Born to be Wilder (The Wilder Widows #4)

Chapter 1

Chapter One

There were certain things in life I had come to count on without question.

The sun rising every morning. Tom’s arms around me each night. The way my heart swelled to bursting each time I saw Emma’s little face peering through the back fence on the afternoons Rachel brought her by.

And this.

Every year, without fail, my three best friends gathered around me, preparing to open our next wishes.

The four of us lounged in my living room with our traditional bottle of whiskey, the knitting basket sitting in the center between us like a tiny battered oracle. Each year we’d drawn our wishes from it, and then, no matter what was scribbled on the little notes inside, we’d chased those dreams.

Together.

The way we did everything.

And despite the calamities that often met us on those escapades each year, we were still here. Still gathered around my coffee table. Still planning to reach into the same basket and start it all over again.

And I wouldn’t have it any other way.

“I’m not peeing in the bushes!” Doris scrunched her face, shaking her head at Marge.

Marge lifted a shoulder in a shrug. “Well, I’m just saying, if you don’t want the rabbits to keep eating all your plants, there’s nothing like a little piss to scare ’em off. I pee outside all the time. My bushes look great.”

“Eew.” I pulled a face. “Marge! What if someone sees you? It’s not like you’re out in the woods. You have neighbors who won’t appreciate seeing your bare ass in the moonlight.”

“Hey. You all have critters tearing up your landscaping, and mine looks fantastic. Have you seen my azalea bush? It’s spectacular. And only one of us is pissing outside, so…” Marge paused, giving us a knowing look. “Come to your own conclusions.”

We all laughed, and then Marge turned and looked at Alice. “Whoa. You just missed an opportunity to say something about my bare ass and my bush. You alive over there?”

“Huh?” Alice looked over from where she’d been staring out the window.

Marge chucked a pillow at her. “Earth to Alice! We’re talking about my bare ass and my bush, and you missed it!”

Alice straightened her features, took a sip from her glass, then looked directly at Marge.

“I’ve seen your bush. We all have, unfortunately, and it was, contrary to what you just said, not great.

And if a neighbor sees your bare ass in the moonlight, they’ll go blind and probably sue you, so maybe stop trying to terrify the neighborhood by pissing in your bushes. ”

“Ha! You did hear me!” Marge wagged a finger at her.

“You two are dirty! Stop it!” Doris waved a hand at them. “I just want some solution to the rabbits eating my plants that isn’t”—she lowered her voice—“urinating on them.”

“I’ll do some research,” I said. “There must be something more appropriate, as they are devouring mine too. I saw an ad about something called… what was it? Liquid Fence? I’ll look it up and get back to you.”

“Thank you, Sylvie.” Her eyes squinted with her big smile.

“Human piss is free. And it’s fun to pee outdoors.” Marge grinned, showing off her replacement tooth from the surfing accident during our last adventure.

It looked almost completely natural, and much better than the shark tooth she so desperately wanted implanted in there…

and still threatened to do. Ever since we’d returned from our last Wilder Widows trip, Marge continued tormenting us with all the things she could have installed in her mouth instead of a plain old tooth.

Gold. Diamond. Wood. The list went on. But her wife, Roxie, thankfully, had forbidden it all, saving us from a lifetime of staring at her in horror each time she smiled.

A lot had changed since our last adventure that ended in Finland.

Rachel and Blake had moved into a house two blocks away, which meant Emma was a fixture in our lives in the best possible way.

Tom had taken to grandfather duties like it was the most natural thing in the world.

I’d lost count of how many evenings I’d come downstairs to find him in the living room with Emma asleep on his chest, the two of them knocked out in the armchair like they’d made a mutual agreement to nap and neither one would be the first to break it.

The shoe company had grown past any of our wildest expectations.

Fran managed the day-to-day with her usual unflappable efficiency while we mostly stayed out of her way and let her do it, which she’d made clear was her preference.

With a growing staff to handle it all, we showed up where we were needed and otherwise tried not to interfere with people who were much better at running a company than we were.

Our marriages were strong. Our friendship even stronger. Every day felt like a miracle that in my sixties, I’d managed to create a life better than anything I’d ever dared to dream.

We were all, by every measure, exactly where we were supposed to be.

Which was why sitting here right now, with the whiskey poured and the basket waiting and the whole ritual stretched out in front of us like a gift, felt so incredibly, perfectly right.

“Well?” I gestured to the basket. “Are we ready? Is it time to start our next adventure?”

Marge’s face lit up as her gaze moved to the basket. “Oh yeah. I’m ready. The question is… are you?” She waggled her eyebrows.

Doris winced, terror blooming in her eyes. “Oh, Marge. What did you do? I’m scared.”

“Good.” Marge sat back, satisfied. “Fear keeps you young.”

“I don’t want to be young, then,” Doris whimpered.

“Seriously, Marge. Are you ever going to get old enough that your wishes don’t terrify us all?” I asked.

She crossed her arms. “Nope.”

I looked to Alice to back me up, which she usually did with a quick surgical comment that ended things efficiently. But Alice wasn’t looking at Marge. She stared out my window, seemingly off in her own world today.

Doris looked at her old knitting basket now repurposed as our wish basket. “Okay. So, who picks first this year?”

I opened my mouth to answer, then closed it. “Whoa. I can’t remember. Is it the last person? Random? How have we always done it? Oh my God, I’m losing my memory. Please don’t let this be Alzheimer’s starting.”

Doris’s eyes widened. “Oh, Sylvie! Me too! I have such a bad memory these days. Getting older is no joke!”

“Which is exactly why we need to stay young,” Marge noted, giving us all a stern stare. “And these wishes in here, this is how we do it. The minute we stop living life to the fullest, we may as well just die.”

As she said it, Alice glanced quickly at the basket, then looked away abruptly enough that my brow furrowed.

She wasn’t even knocking us out of the way to go first, and if there was one truth about Alice, it was that she always wanted to be first at everything.

Instead, she was slowly turning her glass in her hand, watching the whiskey move, her expression vacant. I knew instantly that she was holding something heavy inside.

I glanced at Marge, who stared at Alice with the same strange curiosity as I did. Then she looked at me and I shrugged.

Marge set down her glass of whiskey, crossed her arms, and stared at our distant friend.

“Alright, Alice. You’ve barely made fun of me today.

In all the years I’ve known you, you’ve never missed an opportunity to take an opening.

And today, there have been plenty. Nothing.

Nada. Zilch. You’ve barely said a peep about, well, anything. What gives?”

Alice looked at Marge, then at Doris and me, then back at her glass.

“Alice.” Marge’s voice was quieter now, her playful tone removed. “What’s going on?”

“She’s right. You’ve been quiet since you got here,” I said carefully.

Alice opened her mouth like she would speak but then closed it, her gaze drifting away again.

“Alice! You’re worrying me!” Doris leaned forward. “Please. What’s going on? They’re right. Something is wrong.”

Alice looked at the knitting basket. Then she closed her eyes and downed the last of her whiskey in one long swig.

My heart pounded with fear and anticipation when I noticed the strange look in her eyes as she locked them onto mine.

“I had a speech. But right now, it’s left my brain.” She picked up the bottle of whiskey and refilled her glass, and I realized she was stalling. Alice never stalled. She was more direct than a laser. “But I just… I don’t know how to say...”

No one said a word. We just waited.

She set her glass down, heaved a breath, and said, “I can’t come on the trip this year.” A breath. “I have breast cancer.”

The word dropped like a stone in water. It grew so quiet in the aftermath it seemed something had changed in the air itself. Like a window had opened somewhere in the dead of winter and all the warmth rushed out at once.

Doris made a sound and pressed both hands over her mouth, her eyes welling with tears in an instant.

Marge went still. Silent.

My grip tightened around my glass as my breath stalled in my lungs.

Alice stiffened her shoulders, chin lifted high as she stared at us, and I tried to keep from passing out as I processed her words.

Alice has cancer.