Wild At Heart (Wild 2)

“Uh-huh,” he adds after a long pause. “Have a good night.”

“You, too.” I leave Roy’s porch, feeling far less relief than I should about escaping a chore list that involves touching udders and shoveling manure.

But all I feel is pity, for an old man who hasn’t done a thing to deserve it.

* * *

I smile at the sound of the metal spoon clanging against porcelain. “What are you going to do when Mom figures out you’ve been carbing up after she goes to bed?”

“Vehemently deny it, of course,” Simon mumbles around a mouthful of instant mashed potatoes. I finally discovered where he’d been hiding his stash of Honest Earth Creamy Mash—in the locked cabinet that holds his patients’ files—the only place in the house that is off-limits to my mother.

It’s eleven thirty in Toronto, but my stepfather has always been a night owl. I knew, when I arrived home from Roy’s and texted him to talk, that he would be awake and available. “So? What are you going to do about this cantankerous neighbor of yours?”

“I don’t know. What should I do?”

“What are your options again?”

I sigh. Simon knows my options. As usual, he’s making me work through this on my own rather than giving me the answers I seek. He can’t help it; it’s the psychiatrist in him. “Either I show up there tomorrow morning or I don’t.”

“Okay. So, if you go there in the morning, what will happen?”

“He’ll send me home. And probably yell at me.”

“And if you don’t go …”

“Then he’ll be doing everything on his own, and what if he falls? Or passes out from the pain? What if that bear shows up and makes a run for him?” I rifle through the list of horrible outcomes to Roy being left to his own stubborn devices. “You should have seen him today, Simon. He looked ready to keel over.” Muriel is right. He is a fool, refusing our help.

“So, you feel responsible for his welfare?”

“Responsible? No. But Muriel asked me to help him.” More like ordered, because Muriel doesn’t know how to ask.

“And you don’t want to disappoint her?”

“No, that’s not it. I just …” My words falter. What is it, exactly?

“What will happen if you call this Muriel and let her know that he’s unwilling to let you help?”

“She’ll tell me I must not have tried very hard. And then she’ll be there every morning and night, and I know she doesn’t have time for that. They’re swamped at the resort.” I, on the other hand, have plenty of time.

“So, you’ll feel like you somehow failed her?”

“No, but … she’s helped us out a lot.” Whether I’ve asked for it or not.

“And her opinion matters to you?”

“It doesn’t.”

“Are you sure?” Simon asks in that gentle prodding way of his.

“I don’t know. I guess maybe it does, a little?”

She’s a good girl. Smart, and a hard worker.

I can’t ignore the blip of pride that stirred in my stomach when Muriel said that to Roy, shocked as I was by her edict that I’m the person to help him. So, maybe I do care what Muriel thinks of me. “Plus, I know Roy’ll be angry if I sic her on him.” According to him, we’ve made a pact to keep Muriel out of this arrangement. Everyone wins, he claimed. But it didn’t look like he’s winning anything except a much slower recovery time.

“And his opinion matters to you?”

I snort. “Are you kidding? He doesn’t have a good opinion of anyone. But it’s sad. I don’t think he knows how to let people help him. And I think he’s intentionally offensive to keep people at arm’s length. Or maybe he’s been alone for so long, he doesn’t know how to be anything else.” And yet he made a rare appearance at the Ale House the night of the chili cook-off to thank me for saving Oscar, and to warn Muriel about this potential problem bear. Whether he did those things because he felt the burden of responsibility or was genuinely compelled, I can’t say.