River Wild

by Towle, Samantha

  I take in the state of the workshop. I’ve trashed it. Broken all of Gran’s work.

  “I-I’m sorry. I b-broke everything.”

  “You have nothing to be sorry for. It’s just glass.” She puts a hand under my chin and raises my eyes to her. “It can all be replaced.”

  But Mama can’t be replaced.

  I’m never going to see her again.

  And I have no one to blame but myself.

  A tear runs down my cheek.

  I see Gran’s eyes shimmer, and something deep inside me breaks.

  Gran never cries. Not ever.

  I’ve made her cry.

  Because I killed her only child.

  She must hate me.

  I hate me.

  “You stop those thoughts right now, River,” she firmly says the words, like she can see straight inside my head. “I don’t blame you. And I most certainly don’t hate you. I love you.”

  But I don’t feel worthy of her love.

  Because I’m not worthy of anyone’s love.

  There is nothing good inside me.

  Just blackness and broken parts that can never be repaired.

  Carrie

  It’s one thirty in the morning, according to the clock on the dashboard in River’s truck, and Selena Gomez’s “Only You” is playing quietly from the radio while we drive back from the veterinary clinic.

  Buddy—that’s what I named the dog because they needed one to register him at the vet—is sitting in my lap, looking a lot better than he did when I took him there. The vet had the nurse give him a bath before he treated him for fleas. He said he didn’t appear to have them but better to have the treatment than not. Apparently, the treatment keeps him free of fleas for a month, and then I’m to treat him again. He also gave him an injection, which the dog wasn’t too happy about. Can’t blame him really.

  The vet assured me that, aside from being a little underweight, Buddy is just fine.

  I bought some dog food from the vet and also a bunch of other things that Buddy will need.

  So, now, I officially have a dog.

  And he’s the cutest dog ever.

  I always thought it would be nice to have a dog. I couldn’t have one while growing up in foster homes. And Neil hates dogs.

  It makes me happy that I can give my baby this. A home and a dog.

  Sounds so simple when I put it like that. But, sometimes, it’s the simplest of things that matter most.

  River reaches over and cuts the radio. I was enjoying the song, but I don’t say anything.

  River waited at the clinic the whole time I was in with Buddy. When I came out of the examination room, I was surprised to see him sitting there.

  We hadn’t talked about him giving me a ride home, and I figured I’d inconvenienced him enough by having him bring me out in the first place.

  And I realize that I haven’t thanked him either.

  “Thank you for the ride to the vet and for waiting for us and giving us a ride home.”

  “Well, I couldn’t exactly just leave you there,” he grunts.

  Yes, you could have. But I don’t point that out.

  Silence, and then, “So, you’re keeping the mutt then.”

  “Don’t call him that.” I frown. “His name is Buddy. And of course I’m keeping him.”

  “You’re an idiot.”

  “What?” I stare over at him, aghast. “I’m an idiot for keeping a harmless little dog who has nowhere to live? Well, if that determines an idiot, then I’ll happily be one.”

  He glances at me, one of those angry brows raised. “You’re an idiot for paying the prices you paid for all the shit you bought for the mutt,” he says slowly. “You could’ve gotten all that shit from the supermarket for half the price.”

  “Oh. Well, the supermarket isn’t open right now, and he needed these things.”

  “He needs a coat? Right now?” He glances over at my feet where the coat among Buddy’s other things sit.

  “Yes. He might get cold.”

  He looks at the temperature gauge in the car and then to me.

  It’s currently sixty-five degrees.

  “Fine. He won’t get cold right now. But he might get cold at some point.”

  “He has fur, Red. That’s what it’s there for. And you do realize that you live in Texas.”

  “Okay, so he might not need the coat, but it’s cute.” It’s pale blue with little pictures of doggie bones on it. “Anyway, it’s always good to have things just in case of emergency. You know, in case it rains when I’m out walking him. It does rain in Texas.”

  “The coat is fleece.”

  Fudge. He’s right.

  “Fleece is waterproof.” Kind of. Okay, not at all.

  “Sure it is.”

  I can almost hear him rolling his eyes.

  Such a smart-ass.

  I refuse to admit he’s right, so I bite my lip and stay quiet.

  But River doesn’t.

  “I never told you my name.” His words are low and quiet.

  “Huh?”

  “You called me River before, in my garden. I never told you my name.”

  No, you didn’t. You were too busy ignoring me and being rude to me to share that piece of information about yourself.

  But, yet again, I don’t say what I’m thinking.

  And, even though I’ve done nothing wrong, I feel like I’ve been caught with my hand in the cookie jar, and my face heats. I stare down at Buddy and stroke his soft fur. “I work at the diner in town—Sadie’s Diner. The cook there, Guy, he heard that I was living next door to you, and he mentioned your name in passing. So, that’s how I know it.”

  “In passing. Sure.” He laughs without humor.

  “Is it a problem that I know your name?”

  He doesn’t answer.

  And it annoys me.

  But I let my annoyance slide. I really don’t want to get into an argument with the guy at one thirty in the morning.

  He pulls his truck up outside my house and turns off the engine. That surprises me. I expected him to park on his drive, and I would walk over.

  “Thanks again for the ride,” I tell him. “Sorry to have kept you out so late.”

  He shrugs.

  I take that as my cue to leave.

  Holding on to Buddy, I open the passenger door and climb out of the truck. I’m about to reach back in to get Buddy’s things from the floor of the truck when River appears out of nowhere. I didn’t even realize he’d gotten out of the truck. He picks up Buddy’s things and then shuts the passenger door.

  “I got them,” he says gruffly.

  “Thank you,” I whisper.

  I walk to my front door, River trailing behind me.

  I honestly don’t get the guy. He acts like an asshole. Yet he drives me all the way into town to the vet at midnight and waits there with me for over an hour. Then, he drives me home. Parks outside my house. And is now carrying Buddy’s things in for me.

  That’s not the act of an asshole.

  Maybe River isn’t the complete asshole that he seems to be.

  Getting my key, I unlock my front door and walk inside. I left the lights on, so it wouldn’t be dark, coming home.

  I really don’t like walking into a dark room.

  Buddy gives a little wriggle in my arms, so I put him down to the floor.

  “Welcome to your new home, Buddy.” I watch him as he goes off, exploring the living room.

  When I turn to River, I find him standing just inside the doorway, filling it out, watching me. Those dark brows of his are lowered over his eyes, concealing whatever is in them.

  “Where do you want me to put this junk?” He lifts Buddy’s things in gesture.

  I ignore the junk comment and say, “On the coffee table will be fine, thanks.”

  I shut the door while River puts Buddy’s things on the table.

  He looks huge in my small living room.

  After he puts the items down, he pauses,
staring at the fireplace. Then, he turns abruptly. “Are you pregnant?” His eyes drop to my flat stomach.

  Ah, he saw my ultrasound picture.

  “Yes, I am. Seven weeks—that’s why I’m not showing yet.” I press my hand to my stomach.

  “Where’s the father?”

  My lips part in surprise.

  I stare at him—not wanting to answer, but unsure of what to say.

  “I shouldn’t have asked that. It’s none of my business.”

  I fold my arms over my chest. “No, it’s not.”

  Surprise flickers in his expression along with what I think is admiration. But I can’t be sure with him.

  “So, you’re alone.”

  His words needle at me.

  I narrow my gaze. “Clearly.”

  “Why didn’t you say that you were pregnant?”

  My brows furrow with confusion and annoyance. “I didn’t know I had to announce it.”

  “Well, I wouldn’t have let you carry that mutt around if I’d known you were pregnant.” He throws his hands in the air, seeming irritated. Though I’m not really sure what he has to be irritated about.

  “I’m pregnant, not ill. And please stop calling Buddy a mutt.”

  He grunts. “He looks like a mutt. An ugly little gremlin. Make sure you don’t feed him after midnight.”

  “Did you just make a joke?” My lips spread into a smile even though he did just indirectly insult Buddy. “I didn’t know you were capable of it.”

  His brows lower over his dark eyes. A shiver rakes down my spine.

  “You’d be surprised at what I’m capable of.”

  I think his words are meant to scare me, but they don’t.

  This guy is all bark and no bite.

  I’ve seen this from him tonight.

  He heads for the front door.

  He stops when I speak, “You know … I actually think you’re a nice guy, not the jerk you like people to think you are.”

  The look he gives me could freeze the whole of Texas. Which would be quite nice in the current climate.

  “I’m not nice, Red.”

  “If you say so,” I say airily. “But I’ll think what I think, and I think you’re nice.”

  “I don’t know how I’ll ever get over it,” he says dryly.

  Then, he’s out the front door, shutting it behind him, and I’m laughing to myself.

  For the first time in a really long time, I’m actually laughing.

  And the shocker is, it’s because of my grumpy neighbor.

  Carrie

  Using the remote, I turn the TV off and stretch my body out. Buddy doesn’t even move next to me. Little sleepyhead that he is.

  I did a double shift tonight, as one of the waitresses called in sick, and after I finished work, I came home and took Buddy for a walk. Poor thing had been stuck inside all day while I worked. I stopped at the store and got a tub of mint chocolate chip ice cream, hot fudge topping, and marshmallows. The baby’s craving these things. What can I do?

  When we got home from our walk, Scrooged was just starting on TV. It’s December now, so Christmas movies are in full swing. And I love Bill Murray movies. They always leave me with a good feeling.

  So, I changed into my pajamas and got snuggled up on the sofa with Buddy and my ice cream concoction to watch the movie.

  I watched. Buddy slept.

  Thinking about Christmas, I glance around my living room.

  I really need to get a Christmas tree. Weird that I haven’t thought about it until now.

  Neil always used to buy our tree and put it up. I was never allowed to decorate it. He said I would mess it up.

  Well, guess what, Neil. I’m going to get a tree, and I’m going to decorate the heck out of it.

  It’s my day off tomorrow, so I’ll head into town and do a little Christmas shopping.

  There’s a hardware store in town that sells and delivers Christmas trees. I saw them when I was in there last week, picking up a gardening trowel and fork set, so I could start on ridding the front garden of weeds.

  I’ll take Buddy for a walk into town in the morning and get a tree. I’ll also pick up some decorations. Hopefully, they can do same-day delivery, and then I can spend the rest of my day decorating it. I might even grab some ingredients from the grocery store and bake some Christmas cookies.

  I feel a tingle of excitement at the thought.

  It’s the little things that matter most to me. The things I never could do before.

  Maybe I’ll take some of the cookies to River. Another thank-you for his help with Buddy.

  I give Buddy a gentle nudge with my hand, waking him.

  “Come on, Bud. Toilet time.”

  I pick my bowl up to take to the kitchen and get up from the sofa. Buddy clambers down and sleepily follows me.

  I place my bowl into the sink and then open the back door for him.

  I step out onto the deck and watch him trot down the steps and onto the grass.

  The panels on the fence are still broken. For all of River’s complaining about them, he hasn’t fixed them like he said he would.

  So, I don’t want to leave Buddy out alone in the garden in case he goes through the gap and into River’s garden and ends up back in the pool.

  It’s been almost three weeks since I rescued Buddy out of River’s pool. I haven’t seen my neighbor around at all. If I were a paranoid person, I’d think he was avoiding me. But I’m not, so I don’t.

  It’s not like I’m waiting around to see him.

  I’m busy working at the diner and taking walks with Buddy. Life is good. Better than I could’ve ever imagined it would be.

  I’ve also made a start at stripping the walls in the nursery, ready to prime it, so I can paint it.

  I’m just not sure what color to go with.

  I guess it depends on whether I decide to find out the sex of the baby when I have my next ultrasound.

  But then I suppose it doesn’t have to be a pink or blue room. It could be yellow or green or lilac or even white with colored accessories to brighten it up.

  As I ponder the possibilities of paint colors, I watch Buddy over by the fence.

  I wrap my arms around myself, shifting restlessly on my feet. “Hurry up, Bud,” I say more to myself than him because what I’ve learned with Buddy is that he’s a dog with his own mind.

  He walks down the fence a little further. Stopping and sniffing before he finally takes a leak.

  Hallelujah.

  “Come on inside now, Bud.” I clap my hands to get his attention. “Time for bed.”

  “No!” a voice cries out.

  I freeze.

  Buddy stops and turns back to the fence. A low growl emits from him.

  “Don’t you … fucking touch me!”

  My heart drops through the floor at the words and the agony in them.

  Is that River?

  Buddy’s growling increases.

  “Buddy, come here.” My voice is firm.

  He looks at me and then back to the fence.

  “Buddy.”

  Finally, he listens to me and comes back up the deck.

  “Good boy.” I reach down and pat him. I open the back door and usher him inside. “Wait here for me,” I tell him before closing the door.

  “Stop it, you sick fuck!” another agonized cry comes.

  It’s definitely coming from River’s house.

  What if he’s in trouble? Or hurt? Or worse?

  I have to go help him.

  I look around for a weapon. My eyes land on the gardening fork and trowel that I left out here.

  Fork or trowel?

  What would do the most damage?

  The fork is pointy. Meaning it’s stabby. That’ll do.

  I grab it and head down the steps into my garden.

  I walk quickly through my garden and slip through the gap in the fence, taking me into River’s garden.

  I quickly but quietly cross the garden, skirt around the
pool, and go up to his house.

  The upstairs window directly above me is open. That must be where he is. How I heard him from my place.

  I call out his name.

  No reply.

  Maybe he’s okay now. I mean, he hasn’t made another sound in a—

  “I’ll do it! I swear!”

  Looks like I’m going in.

  Swallowing the fear I’m feeling, I take a deep breath.

  You can do this. He needs your help.

  Garden fork still in hand, I walk up to the back door. I try the handle—unlocked.

  I guess, in Canyon Lake, people don’t lock their doors.

  I pause, hand on the handle. If I step inside, am I breaking and entering?

  I really should call the police because, if he is in trouble, it’s not like I can do much.

  But the last thing I want to do is deal with the police, and it’s not like I have a lot of trust in the police. Not that I think all cops are bad like Neil. But it’s hard to trust them after I called his colleagues, asking for help, and they let me down so badly.

  And it’s not like I can just leave River in pain. Alone.

  Guess it’s just the garden fork and me.

  “Don’t touch me. I’ll … ah, no! Fuck, it hurts.” His cries sound painfully erotic.

  My heart twists in my chest.

  I open the door and step inside the house, leaving it open behind me in case I need a quick escape out of here.

  My eyes adjust to the dark, but I still manage to catch my hip on the edge of a table.

  “Fudge,” I hiss.

  I don’t let the sting of pain slow me down.

  I reach the stairs. Stopping at the bottom, I stare up at the darkness beyond.

  Be brave.

  Lifting the garden fork to chest height, I hold it with both hands, ready to stab or hit with it if necessary. I slowly step to walk up the wooden stairs on silent feet.

  Another painful moan has me moving a little quicker, clutching the handle of the fork a little tighter.

  I’m not thinking of myself in this moment. I’m thinking of him—another human being. Wanting to help him, the way I wish someone had been there to help me.

  I reach the top where I stop and glance around, trying to figure out which room is his.

  The noise was coming from the back window that was open, so that must be where he is.

  And there’s an open door at the far end of the hall.