The Wild One

by Cardello, Ruth

  Once, when I was in high school, he’d tried to help a friend fix his car and somehow had dropped an engine block on the man’s foot. Although he’d been sober during the accident, that night was the first time I’d ever seen my father drunk. Mom had picked him up from a bar, and after tucking him in bed, we’d talked. She’d explained that when my father had been injured he hadn’t been alone. His truck had been part of a convoy. When the explosion had gone off, he’d been thrown far enough that the second explosion had missed him. Awake, and not yet aware that he’d lost his arm, he’d watched his friends die without being able to help them.

  And a piece of him had died with them.

  I didn’t want to ask, but I had to know . . . “Did he take his gun with him?”

  “Oh my God. You don’t think—”

  “Just look, Mom. Make sure it’s there.”

  She was crying when she returned. “It’s here.” She let out a sob, then sniffed. “I’m so sorry, Wren. I know you never take vacations, and this is a pretty crappy way for your trip to Paris to end.”

  “Paris doesn’t matter, Mom. I’m glad you called me.” I took a fortifying breath. I wanted to cry right along with my mother, but she needed me to be strong. I’d cry later. “Everything is going to be okay. I’ll grab my stuff, head to the airport, and catch the first flight I can. Call Dave Stein. His brother is a police officer. He might be able to help us find Dad without making this bigger than it has to be. Dad might have just needed some time to himself to mourn his friend. Where would he go besides the garage?”

  “I don’t know. He’s never left without telling me where he was going, Wren. Never. I should have gone with him. I almost did. I just thought . . . Wren, hurry home.”

  I was on my feet gathering my clothes and everything of mine that was scattered around the penthouse. “I will, Mom. I’ll call you as soon as I have a flight.”

  After hanging up, I crept into the bedroom. Mauricio was still sound asleep, with his arm flung out over the spot I had vacated. I almost woke him up. This was big, and I could have used his support.

  But we’re not a couple.

  He’s a fling, not a shoulder to lean on.

  Saying goodbye to him that day had already involved the risk of me dissolving into sloppy tears; he’d done nothing to deserve the full meltdown I was now capable of. Creeping out while he slept was actually the kindest thing I could do in the situation.

  I grabbed my clothing, dressed quietly, and lifted my luggage off the floor, closing the door of the bedroom behind me. I paused at the kitchenette. There was a pen and paper. I should write something so he doesn’t worry.

  I wrote: Thank you for an amazing week. —Wren

  It didn’t represent how I was feeling, but it was the best I could do in the situation. I needed to get the rest of my things from my original place, get to the airport, and find my dad. I couldn’t give myself the luxury of feeling one way or another about leaving without one final kiss.

  Later—once my father was safely back at our home and I knew he was okay—later, I’d acknowledge how my heart was breaking. How I’d felt like I was walking away from the one man I’d ever let into my heart.

  As I rode down the elevator, I was already searching online for any flight that left earlier than mine did. I found one, paid a crazy amount of money to switch to it, and sent the info to my mother before I was even at my apartment. The rest of the morning was a flurry of throwing everything into my luggage, locking up, texting the rental agency to inform them that I was out, and rushing to make my flight.

  It wasn’t until I was seated on the plane and we’d left the ground that I burst into tears. The older gentleman next to me handed me tissues and, after I assured him I was fine, pretended I didn’t cry on and off most of the eight-hour flight home.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  MAURICIO

  Thank you for an amazing week. —Wren

  No matter how many times I read it, I couldn’t believe she’d left without saying goodbye. I’d reached for her when I’d first woken, called for her when I didn’t see her, finally texted her—nothing.

  When I’d first realized she wasn’t in the penthouse, I’d thought she might have sneaked out to get food for us. I’d brought her breakfast in bed. It wasn’t inconceivable that she might want to surprise me with something special that morning.

  Oh, she’d fucking surprised me.

  I’d found the note. At first, stupidly, I didn’t instantly see it for what it was. She was grateful for the time we’d spent together and that explained why she’d run out to get something for me.

  What a fucking idiot I was.

  Love makes men into brainless saps. I was proof of that.

  A quick look around had provided enough supporting evidence for a sane man to see that she was gone. She’d taken everything of hers with her. Even her luggage.

  She wasn’t coming back.

  I couldn’t wrap my head around it.

  We’d made love just a few hours before. It had been exactly the slow, sweet kind of sex a man has with a woman he’s about to promise forever to.

  Thank you for an amazing week.

  What the fuck was that? Who leaves a note after what we’d shared?

  Was it possible that she’d felt nothing?

  I tried to call her. Texted her again. No answer.

  I collapsed onto the couch and lay there, just staring off into space as I replayed every conversation we’d had in my head. She’d never said a single thing about us being together after that day.

  I was her Paris fuck.

  My phone rang. I let it go to my messages. It rang again a moment later. Was it her? I sat straight up.

  No.

  My parents.

  Fuck.

  I can’t do this right now.

  They would only call back if I didn’t answer. Naked and devastated, I slumped back onto the couch. “Morning, Dad.”

  His tone was light and cheerful. “I don’t want to pry, but your mother is planning the family dinner for Sunday, and she asked if she should set a place for your lady friend.”

  “Dad—”

  “You haven’t been calling us. You’re sleeping in. It doesn’t take a genius to add two and two together. You made up with her, didn’t you?”

  “She’s gone, Dad.” I hated how gutted I sounded as I said it. “Can we not do this right now? I really don’t want to talk about her.”

  My father’s voice deepened. “Are you coming home?”

  “I guess. Probably. I don’t know. I haven’t gotten that far in my head.”

  “What happened, son?”

  I growled and punched my leg. “I thought she was the one, Dad. I’m so fucking stupid. I don’t even believe in love—not for me. What the fuck was I thinking? I was planning . . . you don’t even want to know how sure I was . . . and after only a few days. How delusional am I? All we did this week was fuck. I should not have been shocked by her note or the fact that she left while I was still sleeping. Let me read her note to you, so you can see what an idiot your son is. She said, and I’m reading it exactly as she wrote it . . . ‘Thank you for an amazing week.’ That’s it. Oh, and she signed it. Nothing else. What the fuck is that?”

  When I stopped ranting, I regretted sharing as much as I had with my father. In my life, I’d probably only heard him swear once, and I didn’t want to give him a bad impression of Wren. She didn’t deserve that.

  I slapped myself in the forehead and forced myself to read her note again. Why the hell was I worried about what my father thought of a woman who obviously didn’t give a shit about me? I growled. I still didn’t like the idea that anyone would see Wren in a bad light.

  I couldn’t take back what I’d said about her. My hand fisted on my leg, and I made another sound born of frustration.

  After a long silence, my father said, “I’m sorry it didn’t work out, son.”

  I sighed. “Me too. I was going to tell her how I felt today. I already
knew the first recipe I wanted Mom to teach her. Not that she would have cooked it for me. I probably would have ended up cooking it for her.” I slammed my hand down on my thigh again. “Who needs someone like that, right?”

  Neither of us said anything for several minutes. Finally he asked, “Have you tried to call her?”

  “She’s not answering.”

  “Give her time. Despite what your generation thinks, not everything in life is immediate. She might need time away from you to realize she wants to be with you.”

  I shook my head in disgust—disgust with myself. “Maybe. Thanks, Dad. Sorry I went off like that. She was just special . . . you know?”

  “I know.”

  I sighed. “Could you tell Mom a much, much better version of this? Something that doesn’t make Wren sound—”

  “You think your mother and I didn’t have sex before we were married? Oh, the stories I could tell you—”

  “Please. Please don’t.” I shuddered, then said, “I don’t want to rehash this a hundred times when I get home. And I shouldn’t have said what I did. I thought she was the one, but apparently she didn’t feel the same. She knows how to reach me. The next move is hers.”

  “Come home, Mauricio. I’ll tell everyone you met someone nice, but you’re not ready to talk about it. That’s all they need to know.” After a pause, he added, “And leave the colorful language in Paris. You know your mother doesn’t like it.”

  There was comfort in that reprimand. “Thanks, Dad.”

  “It’s going to be okay, Mauricio. Things have a way of working out the way they’re supposed to.”

  “I don’t have much faith in that philosophy this morning, Dad. But I’ll fly back this afternoon as planned and see you in the morning.”

  “Text us when you take off.”

  “I will. See you tomorrow.”

  Much, much later that day, I was met in the US at the airport by both of my parents and all my siblings—every damn one of them, even Sebastian, his pregnant wife, and little Ava. After giving me a back-thumping hug, my father said, “We thought you might be hungry. So we moved family dinner to tonight.”

  Little Ava ran over and took me by the hand and said, “Uncle Mauricio, did you bring me an Eiffel Tower?”

  “It’s in my bag,” I assured her. “It even lights up.”

  She clapped happily, and I swung her around in my arms. I might have been a complete idiot when it came to love, but I had the uncle thing down pat.

  Still holding Ava, I looked around at my family, who’d met me at the plane even though they could have waited until the next day to see me, and my heart was a little less heavy. This is what we did—when one of us took a hit, we pulled together.

  Wren would have loved my family.

  And my family would have adored her.

  Ava gave my face a pat. “Uncle Mauricio, you look sad.”

  I forced a smile. “Just tired.” I flapped my free arm like a bird. “It was a long flight.”

  She laughed.

  I ducked down so my mother could plant a kiss on my forehead and said, “Hi, Mom. What’s for dinner?”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  WREN

  During my flight, I came up with a plan on how to find my father. It involved calling the credit card company to see if he’d charged anything. When I went to text my mother, I saw messages from Mauricio, but I scrolled past them. I couldn’t face my guilt about how I’d left or this nearly overwhelming yearning to call him . . . if only to hear his voice one last time.

  I sent a message to my mother asking her to call her credit card company. Before I landed, she’d texted me back that he’d gotten gas in Allentown, Pennsylvania. After that, I had a pretty good idea where he was headed.

  There was no way to know for sure, but I trusted my instincts and, as soon as I landed, I bought a ticket for the closest airport to Trev’s hometown. Exhausted, but driven by the need to confirm that my father was okay, I rented a car in that terminal and drove to Trev’s house.

  By the time I pulled up, it had grown dark, but there was a light on inside the house. I turned off the car and sprinted up the steps, took a deep breath, then rang the doorbell. The door opened. Trev’s wife peered around the edge, with her two sisters behind her.

  He has to be here.

  “I was so sorry to hear about Trev, Daeshona.”

  She hugged me to her ample chest. “I know you are, honey.” When she released me, her sisters each gave me the same warm greeting. This was my second family, the one we didn’t see often but which meant more to us than blood relatives who lived closer. After my father’s medical discharge from the army, Trev had been allowed extra leave. My mother said he’d even temporarily moved Daeshona closer to our family while my father recovered.

  Eventually she’d convinced him to move back to where her sisters lived, but my father had often referred to Trev as a brother from another mother. Trev had been in that convoy the day my father lost his arm, and although neither of them spoke of that day, I knew it had given them a bond neither time nor distance had diminished.

  I knew the answer before I asked the question, but a part of me held on to hope. “Have you seen my dad? Heard from him?”

  Daeshona shook her head sadly. “Not after I spoke to him yesterday. I felt horrible about giving him the news on the phone, but—”

  I shook my head and touched her arm. “Don’t. I would have done the same. This isn’t easy on you either.”

  She placed her hand over mine. “No, it’s not.” Her chin rose. “But we had some warning it was coming. He wouldn’t let me talk about it with anyone, but the doctors had been watching a tumor in the back of his brain. It was inoperable, which—you know Trev—meant it didn’t need to be worried about. He fell asleep in his favorite chair and never woke up. It’s how he would have wanted to go. He got his way—one last time.” She smiled even though there were tears in her eyes. “I bet his mother arranged for it to go smoothly. She always did spoil him.”

  I smiled and fought back my own tears. “Good men like that deserve a little spoiling now and then.”

  “Damn straight they do,” she said, then shook her head as if trying to shake herself free of a weight. “Your father took the news hard, didn’t he?”

  I hesitated. I didn’t want to add the weight of what I was going through onto her at such a difficult time. On the other hand, she loved my father too. And she might know where he’d be. “He left after your call. Didn’t take his phone with him and didn’t say where he was going. We checked with the credit card company, and he stopped for gas at a station in this direction.” I swallowed hard. “I was hoping he’d be here.”

  She clasped her hands in front of her. “I’m sorry, honey. I haven’t seen him.”

  I nodded. “It was a gamble. I just thought—”

  Her sister stepped forward. “Didn’t Trev and Elliot always go fishing up by Wildwood Park? They used to joke that one of them should buy a cabin there so they could both retire where the fishing was good?”

  “I remember.”

  Daeshona wrinkled her nose. “Up there they drank beer more than they baited any hooks. They’d escape there to talk family matters without any of us hearing.”

  For as long as I could remember, my father had driven to see Trev a couple of times a year. Sometimes we went with him; sometimes he’d gone alone.

  To fish, apparently.

  “Is Wildwood Park close?” I’d flown, flown more, and driven. I was exhausted, but there was no way I was stopping before I found my father.

  “About fifteen minutes from here. The park will be closed, but there is a boat dock where they often went.” Daeshona gave me a landmark I could GPS.

  I kissed her on the cheek. Hugged each of her sisters quickly. “I have to go—”

  Daeshona opened the door for me. “If he’s there, tell him our home is open to both of you. Don’t go doing anything stupid like renting a hotel room for tonight. It would only of
fend me.”

  “I’ll call you if it’s not late. If he needs to be there, I won’t want to rush him.”

  “You always were a smart girl,” Daeshona said, and I gave her one last hug.

  “Thank you. Can I ask . . . when . . .”

  “The wake is two days from now. The funeral the next day.”

  I didn’t promise her I’d be there . . . I couldn’t promise anything.

  The drive felt like hours, when in actuality it was only the quarter of an hour Daeshona had predicted. I nearly burst into tears when I saw my father’s car parked on the side of the road. After pulling up behind it, I cut the engine and grabbed my phone.

  I couldn’t see him from the road. It was dark, but I lit the way with the phone’s light. There was no sound coming from near the water. I didn’t know what condition I might find him in, but I knew he needed me. I sagged with relief against a tree when I saw the outline of him sitting on the dock, shoes on one side of him, a case of beer at his other. I quickly texted my mother: Found Dad. He’s fine. I’m going to talk to him. Will call you later with an update.

  I didn’t wait for her response. If she had any questions, I didn’t have any answers yet.

  I walked down a grass hill and onto the dock. My father didn’t glance back to see who approached. He was lost in his own thoughts.

  I took a seat beside him and just sat there. After a few minutes, I removed my own shoes, turned off the light on my phone, and dangled my feet into the water the same as he was doing. The moon was bright that night and reflected off the water just enough so I could see his face.

  There were three empty beer cans beside him. An open can in his hand. He tossed a fresh one to me. I caught it, cracked it open, and took a long drink. I didn’t normally like beer, but I needed something.