Loving Wilder

by Leigh Tudor

  Cara spent the better part of the day dodging Amarilla and Ally and their incessant hounding, asking if she was in or, once again, going to bail. And while she was pulling items from her locker, with her two friends breathing down her neck, she knew she had run out of time.

  She finally told them she wasn’t going. And they responded with the anticipated and overly exaggerated, eye rolls and heavy sighs.

  But mostly from Amarilla.

  “Geez, aren’t you tired of being perpetually lame?” Amarilla griped as she threw her back against the locker next to Cara’s.

  “Stop it,” Ally retorted briskly, although Cara could tell she too was wearing thin of her best friend’s chronic lack of adventure. “If Cara doesn’t want to go, we’ll do something else. Like watch the 1970 documentary, Woodstock.”

  Amarilla balked. “Again? Jesus, why don’t we just hire a psychic to conjure up Jimi Hendrix and be done with it?” She banged her head against the metal locker for dramatic effect. “At the socially repressed rate we’re going, we might as well don habits and join the fraternal order of never-going-to-make-it-to-third-base-let-alone-get-laid.”

  Hold up. Amarilla had been to second base?

  Cara hadn’t even been kissed. She was still at bat, swinging strikes.

  While Amarilla was hitting doubles?

  Omigosh, had Ally been kissed or made it all the way around the bases? If she had, she’d never mentioned it. Why wouldn’t she have mentioned it?

  Cara fiddled with her combination. “You guys don’t have to babysit me tonight. Go ahead without me.”

  Amarilla perked up. “Seriously? You’d be okay with that?”

  No.

  “Sure,” Cara lied, as if unaffected. Sounded like Amarilla had been going out without her and Ally anyway. Wait, had Ally gone to parties with Amarilla behind her back?

  Grabbing a spiral notebook and shoving another back inside, Cara shut her locker door and leaned against it.

  As expected, Amarilla was like a bloodhound sensing potential capitulation from Ally.

  But Ally appeared torn, and honestly, Cara couldn’t blame her. Amarilla was right. She was lame and boring and woefully unpopular. Why should she hold her friends back from enjoying all the rites of passage other girls their age were experiencing?

  They’d have more fun without her, anyway.

  “Are you sure?” Ally asked. “You know I love the Woodstock documentary and wouldn’t mind watching it again.”

  Amarilla groaned while Cara gave Ally the most genuine smile she could muster. “I’m sure. You two go to the party and text me with all the details.”

  “Yes!” Amarilla exclaimed, clapping her hands with glee.

  “But what will you do?” Ally asked, working her bottom lip with her teeth.

  “I’ll spend time with Madame and work on some musical exercises. I’ve been wanting to revisit pitch topics.”

  “What the hell is that?” Amarilla asked with a scowl.

  Cara had to remind herself that her musically disinclined friend didn’t know a tuning fork from a butter knife. But then again, she’d likely been to second base… “Things like intervals, chord progressions, and scales.”

  “Seems kind of rudimentary for you,” Ally said, still clearly conflicted.

  “You heard her,” Amarilla blurted. “She doesn’t want to go, and we do.” Then, to seal the deal, she added, “You know Manny will be there. And he asked me if you were going during first hour.”

  “He did?” Ally asked, hugging her literature book to her chest.

  Cara knew at that point, based on the wide-eyed hopeful expression on Ally’s face, that a longstanding friendship had been usurped for angsty teenage romance. And once again, she really couldn’t blame her. Manny was crazy about Ally and could barely contain himself when within close proximity.

  And although she did her best to rebuff his romantic advances, her resolve was waning fast.

  Because Manny was seriously cute and head-over-cleats crazy about her.

  Ally wouldn’t give up the proverbial teenage angst-riddled ghost. “I hear Landon’s going to be there. He asked me in homeroom if you were going to go.”

  Dang it.

  Cara had worked so hard to combat Landon’s otherworldly charm, but her steadfastness was fading fast as well. Not as fast as Ally’s, but getting there. As for Amarilla, the girl was far down the road of no return, despite assuring them on a daily basis that she was nothing like her mother.

  But Cara couldn’t deny that Landon’s exemplary personality and overall goodness was chipping away at her willpower. And the more her willpower faded, the more she’d snap back at him with hostile comebacks.

  They were at an impasse. Either she was going to succumb to his ridiculously sexy dimpled smile or irrevocably push him away with her verbal attacks.

  “You two go to the party, and I’ll hang out at home, just in case we hear from Samantha.”

  The three girls began their trek to their last class of the day. “I hear she’s staying with some distant aunt who lives in Dallas during the summer,” Ally said morosely. “I really miss her. I wish she’d at least tell us she’s okay.”

  “Hey, handsome.” Amarilla batted her eyelashes at a passing running back and gave him a saucy smile. Without missing a beat, she said, “I heard she got caught stealing at the 7-Eleven and was spending time in juvie.”

  Both Cara and Ally stopped in the middle of the few students traversing the halls.

  Cara faced her oblivious friend in the hallway with a glare. “That’s a lie.”

  Ally stood beside Cara in solidarity, “And you know perfectly well it’s a lie.”

  Amarilla rolled her eyes. “Chill the hell out. Of course I know it’s a lie. I’m just telling you what the rumor mill is saying. Don’t shoot the freaking messenger.”

  “Did the messenger set the lying moron straight?” Cara was beginning to lose patience with her friend, despite Madame’s comments on how Amarilla was a lost soul who needed strong-minded friends to model how to make good decisions.

  “Of course I did,” Amarilla said, resuming her way back down the hallway and conveniently avoiding their pointed glares.

  Then they all three said their goodbyes and went their separate ways to their respective classes.

  An hour later, Cara stepped outside and shaded her eyes, looking for her ride.

  Loren had called last night to give Madame an update on Mrs. Waterman, and Cara had managed to wave down Madame before hanging up. She and Loren had chatted for a few minutes, and when Cara had shared that she didn’t have to babysit for Mr. Forrest on Friday, Loren had offered to pick her up from school after making a quick stop to Wilder’s Hardware.

  But she didn’t see her sister’s vehicle.

  Hmm, she must be running late.

  Other students rushed past her to get to their parents’ waiting cars or to jump in their own to either race home to play video games or find a remote wooded area where they could smoke weed. Most of them feeling cheated by having to attend summer school and justified in acting even more rebellious and reckless than normal.

  Ally and Amarilla had other commitments, so she wouldn’t be seeing them until after church on Sunday.

  She suddenly felt isolated and lonely, wishing she had someone who understood her internal dilemma. Someone who experienced these paradoxical feelings of both wanting to do the right thing and wanting to be very, very bad.

  Nearing the parking lot, she rediscovered an intense eagerness to be with Loren and to vomit all the conflicting emotions that had been churning inside her for the last several months. And honestly, it couldn’t have come at a better time, as Cara felt herself teetering on some sort of indescribable precipice. And although Loren may not have lived through a typical high school experience, she certainly had to have struggled between the angel and devil on her shoulder, pulling her in different directions.

  Cara felt her phone in her hand vibrating with a text.


  It was Madame. Loren had a conflict, and wouldn’t be picking her up from school. Instead, Madame would be coming, but she was running ten minutes late.

  No way. Not again.

  Her heart sank as she dropped her book bag on the ground and sank down onto the curb, staring at the screen.

  Something else that took precedence had come up. And, once again, she failed to be a priority.

  The devil on her shoulder nudged her and whispered, “They don’t care about you. Nobody does. Might as well go to the party.”

  Cara pressed her lips together in agitation and brought up Ally’s number on her list of favorites, totally tuning out the angel on her other shoulder, waving her arms to no avail.

  She pressed the message button, and the devil kicked back on her shoulder with a smug smile.

  “Hey, girl,” she typed, looking out toward the parking lot for Madame’s car. “Changed my mind. Going to the party with you and Amarilla.”

  Nate twisted the key in the front door as Marleigh hopped from one foot to the other excited to see Sugar Plum, while Haley did the same, but for different reasons.

  She had to pee.

  He threw the door open, and Marleigh screamed “Sugar Plum!” at the top of her lungs, as Haley hightailed it to the closest bathroom. Just when he began to pull snack ingredients from the shelves, he heard the front door open and close.

  “That had better be Mercy Ingalls,” Nate called out. “And if it’s not, I have a gun and know how to use it.”

  She turned the corner with a smirk. “Of course it’s me. I told you I’d stop by last night.”

  “You never know. It’s important to be hypervigilant these days.”

  “Do you even know how to use a gun?”

  “Negative,” he said, smearing almond butter on flax crackers. “I find gravitas and hubris to be adequate, nonviolent defense mechanisms.”

  “Hate to break the news, little dude, but I’ve found myself in several snafus where a strong personality didn’t cut it.”

  Nate looked around the kitchen to see if any small ears were nearby. “Do you even know what snafu means?” he asked, placing the almond crackers on three plates while Mercy sank in one of the kitchen chairs.

  “Super nasty altercation fully unexpected?”

  “Try again.”

  “I dunno. It means a mistake or something.”

  “That’s a general meaning. Specifically, it stands for situation normal—all fucked up.”

  “Seriously?”

  Nate nodded as he added carrots to the plates. “I didn’t want you to use the term in front of the girls.” He picked up one of the plates and placed it in front of her. “They’re highly impressionable and repeat everything.”

  “Oh wow,” she said, biting into a cracker. “Thanks for that. Could I find it in the Urban Dictionary?”

  “I find the Urban Dictionary to be deleterious to young, growing minds.”

  “Is that a yes or a no?”

  Nate stared at her and then continued to the refrigerator. “Would you like a ginger kombucha to go with your midafternoon snack?”

  “Is that anything like the shot of wheatgrass you unloaded on me earlier this week?”

  “Kombucha can be considered an acquired taste. The question is, are you smart enough to begin the process?”

  “Okay, you do know that’s not a rousing endorsement, right?”

  At that moment, Sugar Plum raced through the door from the backyard into the kitchen with Marleigh careening close behind.

  Marleigh squealed with delight at seeing Mercy and jumped in her lap. “Hey, Mercy! We gonna finger paint today?”

  “Sure thing,” she said, giving her a hug. Marleigh slid out of her lap just as she spied Nate placing a plate of snacks on the opposite side of the table. She grabbed him by the arm and pulled him down so she could give him a big hug. “Thank you. Love you, Nate.”

  “Love you too, Marl.”

  Nate picked up the other plate, the moment Haley turned the corner, buttoning her pants, and tugging at a wedgie. He gave a head nod toward Mercy, and Haley’s face turned into a huge smile as she took her turn jumping onto her lap and hugging her with unrestrained enthusiasm.

  “Mercy paint?”

  “You want to finger paint too?”

  Haley shook her head. “No, Mercy paint today?”

  Nate smiled to himself as Haley was very sensitive to Mercy’s painting habits, checking in on whether and how much she was practicing her art. Because, like Nate, she was in tune with Mercy’s emotions. She was happiest when she was painting through the day and more morose and conflicted when she wasn’t. Simply put, the more she painted, the happier she was.

  Funny how a five-year-old could pick up on such emotional subtleties.

  Mercy set Haley in the chair next to her. “I painted all day today, and I can’t wait to show you what I did.”

  “Is it sparkly or super sad?” Marleigh asked, shoving a cracker in her mouth while Nate poured her a glass of kombucha.

  Nate smiled at his sister and ruffled her hair. She seemed to be tuned into Mercy’s emotions as well.

  “All perky. And very sunshiny,” Mercy responded.

  “You paint the sun?” Haley grimaced at the drink Nate poured in her glass. She looked up at him and said, “That’s disgusting.”

  Nate smiled back. “Disgusting, huh? That’s a really good word, Haley,” he commended. “Now drink your disgusting juice.”

  Mercy tugged at one of Haley’s pigtails. “Why don’t I show you what I painted the next time you come over, and then you can tell me what you see?”

  Nate wiped his hands on a nearby kitchen towel, pleased at how things were progressing between Mercy and Trevor. Because when they were happy, Marleigh and Haley were happy too. And their happiness meant everything to him.

  He considered the other love of his life. “So Cara’s not coming today?”

  “No. Loren was going to pick her up from school, but she called Madame and told her she had a conflict. Madame picked her up to take her to Ally’s to spend the night.”

  Nate’s eyes narrowed at that bit of information. “Ally’s, huh?”

  “Yeah, they’re going to stay up late and watch some weird musical documentary.”

  That was interesting. He’d overheard Ally telling Landon that tonight she and that waste-of-space, Amarilla Simmons, were going to a particularly disreputable high school derelict’s party, and they couldn’t convince Cara to go. At the time, he’d grinned to himself, thinking how much he admired Cara’s stellar decision-making skills. Especially considering the reprobates throwing the party wouldn’t take the necessary safety precautions for a gathering of alcohol-altered minors. Their problem-solving skills were equivalent to those of the single-minded Homo erectus. A prehistoric species of early man who was now extinct.

  Enough said.

  “Hey, Mercy,” he said, sipping on the bottle of kombucha. He signaled toward the living room, silently asking her for a moment of privacy. She followed him until they were out of hearing range from the girls.

  “What?” she asked.

  “I was invited to a party tonight,” he said with a lowered voice. “Would you mind asking Trevor if I could go? I promise not to rape, pillage, or plunder… or do drugs.”

  “Honestly, how could he say no to that?” Mercy deadpanned. “I’ll talk to him, but I can’t make any promises. Why don’t you ask him?”

  “Currently, you have more influence. I’m missing all the distracting body parts. And although I’m arguably the better debater, I’m smart enough to know how to fully leverage my options.”

  “Wow, another rousing endorsement.”

  “Just let him know that this is a defining moment in our relationship. Either he trusts me or he doesn’t. And if he doesn’t, he’s dead to me.”

  “Oh good, I see you’re going to be reasonable about this.”

  “This is really important to me, Mercy. It’s a matter of
looking out for a friend’s best interests,” he said. “I’ll be gone no more than three hours, from nine to midnight.”

  “Okay, here’s the thing. I’m not all that well-versed in the world of curfews, but I think that’s pretty late for a twelve-year-old, let alone one who’s attending a high school party.”

  “Please, I’m a genius with a brain far more advanced…”

  “Than your average teenage Homo erectus. Yes, you’ve mentioned that a few hundred times. All I can tell you is that I’ll try.”

  “This is also a chance for me to make long-lasting alliances that could help me once I’m out in the world of business. Consider it… networking.”

  “You really want me to tell Trevor the reason you want to go to this party is to help you to close on some future business contracts? You honestly think that’s gonna fly?”

  “What? Where’s the flaw in that reasoning?” Nate asked. “Even Homo erectus will one day require a financial investor.” He grimaced. “Okay, now that I said it out loud, I see what you’re saying. Hardly convincing.”

  “Let’s stick with it being a matter of looking out for a friend’s best interest,” Mercy suggested. “Any chance you could tell me more about that friend, in case he asks?”

  Nate shook his head. “No can do. It would be a flagrant breach of confidence.”

  “I hear you, but I don’t think Trevor’s going to go for it. I have to be honest with you.”

  “Okay, okay…” Nate said. “What if you tell him I’m spending the night at your house, then you take me to the party?”

  “You mean, using me as your personal chaperone?”

  Nate drew back. “People can’t see me attending a party with my foster dad’s girlfriend. That’s, just, wrong.”

  Mercy rolled her eyes. “Okay, I see your point.”

  Suddenly, Nate’s eyes widened with an idea. “What if you take me but stay in the car? That way, if anything bad happens, which it won’t, you’ll be right there?”

  Mercy nodded slowly, considering the ramifications of their plan. “I won’t lie to him.”

  “That’s the beauty of this arrangement. We tell him I’m spending the night with you, which I will. But that we have to stop somewhere on the way to your house, which will be the party. One-hundred-percent honesty. You help me help my friend and keep me safe in the meantime. And then I spend the night at your house.”