Nineteen
Rilla burst into Ranger Stafford’s house twenty-five minutes late, still bleeding from a hundred scrapes, and breathing hard. “Sorry I’m late.” She gasped.
They were waiting on the couch. Ranger Stafford in his nice jeans and polo shirt. Mrs. Stafford, with her arms and legs crossed, side-eyeing her husband.
“Thea’ll be right there if she needs her,” he said.
“I promise. I’m responsible. I just got stuck on a climb . . .” She trailed off, realizing dropping a rope was not going to help reassure them she was responsible. “Long story.” She leaned on the counter and gulped back her breath. “Where are the twins?”
“They’re asleep. And hopefully, they’ll stay that way.” Mrs. Stafford unfolded her legs and stood. “Okay. I guess . . .” She looked over Rilla and frowned a little. “Thea’s off tonight?”
Rilla didn’t know.
“Yes,” Ranger Stafford said. “Rilla will call right away if she needs anything.”
Mrs. Stafford nodded. “Okay. We’ll be back in a few hours. We were going to run to town, but I don’t know if that’s a good idea with this weather coming.”
Ranger Stafford grabbed his ball cap. “I’m sure we’ll be fine.”
Mrs. Stafford sighed through her nose.
“We’ll just head over to the Lodge for a drink tonight. Shouldn’t be long.”
“All right. Have fun!” Rilla held the door. “We’ll be great.” The wind gusted as Rilla shut the door, and she nearly lost her grip before getting it closed.
The sudden silence seemed deafening. She turned and looked around the house—it was exactly like Thea’s, and also totally different. The same layout, carpet, and furniture. But interspersed with baby toys, half-folded laundry, and family photos. All that waited for her in this house with silent sleeping twins was the brutal, fresh memory of her shame.
Groaning, Rilla sank into the couch and covered her face with her arm. What had she done? She’d ruined everything. Walker probably knew by now, and he’d never want to talk to her again. How was she supposed to show her face in the Valley after tonight?
Her phone was in her pocket and she shifted, digging it out to text Thea she’d made it to the Staffords’. Trying to avoid replaying the whole evening over in her head, she flipped to Instagram and found herself scrolling through her feed.
It was a mistake. Salt in an open wound.
Prom.
She’d forgotten all about dropping the rope as she stared at photo after photo of her former friends—the only people she’d ever known, her whole life—spinning in tulle and sparkles, laughing and dancing together. She was supposed to be there. They were supposed to miss her. No one missed her.
Rilla laid her head on the arm of the couch and pulled her knees to her chest. She was cold and everything hurt and mostly it hurt in places she knew couldn’t be cleaned and bandaged. She missed home. She missed being Rilla Skidmore, requisite bad girl. She even missed the stupid jokes about her moves, the kind of thing that came with your mom being an ex-stripper. At least in West Virginia she knew her place and everyone expected her to be a fuck-up. Unlike now, where she kept trying not to mess things up but did anyway. She dropped the rope, which was bad enough, but then in front of everyone. She was lucky someone had been there, like Caroline, who could climb up to get her. Otherwise, she’d have been stranded.
The wind howled at the roof and her tears overflowed. She pulled up her calls and dialed her mom, putting her phone to her ear.
The phone rang. Clicked.
“Hey Rilla,” her mom said.
“Hi.”
“What’s going on?” her mom asked. “How is California?”
“Sunny.” Rilla stared at the ceiling. “I want to come home.”
“Is Thea giving you a hard time?”
“No. She’s fine. I miss everyone.” If she came back she couldn’t help but feel like she could force them all to love her—even knowing that’s not how it worked. “Everyone makes fun of West Virginia. I’m tired. I just want to come home and have everything be normal again.”
“I know. I know it’s hard to leave,” Mom said.
“I didn’t do anything. It was just a mistake. I’m done with Curtis,” Rilla said. “I’ll pay for the ticket home.”
“Rilla.” Mom sighed, long and heavy. “You can’t come home. Maybe in August? You’ve only been out there a month. Give it some time.”
She closed her eyes tight and tears rolled down her cheeks. The memory of the spring afternoon hit her chest. She hadn’t told anyone, but that hadn’t been their first fight. It was just a public one. It was good when it was good. To Rilla, it made sense the bad would be that bad. Everything had a price. “It wasn’t like you think. I hit him first.”
“Oh, Rilla. Don’t talk about it. Put it behind you.”
She didn’t want her mom to say that. She didn’t want to hear it was behind her, because it wasn’t. It was why she was here. Why she was alone. It was why she sat raw and open and bleeding. “I just . . .”
“Roosevelt caught a squirrel the other day and brought it in the—” Mom began.
Rilla hung up and dropped the phone to the floor, rolling over and burying her face into the couch with her throat tight from strangled cries.
So, this was what it was to be alone.
She breathed into the cushions, trying to calm down. It’d been good with Curtis—it really had. And the whole fight had started because he’d wanted more from her. He cared for her.
She sat up and reached for her phone, pulse skyrocketing as she opened her Instagram DMs and sent one to Curtis. Hope everyone had fun at prom, she wrote, sending it before she could stop herself.
The reply came almost immediately. I didn’t go. Miss you.
She froze, heart stuck in overdrive, pumping a mixture of terror and longing. She started to type a reply when something thumped on the porch. Rilla dropped the phone, wiping her eyes in case it was the Staffords back already.
It came again—a dull thumping and . . . snuffling? What was that? The wind? The Staffords?
She pushed off the couch and went to the door, cracking it open.
Under the dim porch light, a squarish black blob moved under the play water table, thumping it up and down.
Rilla peered closer. What was that? Someone’s dog? It sniffed like it had a cold. Then suddenly she realized.
A bear.
She closed the door, locked it, and stared at the wall. Shit!
The thumping continued. Now with added scratching sounds. Could a bear break in?
She looked at her phone and closed out of Instagram, Curtis forgotten. Hurriedly, she dialed Thea, ears straining for sounds of the bear.
It was quiet. Then. A loud, wet sniff came at her feet, just under the door.
Rilla squealed and jumped away. Shit, shit.
“Hello?” Thea answered.
“There’s a bear!” Rilla screeched. “What do I do?”
“What? Where are you?”
“The Staffords.” A long scratching sound came from the door. Rilla back against the far wall. “It’s at the door. Ah . . .”
“Calm down. I’ll have someone come over and take care of it.”
“What do I do?”
“Just stay in the house. It’s probably scared by your squealing anyhow. It’s fine.”
Rilla buried her face in the couch cushions and moaned.
“Stop being so dramatic. I’m surprised this is the first bear you’ve seen here. They’re the same as they are at home. Less wild though, which makes them more dangerous.”
“Oh.” Rilla sat up, panic eased. Black bears were common at home. It wasn’t odd to see one loping across the road when driving in the morning.
“Yeah,” Thea said. “You’re fine.”
The thumping continued on the far side of the porch.
“Rangers will be out shortly. Call back if you need me.”
“Bye,” Rilla said.
She hung up and looked at the phone. Instagram was in the background—her conversation with Curtis unfinished.
A flood of shame washed over her. She’d started it . . . again. After promising everyone she wouldn’t. After promising herself. Maybe it was for the best she was here. No matter where she went, she couldn’t seem to get beyond herself.