River Wild Read online

  I watch her expression. She looks like she’s having some kind of internal argument. I see when she settles on it.

  Then, she parts her lips and speaks, “Pardon me for saying this, but that’s one helluva bruise you have there. I’m sure you’ve had it checked out, but—”

  “It’s fine.” My hand instantly covers my cheek. The fork that I was holding clattering to the counter.

  The good feeling in my chest starts to shrivel up.

  “Look, you can tell me to mind my own business, but I was you ten years ago. I rolled up in town, covered in bruises—”

  “I’m not covered in bruises. I just got hit in the face by a door. That’s all. Nothing more. And you’re right; you really should mind your own business,” I snap.

  It’s not like me to be this assertive, but I’m upset that this woman took my good feeling from me. Just like my good feeling was stolen away by my jerk neighbor earlier.

  Some people really can be sunshine-stealers.

  And I don’t want to be around those kind of people.

  I stand, shoving my hand in my pocket, pulling out my money to pay for my food, so I can get the heck out of this place.

  So much for my pie and the possibility of a job.

  “Look, I’m sorry,” she placates, putting her hands on the counter. “I’m not trying to interfere. I just know what it’s like to be new in town with”—she gestures to her face—“while running from the person who gave them to you.”

  I bite the inside of my cheek. “It was a door.”

  “Okay”—she nods—“it was a door. I hear you. And I’m sorry that I upset you. The pie is on me. Please stay and finish it.”

  I pause for a moment, looking at her expression, the warmth in it, and I realize that she was only genuinely trying to be caring. And I also realize that I’m staring at a woman who went through something similar to what I’ve been through.

  I slowly sit back down and pick up the fork, cutting off another piece of pie.

  “Holler if you need anything,” she tells me before walking away to tend to another customer who’s approached the counter to pay his bill.

  I eat my food and drink my tea in silence, just listening to the music, the sound of the pans cooking in the kitchen, and the low hum of chatter.

  I’m just finishing up my tea when she reappears in front of me. “Can I get you anything else?” she asks.

  “No, thanks.”

  “I am sorry about before,” she says to me. “My being pushy.”

  “It’s fine. I probably overreacted a little bit,” I admit.

  “No, you didn’t. You were well within your right to say what you did.”

  Her words make me feel a little better.

  “Can I just say …” she continues. “And I’m only saying this with you being new to town and not knowing anyone, but decaf tea … there’s usually only one reason a woman round here drinks anything decaf, and that’s because she’s pregnant. Now, I’m not asking; I’m just saying, if you are, you’re going to need a doctor, and the best around here is Dr. Mathers.”

  “Dr. Mathers,” I repeat. “I’ll give him a call. Thank you.”

  Her eyes go to my still-flat stomach. “So … how far along are you? If you don’t mind me asking.”

  I realize that she’s the only other person, aside from Mrs. Ford, I have told about the baby.

  I get the feeling she’s actually not being nosy. She’s caring. Which is why I don’t mind answering. “I’m not sure exactly. But I’m not far along.”

  She offers a kind smile. “Well, Dr. Mathers will help you with that. And congratulations, by the way.”

  “Thank you.” I slide off the stool, standing.

  “Well, if you need anything …” She pauses, waiting for me to tell her my name.

  “Carrie,” I fill in the blank for her.

  “Carrie. I’m Sadie, which you’ve probably figured.” She gestures to her name badge. “And you’ve also probably already figured that this is my place.”

  “It wouldn’t take a genius.”

  I smile, and she laughs.

  “Well, I just wanted to say, if you ever need anything—pie, decaf tea—you know where to find me.”

  “Actually, there is something I need …” I glance at the sign in the window before looking back to her. “I don’t know how you feel about hiring pregnant women, but I really need a job.”

  “Have you waitressed before?” she asks.

  I bite my lower lip. “No.”

  “When could you start?”

  “Tomorrow,” I suggest.

  She thoughtfully purses her lips. “How would you feel about working the breakfast shift?”

  “I’d feel great.” And that’s the truth.

  “Okay. Be here tomorrow morning at six a.m. sharp, and I’ll show you the ropes.”

  “I’m … hired?” I ask, daring to hope.

  Her expression softens, and she smiles. “You’re hired.”

  My own smile is bigger than this town. “Thank you so much, Sadie. I can’t tell you how much I appreciate it.”

  “Work the breakfast shift first, and we’ll see if you still feel that way,” she jokes.

  I laugh.

  It feels light. I feel light.

  “Okay”—I start for the door—“I’ll see you bright and early tomorrow morning.”

  “Carrie,” she softly calls my name, and I stop and turn around. She takes a step toward me, her voice lowering. “I just want to say … I’m really glad you got away from … the door.”

  The moment suddenly feels weighted with unspoken words. But also a kindred spirit. Like I’m finally talking to someone who understands.

  Who knows what it’s like to live the life I had.

  Who gets why I still feel the need to lie and hide exactly where my bruises really came from.

  The shame that still lives inside me.

  I give a small smile, my hand pressing to my stomach. “Me, too,” I say quietly. I’m about to turn away when something stops me, and I find myself saying, “Can I ask you something?”

  “Sure.” She smiles.

  “Did the, um … did the … door you ran from, did it ever find you?”

  “No,” she confidently tells me. “My door never found me.”

  Carrie

  I have a job! An actual job!

  I would be skipping the whole way home if I wasn’t weighed down by the obscene amount of groceries I was carrying.

  But I have no one to blame but myself.

  I got a little carried away at the store, which luckily also sold bedsheets and bath towels. But I also realized that I needed some pillows for the bed, so I bought two of those along with the essentials—bread, milk, eggs, oranges for fresh juice in the morning, pancake mix, and bacon.

  So, I’m carrying a lot of stuff home. There are no local buses or taxis.

  So, my feet it is.

  I’m walking up the street, not too far from my house. There’s no pavement on this part, so I’m walking in the middle of the road so that I’m visible to motorists. Not that any cars have passed me so far.

  It’s looking more and more likely that I’m going to need a car because walking groceries home all the time is not going to be easy, the more pregnant I get.

  But, hopefully, I’ll be able to get one soon when I start earning money from my new job.

  I can’t believe I have a job. I haven’t worked since I was eighteen. After I left high school, I worked as a cashier at a local supermarket right before I met Neil. When I moved in with him, he had me quit my job.

  Well, I’ll never be quitting this job. The only way they’ll get rid of me is if they sack me.

  God, what if I’m really bad at the job and Sadie does sack me? I’ve never waitressed before. I mean, I know it’s a case of taking down orders and getting food from the kitchen to the customer, but what if I can’t remember who ordered what, and I mix things up?

  No, it’s going to be okay.
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  Sadie is going to show me what to do, and I’m going to figure it out just fine. Because I need this job.

  The baby and I need this job.

  I can do this, no prob—

  Ah, nuts!

  One of my plastic shopping bags has broken, and my food is currently all over the road.

  The milk carton has split open and is pouring out onto the road. The oranges are rolling off in every direction, and I don’t have a good feeling about the eggs.

  I put my other shopping bags down and take a quick look at the egg carton, flipping it open.

  Yep, they’re all done for.

  Double nuts!

  I pick up the pancake mix and bacon, and then I start running around after the oranges, gathering them up.

  I hear the roar of a car engine and lift my head to see a truck heading my way.

  Hands full, I call out in a loud voice, “Hey! You need to stop. My stuff is in the street!”

  But the truck doesn’t stop, and I figure the driver couldn’t hear me over the noise of the engine.

  Tucking the food from both arms to one, I wave a hand to get the driver’s attention.

  But it doesn’t seem to work.

  If anything, the truck seems to have sped up. And it’s getting closer and closer to the rest of my shopping items.

  I move forward a step, dropping the food in my arms, and start waving them both in the air to get the driver’s attention.

  My new pillows, bedding, and towels are in those bags.

  “Hey!” I repeat, yelling, hands waving. “You need to stop!”

  But the truck doesn’t stop, and I let out a cry of “No!” as the truck’s big wheels run straight over my shopping bags.

  “You mother-fudging son of a C-U-Next-Tuesday!” I yell at the back of the truck speeding away.

  I can’t believe this!

  I let out a little yelp of upset when I see my now-squished shopping bags.

  And, oh Christ, the truck went over the egg box, and the contents have splattered all over the shopping bags and my new bath towels.

  I didn’t get any laundry detergent, so I can’t wash them yet, meaning I’ll have to keep using the ratty old towel in the bathroom until I can.

  Oh well, I’ve had worse things happen to me.

  And the one saving grace is that my bed linens and pillows are covered in plastic wrap, which protected them. They might be a bit crushed, but they’re still usable.

  Going back, I gather up the oranges, pancake mix, and bacon. Then, I gingerly pick up the shopping bags.

  The egg yolk drips off them.

  Gross.

  I start walking again.

  I can’t believe that driver. There is no way that he or she didn’t at least see me. Fair enough if they didn’t hear me, but I was literally jumping around, waving my hands in the air.

  But whomever it was just chose to ignore me and ran straight over my stuff.

  I round the corner and walk up the street toward my house.

  I’m just about to turn up my path when I spot a truck sitting in my grumpy neighbor’s driveway.

  The truck that just ran over my stuff.

  I know it’s that truck because it was blue and had Ford in big silver letters on the front grill, which is the exact same truck currently sitting in his driveway.

  It was him!

  Oh my God! That guy is … he’s a … well, he’s a complete and utter asshat!

  And, just as I think it, the asshat himself walks around from the back of the truck, carrying a bag of something—probably groceries—in his arms, which just annoys me even more.

  He stops upon seeing me just standing here.

  His eyes go down to the bags in my hand. Then, up to my face.

  He frowns at me. His dark brows are like angry slashes above his hard eyes. “What the hell is your problem?” he barks at me. “Don’t you know that it’s fucking rude to stare?”

  My mouth drops open at the sheer audacity of him.

  He ran over my things and then has the brazenness to stand there and say those things to me.

  The cheeky … son of a nutcracker!

  I want to say something. But I don’t know what.

  I’m not good at confrontation.

  But, if I was going to say something, I don’t get the chance because he gives me one last look of disdain before he turns abruptly and walks inside his house, the door slamming loudly behind him.

  Leaving me still standing here, mouth wide open in shock.

  Twice in one day, he’s done this to me.

  Twice, he’s been rude to me and then just walked away.

  Gah! I really, really dislike this guy!

  I stomp up my front pathway, let myself inside my house, dump my bags on the kitchen table, and let out a sound of frustration.

  Ugh!

  I swear to God, the next time he says something mean to me, I’m going to tell him exactly what I think of him.

  Maybe.

  I mean, I don’t want to cause any trouble or bring any unnecessary attention to myself.

  No! Stop being a coward.

  You’ve spent the last seven years being belittled and hurt by a man.

  No more.

  So, the next time that guy speaks out of turn to me, he’s getting the same right back.

  River

  Ten Years Old

  “You got into another fight at school,” Gran says the moment I walk in the door.

  I’m guessing the school called her because she hasn’t even looked at my face yet. I only got a busted-up lip though. The other kid came off worse.

  I walk into the living room, where she is.

  This is my gran’s house. Well, my home, too. I live with her now.

  Gran is sitting on her favorite armchair. She’s smoking a cigar. She doesn’t usually smoke them inside the house. Always out on the back porch. Things must be bad if she’s smoking indoors.

  I slip my backpack off and set it on the floor by the sofa. I take a seat.

  She finally looks at me. “Are you all right?” she asks.

  “Yeah.” I nod. “Only my lip that got cut.”

  “You cleaned it up?”

  I nod again.

  She takes a puff of her cigar. The smoke filters in the air. Wafting into my nostrils.

  I love the smell.

  “You can’t be fighting at school all the time, River.”

  I shrug. “The kid was an asshole. He said I was a freak.” And that my mom was a cop killer and that she should rot in jail.

  But she isn’t a cop killer. I am. It should be me in prison, not her. But she wouldn’t let me tell the truth.

  She made me promise not to tell the truth about what had really happened that day in the kitchen. Not even to Grandma.

  She said she’d failed me once. She wouldn’t fail me this time.

  I don’t even know what she meant by that.

  All I knew was, I didn’t want them to take my mama away. But I didn’t want to go to jail either. I was scared.

  I’m still scared.

  And angry. So damn angry all the time.

  “Don’t use that word,” Gran tells me. “And you are not a freak.” She leans forward to put her cigar out on the ashtray that sits on the coffee table. “The principal’s threatening to expel you.”

  I shrug.

  Like I care. I’d be happy to be out of that place. I hate it.

  The kids are all assholes. The few friends that I used to have suddenly forgot my name when my mom got arrested.

  Even the teachers ignore me.

  I spend recess and lunchtime alone. Mostly, I just sit in the library and read.

  I’m alone. But it’s fine. Because I don’t need anyone.

  “Good,” is my response to her words.

  “River, your education is important. I know your grades are down after what happened, and that’s expected, but the fighting has to stop. When those kids are giving you a hard time, you have to ignore them.
”

  “Sure.” I laugh, but I’m not feeling very funny right now. “I’ll ignore them. So, when one of them punches me, I’m supposed to just walk away?”

  “The boy today, did he hit you first?”

  I kick the toe of my sneaker against the leg of the coffee table. “No.”

  She sighs. “Then, you walk away. But, if he hits you first, then you beat that boy’s ass to the ground. You don’t hit first, River. You hit second, and you hit harder. And I will back you the whole way with your principal. But you hit first, I got no defense for you.”

  I hide a smile. My gran can be kind of cool at times, but I don’t want her to know I think that.

  “And when they bad-mouth Mama? What am I supposed to do then, say nothing?”

  The skin around her mouth tightens. “River”—she sighs again—“you can’t stop what people say about your mama. And they’re going to talk about what she did.”

  “They don’t know anything!” I’m getting annoyed. I start to kick the table leg with more force.

  “No, maybe they don’t. They know what they hear in the news or from the gossip. But, as much as it pains me to say it, your mom is in prison because she killed someone.”

  “River, what have you done?”

  My fists clench at my sides. My nails dig into my skin. I feel the moment the skin breaks.

  “She shouldn’t be in prison. And you won’t even let me go see her.”

  “It’s not me, River. You know this. Your mom doesn’t want you to see her in that place.”

  “But she shouldn’t be there!”

  Another sigh. “I know you don’t want to hear this—and I wish to God she wasn’t there and that it hadn’t happened—but she murdered him, River, and she has to pay for her crime.”

  “No, she didn’t!” I yell, jumping up. The words are out of my mouth before I even realize.

  Gran slowly stands up. Her eyes are staring at my face. “River?”

  My body is shaking. I feel like I’m going to combust. There are all these words and noises in my head.

  I dig my nails into my skin harder. I feel blood trickle down my palms. It normally calms me. But it isn’t working this time.

  “River …” she says my name firmer this time.

  My eyes come to hers.

  “What did you mean by that?”