Chapter 7
WILDER
My plans for today had not included a visit to Bobby Merritt’s Animal Adventurama, but it wasn’t as though I had any better offers.
Besides, Gracie had been looking forward to it for a while.
It was kind of a rite of passage for kindergarten kids in Goose Run.
I couldn’t exactly remember going when I was Gracie’s age, but I must have, because everyone had.
When you were in kindergarten, you went to the Adventurama, just like when you were a little older they took you to the soybean farm, and when you were a little older than that, you finally got to go on the best tour of all, where they piled you on a bus in middle school and took you to Colonial Williamsburg.
The Adventurama was only two blocks from the school.
We didn’t even have to go all the way to Main Street.
All the kids were holding hands with their buddies as we set out.
Gracie was holding hands with a little boy called Malcolm, chattering away in his ear while he tried to get a word in edgeways. I knew the feeling.
Avery had trained the kids well because they stopped when he did at the first road we got to, and then he looked back to make sure I hadn’t lost any of the stragglers before we all crossed the road.
And maybe that was when Avery realized he hadn’t needed to plan the walk with military precision—we could almost see the Adventurama from here—so he dropped back and walked alongside me, keeping his eye on the lead pair of kids up front.
“Thank you for doing this,” he said.
“No problem.” We were passing the church now, and I felt the same punch-in-the-gut sensation I always did when I saw it.
You’d think that after six years it would have softened somewhat, and sometimes I thought I’d gotten over the hurt of it all, but it turned out it was just regrouping.
I’d spent half my life inside that old wooden church.
Could probably still find my way around with my eyes closed.
I forced myself not to look, fixing my gaze on the kids instead.
“Is that…” Avery trailed off and said, “Oh.”
The sign out front said Goose Run First Baptist Church.
And underneath: Pastor John Wilder.
Probably some bullshit on the board about how Jesus loved everyone too. Well, maybe it wasn’t bullshit. Maybe Jesus did love everyone, but my dad apparently knew better.
“Yep,” I said, figuring he’d joined the dots. “I’m a good Baptist boy, can’t you tell?”
Avery didn’t laugh like I’d hoped he would. His smile was uncertain and a little sad.
“Kids are near the road,” I said. They weren’t, not really, but it gave us both an excuse to change the subject. “Hey, um, is it okay if I take some photos today? For Gracie’s mom? Just of Gracie. Like, I don’t want to be a weirdo.”
“That’s fine,” he said. “I’ll be taking pictures for the class newsletter anyway. She’s, um, not here in Goose Run?”
“College in Maryland,” I said. “She got a scholarship. Cassidy’s smart as hell.”
“And you have full custody for the first time?” he asked.
“Yeah.” Guilt bit me. “It’s been a big adjustment. I’m still figuring it out. Well, I don’t need to tell you that.”
This time his smile was a little more genuine.
“I’m doing my best to balance out everything,” I said. “Like, school and work. The same things every parent does, except I’m five years behind. It’s shitty, but I never realized exactly how much heavy lifting Cassidy was doing until suddenly I have to do it all.”
“I think that’s pretty typical,” Avery said in a measured tone. He hesitated before saying, “And working mostly nights must make it easier in some ways, I guess?”
I blinked for a second, and then my brain caught up with my ears and I realized he thought that stripping was my only job. I snorted. “I work as a roofer. Pretty sure you need daylight for that.”
Avery’s mouth dropped open, and his cheeks flushed pink. “Oh. So the other thing is…”
“A side hustle, yeah. Gotta pay for those school lunches somehow, right?” I said with a wry smile.
I half expected him to make a comment about how at least I had a respectable day job, but instead he said, “No wonder you’re in such good shape.” He froze, like he hadn’t meant to say that, then hastened to add, “I just meant working two physical jobs must help with keeping fit, that’s all.”
I wasn’t into guys, but I had to admit Avery was kind of cute when he was flustered. “It’s fine. And honestly, I enjoy the dancing more than the roofing. It’s a hell of a lot less tiring than climbing ladders, and the tips are better too.”
Avery’s blush darkened, and I wondered if he was remembering the handfuls of dollar bills he’d shoved into my thong—because I sure as hell was. I didn’t say anything, though, since we’d agreed to never ever discuss it.
After a minute he cleared his throat and said, “So does the Adventurama really have a three-legged dog?”
“You’ll find out in a minute,” I said. “We’re here.”
Avery stopped and looked around. “Where?”
I fought to suppress a laugh. “Up ahead. See the sign?” Two houses up, there was a rusty, hand-painted tin sign that said Goose Run Animal Adventurama, with an arrow pointing up the driveway of a modest single-story house.
The sign creaked in the breeze, and Avery’s brow furrowed. “That’s the petting zoo?”
“It’s Bobby’s house,” I said. “The petting zoo is in his backyard.” Calling it a petting zoo was being generous—the lineup consisted of four ducklings, an occasional litter of kittens, a three-legged dog, a baby goat, a couple of hamsters, and of course, the goose.
But to a bunch of five-year-olds, it might as well have been Jurassic Park.
Right on cue, Bobby came wandering down the driveway. Instead of his usual short shorts, Bobby was wearing short overalls over his stars and stripes T-shirt and a battered straw hat in place of his usual Stetson. It was a look.
“Hey, y’all,” Bobby said. “You here for the Adventurama?” Like we’d be there for anything else.
Then again, this was Bobby Merritt. There was no guarantee he hadn’t started running a daycare center on a whim.
Bobby was always starting new businesses.
He was weird as hell, but in a town as weird as Goose Run, it worked.
He was the lifeblood of this place, no question.
While other small towns around here were dying a slow economic death, somehow Goose Run was still hanging in there, and it was all down to Bobby.
“You must be Mr. Smith,” Bobby said, darting forward to shake Avery’s hand. “And Wilder! Good to see you! One of these is yours, I take it?”
“That one over there,” I said, pointing out Gracie. Gracie waved.
“Well, if she isn’t just the spit of you,” Bobby said. He took off his straw hat and bowed in Gracie’s direction. “Come on through, kids! Lucille’s been waiting all morning for you!” He turned back. “Don’t touch her, though. She’s a biter.”
A gasp ran through the group.
“Who’s Lucille and why is she a biter?” Avery whispered to me.
“Bobby’s goose.”
“Do geese have teeth?”
“Don’t need ’em,” I said.
Avery’s face did something complicated. “This is safe, right? For the kids, I mean. It’s not like I’m worried about getting pecked by a goose.”
More fool him. I’d met Lucille, and there was no way I was getting within striking distance. But I didn’t tell him that. Instead I said, “As long as they don’t try to pet her it’ll be fine.”
The cute little crease in Avery’s brow vanished, and we all trooped up the driveway and through the rusty gate that led into Bobby’s backyard.
We followed Bobby along a meandering path that led to a small grassy area where a couple of low pens were set up.
I was relieved to see that Lucille was locked up in a proper cage.
Bobby wasn’t kidding about her being a biter.
Avery scanned the yard, then leaned over and said in an undertone, “Where’s the rest of it?”
“This is it,” I said, just as quietly.
Avery looked around doubtfully before saying, “Oh.” His disappointment was palpable, and I felt a pang of sympathy. He’d obviously been expecting a real petting zoo, not Bobby’s admittedly loose interpretation.
“Trust me,” I said, “they’ll love it.”
I pointed to the bunches of kids that were already clustered around the pens, chattering excitedly as they pointed to the animals. Some of the tension left Avery’s frame, and he took a deep breath and said, “Okay. Let’s do this.”
We separated the kids into three groups, one per adult, and we all took turns handing the different animals to our groups so that everyone got to see and touch everything.
Avery took plenty of pictures, and so did I, knowing the parents would want to see them.
Gracie took a real shine to a fluffy orange kitten, clutching it to her chest and sighing loudly when it was time to hand it back.
I pretended not to notice. There was no way our household could cope with a pet. We could barely look after ourselves.
The hamsters were a hit, and the whole class thought it was fantastic when one of them took a shit in my hand—one of the hamsters, not the five-year-olds, although that probably would have had them laughing just as hard.
I caught Avery fighting back a smile as I wiped my hands on the stars and stripes patterned handkerchief Bobby offered me, and I grinned back.
The highlight of the morning was when Bobby brought out Dennis, a small, scruffy terrier who was missing his left rear leg.
Bobby told his rapt audience that Dennis had been hit by a car but that he’d been rescued by Jim Ross, the local vet, and adopted by Bobby when nobody came forward to claim him.
Dennis sat there with his tongue hanging out in a happy smile, and when he dropped and rolled onto his back, all the kids rubbed his belly and told him what a good boy he was as he panted happily.