” Wilder’s lips curved into a half-smile, and I felt like dying.

  “You could stop by.” Why the heck did I say that? Now Wilder probably thought I was desperate. “I mean, if you’re not doing anything.”

  “What time?” he asked. “I don’t get off till ten.”

  “It starts at eight-thirty but will probably go until midnight.”

  “That’s pretty late,” Wilder said, as if bad boys like him actually had a bedtime.

  “Well, you don’t have to come.” There, I gave him an out. If he wanted to, he could take it, make up some lame excuse about polishing his bike, and that’d be the end of it.

  “Would I need to bring a gift?”

  “If you want.” If he didn’t want to be remembered as the lame guy who didn’t bring the birthday girl a present.

  “And you’ll be there?” he asked.

  Trying not to read anything into that, I nodded. “Me, Aunt B and Ronnie,” I said. “We’re closing up early, so we can all be there. Southern Charm Confections is catering.”

  “Then, I’ll think about it.”

  #

  It didn’t occur to me until much later: Wilder hadn’t said no. He hadn’t said yes, but he’d definitely left himself some breathing room. I didn’t know why that bothered me, but it did.

  “D, these boots kick so much ass, it’s not even funny.”

  I smiled. I’d picked George up and given her the shoes just after leaving the bakery for the night. We’d been at the grocery store, perusing the aisles, for almost an hour, and she couldn’t stop staring at her feet.

  “That they do,” I said. “But you didn’t have to bring the bag.”

  George tightened her grip. “Yeah, I did. It’s a testament to our friendship. Plus, I think it’s creeping out just about everyone we pass, an added bonus. I really love my Mr. Grumpy.”

  As a woman hurried past with her child, shooting looks over her shoulder at George, who was currently hugging the large bag to her chest, I had to admit. The emo Grumpy Bear had a definite creep out factor, even if it was just a laminated picture.

  “What’s next on the list?” she asked.

  I scanned the faux-grocery list Aunt B had given me. “Tomato sauce.”

  “That’s over with the spices.” We headed that way, but before we got there George said, “I still don’t see why you had to get this stuff today.”

  To get you out of the house, I thought. Instead I said, “Because Aunt B asked me to.”

  “But doesn’t she know what today is?” George didn’t wait for an answer. “I know she does. I told her just yesterday. We should be at my house, eating ice cream straight from the carton, having a Burton-Depp marathon, celebrating the fact that at least one measly person remembered my birthday.”

  “Thanks,” I said sarcastically. Adding a can of tomato sauce to our cart, I marked it off the list and moved on to the brown sugar.

  “Ah, you know that’s not what I meant.” George scuffed the toe of her boot against the tile. “I just can’t believe they forgot.”

  I checked the clock on my phone. This was the homestretch, only twenty-five minutes to go. I’d held out this long. I could last another half-hour.

  “You know what? I bet Aunt Jeanine and Aunt B would never forget your birthday.”

  “They might,” I said, not knowing what I’d do if they ever did.

  “No way.” George shook her head. “They’d forget their own birthdays before they forgot yours. They’re just thoughtful like that—unlike some people. I’ve decided to start calling Mom and Dad by their first names, just to vent some good old teenage angst. What do you think?”

  What I thought was this conversation was a bad idea. I was already starting to sweat with the guilt. If she kept up, I might just break down and ruin everything in the final hour.

  Ignoring the question, I said, “George, I just remembered something. Thank you, for checking up on Jim Wilder.”

  “No p
roblem,” she said. “Sorry it wasn’t more. Aside from an extreme belief system, his record’s spotless. Never had an overdue bill, no traffic tickets. The man hasn’t even been on a date since his wife left him four years ago. He’s duller than a piece of cardboard.”

  “So no complaints?” My voice sounded carefree, but my smile felt strained. “No strange behavior at all?”

  “Well,” she said thoughtfully, “there was this one thing.”

  “What thing?”

  George gave me a funny look. “Jeez Delilah, don’t get all excited. It’s not like he’s dealing drugs in the pews or anything.”

  Trying for casual, I said, “Of course, he’s not. What you said just made me wonder.”

  “Well,” she repeated, “don’t get too excited. Jimmy Wilder’s a cookie-cutter if I ever saw one. The only thing I found that’s even remotely interesting is that he and his son seem to spend an awful lot of time over at Crazy Mae’s.”

  Surprised, I said, “Mae? You mean, Mae Thrush?”

  “Is there another Crazy Mae in Bowie I should know about?” George rolled her eyes as I scowled. “Hey, stupid question, stupid answer, right?”

  I gave her a hard look, but we’d been friends too long for it to do much good.

  “Anyway,” she went on, “the preacher’s visits only last a couple hours, but he’s over there nearly every night. Sometimes Ethan goes with him.”

  “But why?”

  George shrugged. “No idea. Maybe it’s some kind of church outreach program, like a religious house call or something.”

  I nodded. That would explain the reverend’s reason for being there but not Wilder’s. He didn’t strike me as the kind of person who went door to door, handing out free bibles.

  “Or maybe they’re secretly having an affair.”

  I stopped and turned, incredulous. “Jim and Mae?”

  George grinned. “Oh, come on, D. He’s divorced, she’s nuts. I think it’s time they got a little action, don’t you?”

  “You’re sick,” I said, walking away. The mere thought of Jim Wilder getting his hands on someone that vulnerable was scary.

  “Crazy people need love, too,” George shouted.

  Stopping at the first available cashier, I unloaded, not waiting for George. I’d just received a text from Aunt B. If we weren’t back in precisely twenty minutes the party would start without its guest of honor. It took the guy behind the counter twice as long as it should have to bag everything. He yawned as he read me the total, and I stifled a yawn of my own. Keeping secrets was hard work. As I was reaching for my check card, someone bumped into me from behind.

  Thinking it was George, I said, “Hey, watch it old lady.”

  When she didn’t respond, I glanced over my shoulder and immediately spotted the problem. The person who’d bumped into me wasn’t my best friend, not a friend at all actually, more an acquaintance if anything. One George and I had been discussing only moments before. I wondered if her ears were burning.

  “I’m so sorry,” I said to Mae. “I thought you were someone else.”

  Wearing one of the white sundresses that always reminded me of a nightgown, her hair in its usual disarray, Mae gazed at me. It was impossible to tell what she was thinking.

  George came around my opposite side, stopping short when Mae glanced at her.

  “Hey Cra— I mean, Mae,” she said, only a slight quiver in her voice. No doubt George felt as unnerved as I did by that blank stare. “How you doing?”

  Without a word, Mae began piling things from her cart onto the counter. While George stared unabashed, I tried not to look too hard. I’d read somewhere that examining a person’s groceries was almost as bad as reading someone’s diary. It was that personal.

  The guy who rang me up seemed more awake as he passed over my receipt, warily eyeing Mae as she continued to drop everything she had at random onto the conveyor belt.

  Grabbing my bags, I about jumped out of my skin as a cold hand landed on my wrist.

  “B’s a good woman,” Mae said in a voice barely audible.

  “I know,” I said.

  Her eyes settled firmly on my face, seeming a lot more focused than they’d been seconds ago.

  “She’s always been kind to me, a real class act.” She wasn’t whispering, I realized. Her voice was just that soft, like falling snow. “She’s a good woman.”

  “I know,” I repeated with a smile.

  “So’s your mama,” she said, letting that sink in before she continued. “She’s not what they say. Don’t you listen to any of that nonsense.”

  I blinked hard, voice suddenly choked. “I won’t. Thank you, Ms. Mae.”

  She nodded once then released me, turning her eyes to the cashier, who began swiping and bagging like nobody’s business. One look from Mae, and he was the energizer bunny.

  Once George and I were in the car, she said, “So that was bizarre.”

  I thought it was pretty wonderful actually, someone I hardly knew sticking up for my family. “It was strange,” I agreed, “but what she said about Aunt B and Mom was pretty awesome.”

  “D, strange isn’t the word. Didn’t you notice?”

  “Notice what?”

  “No, of course you didn’t.” George sounded exasperated. “What the heck was I thinking? You’d never do something as nosey as look into someone else’s groceries.”

  “Why would I have to?” I retorted. “You were looking enough for the both of us.”

  “But didn’t you see?”

  “See what?”

  “All that stuff she was getting,” George said, “there was two of everything: two toothbrushes, two towels, two bottles of aspirin, two TV dinners, two forks, two spoons, two pairs of frilly socks, two bathrobes.” When I said nothing, George added, “D, there were even two deodorants.”

  “George, please tell me you weren’t looking at Mae’s deodorant?”

  “But really,” she insisted, “who smells so bad they need that many?”

  I shrugged. “Maybe she likes to have a spare around in case something happens.”

  “A spare?” George scoffed. “It’s not a tire, D. What could possibly happen to it?”

  I had no idea. All I knew was that George was making way too much out of this.

  “She could just like the number two,” I suggested.

  “Of course,” she said abruptly. “They must be for him, Jim Wilder.” I glanced at her sidelong. “That has to be it. He must sneak back through the woods at night to carry out their clandestine activities.”

  “I doubt the man wears frilly socks, George.”

  She waved me away, too wrapped up in her theory. “On second thought, maybe he’s not so dull. Holy crap, Delilah, can you imagine what would happen if this got out?”

  “If what got out?”

  “The fact that Bowie’s spiritual leader is canoodling with the town crazy.”

  “Don’t call her that,” I said immediately. After what she’d said, I couldn’t bear to hear even George mock her. Mae wasn’t so bad. “Hey, did you just use the word canoodling?”

  George had opened her mouth—probably to come back with something far less polite than canoodling—but as we rounded the corner, she let out a gasp.

  It was no wonder. There were cars parked up and down the street, and one house, George’s house, was decorated to the hilt. It was lit up with black lights, the path to the door lined on either side with artificial trees, gnarled and barren but for the black and violet skeletons hanging from every branch. There was fog, too, and lots of it.

  In short, it looked like Halloween done right.

  The first thing you noticed about the whole scene, however, was the large marquee, flashing from just above the door, which read in clear, bold font: HAPPY 18TH BIRTHDAY GEORGIANA! WE LOVE YOU, MOM AND DAD.

  “Guess, they didn’t forget after all,” I said, smiling as George stared. She looked sort of misty-eyed. She was going to thank me any second, shower me with hugs and kis
ses, I was sure of it.

  “Oh, D...,” she said in a breathless way. “I’m going to murder you and Ronnie if it’s the last thing I do. Just...murder you.”

  Well, I thought, that’s gratitude for you. You go through all this trouble and guilt to give someone a nice surprise, and what do you get?

  Death threats.

  Note to self: Do not let George within ten feet of any heavy or sharp objects for the foreseeable future.

  CHAPTER 17

  He didn’t come.

  I should’ve been celebrating. Everyone around me was. I should’ve been ecstatic that we’d managed to pull this off, that we’d thrown George the party of her life. In this room full of shiny happy people, I shouldn’t have felt so alone.

  But I couldn’t shake the disappointment.

  He didn’t come. I’d waited and waited and…he didn’t come.

  As the minutes ticked by, I caught myself turning to the door whenever it opened only to be let down again and again. I didn’t do it on purpose. It felt like my eyes had a will of their own. Some part of me had been so sure, convinced he would show. Wilder hadn’t made any promises, but...I felt like a fool to even think it. The truth was as embarrassing as it was confusing.

  Slow as ever, realization hadn’t come until ten minutes ago, when the clock in the living room chimed eleven-thirty.

  I’d been counting on him.

  “Alright, who is it?” George said.

  “Who’s what?” I asked.

  “Who do you keep looking for?”

  Startled, I turned my back to the door. No doubt Wilder had better things to do on a Friday night, like rob a liquor store, steal a car, set something on fire. The options for a deviant like him were endless. To be fair, I knew he’d never do any of those things—but fairness wasn’t big on my list of priorities.

  “No one,” I replied, casually.

  George snorted, taking another picture with her phone. Her Goth-inspired three-tier cake was gorgeous. Aunt B had outdone herself. “You’ve been staring at that door all night. If you’re gonna lie, D, at least do better than that.”

  “Alright, alright,” I said. “I was looking for someone, but I’m not anymore. Satisfied?”