Wilder

by Lena North

  He did and had just managed to push the stone back in place when the door was thrown open and Mickey strolled in, followed by a woman I recognized well from the university in Prosper.

  “We need to talk to you about the papers you –”

  Mickey was immediately interrupted by both my father and the woman.

  “Well, shit,” the woman said.

  “Hello there, darling,” Hawker said in a slow drawl.

  Mickey and I stared at them in stunned silence.

  “I should have known you’d be here,” the woman said sourly.

  “Live here, don’t I?” Hawker said with a grin.

  “Excuse me,” I said loudly, and they turned to me. “Ms. Parks, what are you doing here?” I asked.

  Sloane Parks was my history teacher and she’d also taught some of the first anthropology classes I’d taken. She was a tall, serious woman, who usually dressed in drab suits that did nothing for her body. Her hair was always pulled back in a severe knot at the back of her head and in class she used huge glasses with thick black frames. It had always seemed to me as if she was trying to look like a serious scientist, but also trying just a little too hard. Standing there in my little cabin, next to Mickey who would make anyone look small, she didn’t look like a teacher at all. Her hair was loose and the soft brown waves reached almost to her waist. She wore tight jeans and underneath her thick parka I caught a glimpse of a tight cherry colored tank top. I realized that underneath the façade she put up in Prosper, she was gorgeous.

  “Ms. Parks,” Hawker snorted, as if her name was perfectly ridiculous when it, in fact, was a rather common name.

  “Dad,” I barked.

  Ms. Parks made a strange, strangled sound, and I blinked. It was clear that they’d met before, and I looked very much like my father so how she could have missed the connection I didn’t know.

  “How could you not see me in her?” Hawker asked quietly.

  “Oh,” she repeated and looked at him uncertainly. Then she raised her chin a little. “Well, I just assumed she was Hare’s,” she added breezily.

  “Why are you here?” I interrupted.

  She clearly knew the rest of my family as well, but I could ask her about that some other time. Right then, I wanted to know what she’d found out about the paper.

  “Mary did a preliminary analysis of the paper you gave her, Wilder. She was quite surprised by the result and thought that she’d made a mistake, so she came to me. I did the tests too, and the conclusions are quite astonishing,” she promptly explained.

  I guessed what the analysis would have shown, and tried desperately to come up with some kind of explanation for why I would have paper that old. It must also be some kind of special material because paper made from wood fibers would have been destroyed by time. They could have used some kind of seaweed, I thought, but that would be out of the ordinary as well.

  “Okay,” was my only response.

  “You were right to have it tested. It is very, very old and not at all the usual kind of paper used in that time period. Where did you get it?”

  Shit. At least it didn’t seem like Mickey had told her about the stories.

  “It was just a sheet in one of the boxes my grandfather had,” I murmured. “I just thought it looked kind of strange, so I asked Mary to look at it. The rest is somewhere at Double H, I think,” I added vaguely.

  “Really,” she said and not as a question, making me think that she didn’t believe a word I said.

  “Really,” I replied determinedly.

  “Right,” Hawker interrupted curtly. “Wilder has had a long day, and her foot hurts. We should leave her for tonight and then we can discuss more tomorrow.”

  Clever. That would give me some time to embellish and rehearse my lies before giving them to her.

  “Yes, Dad,” I said and watched his face soften. “I could really use some sleep,” I added.

  “You can take the second bedroom, Ms. Parks,” Mickey offered, and added casually, “I’ll share with Wilder.”

  “No,” Hawker said, not angrily but with no room for discussion at all. “Sloane, you’ll sleep with me, and we can all meet there tomorrow morning.”

  “I’m not sleeping with you,” Ms. Parks blurted out.

  I stared at her, and the blush that crept up her neck. Did she really think that my father would proposition her, right in front of Mickey and me?

  “Good to know, Ms. Parks,” Mickey snorted out. “I think he just meant at his place, though.”

  Hawker barked out laughter and grabbed her arm, steering her toward the door.

  “This your bag?” he asked, and picked up a bag with huge flowers and butterflies printed on it. It was surprisingly girly, and it clearly wasn’t Mickeys so he didn’t wait for a reply. As they walked out the door, I heard Ms. Parks try to argue, with no success. Then suddenly his bike roared, and my eyebrows went up so high I was afraid they’d get stuck in my hairline. He got her to go on the back of his bike? My serious history teacher was riding behind my badass dad on his cool black cruiser?

  I started laughing, and so did Mickey.

  “Oh, wow, do I have things to share,” I told him, finally.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Bird shit

  When Hawker and Sloane Parks left, Mickey and I sat down in the kitchen. Then I told him everything that happened the day before, from my meeting with Bozo and Carson to how I’d figured out about Vildman and the prophecy we’d found. We pulled the papers out and read them again, and it still made no sense at all.

  When he heard about the birds, and why Hawker had left me behind, he whistled.

  “That explains a lot, doesn’t it, Wilder?” he asked.

  “About what?” I murmured, focused on fitting the stone back in place.

  “You have a tat on your shoulder,” he said.

  I nodded because this was obviously not news to me.

  “Why a feather?”

  I blinked.

  “You know why, Mickey. The feather I have above my bed. The one I found in the forest as a kid.”

  That feather had been special to me all my life. It wasn’t exceptionally big, but it was soft and shiny, and black as the night. It was beautiful.

  Suddenly, I knew without a shred of doubt that it came from my bird. I remembered how Willy had lit up when I showed it to him and realized that he’d known too.

  “I have a bird,” I said softly.

  “Of course you do,” he said. “This is beyond super cool, Wilder. You get that, right?”

  I did get that, but what mattered the most to me was that I knew why Hawker had left me. He hadn’t wanted to, and I couldn’t understand why Mother had fought to keep me when she clearly hadn’t wanted me. But my father had wanted me, and it had hurt him to leave. I could still see it in his eyes sometimes, and when I called him dad his eyes softened, so I knew he’d hurt and even though I felt bad for him, I felt good for me.

  We talked some more, but by then I was cross-eyed with fatigue, so we went to bed.

  I woke up early and sat on the stone wall outside my little house, sipping coffee. I slept deeply, but when I woke I still remembered my dreams. I’d dreamt about flying.

  “Hey,” a voice murmured behind me.

  I jumped and held my cup away to avoid dripping coffee on the blanket I’d wrapped myself up in.

  “Hey,” I replied, cursing internally as Mac sat down beside me.

  I got all tingly inside when I looked at him, but my hair was a rat’s nest, and I wished I’d put some make-up on. Not that I used make-up often, but still.

  “I don’t have much time because I need to deal with a sick dog, and I promised to be there first thing. Just wanted to make sure you were good. It was a pretty intense day for you yesterday,” he said but didn’t move to leave.

  “Okay,” I said, mentally kicking myself for sounding like an idiot.

  I usually didn’t have
any problems articulating my opinion, but the sweet look on his beautiful face apparently made me melt into a puddle of stupid.

  He touched my cheek softly and got up.

  “I’ll be by to see you tonight, okay?” he asked.

  I nodded silently.

  Then he left, and I sat there wondering if he’d even been there or if it had just been my imagination playing tricks with me. When I’d finished my coffee, I carried the boxes from my car into the cabin. Mickey was up when I got the last one inside, and since we didn’t have much food in the house, we decided to go to my father’s place and mooch breakfast from him.

  Ms. Parks was in the kitchen when we got there. She greeted us with a wide smile, but as she continued to put breakfast on the table, she seemed part thoughtful and part annoyed. When Hawker ambled into the kitchen, she glared at him, and he promptly grinned.

  “Mornin’, babe,” he drawled and his grin turned into a chuckle when she huffed in response.

  “Good morning, Dad,” I said, interrupting their weird behavior.

  I’d never said that before, and he’d never heard it before, and the smile he gave me was so sweet my breath hitched.

  “Good morning,” he murmured.

  Then we stood there, neither knowing what to say. It felt like a huge moment at the same time as it was an ordinary one, and I had no clue how to move on. Hawker moved uneasily, so I suspected that he was just as uncomfortable as me.

  “Breakfast,” Ms. Parks suddenly said cheerfully and put a jar of jam on the table with unnecessary force.

  The sound shook us out of our moment, and we sat down to eat. I smiled gratefully at her, not sure if she’d understood that she broke up a moment neither of us had known how to handle, or if she’d been eager to start eating. There was a huge stack of pancakes on the table, so maybe she’d just been hungry.

  I grabbed the cup in front of me and raised it to get some coffee, but then I reared back.

  It was a big, pink cup with purple swirls and a handle painted in silver. It was kind of ridiculous but also very familiar.

  “What?” I breathed and turned to my father, but he was looking at Ms. Parks.

  “She should know,” was all she said and then she leaned back, sipping from her own cup.

  Hawker raised his brows in surprise at her strange words, but I didn’t give him time to say anything.

  “I have a cup like this,” I said.

  “I know you do. Got it for you,” my father muttered. “I heard from –” he cut himself off and glanced over at Ms. Parks before he continued, “Figured you’d like something like that, that’s all.”

  “Okay,” I said weakly.

  Apparently, Willy had told him.

  “I wouldn’t have thought they’d have something like this in Norton,” Ms. Parks said, but it sounded like she taunted him, or prompted him to tell me something.

  “Sloane…” he started, pulled a hand through his hair a few times and then he continued in a frustrated voice, “Got it in Twin City, okay?”

  “You went all the way down to Twin City to buy me a silly, pink mug?” I breathed.

  “You don’t like it?”

  “I love it, Dad. Always did. I wish I’d known I got it from you,” I whispered.

  “Yeah,” he said after a while.

  Then we had another moment where neither knew how to move on and again we got help from Ms. Parks.

  “Right,” she said briskly. “I cooked, and now I have work to do. You can all clean up the kitchen.”

  “Will do, Ms. Parks,” Mickey replied.

  “For fuck's sake, Mickey. She isn’t ninety,” Hawker muttered. “Call her Sloane.”

  I looked at Ms. Parks, and she had a small smile on her face which I figured was an agreement.

  “Okay, Sloane,” I said, deliberately drawling out her name.

  She grinned back at me and turned to my father, “You wanted to take Wilder and Mickey to see Vildman’s grave?” she said, making it into a question but she immediately left the room without looking back.

  Hawker followed her with his eyes and a thoughtful look on his face, but then he snapped out of it, and we cleaned up the kitchen.

  Miller joined us just as we were done, and we walked together down the road to a small church, through the graveyard and up a slope until we reached an area where more stones were scattered. Hawker stopped in front of one of them, pointed to it, and murmured, “Look.”

  I crouched down to put my hand on the flat stone on the ground. It had one word written on it, though time had smoothed out the surface, so it was hard to see. I traced the name with my fingers and even though I knew that the grave was empty, it still felt huge.

  “Vildman,” I whispered.

  “Wildman,” a strange voice whispered.

  “What?” I asked and looked at the four men standing in a line behind me.

  “What, what?” Mickey asked.

  “Someone said “Wildman?” I asked uncertainly.

  “Your bird is getting closer, Wilder,” Hawker murmured. “I’d guess this was to let you know that it’s sorry for your loss.”

  “Vildman has been dead a while, Hawker. I –”

  “Not Vildman. Wildman. Willy,” he said.

  I jerked. I’d never heard anyone refer to Gramps as anything but Willy, and I’d always assumed it was short for William. Why hadn’t I ever asked?

  “Wildman…” I murmured, and when I trailed off, there was a quiet hum in the back of my mind that was oddly soothing.

  I looked at the other stones, but most of them were impossible to decipher. Then Mickey called out to me. He was on his knees, and he had a weird look on his face. I crouched down and gasped.

  “Vilda and Drake,” I whispered.

  “Yeah,” Mickey murmured, and our eyes met.

  They were together, still. The girl full of courage and her blue-eyed boy were buried in the same grave. Only their names were carved into the stone, but somehow I sensed that they had passed together. My eyes stung, but I smiled.

  “I hope they had a good life,” I whispered.

  “Yeah,” Mickey repeated, and I could tell that he was also touched by what we’d found.

  I had told my father about the stories the evening before, and he had apparently told Miller because he leaned down and looked, mumbling, “Well, I’ll be damned. Never noticed. Been here many times, always paid my respect at Vildman’s grave. Never knew his daughter was here too.”

  I got to my feet and was turning to him when my phone rang. The shrill signal seemed completely out of place, and I answered quickly, without checking the number.

  “Hello Wilder,” Paolo Fratinelli crooned.

  Yish. What did that stupid man want this time?

  “Hey Paolo,” I replied and the three men around me straightened. I hoped that they would remain quiet, and started to walk away, but Hawker immediately grabbed my arm and shook his head. I tried to listen to my ex-father talking about how worried he was about me, and how much he wanted to help me, all the while trying to signal to my current father that he needed to be quiet. Hawker didn’t say a word, but he also didn’t let go of my arm and kept glaring at me.

  “Paolo, I’m sorry,” I interrupted, finally. “I have my hands full, I’ll put you on loudspeaker, okay?”

  I didn’t wait for a reply, and then Paolo’s voice echoed over the old graves.

  “Are you packing up your belongings, Wilder?”

  “Yeah, I’m quite busy sorting a lot of things out,” I replied, which wasn’t exactly a lie.

  “I just want to help you. It must be so hard for a girl your age to deal with everything that has happened, and managing Double H on top of it all,” Paolo murmured.

  My brows went up. I didn’t have to manage Double H any more than Willy had managed it, which was not very much at all. Uncle Andy ran operations as he had done for years.

  “Yeah,” I murmured.

/>   “I could help you with that if it’s too much.”

  What?

  “You have your engineering degree to focus on, Wilder,” he continued. “I could buy the ranch from you? Take it off your hands, so you don’t have to worry…”

  He trailed off, and I looked at my father, who looked like a thundercloud and then at Mickey who seemed ready to scream.

  “Paolo –”

  “No need to decide now, but think about it, Wilder? I just want what’s best for you, and you could live an easy life on the proceeds from a sale…”

  “Yeah,” I murmured again, and Mickey grabbed my shoulder, hard enough to push a small sound from me.

  “Are you okay?” Paolo asked immediately.

  “Yes, of course,” I said, and added quickly, “I’m just carrying some heavy things.”

  “I will leave you to your packing then, but please call me back. I worry and want to be there for you,” Paolo said, in that syrupy croon he’d started the call with. “I hope you also will consider my invite to Marshes. Just call me whenever you want to come. Anytime, just call,” he finished.

  “Thank you, I’m grateful, Paolo. I don’t know right now, but I’ll call you, I promise,” I said. “Goodbye for now,” I added quickly because it was clear that patience was running out among the men next to me.

  Paolo said his goodbye, and I disconnected. Before anyone could say anything, I raised my hand and spoke myself.

  “No, I am not selling Double H. No, I am not fooled by him. But yes, I will continue to take his phone calls until I’ve figured out what the hell he wants.”

  Mickey looked furious but didn’t say anything. Hawker didn’t hesitate to vent his anger, though.

  “Shit, Wilder. He wants Double H for some reason. There has to be something…”

  He trailed off, and his eyes glazed over. Apparently, his bird had something to share with him and his eyes narrowed dangerously at what he heard.

  “Bird says that he tried once before. Carrie offered to let you come to Norton if Willy sold Double H to Fratinelli,” he murmured and looked at me. “Willy refused.”

  Our eyes locked and I wondered what he was thinking. Would he have wanted Gramps to sell the ranch? Would I have wanted it?