Loving Wilder

by Leigh Tudor

  Alec gave his, which was a prime rib sandwich with a tall glass of Guinness.

  Jimbo asked for the Gus Special and a glass of water, no ice.

  Gus grabbed Jimbo by the shoulder. “Sure is nice to have you inside Lucky’s for a change, my friend.”

  “Good to be here,” Jimbo mumbled, moving his fork to the opposite side.

  “Be right back with your drinks,” Gus said, making his way back to the bar.

  Alec continued to watch Jimbo fidgeting with the utensils as if he were setting up a magic trick, while Trevor, seemingly oblivious to the odd behavior, checked his fork and knife for cleanliness.

  That kid Nate was turning him into a compulsive-obsessive germaphobe.

  “You know what you need, Alec?” Trevor asked as he ran his knife through the paper napkin.

  “Yeah, an attack dog that will protect Loren when Jimbo’s at work.”

  “No, what you need is to move on.”

  “I believe you’ve mentioned that a time or two.” He ran his fingers through his hair. “Maybe you should start taking your own advice.”

  “I’m not interested in dating.”

  “That’s because you’re interested in Mercy Ingalls.”

  “Not entirely incorrect.”

  “Which is another way of saying I’m right,” Alec said. “But come on. You heard her. Hell, the entire town heard her. She’s met someone else.”

  “Right, an accountant named Greg,” Trevor huffed, getting riled up. “Who the fuck has the name Greg?”

  “Greg’s a pretty common name,” Alec pointed out.

  “I’ll tell you who: sexual deviants who live in their mother’s basement, stalking high school girls online, and becoming fucking accountants.”

  Alec sighed. “Glad to see you’re being rational about this.”

  “My favorite uncle’s name was Greg,” Jimbo muttered offhandedly.

  “But get this, there’s not an accountant named Greg within a three-hundred-mile radius.”

  “You looked him up?” Alec asked with an incredulous laugh.

  “Fuck, no. I don’t have time to research the names of all the accountants within the tri-city area, take care of three kids, and run a business.” He scratched the side of his face and glanced at Alec with a rueful expression. “Nate did it.”

  “You had your foster son search all of the accountants named Greg in Southeast Texas?”

  Trevor shrugged. “He had an algorithm.”

  “That’s messed up.” Alec shook his head. “Didn’t you say that Mercy was opposed to dating men who worked in covert, undercover jobs?”

  Trevor didn’t respond, which to Alec meant a “yes.”

  “Did you stop to think that by invading her privacy, you’re exhibiting the very attribute she was opposed to?”

  “But why would she lie?”

  “Who the fuck cares? She lied. End of story.”

  “She’s hiding something.”

  “Again, who cares? Ever think she’s just not that into you?”

  “I’m telling you; something is going on with her. One minute, we’re doing fine. Then, less than an hour later, she’s in front of the entire town announcing we’re over. She’s obviously lying.”

  “You’re not making your case,” Alec countered, growing weary of the argument. “Just more proof you need to move on.”

  “No, you need to move on. Start dating again. Or at least find a quick hookup and work off some of that sex-deprived brain fog.”

  “I don’t have time to find hookups, look after Loren and Ally, and run a business,” Alec said, echoing Trevor’s excuses.

  Trevor checked his phone for messages. “That’s why I arranged a date for you,” he muttered.

  With perfect timing, before he could put Trevor in a headlock, Gus showed up with their drinks.

  Once the drinks were distributed and Gus started to make his way to the next table, Alec was glaring at Trevor. “Come again?”

  “I set you up with Maggie Hayes,” he said, setting his phone down.

  “Never heard of her…”

  “She’s new to the area, teaches first grade.”

  “Why does that not sound like a hookup?”

  Trevor took a drink of his IPA. “You don’t know that. She could be a freak. Maybe she’s into role-playing? Where she’s the kinky teacher and you’re the domineering principal, who has a trigger finger when it comes to his paddle.”

  Alec grimaced. “Jesus, you sound like a low-grade porno with shitty audio.”

  “It could happen.”

  “You seem creepily familiar with this particular role-play scenario.”

  “All I’m saying is that it’s time you get out there and take back your man card.”

  “Fuck you. I never lost my man card.”

  “Dude, your man card is lost somewhere in the Sahara, dragging through the hot sand with a flaccid appendage and suffering from severe dehydration.”

  “Well, if that’s the case, your flaccid appendage is right there with me.” Alec hesitated, saying the words back to himself. “Okay, that came out wrong.”

  The jangle and clashing of silverware hitting the floor caught Alec’s and Trevor’s attention as Jimbo jumped out of his chair to retrieve his cutlery.

  Alec slid from his seat and squatted beside him. “Hey, buddy. What’s up with you tonight? You seem jittery.”

  Forks and knives haphazardly returned to the table as Jimbo stood with his head down and his hands on his hips. “I like to drink.”

  Alec glanced over at Trevor at the unexpected statement. “Okay.”

  “I like to drink a lot.”

  Oh, wow. Alec was beginning to understand the reason behind his friend’s odd behavior. Shit, he should have picked up on that. He placed his hand on the man’s shoulder. “You want to leave? We can always hit the diner instead?”

  “No,” Jimbo blurted. “The short-order cook there uses shitty canola oil. That stuff will kill you. Or at the very least, increase inflammation and impair cognitive function.”

  “What was that?” Trevor asked, picking up his phone and poised to type. “Could you repeat that, Jimbo?”

  “Seriously?” Alec growled.

  “What? I’m raising a genius who’s convinced we’re all going to die of early-onset dementia if we don’t change our eating habits. He needs to know about this. Plus, it will earn me some points.”

  Alec ignored Trevor and turned his attention back to his old friend. “What do you need?”

  Jimbo laughed. “Certainly not a drink.” He ran his worn, calloused hands along the back of his neck. “I’ll be fine. I need to do this.”

  Alec nodded, giving Jimbo a quick and assuring pat on the back. “Okay, then. But if you decide otherwise, just say the word and we’ll leave.”

  Trevor looked up from his phone. “Nate wants to know if you can cite a peer-reviewed study on that canola thing.”

  To Alec’s surprise, Jimbo responded, “Tell him to look it up on PubMed. Should be there.”

  Trevor nodded, typing into his phone. “Thanks, man, and I’m good to go if things get tough for you in here.”

  Jimbo nodded even though Trevor’s head was bowed over his phone, attempting to impress Nate with more pearls of nutritional wisdom.

  Alec considered a distraction might help Jimbo out. Keep his mind off the teetering trays with alcoholic beverages that kept passing by. “So, what about you, Jimbo? You ever been married?”

  “Three times,” he offered. “But the last one turned me off marriage for good.”

  “Oh, yeah? Bleed you dry?”

  “You have no idea. She was insatiable.”

  Huh, that was an odd response.

  Alec tried for more context. “She the reason you took to living outside?”

  Jimbo nodded with his arms crossed over his chest. “I couldn’t take it anymore. All of the adoration and constant unwavering support of my life choices. Never arguing or questioning me. It was exhaust
ing.”

  This strange dialogue even caught Trevor’s attention for he glanced up from his phone and remarked, “Yeah, sounds like pure hell.”

  “You have no idea.”

  “She take everything?” Trevor asked.

  “Oh, no. She’s independently wealthy.”

  “What?”

  “She gave me everything. Said if she couldn’t have me, she wanted nothing else.”

  “Shit,” Alec said. “Sounds like a real piece of work.” He pulled at his bottom lip with his thumb and forefinger, trying to put the Jimbo-sized pieces of the puzzle together. “So you’ve got money?”

  “Yeah, we have a joint checking account. The stubborn woman hasn’t touched it in two years.”

  Alec scratched his jaw as Trevor’s head moved back and forth between him and Jimbo like a bobblehead figurine. “Why did you get divorced again?”

  “We’re not divorced,” he corrected, taking a drink of his water. “Can’t pin her down long enough to get her to sign the damned papers. Refuses to sign them unless I meet with her face-to-face.” His voice took on an uncharacteristic edge. “You couldn’t drag me back to that god-awful woman with the combined forces of all the tractors within a fifty-mile radius of Wilder.”

  Trevor tried again. “Did she write bad checks? Have a shopping addiction? Bone the neighbor?”

  Alec interrupted Trevor. “A man bones a woman. Not the other way around.”

  “It’s a metaphor, Wilder.”

  “A metaphor used incorrectly, Forrest.”

  It was Jimbo’s turn to interrupt. “Nope. None of those things. But trust me, she was impossible to live with. Hard to look at. Loved me unconditionally.”

  Hard to look at? That was harsh and didn’t sound like Jimbo, who was so affable toward everyone.

  Alec cleared his throat. “Okay, I’ll say it. Even though she may be a little homely, she sounds like a really nice lady. Why’d you separate?”

  Jimbo glared at Alec. “Homely? Why would you think that? Elise is beautiful. Some might even say she’s gorgeous. And as far as being nice, she’s nice all right. Too nice. She’s a menace to herself and others. And to be clear, we didn’t mutually agree to separate. I walked out because I drank too much, and she let me. The woman flat-out refused to preserve some measure of dignity and cut me loose. Didn’t care enough about herself to recognize that I was a bad seed and that it was past time to boot my ass out of the house and out of her life.”

  Gus showed up with plates of food, which he placed on the table. Before he could step away, Alec and Trevor placed their drinks on the tray, asking for water instead.

  The pair remained quiet, waiting for Jimbo to continue.

  He didn’t disappoint. “If she refused to do the right thing and divorce my sorry ass, then I had no choice but to leave her. Hide out,” he said while placing condiments on his burger.

  Alec nodded but he really wanted to shake his head, confused as he was. He’d heard a number of sad-sack stories over the years, but this one was pretty convoluted.

  Jimbo ended his diatribe with, “She deserved better but wouldn’t demand it. Hell, she wouldn’t even meekly suggest it. Someone had to put a stop to the lunacy. Not much more to say about that.”

  Okay then. Subject closed.

  Alec stared at the burly man, blinked slowly, and then turned to Trevor. “So when is this so-called date with this Gabby Hayes?”

  “Maggie. Her name is Maggie Hayes, and she’s stopping by Wilder’s tomorrow to say hello.”

  “Doesn’t she have to work?”

  Trevor inhaled and then exhaled. “Tomorrow’s Saturday. Remember? We’ve been preparing for the big sale?”

  “Oh yeah,” Alec said, swiping at his mouth. “Of course, just forgot what day it was for a moment.”

  Jimbo took a bite of his cheeseburger. “You might want to look into your canola oil intake.”

  Loren sat in the parking lot of Wilder’s Hardware gathering her nerve while sipping on the citrus drink in her water bottle. For some inexplicable reason, Madame’s recipe seemed to take the edge off her queasiness. She found herself taking a bottle with her if she had to be away for any extended period.

  Today, the fruity elixir wasn’t doing its job as staring at the renovated storefront of Wilder’s proved both nostalgic and nauseating.

  Earlier memories of working at the small hardware store made her feel sentimental. While thoughts of the day she was carted away, with a dead man at her feet, made her face grow hot and her stomach lurch. She went searching for her green suede handbag so she could purge without defiling the car provided by M2M.

  The least she could do was keep the car puke-free.

  She dumped the contents and hung her head over the bag, taking a few deep breaths. Thankfully, for the sake of a perfectly nice purse she had just purchased at a Newberry boutique, the moment passed.

  Maybe this wasn’t a good time to do this?

  Tossing the contents sitting on the passenger seat back into her bag, she considered returning later in the day when they weren’t so busy.

  Yes, the parking lot was empty, but they could suddenly get a noon-time rush.

  Okay, she was being ridiculous.

  She just needed to walk in, ask if she could speak with Alec in private, tell him they were expecting an alien baby that was eating her from the inside out, and get the hell out of there.

  The little peanut.

  She placed her hand on the nearly imperceptible protrusion. It had been nothing short of a surreal moment when she’d first heard the heartbeat as Madame and Mercy stood at each side of the hospital bed holding her hand with tears trickling down their cheeks—and taking turns laughing with incredulity—their eyes glued to the monitor.

  Now, rather than lamenting giving birth to a feral embryo, she couldn’t help but consider the baby’s shenanigans as nothing short of awesome. So her baby was eating the lining of her uterine wall; she’d grow another one.

  What an industrious little rascal!

  When the sonogram technician asked if she had wanted to know the sex, Loren had blurted out a resounding “no.” For some reason she hadn’t yet reconciled, she wanted to save that particular reveal for Alec, giving them something they could both discover at the same time. Just the two of them.

  But a repeat of last night’s big reveal was causing her quite a bit of apprehension. When she’d told Cara she was expecting, while Madame and Mercy sat across from her on the living room sofa, instead of tears of happiness and joyful hugs, she’d received a response that blew out nothing short of arctic-level wind sheers. Cara had asked her how far along she was, and after admitting she was past twelve weeks, the angry teenager had crossed her arms around her chest and fixed her with a glare that sent brittle shards of ice shooting toward her.

  And then, when Madame and Mercy had attempted to lighten her mood with news of Madame’s connected genetic bloodline, a look of pure hurt followed by sheer disappointment had flashed across her face. Cara had bolted from the couch, taking the stairs two at a time, and shrieking at glass-shattering decibel levels, “Why am I always the last one to know anything?”

  So, Loren was feeling a little gun-shy.

  Because who was to say Alec wouldn’t have the same reaction? The tally of those who knew of the baby’s existence was growing, with the exception of the father. What would he say when he discovered his sexual mining efforts had hit the motherlode twelve whole weeks ago? Would he demand to know why she’d waited so long to tell him? And what would she say to that?

  She had decided against showing up at his house for fear of running into Ally, as she just wasn’t ready to face the young lady. The thought of forcing the girl to relive the horror of watching a man die at Loren’s feet made her want to grab for her handbag again.

  No, her best bet was to come to his place of work, where she could leave quickly once the pertinent information was imparted.

  And then get the hell outta Dodge.

&
nbsp; No dallying.

  No infringing upon his personal space.

  No extraneous information, or sniffing of his cologne, or even worse, his singular scent. Just tell him what he needed to know and then hightail it out of there.

  She dropped her head to the steering wheel.

  Oh God, she dreaded this.

  Maybe she should run to the market first? Pick up a few things for dinner… fill her gas tank. Dig a ditch?

  She punched the steering wheel with her palm.

  She was being ridiculous. She was a grown woman. An adult. She should be able to control her baser instincts.

  Pulling at the handle, she pushed the door open and set one foot on the surface of the asphalt parking lot.

  One step closer to her objective.

  And then her objective stepped out of the double doors, and she felt her heart rate spike and a lump lodge in her throat.

  There he was.

  And he looked so good.

  No longer wearing his M2M uniform, consisting of an immaculate black suit with starched shirt and tie, he rocked a pair of jeans and work boots with his shirtsleeves rolled to his elbows. His hair unruly and in need of a trim.

  He looked just like he did when she’d first met him after church service those many moons ago. The only difference being he appeared less surly and suspicious. She blushed at the impure thoughts she had had for the enigmatic man while standing in the church pews and staring him down.

  He was so big and imposing. A mountain of a man who moved with a graceful unconscious swagger, despite his size.

  Her child would inherit those genes, and she couldn’t help but feel a sense of satisfaction in knowing that.

  Despite putting this off, deep down inside, in places she rarely allowed her conscience to venture, she was so grateful that it was him, that he was the father of her baby… albeit a baby who was hell-bent on swinging from one intestine to another.

  Little peanut was going to grow up to be a ninja.

  She leaned forward, her heart racing as she watched him place a double-sided sign out on the front pavement, under the store’s red metal awning advertising a weekend sale, and then stepped back inside unaware that she sat in her M2M-issued car with an obstruction in her throat and his ninja baby nestled in her body.