Going Wild Read online

  “Really? You’re not too tired?” she asked.

  He stroked her cheek. “Good kind of tired.”

  “Listen, about the separate beds. I promised my mom and Trixie I’d help clean up after the party first thing tomorrow, so I really need to sleep.”

  “It’s good.” He kissed her forehead. “It’s all good.”

  She put her hand on his chest, a faint smile on her lips, and turned away.

  But then she spun around, gave him a quick kiss on the lips, grinned, waved, and strode away. Her short black robe clung to every curve as she left the kitchen, reminding him of what he would be missing tonight.

  He waited a moment before going to his own room, where he immediately sat down with his laptop and began to write.

  The words came easily.

  Many hours later, when the first light of dawn was arousing the songbirds, he’d written seven chapters. He backed it up, emailed himself a copy, closed the laptop, and fell into bed. At this rate, he’d be done with the book before September.

  It turned out Fane was quite an inspiration.

  22

  Sunday morning around nine, Jane tapped on Grant’s door. There was no response.

  Would it be rude or reasonable to open the door herself? They had spent hours together in the most intimate circumstances, and this was her house.

  But in the end, she decided privacy was even more important under those circumstances. She knocked again a little louder.

  This time there was a creak of bedsprings and floorboards, and the door opened to reveal Grant, bleary-eyed and tousle-haired and sexy-everywhere.

  He’d obviously been sound asleep a second ago.

  “I’m sorry, Grant. I didn’t mean to wake you.”

  He squinted at her. “No, no, it’s totally fine. Come in.” As he opened the door, he tripped over his own feet. “I’ll make us coffee.”

  “No, I can’t stay. But thanks. I wanted to tell you I have to go out. To Trixie’s. My little sisters and I are helping clean up from the party.”

  “Nice. OK.” He yawned.

  “Are you all right?” She glanced at the recliner he’d put in the corner, where his laptop rested. “Were you up late?”

  He smiled. “I was indeed.”

  “How late?”

  “Late enough.”

  “Good for you.” She reached out and squeezed his arm. There had been lots of squeezing yesterday, but now it was awkward.

  “I can come with you to help.” He scanned the floor. “Let me get my shoes.”

  “No, you need to sleep.” She stepped back into the hallway. Having him there with her little sisters and Trixie would raise too many questions—or answer ones they’d had yesterday. “You earned it.”

  He grinned. Then yawned. “I must be getting old. I used to be able to pull all-nighters without falling apart like this.”

  “Go back to bed. I’ve got to get going. I’m late.” She waved and pulled the door shut between them.

  She hadn’t known what to expect—a quickie? A speech about friendship?— But that interaction had clarified nothing. Now it would be even more awkward when she returned this afternoon.

  The door flew open.

  “Hey,” he said.

  She turned, her heart skipping. When she saw his face, she smiled. “Hey.”

  He came out into the hallway, pulled her into his arms, and kissed her. She leaned into him, her heart singing, and returned the kiss. His breath was minty fresh, almost too much so.

  After a second kiss, he lifted his face away from hers. “I would’ve done that earlier, but my mouth was nasty. I just chugged some Scope.”

  Since he didn’t have a sink in his bedroom, she was afraid he really had swallowed it—either that or spit it out into the potted plants. “I could tell.”

  “Sure you don’t want me to come?”

  She nodded. “Easier if you don’t.”

  “Got it.” He grimaced, stifling a yawn.

  “Go to bed, seriously.” She noticed Shadow had slipped past her into his room again. “First I’ll get my cat out—”

  He kissed her one more time. “Leave her. She’s good company.”

  “I’ll leave the middle door open so she can use the litter box. Close it if she’s bothering you.”

  “Will do. Have fun.” He opened the front door for her and shut it behind her.

  As she walked down the steps to her van, she glanced back and waved at the window, although she wasn’t sure he was watching.

  And as she drove to Trixie’s house, she listened to a pop playlist that normally she would’ve hated but today seemed to capture her stupid, happy mood.

  Her sister Rachel’s car was in the driveway when she arrived, so she parked on the shoulder, a treacherous maneuver in the minivan, but she was feeling lucky.

  She gathered the carrot cake she’d made for Trixie (with cream cheese frosting, of course) and walked up to the house. Before she could knock, the door opened and her sister Holly appeared carrying a zucchini as large as her arm.

  “Never mind, Jane,” Holly said. “Aunt Trixie doesn’t need our help. She said we could go if we took some of these.” She held up the massive vegetable.

  Rachel stepped out of the house next to Holly, also holding a zucchini. “I told her Mom would make bread out of them. I hope it’s true. Think she’ll do it?”

  In Jane’s eyes, Holly and Rachel acted like teenagers. When she was that age, she had already worked two years at a Big Four accounting firm and was studying every spare minute for the CPA exam.

  They produced an intermittent podcast about cheese.

  “Not so fast,” Jane said, holding out her arms to herd them back into the house. “Trixie was just being nice. We said we’d clean. We’ll clean.”

  Trixie appeared in the doorway. “Morning, Jane! Aren’t you looking refreshed!”

  “You do look kind of happy,” Rachel said, frowning. “What happened?”

  Behind Rachel, Trixie winked.

  Jane felt her face get warm. “Just got a full night’s sleep, that’s all. Now I’m ready to get to work. And so are Holly and Rachel.”

  “Oh, no,” Trixie said. “You don’t need to do that. It was just a little party, and nobody broke anything. It would be helpful if you took a few zukes. Honestly, it would be helpful if you took one. I never learn. One day they’re small as my little toe, the next day they’re bigger than Zeus.”

  A small, funny-looking dog with a protruding tongue stood up and put his paws on Jane’s shin.

  “This is Zeus?” Jane asked.

  “That is Zeus.” Trixie leaned down and petted the funny dog. “Hugo wanted to put him in a cone for licking his paw too much, but he knows I’ll take it off when he’s not looking. Hugo, I mean. Being a vet makes him tough. He doesn’t seem to feel guilty about poor Zeus being miserable when he can’t lick himself.”

  Jane glanced at Holly and Rachel, who were playing around with the zucchini, pretending to fence and beat each other with them.

  Were they fourth graders? Honestly.

  “We’ll take the squash, but we’ll also clean,” Jane said. “We won’t take no for an answer.”

  “We will,” Holly said.

  Rachel, pretending to be impaled with the zucchini by holding it under her armpit, writhed in mock agony. “There’s nothing to clean up, Jane,” she said in the strained tones of a dying soldier. “Chill.”

  Usually being told to chill by one of her little sisters would rankle, but today Jane was too happy to let anyone get to her. “I think Trixie is just being her usual nice self.”

  “Aren’t you sweet?” Trixie reached out and put her hand on Jane’s arm. “Come on in and see for yourself. Let your sisters take off and get into whatever trouble they’ve got planned for that zucchini.”

  Holly and Rachel laughed and stabbed each other with the squash again.

  “Are you guys drunk?” Jane asked.

  They laughed harder.

&
nbsp; “Sugar rush,” Trixie said. “I gave them cake.”

  “And ice cream,” Holly said.

  “And really strong coffee,” Rachel added. “I think we could fly home.”

  Jane’s sisters began walking down the steps to the driveway.

  “No way we’re going home,” Holly said. “We’re going to IKEA first. I need a MALM. Or maybe a YORG.”

  “What’s a YORG?” Rachel asked.

  “No idea. I made it up,” Holly said, turning. “Thanks again, Aunt Trixie.”

  Rachel echoed her, and the two walked the rest of the way to their mom’s hand-me-down Prius that waited for them in the driveway.

  “Come on in, Jane.” Trixie pulled her inside and closed the door. Zeus was ahead of them, panting and dancing with three other little dogs.

  A little girl, still a toddler, marched into the room, playing a plastic saxophone. Jane recognized her cousin Liam’s daughter, Merry. They lived next door.

  “Our prodigy,” Trixie said. “I babysit on Sunday mornings. And whenever I can steal her.”

  Merry, Jane noticed, could already play “Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star.”

  “Hi, Merry,” Jane said. “You’re really good at that.”

  Merry smiled around the red plastic mouthpiece but didn’t stop playing.

  Jane looked around and had to admit the house showed no sign of a party the day before. Trixie’s husband Hugo was sitting in the living room in a modified Lotus pose on a yoga mat and cushions. Very modified. He wasn’t bent much more deeply than he would be were he sitting on a barstool. She wondered how he would get off the floor.

  “Hello, Jane,” he said, waving. “Don’t let her give you any vegetables.”

  Jane held out the box of carrot cake she’d brought. “It’s all right. I made you two something, so we’re even.”

  “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.” He brought his hands together and closed his eyes.

  “I’ve always wanted to try yoga,” Jane said.

  “Can’t be any worse at it than I am,” Hugo said.

  “I know you won’t leave until I prove you’re not needed, so come along and see the backyard.” Trixie took the box of carrot cake. “Cream cheese frosting, my favorite.”

  “Yes, me too,” Jane said. “Sometimes I skip the cake.”

  The backyard was indeed clean and tidy. No red plastic cups littering the grass, no crumpled napkins, no furniture needing to be put away.

  “Zack and April cleaned it up last night,” Trixie said. “There was no stopping them.”

  “Really? April doesn’t seem the cleaning type. Sorry, I don’t mean—”

  “No, you’re right, she’s a slob. And Zack is a neat freak, so it’s a blast to watch them together. Their romance is still young, and they pretend it doesn’t bother them.” Trixie was eating a piece of Jane’s carrot cake with her fingers. “Young love,” she mumbled with a smile.

  “Well, tell them thank you from us,” Jane said. Now what was she going to do today? If Grant needed to sleep, she didn’t want to hang around the house feeling… feeling… whatever she’d be feeling. Lonely? Frustrated? Impatient?

  Or maybe relieved? They had no idea what they were doing, after all. Were they going to leave the door unlocked now? Well, of course they would.

  Right?

  “Young love,” Trixie said again, her eyes on Jane. She popped another square of carrot cake into her mouth.

  “Well, I guess I’ll be going.”

  “I’m sorry I didn’t call and tell you and your sisters to save yourself the trip,” Trixie said. “Honestly, I forgot. But I’m happy I got to see you again.”

  Merry flung open the back door to the kitchen and blasted her saxophone hard enough to overwhelm the plastic instrument’s abilities. The only music was a faint, breathy whistle.

  Zeus, still at Jane’s heels, began to howl. Merry laughed, sucked in another breath, and blew again. The other dogs inside the house began to squeal as well.

  Jane smiled at her, admiring the little girl’s spirit. Her eyes were sharp, too, as if she had countless thoughts and opinions she was keeping to herself. Not a wishy-washy type, this one. Jane had imagined having a daughter like her, maybe more than one. And if she had a son, he’d be the type to appreciate a woman with brains and guts because he’d be her kid and she’d teach him. A dad who knitted his own socks would be a good role model—

  Her smile fell. Grant would be a good father. A great one. But the parents had to be compatible in the long term, and the two of them would be lucky to last until the end of his lease.

  Jane made her goodbyes, too softhearted to refuse a pair of round zucchinis as big as grapefruit, and returned to her minivan. She set them in the back and helped herself to a bottle of water from the case she kept there. Her home away from home.

  Speaking of which, it was too early to go to the one where Grant was. She had to do something.

  Her talk with Billie last night had only covered a quick question about Jane—yes, we did it—but hadn’t covered Billie. Not Ian, the party, her pregnancy, the wedding plans, family gossip, or school plans (Billie was taking classes at the junior college, preparing to transfer to one of the UC or CSU campuses). Just because Jane hadn’t been herself lately with personal issues didn’t mean she could neglect her closest sister when she was going through bigger stresses of her own.

  Gazing out the windshield at the white morning haze that made the sky hurt to look at, she called Billie. She’d invite her out to that boutique in Rockridge to fawn over overpriced but gorgeous baby gear from Europe. And then a mani-pedi and whatever Billie wanted for lunch—she’d mentioned how hungry she was all the time. They could get gourmet ice cream on College and see a movie. When was the last time they’d hung out together like friends? Too long ago.

  Billie’s voice came over the receiver, but it was a recorded message, the old one she’d had for years.

  “Just checking in,” Jane said. “Text me.”

  But then she remembered Billie had said she and Ian were having dim sum with their dad and stepmother in San Francisco today. Just the four of them, welcoming Ian into the family.

  Well, Jane didn’t mind being excluded from that. In fact, she’d rather see a friend than family after that party yesterday. Sydney from work lived in Oakland. Maybe she was free. Jane called her.

  “Yoga in half an hour and I need it big time,” Sydney said. “We could get together after that if you can wait.”

  “I’ve been thinking about starting yoga,” Jane said. “Where’s your class? Is it a club, or can I drop in?”

  “You aren’t going to like yoga.”

  “What do you mean? I’ve done yoga before.”

  “When?” Sydney asked.

  “A long time ago. Are beginners welcome at this place you go to?”

  “Sure. I’m not very good either,” Sydney said. “You really want to do this?”

  “Yes.” Jane put on her seat belt. She always kept an extra gym bag in the van. “I’ll buy us coffee afterward.”

  “I’m off caffeine. Let’s make it a smoothie.”

  “Deal,” Jane said. “Where do I meet you? Do they have mats, or should I buy one on my way there? Any other equipment I need?”

  “You can borrow a mat at the studio,” Sydney said. “But listen, girl. I hope this isn’t about fitting into your skinny jeans, because I’ve been doing this for three months now and I’m still the same big, beautiful woman I’ve always been.”

  “Nothing like that,” Jane said. “What’s the address?”

  23

  Grant drove up the driveway of his grandfather’s estate and parked next to the landscaper’s pickup in the back. Grinning at the memory of Jane shoving twenties at him, he walked over a stone path to his mother’s cottage. She’d called him, worried about Grandfather again. His physical health had improved, but he was more irritable than ever, shouting at repairmen, the cable TV news, her.

  Grant had been unable to slee
p after the quick kiss with Jane, regretting he’d been too sluggish to pull her into bed for more before she’d driven away. Driving to Marin had given him an excuse to get out of the house. Otherwise, he’d be pining away, waiting for Jane to return. Yeah, he was in bad shape.

  His mother, Brandi, was cleaning her brushes in her art room when he arrived. She painted with acrylics on small canvases because they hadn’t had room for large oil paintings when he was a kid, and she’d developed a name for herself in small works. Although she had access now to a massive estate and could have canvases as big as a garage door and industrial ventilation for the chemical fumes, she continued to work in acrylic-based miniature.

  “He’s really upset about something,” she declared, not looking up, “but he won’t talk to me about it.”

  Grant picked up one of the wet brushes she’d just cleaned and painted on his wrist the way he’d done as a child, enjoying the feel of cold, silky bristles on his skin. “Did he mention the Bostocks?”

  “Bob Bostock? He died more than a year ago.”

  “His son took over. Not a good guy, probably crooked. Troy had to tell Grandfather about it recently.”

  “This isn’t about work.”

  “Bob Bostock was his best friend. Oldest client.”

  “This isn’t about work,” she repeated.

  Grant knew it was hopeless to argue with his mom when she’d made up her mind about human interaction stuff. “You could just ask him.”

  “I did, but you know how he is.” She took the brush away from him and set it on her drying rack. “I’m not family.”

  “Nice of him to let you live here for free then.”

  “I’m not blood.” She stood and tilted her head back to look at him. Although only five feet, she never gave the impression of being a small woman. Without raising her voice, she could fill a room with quiet strength. “I’m not you.”

  “Me? We’ve never been close.”

  “And I think it bothers him. A lot.”

  “Why now, after all these years?”

  She straightened his collar. “I think he misses your father.”

  The familiar grief pricked at him. “I know I do.”