The Simple Wild: A Novel(84)

What if my dad says I went too far?

What if he’s disappointed with me?

“Find anything interesting?”

“What?”

“The books . . .” His gaze drops to my empty hands.

“Oh. No, I’m not a big reader. Anything good on TV?”

“Nah. I just threw it on for a bit. I was sitting outside on the porch for a while tonight. You and Mabel sure made it look good. Brought me back a few years.”

“Wait until the sun goes down.” We had enough strands of old Christmas lights to crisscross the ceiling twice over.

He sighs and, hitting the power button to cut the picture, tosses the remote to the side table. “Maybe tomorrow night. Today’s excitement wiped me out.”

“Yeah, I’m pretty tired, too.”

His movements are slow as he pulls himself out of the chair, collecting his dirty mug. “You sure you’re okay? You seem a bit . . . jittery.”

“I’m fine. Hey, what time are you going in tomorrow morning?”

“Probably the usual. Before six, anyway.”

“I should get a ride in with you since Jonah won’t be going anywhere.”

He chuckles. “A few stitches across his forehead won’t keep him away from Wild, even if he can’t fly yet.”

“Right. Okay.” Great. I press my lips together.

My dad gives me another curious look. “Well, okay then. I’ll see you in the morning.”

“Yup.”

He spots the two suitcases sitting in the doorway by the kitchen. “Hey! Told you they’d turn up!”

“Yeah, they turned up alright,” I mutter under my breath. Do I tell him what Jonah did? A part of me wants to tattle on his golden boy, but a bigger part wants to hear Jonah’s bullshit reasoning myself first.

Besides, this is between him and me now.

My dad frowns. “How’d they get here, anyway?”

“A cab. Just as I was coming home.”

“Hmm . . .” His frown deepens, as if he knows that’s a flat-out lie. But then he shrugs. “Well, you’ve got all your clothes now. That’s good. ’Night.”

“’Night, Dad.”

He pauses to give me a small, satisfied smile and then disappears into his room.

I let out a shaky sigh the second my bedroom door shuts behind me. Jonah got what he deserved. Besides, it’s not like I disfigured him. And hair grows back. If he prefers looking like he belongs in a cave, carrying a club around, it won’t take him too long to transform back.

I set to unpacking my things.



Two hundred and forty-four.

Someone drew nipples on two hundred and forty-four ducks.

That’s one thousand, four hundred and sixty-four hand-drawn nipples in my father’s kitchen.

“Calla?”

I turn to find my dad standing in the kitchen doorway. “Hey! I’m making coffee for us. It’s just finishing up.”

His surprised gaze shifts from me to his coffeemaker as it noisily dispenses the last drips of hot liquid from its spout, and then back to me. “You feeling okay?”

“Yeah. I couldn’t sleep, so I figured I’d get ready and go in with you.”

He studies my tired eyes that no amount of concealer and Vi-sine seemed to be able to fix. “I didn’t sleep well last night, either,” he admits, the bags under his eyes telling. “I’ll bet seeing Jonah like that unsettled you.”

“Yeah, maybe.” My sleepless night has everything to do with Jonah, but less to do with the crash and more to do with his potential wrath when he wakes up and finds he’s been shorn like a farm animal. Will he laugh it off or will we be back to square one in our relationship—mutual loathing? “Anyway, I figured I might as well get an early start to the day. With you.”

“Nothing wrong with that.” He pours himself a cup from the pot and takes a sip.

And starts choking. “How many spoonfuls did you put in?”

“Whatever the package said. Is it bad?”

He presses his lips together and shakes his head, and then says in a tight voice, “It’s great.”

I give him a flat look. “You’re lying.”

“It might be a tad bit strong.” He smiles as he takes another sip, turning away to hide his grimace.

“I’m sorry. I don’t know how to make coffee. You don’t have to finish it.”

“You kidding?” Another forced sip, followed by a fake thirst-quenching sound. “My daughter made this here cup just for me. Damn straight I’m gonna drink it.”

I’m lost in laughter as I mix my own cup—extra heavy on the soy milk—and watch him force down the rest of it, alternating between dramatic cringes and full body shudders. Setting his dish in the sink, he grabs his vest and keys. “Well, if I wasn’t awake before . . .”

I trail him out the door and toward his truck.

“Those are nice.” He admires my red Hunter boots with a smile and nods at the red flannel jacket from Jonah, folded over my arm. “And they match.”

“Shockingly. At least I finally have something appropriate to wear.” I’d dug out my favorite ripped blue jeans, coupling them with my silvery off-the-shoulder knit shirt and matching lace bra.