THE WILD SEASON

Chapter 16

It's getting dark when I try and fail, for the hundredth time, to raise the wall into place. Colt left an hour ago to try and catch something to eat. I'm glad for his departure, and his shirtless distraction.

As the sun performs a finale, casting oranges and reds across a never-ending sky, my mind turns to my mother. It's easy, when you lose a parent, to remember the good things. The Christmases. The birthdays. The moments when they held you under a warm blanket on a quiet morning with nothing but cartoons and frozen waffles and quiet cuddles to fill the hours. But the fact is you remember the bad parts too. They don't disappear just because they're gone.

What I'm replaying now is a day from fifth grade. One year before I lost her. My teacher, Ms. Iola, called on me to answer a question, and though I'd raised my hand with confidence, I got it wrong. After I put my hand down in my lap, dejected, my teacher turned back to the dry erase board. But then her head spun around just as quickly.

"What did you say?" she asked.

I glanced over my shoulder, thinking she must be talking to another student.

"Molly, I heard what you said. Go see Principal Susan."

"What?" I asked, confused.

But she was already writing a note on the pink pad every kid feared. I could see her bra straps digging into her back beneath her shirt as she scribbled. I remember that. The flesh and the fear.

She jabbed the note into my hand and shuffled me to the door, and every time I tried to defend myself, to explain that I hadn't said anything—because I hadn't—she mumbled that I was only making it worse.

The walk to Principal Susan's office took eight hundred and forty years, and when I cried on the other side of her desk and stated my case, she handed me the phone to call my mom.

"I'm on my way," my mom said on the other end, and my chest swelled with relief. My mom would make it right. She'd explain that I hadn't said that four-letter word. That I would never do that.

Principal Susan had me wait in the front office until my mom arrived, and when I heard her high heels on the linoleum and saw the black of her hair and the red of her lips, tears stung my eyes because there was my person. She was an adult like Ms. Iola and Principal Susan, and now things would be even.

But as soon as Mom saw me, she shook her head, those red lips tightening.

"I had an appointment," she hissed. "And now I'll probably lose the order. What were you thinking?"

"Mom, I didn't—"

"Just don't," she said, and I started crying again.

I got up to follow her inside Principal Susan's office, but she held up a hand to stop me. "No, stay there."

All the way home, she didn't speak to me. It wasn't until bedtime that she came into my room to tuck me in and kiss me on the forehead.

"I love you to the stars, Moon Pie," she said firmly. And what it sounded like was, I love you even though you embarrassed me today.

I should have told her that I hadn't done it. That the teacher imagined it, or maybe she heard another kid say that unspeakable word. But I was afraid she wouldn't believe me, and I was angry, and hurt. So I buttoned my heart and stayed quiet.

Somehow, that memory, and all the other bad ones, sting just as much as the good ones. Because now my mom is gone, and there won't be any more ups and downs, no magical moments or arguments as I grow older. As my friends fight their moms for freedom, or are frustrated by the things their mothers say, I am reminded that my own mom will never disappoint me again. She will never surprise me again. She will never again say to me, I love you to the stars, Moon Pie.

Colt returns and collapses onto the ground, leaning back onto his elbows. He watches as I try to lift the wall once again. I have it halfway up when it slides from my hands and slams down, nearly crushing my feet.

I scream that infamous curse word, and then I turn my hostility on Colt. "You could offer to help, you know."

"Nah, I'd rather watch you struggle." He says this so casually I'm tempted to scream again. "Besides, you don't really want my help."

"You're damn right I don't." I rip the tools from my waistband and throw them in the grass. "Where's all this wild game you went looking for?"

Colt rolls his eyes.

"I hate your eyes," I snarl, missing my mom. Despising him for being here.

"I hate your mouth," he fires back.

"I'd like to drown you in the stream."

"I'd like to feed you to fire ants."

"Sloth hates you!" I say, and I'll admit, it's not the best follow up. But it's true. That cat would bury Colt in a litter box if it meant sleeping an extra ten minutes curled by my side.

"Bitches stick together," Colt clips, but I see it the second he realizes he went too far. Threatening to kill a girl via fire ants is one thing. But every man who values his life knows the 'B' word is off limits.

I storm toward the tent, and for one second, I think Colt will try and stop me. He opens his mouth to...what? Hurl another insult? Apologize?

It doesn't matter.

I'm gone.