Going Wild

by Gretchen Galway

  “Please, Grant. I can’t ask anyone else.”

  “Surely she has a manager or someone who can go instead of me.”

  “I don’t want to get into the gory details, but there’s a story here that could be really upsetting for Grandfather. We’ve got to try to keep it in the family.” Troy continued tapping on his phone. “There, I sent it to you. She lives in Oakland.”

  A pair of women waved at Troy from the doorway to the courtyard, calling him over, something about a toast. Then a preppy guy in a white-and-navy-striped sweater joined them, adding to the chorus.

  Grant took pity on his little brother, who had all the responsibilities of running the family business without any of the power. “All right, I’ll go.”

  She had said she liked working there. If she might be able to save her job, she should know as soon as possible.

  And he’d have the chance to give her the wad of twenties back.

  Troy flashed him a grin, patted him on the arm, and dove back into the party. Grant started to walk out to his Rover, but then, acting on an impulse he didn’t investigate too closely, he went out back and down the outside steps to the basement room he’d been crashing in since returning to town.

  It wouldn’t kill him to clean up a little before he went to see her.

  4

  Ten minutes after she got home, Jane opened her laptop to update her resume. Shadow, her longhaired black cat, jumped into her lap and blocked Jane’s access to the keys with her voluminous tail.

  Jane stared at the screen. Was she overreacting?

  Mr. Whitman had obviously been confused. He was elderly, he had health issues, and all the guests crowding around him had upset him. Other accountants at Whitman could explain why she wasn’t to blame for what happened with Frank Bostock. Well, maybe she was to blame. But she’d had no choice.

  If she stuck it out, she’d finally get the promotion she was due, putting her in line to make partner sooner. If she left now and went to a new company, she might be at the bottom, right when she hit her early thirties and planned to start a family. She’d need all the benefits and savings she could get.

  She closed her laptop, gently set Shadow on the floor, and stood up to explore the front bedroom she’d decided to rent. The sooner she got a tenant, the better. Or guests, if she did Airbnb. As long as they gave her money, she didn’t care what she was supposed to call them.

  The bedroom was small but there was a private bathroom in the hallway and a tiny kitchenette she’d installed in the closet. For clothes, she’d gotten an IKEA wardrobe that was in excellent shape, and nobody would ever guess she’d bought it for fourteen dollars from a neighbor’s yard sale.

  She fluffed the pillows and smoothed the quilt on the bed. Gray squares with faint peach accents, which she hoped was gender neutral, a little sophisticated. They could bring their own blanket if they didn’t like it.

  The sound of the doorbell made her jump. For a moment she imagined it was somebody coming to look at the room, maybe even move in. Unlikely, since she hadn’t listed it yet.

  Getting fired had made her edgy.

  When she opened the door, the first thing she noticed was a stack of twenty-dollar bills in a man’s hand at eye level.

  Then she saw the man. He’d cleaned up. Rust-orange sweater, dark jeans, no visible grime under his fingernails. And his beard no longer implied it could provide habitat to an extended family of marmots. Still thick, but clean.

  “I meant to give this to you up in Marin,” Grant said.

  “I meant for you to keep it,” she replied.

  “Can I come in?”

  Shadow appeared at their feet and rubbed against his shins, making the odd growling noise she did to express social stimulation. It sounded a lot like barking.

  Jane stepped aside but peered past him at the dented SUV. “Just because you’re a Whitman doesn’t negate the damage I did to your vehicle.”

  “Nice cat.” Bending over to pet Shadow, he stepped into the house, glancing around, seeming to be searching for something. Then he placed the money on the pine drop-leaf hall table, one of the few pieces of her grandmother’s furniture she’d kept. “That’s not the only reason I’m here.”

  “I figured.” She decided to ignore the stack of bills. It was kind of ridiculous to continue to insist he keep the money given his vast resources and her (especially presently) humble ones. “Troy sent you?”

  He bent down and took off his shoes, clean, sporty oxfords with green and orange accent stitching. “You’re quick.”

  “You don’t have to take off your shoes.”

  “Old habit. You mind?”

  “No, of course not,” she said, admiring his colorful socks. They were striped with skinny bands of pink, black, white, and yellow. The toes and heels were purple. “I’ve never seen men’s socks like that before.”

  “Really?”

  “Really,” she said.

  He grinned. “Yeah, I know. I made these.”

  “Right.”

  “Seriously. Helps pass the time. Good for stress reduction.”

  “You knit?”

  “You don’t?” he asked.

  She didn’t know if he was joking. “I don’t.”

  “You probably don’t have as much time on your hands as I do,” he said.

  Even when she was in grade school, she preferred math homework to craft projects. Her choice of career hadn’t been a coincidence. “That’s not what’s stopping me.” She gestured behind her toward the kitchen. “Would you like a cup of coffee or something?”

  He agreed and followed her and Shadow down the hall. “I don’t have kids, so there isn’t any finger painting or crayons or Play-Doh to satisfy that part of my brain.”

  She noticed again how he seemed to be searching for something. “Is something wrong?”

  “It’s just… your house is really… neat.”

  “Neat as in cool, or neat as in tidy?”

  He grinned. “Both, of course.”

  “I don’t have much stuff. I like it that way.”

  “I don’t have much either, but I don’t have a family.” He frowned at the small café table and pair of stools she used for all her fine dining, which usually consisted of cheese and crackers, fruit, and takeout.

  “I have a big family,” she said, “but none of them live here, not since my sister moved out to live with her boyfriend.” Now she was just one more happy cat lady.

  “But— Oh, of course. I thought—your— Do they—” He cut himself off. “None of my business, sorry. I’m here because Troy wanted to apologize for our grandfather.”

  Some of the tension drained out of her shoulders. Troy was already trying to help her, and had sent his brother to tell her. Maybe everything was going to be all right. “Thank you for making the trip. You probably got stuck in traffic on the Richmond Bridge like I did.”

  “Saturday in the Bay Area. Nothing I’m not used to.”

  “You said you were just visiting…”

  “Right,” he said.

  What harm was there in being nosy? “So, where do you live?”

  “Nowhere, as it happens. Or everywhere.”

  “Wow. Sounds spiritual,” she said.

  He snorted. “I wish. I’ve been on the road— Well, so to speak—researching a book. I haven’t figured out where I’m going to settle down yet.”

  Jane vaguely remembered one of Troy’s brothers was some kind of writer. Outdoor guides. “Are you the Whitman who writes hiking stuff?”

  “Is that how Troy puts it?”

  “No,” she said quickly. “I only have employee gossip to go on. I’m sure it misrepresented your work.”

  He rubbed his face with both hands and sighed. “Actually, you got it exactly right. Staying under my grandfather’s roof has made me overly sensitive. Yes, I’m the one who writes hiking stuff.”

  “That’s why you drive an old SUV,” she said.

  “Yeah. I do a lot of hiking and backpacking. I pa
rk the Rover at the trailhead for weeks at a time. It’s generally safe, but I don’t like to tempt people with a cherried-up new truck. I kind of like having my wheels waiting for me when I hike out.”

  The thought of living in the wilderness for weeks made her shudder. The thought of spending the night outdoors—or, God forbid, peeing without a toilet—inspired her to walk over to her sink and wash her hands under the warm running water with lilac hand soap. “I’ll get the coffee going. Full octane or decaf?”

  “Full octane. Thanks.”

  She let her hand rest on her coffee maker, her favorite appliance. How could he endure all those days and nights without the basics of living? She peeked at him over her shoulder. He’d looked rough at the party, but pretty good now. He must’ve shaved and bathed before coming over. Should she be flattered?

  “I’d assumed you had kids,” he said. “Because of the minivan.”

  She smiled. “Is that what you were looking for when you came in?”

  “Afraid so. Legos, Barbies, bulk diapers, you know.”

  “It’s confused people before, the van. No, no kids.”

  “Married?”

  “No. Just the cat,” she said. “You? I mean, I assume not, unless she travels with—”

  “Not married,” he said.

  What a life that would be, trudging after him in the freezing mud, up and down mountains, trying to pee standing up, sleeping on rocks. He was cute, but not that cute.

  “Thank you for coming over,” she said.

  “You seemed really upset. I felt bad.”

  “Thank you, but I’m all right now. I don’t know why I got so upset. It’s not like me. Shock, I suppose.” She got out two coffee mugs and her grandmother’s retro sugar bowl. “How long before Troy can clear things up?”

  “You’ll have to talk to him about that.”

  “But he sent you,” she said. “What did he say? He must have given you some kind of message.”

  “He wanted to apologize for our grandfather’s behavior.”

  “But…” That could mean anything—his tone, his timing, his choice of words. “Am I really fired?”

  “Honestly,” he said, “I have no idea. Please don’t ask me.”

  Her spirits tanked again. “You don’t look like you think it’s really going to be OK, or you’d say so.”

  “Troy wanted me to ask you to wait until he has time to talk to you,” he said. “I’m sorry I don’t know anything. I’ve never been an accountant. Please ignore whatever I look like.”

  That wasn’t possible. He had a preppy lumberjack thing going on that was distracting. Her last boyfriend had been strictly graphic T-shirts and khakis, and would’ve slit his wrists before wearing plaid or growing a beard. Andrew hadn’t a tenth of this guy’s appeal, one reason his infidelity had been such a shock to her. What were the odds he’d find another woman who’d sleep with him?

  Thinking about Andrew made her spill coffee grounds onto the counter. She swore and turned away for a dishcloth.

  “I was imagining the vocabulary your kids must have,” he said behind her. “Your imaginary kids.”

  “My imaginary kids have wonderful vocabularies,” she said, smiling.

  “Colorful.”

  “Swearing is a sign of intelligence,” she said. “Especially in women.”

  “No shit.”

  Laughing, she glanced at him over her shoulder. “Read it on the internet.”

  “Then it must be true.”

  “Glad we can agree.” She finished preparing the coffee and handed him a cup. “Do you take anything in it?”

  “Just my lips.”

  She couldn’t help looking at those lips as they puckered, preparing to sip his drink. The hair on his upper lip was carefully trimmed, providing plenty of coffee-to-mouth clearance. No handlebar mustache was going to take a swim.

  “What’s so funny?” he asked, eyeing her over the rim of the cup.

  “How long does your beard get when you’re in the wild?”

  “I try keep it short, actually. Otherwise it’s too hard to keep clean.”

  “You shave out there?”

  “It’s not Antarctica. I bathe, too.”

  She felt her cheeks warm. She lifted her own mug to her lips, hiding behind it as she pushed away the vivid image she’d had of his bare, muscled butt cheeks glistening under the spray of a mountain waterfall. Like a Norse god. Getting nice and clean. Nice and clean and wet.

  What was the matter with her? She turned away and mentally slapped herself. So he slightly resembled Chris Hemsworth. That didn’t mean he actually was a god, or even a movie star. He only looked like one.

  Even better, she thought.

  They sipped their coffee in silence for a few minutes.

  “Look, if you think Troy might not step in and clear this up, please tell me now. I can’t afford this house without a guaranteed income.” She set her cup on the counter. “I was getting the front room ready for a tenant, but I don’t even have the permits yet for a separate entrance or the other things I need to do for Airbnb. I thought I had some time. But if I’m laid off as of yesterday or even next week, I—”

  “You’re renting out a room?” He looked unreasonably curious.

  “I was. Eventually. But it’s not ready yet. I can’t count on that income either, not for at least a month.” And even then, the amount would hardly cover her living expenses.

  “What else do you have to do to get it ready?” He set down his mug and started to leave the kitchen. “Let’s take a look.”

  She groaned inwardly. Why did men get so excited about thinking they could fix things with their hands? The last guy to help out with the home improvements had gotten engaged to her sister, which was how Jane had ended up owning the house by herself. “Listen, I’m sorry I mentioned it. If you want to help, talk to your grandfather.”

  Grant stopped in the hallway and gave her a sad smile over his shoulder. “That wouldn’t help. Definitely a bad idea.”

  There was obviously a family story there she didn’t want to get into. “Fine, then Troy. Tell him I can’t wait more than a week to hear if I’m let go.” She wanted to show she was reasonable but not a pushover.

  He disappeared into the front bedroom without replying. When she caught up to him, she found him opening the closet and pushing the buttons on the microwave.

  “Nice,” he said.

  “You don’t drag a solar-powered microwave with you into the woods?”

  “Nope.” He lifted the electric kettle, popped the lid, and peered inside. “You could make ramen in here like a boss.”

  “No, you could use the bowl and lid provided. Otherwise everything else you make in it will taste like MSG.”

  “There’s a bowl and lid provided?” He opened the top drawer on the compact storage bin she’d put on the shelf above the mini fridge. “Aha, so there is. And spoons. And knives. Even forks.”

  “Maybe you should hit the road now to avoid the traffic,” she said. “Saturday night can be worse than Saturday afternoon.”

  “What about the bathroom?” he asked.

  “Don’t worry about the bathroom.”

  “I saw one right out here in the hall.” He strode past her and out of the room.

  Once again she chased after him. “Please, I don’t need your help with the rental. If you would just please tell Troy what I said about contacting me as soon as possible, maybe point out I’m in a delicate financial situation at the moment and—”

  “This is perfect,” he said, sliding the new glass door over the tub back and forth. “I don’t understand what else you have to do. Why not get somebody in here right now?”

  “I need a door put in. This bathroom is right next to my kitchen. They’ll need their privacy.”

  He frowned, wiggled past her—close enough for her to notice he smelled like shampoo and men’s cologne—and looked out into the hallway. “It’s miles from the kitchen.”

  “I hope your hiking gui
des are more accurate,” she said. “It’s precisely eleven feet.”

  “And your bedroom is at the opposite end of the house, right?”

  She nodded. What else could she do, push him out the front door? He was too big. She’d have to trick him somehow. Food? She’d found men surprisingly easy to lure around with aromatic snacks. Perhaps she could order a pizza and have them leave it on the front step.

  He put his hands on his hips and smiled. “This is excellent. And the street parking isn’t too bad up here, is it? And your driveway is big enough for a second car. BART is a short drive, the park is right there, it’s close but not too close to the rest of the city, a great view…”

  His positive description of her house made her forget for a second about kicking him out. “I was going to put all that in the listing. I also just had the floors refinished. Aren’t they nice?”

  “Very nice. Original?”

  “Yes,” she said proudly. “They were under this nasty carpeting you’d have to see to believe. My poor grandmother had cats, and as she got older, she had problems… Anyway, it’s all been redone.”

  “So why wait? It’s nicer than most of the other places out there. Hotels cost a fortune, and housing is scarce.”

  “I can’t have strangers in here without a door between me and them. That’s just how it is.”

  He looked at her, the front door, the hallway, then nodded. “Right, that’s reasonable.” He rubbed his beard. “In the meantime though, you could live without one. If you knew the person.”

  Numbers were her specialty, but she wasn’t a complete idiot about people either. She eyed him warily. “What are you suggesting?”

  “I need a place for three months. Six at the most. I’ll pay up front.”

  Although her practical, calculating heart warmed at pay up front, she didn’t want to live with anyone she couldn’t escape from with a lockable door.

  “I’ll pay twice whatever you were thinking,” he added.

  “But why? Why would you want to live here?”

  “I’m writing a book. Or I’m supposed to be. I moved in with my mother and grandfather thinking it would torture me into getting the fucker—sorry, the manuscript—finished. I told myself I had to live there until it was done. That was a month ago, and I’ve written, let’s see, nothing. Not a damn word.”