Feral Page 2

  He drains the glass in front of him and listens as I explain my idea. It’s probably stupid, crazy, and reckless, but we’re both drunk and unhappy enough to look a bad idea in the eye without flinching.

  Deric’s expression slowly changes from confused to hesitant to full-on, new-puppy enthusiasm.

  “Hell, yeah, let’s do it, brother!” He orders another round. “Shit, this could blow up horribly or it could be fucking incredible. Either way, I say a toast is in order.”

  “I’ll stick around for that,” I agree, feeling a lot less crappy than I have in a long time.

  “But hey, we’ve got to bring Dex in on this. He’s not been great…” He pauses and there’s a wealth of unspoken bad news in that pause, but it can wait.

  Dex is the only other person I’d even think about trusting with something like this, and if he needs a fresh start too, I get it.

  “Yeah, let’s bring him in,” I agree.

  “Ho-ly shit. Man, this day turned out way better than I thought it would,” Deric grins like the drunk, horny kid I remember. He raises his fresh pint and I meet it with my Jack and Coke.

  “To the Devils,” I say.

  “To the motherfucking Devils!”

  CHAPTER TWO

  AVA

  SIX MONTHS LATER

  “Baby, you’re home!” Mom cries, running out to meet me in the driveway, Rufus in tow.

  I’m barely out of the car when she’s wrapping me in one of her oxygen-depriving bear hugs, while Rufus sniffs happily at my bag. No cookies get into the house without his detection. Even in his twilight years, that nose doesn’t quit.

  “Okay… Mom… I need to breathe,” I say. after I feel my hands start to tingle from the interrupted circulation. It’s been eight months since I could afford to visit, and even though my lungs need air, it feels good to have her smother me.

  “Oh, yes! Oh, Ava, I’m just so happy you’re here!” she says, pulling back to give me a thorough look-over.

  I feel her gaze when it gets to my nose. “It’s not a big deal, Mom. Seriously.”

  “No, no, of course not, honey… I’m sure employers are more open-minded these days,” she answers, smiling with determined cheer.

  I know she doesn’t mean it as a jab, but she was always a bad liar, and I can tell what she’s thinking, so I reach up and pull the sticker off.

  “See?” I say, showing her.

  She gasps before laughing. “Oh, my word. I thought it was real. Thank heavens, honey! I didn’t want to say anything.” She gives me the mom-eye. “But you know that sort of thing isn’t professional… and it would be so unlike you.”

  She’s right. It is completely unlike me to do something so dangerous as pierce anything but my earlobes. When I saw the stick-ons at Icing though, I couldn’t help it. Maybe I’m not a risk-taker, but it was fun to trick Perry. ‘Was’ being the operative word there. The fun sort of ended when he left me for my roommate and said I was too vanilla for him. I didn’t know there was such a thing to an insurance adjuster, but if being not vanilla is sleeping with your friend’s fiancé, I guess I don’t mind being a basic bitch.

  “Well, what are we yammerin’ on about out here. I’m sure you’re hungry. Stick-on piercings or not, you’re still my baby and I know how picky you are about where you eat,” she says, leading me in.

  “I’m not that picky… I just don’t eat from places that move, are open twenty-four-hours, or have more than five semi-trucks parked out front. I don’t see why that’s crazy. No one likes food poisoning.” I don’t think she even hears me. She’s already too busy pulling things out of the fridge and cabinet.

  I sit at the breakfast bar and think back to all the mornings I sat here, watching her work her magic. It’s good to be back and feel that familiar rhythm, even if it means I’m here with my tail between my legs. Speaking of tails, Rufus is whining pretty audibly now, so I pull out my last shortbread for him.

  “Oh, honey, don’t give him that. You know he’s on a restricted diet!” she exclaims, shoo-ing him away with no success.

  From the looks of him and his barrel-shaped midsection, she’s probably right, but when I’m his equivalent age I doubt I’ll be bothering myself over whether I need to gobble down a whole package of Walker’s shortbread. In fact, even at my current age I’m not so sure I wouldn’t do so if they were a little cheaper and I wasn’t so damn broke.

  “Sorry, puppers, that’s all she wrote.” He licks my hand and walks off.

  Nice. You’re too boring to hold even a dog’s attention.

  “Alright, this should hold you over for a bit,” Mom says, sliding the plate towards me.

  “Yum. Yes, please.” She’s whipped me up a small stack of blueberry pancakes. I dig into them like the spoiled brat I am.

  We chat for a while about the drive, local weather—surface stuff. Neither one of us wants to acknowledge my failure… or maybe she’s just waiting for me to bring it up. Either way, I’m too run-down to go there right now.

  “Alright,” she says, taking off her apron. “Deric should be home in another hour or two. I’m sure he can help you unload. When you finish up here, you should go take a nap, get a little rest. Everything else can wait. Oh, it’s so nice to have both my babies back home! I’ve got to go call Cathy. You take your time,” she says, bustling off to her sewing room.

  Rufus gets up from his bed to follow her. Suddenly, I’m alone… again.

  I finish off the pancakes and head upstairs, collapsing onto the old bedspread. My room still looks pretty much the same as I left it four years ago. There are still books on my night stand and my guitar case unlatched beside the desk, even though it’s been at least a year since I last played it. All of Tamanass is the same. It’s like the place that time forgot… but occasionally sent postcards to.

  I inhale the mountain air. It feels good to take a breather before I start unloading my boxes. I drove straight through—twelve hours from Portland through the Starbucks-littered suburbs, quiet farm towns, rolling country, and then, finally, deep wilderness. Just me, a cold Stumptown latte, an old Sufjan Stevens CD, and a crisp breeze that smelled like rain rolling through my little Prius.

  It feels like I’ve been running from this place for so many years, always dreaming of getting out, of making a cozy little life in the city, nestled between artisan ice cream shops and urban bee keepers. Yet, here I am, broke and nowhere near that sepia-filtered life, looking for a fresh start right in the place where I began.

  I close my eyes. Sleep doesn’t hesitate.

  *

  “Wake up, dork.” Deric’s obnoxiously loud voice and face crowd my senses.

  It takes a few seconds to get my bearings, but I kick at him. Luckily, I’m groggy and miss his crotch by a good two feet. I mentally remind myself to pay him back later.

  “Ugh, you smell like onions, and… ew, what is that?”

  “Man, Ava. That’s the smell of a man. Hard to identify I’m sure after spending so many years in a city full of craft beer-drinking, girl jeans-wearing hipsters.”

  “No, that’s the smell of a basket of dirty laundry. Good god, take a shower!” I answer.

  He laughs, throwing his arms up in concession. “I just got back from a bit of bouldering with a group. I’m hoppin’ in the shower, but I wanted to make sure you weren’t too relaxed. It’s my duty as a brother, after all.”

  “Gee, thanks,” I say, rubbing my eyes.

  “Any time. You know I’ll always look after you,” he winks, leaving.

  Despite his tendency to annoy me, I know it’s true. It used to drive him all kinds of crazy. I’d follow him everywhere when we were kids, but after my pathetic stalking abilities got me lost in the woods for twenty-four hours and he and our parents laid the blame at his feet, our relationship changed. As long as he has eyeballs in his head, he’ll be there to look out for me.

  I splash water on my face and purposely flush the toilet in the hall bathroom, eliciting a loud shout from the other bat
hroom where the shower is running and Deric is loudly singing some old Metallica song. Adult or not, I’m still a little sister.

  “So, how was work, sweetheart?” Mom asks once we’re all three gathered around the table, the dishes of food steaming in front of us.

  Deric is sitting in dad’s old chair. It’s still weird, even years later, but now I’m home for more than just a weekend, I guess I’ll get used to it. Rufus is lying at his feet just like he used to with Dad. He always did know the weakest link for table scraps.

  “Awesome. We had a bachelor party today. In fact, I may head down to Gracie’s and continue the party with them after we eat and Ava and I unload her car,” he says, spooning tuna casserole onto his plate in a heaping pile.

  “Oh, maybe you could take Ava with you!” Mom offers.

  “No!” we both answer quickly.

  “Thanks, Mom, but I just want to rest,” I say, shuddering at the idea of hanging out with a bunch of drunk, rowdy bros. Or worse, having one of them hit on me and Deric going into big brother mode.

  “Yeah, I don’t really think this crowd is her scene,” Deric says, looking relieved.

  “Oh, okay. Well, I just thought, you know, might be good for her to—oh, what’s that word they use?—network.”

  I snort. Water shoots up my nose. “No offense, Mom, but I doubt there is much networking I can do in Tamanass…”

  “Well, who knows? Look at Deric’s business. Who would have thought that would have all come together? Besides,” she continues, giving me the look, “it can’t hurt to explore your options.”

  Ah, if only it were so easy. If only good, decent paying, career-oriented jobs were simply lying around waiting to be ‘explored.’ Maybe thirty years ago it was the case, but not anymore. I’m a recently dumped, chronically unemployed recent college grad with limited work experience and crippling student debt. To say the pickings are slim is as grave an understatement as Deric telling a girl he’ll call her the next day.

  Mom is still talking, not missing a beat. “You know, I let Cathy know you’d gotten home safe. She can’t wait to see you. You should do that thing with that little piercing thingy!”

  Deric clears his throat uncomfortably and looks at me with an expression caught between confusion and disgust. Gotta love Mom and her non-specific references.

  “She says Mr. Montgomery who runs the clinic down in Sherman, you know the one I took you to when you got strep throat last Christmas. Well, anyhoo, her niece Lindsey is a radiology tech there and she says, well, they aren’t hiring right now, but you should still send her your resume and she’ll let you know if anything comes up. So there! Even I am capable of networking. Like I said, who knows!” she finishes, looking proud.

  “Yeah, who knows!” I smile back, nodding with mock enthusiasm. If only she knew how many times I’d sent out my resume on the hopes of being notified when a position came open. Was it still in the hundreds now? Or was I into the thousands yet? It felt like a million, either way.

  “Have you put your application in anywhere yet?” Deric asks.

  “I started calling places last week while I was packing up my apartment. As far as I can tell, the only places hiring right now are the Quikmart down on Hwy 14 and Riley’s Thriftway. Neither will do much for my resume…”

  He nods and chews while I sulk, moving my casserole around with my fork, my appetite taking a dive at the thought of my limited prospects. I knew my job options in Tamanass were going to be sparse, but there wasn’t really an option. Sallie Mae, to no one’s surprise but mine, is not the most sympathetic of lenders, and I couldn’t really stay working for Perry, not after I’d caught him nailing Taylor in his office. At least dinner tonight wasn’t a cup o’ noodles, though. Progress.

  “Deric will keep an eye out for you, dear, won’t you sweetheart? You’ll be back on your feet soon, don’t you worry,” Mom says brightly.

  “Actually,” adds Deric, “if you’re interested, the guys and I could probably use some admin help with the business. We’re making enough, I think, to support a part-timer, and we could sure fuckin’ use one.”

  “Deric!” Mom looks at him in shock.

  It’s an adjustment for all of us living under one roof, but at least Deric chose to do it to help mom out with the upkeep and look out for her.

  “Sorry, Mom,” he says sheepishly, and continues, “but really, we don’t have anything sorted out on the actual business side of things, and that’s kind of what your degree was, right?”

  “Kind of… I mean it was healthcare administration and management. It’s possible there is some cross-over application…” I answer.

  “Well, we need help getting the website up and running. I’d like to be able to book the tours online instead of relying on the damn phone. We’re rarely even at the Den to take calls. God knows how much business we’ve missed out on because messages have gone unanswered. Stuff like that.”

  “Wait, your office is at the Den? The Den? As in the Devil’s Den?” I ask, recalling the beat up little shanty Deric and his friends used to make out with girls in, the one I was trying to find so I could spy through the window when I got lost in the woods. “Oh, no, no, no, noooo. No way.”

  “Oh, come on, it’s not like I’m saying you should hike there. You have a car. We can even carpool if you want.”

  “What a great idea, Deric!” Mom adds.

  “Sorry, but there is no way I’m working way out in the middle of cougar country. I don’t have a death wish” I say.

  He shakes his head. “Like I’d put you in danger? Whatever, it’s fine, go work at Riley’s if you’d rather. I’m sure Dean wouldn’t have gone for it anyway.”

  Say what now?

  “Dean… Dean Ipsoot? I thought you started the guide service with Dex?” I ask, confused.

  “I did start it with Dex… and Dean… as I told you over the phone. What? They don’t teach listening skills in college? Actually, the whole thing was Dean’s idea. He was pretty determined we keep it to just the three of us, so it’s fine.”

  Ah, Dean.

  All that luscious dark hair, those moody green eyes… I’m sure there are plenty of entries in my seventh-grade journal rhapsodizing about his teenage beauty. Of course, that was years ago.

  Who knows what he looks like now. Probably all scarred up from riding and missing teeth or something. Thankfully, I’m not the boy-crazy twelve-year-old I once was. There’s a reason we get older and wiser, and that reason is boys like Dean. All sharp edges and teen angst doesn’t exactly compute into a responsible, reliable adult.

  “Ava, your brother is being very generous. Maybe you could just give it a try? No one is saying you have to stay there forever, but it certainly couldn’t hurt, right?” Mom’s speaking in the same tone she used when we acted up at the grocery store, but she didn’t want to make a scene.

  She’s probably right. The rational, risk-avoiding side of my brain that is telling me to run screaming in the opposite direction from those woods is the same one telling me I can’t very well put ‘convenience store clerk’ on my resume, nor can I go unemployed any longer without defaulting on my loans. My thoughts flip back to the current twenty-three-dollar balance in my bank account. I can argue with a lot of things. Numbers just aren’t one of them.

  Damn it.

  “Fine. I don’t like seeing Deric beg like this, really, it’s just embarrassing for you. You’ve probably had to beg for so many dates you don’t even realize you’re doing it anymore,” I say, teasing him.

  “You want to talk about begging? I’ve gotten a handful of texts just today from chicks in various forms of naked all begging for my c—”

  “Ahem,” Mom notes loudly, her cheeks coloring.

  “Yeah, Deric, no one is interested in your man-whoring. As I was saying, I guess I can do you this favor,” I say, making light of it.

  We bicker more back and forth, leaving the subject behind, but a pit the size of a tennis ball is forming in my stomach at the though
t of being out there in the woods again.

  So much for risk avoidance.

  CHAPTER THREE

  DEAN

  Peanut butter, jerky, bread, fruit…

  I’m going down the aisles checking off the list like a bored housewife. Getting the business up and running has been incredible. I never would have dreamed as a kid I’d be able to spend my days just roaming Hell’s Bitters on my bike and get paid to do it.

  Still, there are the occasional annoying errands and jobs, like shopping for the tours we do that include a lunch. We make sure the expectations are about as low as they can be, since none of us is exactly a chef, but we still have to provide the basics — pb&j, apples… simple shit.

  Holy shit! $3.99 a pound for Fuji apples? That’s fucking outrageous.

  I shake my head. Riley’s really takes advantage of the fact they’re the only grocery within twenty-five miles. Whatever, I’m not gonna play The Price is Right, so I suck it up and grab a sack of apples. Only a couple more things before I can get out of here and back to the Den.

  It’s not that I’m not happy to be back in Tamanass, but it quickly became clear that everyone knew about my big accident and people always seem intent on bringing it up. Maybe I should just get it out of the way and purge, but I don’t want to and, fuck, why should I have to? My business is my own.

  I keep my head down as I walk the narrow aisles at Riley’s.

  ‘There is no blame, only shame…’ Bush’s Comedown is on the tinny speakers and the angsty ’90s throwback is just the right fit for my mood. I bob my head along to the bass line.

  “I don’t want to come back down from this cloud, it’s taken me all this time to find out what I need, yeaaah,” I hear a woman’s voice on the next aisle. It’s pretty—soft and clear and a perfect complement to Gavin Rossdale’s throaty vocals.

  I ignore it at first, but the more she sings, the more curious I get. I’m probably totally delusional, but she sounds almost sad. Something about her voice is haunting in a way. I’m wondering if she looks as good as she sounds. Probably not, but hell, I’m too turned on not to see.