Chapter 3 Charlie
CHARLIE
I’m committing it to writing: I’m telling Greg TODAY about Married in the Wild.
First thing when I see him. Well, maybe not first thing—since we probably won’t have a lot of private time to talk at our wedding shower.
But definitely before the night ends. He’s the one who told me to get creative when I was brainstorming how to get more money to help my mom pay off the hospital bills.
You can’t get much more creative than a wilderness survival reality show.
—from the journal of Charlie Savage
There are two types of people in this world: those who see a dog trembling on the side of the road and go on with their day, and those who will swerve across three lanes of traffic, tromp through grassy mud in their cream-colored wedding shower dress, and rescue the dog.
“It’s okay,” I whispered to the yellow lab as I slowly approached.
She trembled with fear as I crouched beside her and petted the top of her mud-covered head.
“Oh, sweetie, what happened to you?” I didn’t see any obvious injuries.
Probably just hungry and exhausted. Her tail gave a wag as I ran my hand down her side.
She nipped at my wrist as I got closer to her back leg.
It looked like she’d gotten wrapped up in thorny devil’s club.
I had a first aid kit in my car. I could get her leg cleaned up and take her to the shelter across town—
Except the wedding shower started five minutes ago.
My wedding shower. Well, technically my shower. In reality, it was my fiancé, Greg’s, wedding shower, with all of his and his parents’ work friends. Not even my mom had been invited—she had to work anyway, but still. I would know a grand total of three people there.
I was already running late because several students had stopped me after my botany lecture to ask questions about their final projects. Greg and his parents valued punctuality. This would already reflect poorly on them. I was in an impossible situation here.
Be inexcusably late to the shower but rescue the dog.
Be forgivably late to the shower but abandon the dog (and all my ethics and morals while I was at it).
The precious dog whined and looked at me plaintively.
A glint of silver caught my eye, and I picked up a frayed dog collar from the thick thatch of mossy weeds next to her. “Is this yours?” I asked, and I read the name. “Molly?”
Her ears perked up, and I gave her an enthusiastic neck rub. There was a phone number, but I’d left my phone in the car.
“Stay here, Molly.” I straightened and stepped toward my car, landing in a reed-covered mud puddle that splattered my bare legs and nude shoes.
Molly followed me, limping on her back leg, and my heart melted. Poor thing didn’t want to be left alone.
I stared down at her mud-covered fur.
I stared down at my cream-colored dress. The mortifyingly expensive dress I didn’t even love but was pressed into purchasing by my future mother-in-law. My mom had laughed outright when she saw it.
“Mom! It’s not that bad.”
“It has pleats.”
I didn’t tell her how much it cost. Not when she was working two jobs to make ends meet.
Muddy dog. Cream fabric.
Saving the dog. Preserving the pleats.
Why are you even pretending to debate about this? “Come on, Molly girl. Easy up.” It wasn’t the first time I’d shown up somewhere muddy following a rescue, and it wouldn’t be the last.
Molly sniffed my outstretched hands, and then let me pick her up, tucking her injured leg close.
“Oof. You weigh more than you look.”
Her body trembled against my chest.
“That’s a compliment, Molly.” I carefully picked my way over pinecones and more spiky devil’s club, the weight of her burning my back muscles. “It means you haven’t been lost for long.”
I placed Molly in the back of my SUV, spread out my animal-rescue blanket, and urged her onto it. I hopped in next to her. A comforting weight settled onto my thigh as Molly rested her head on my knee. My heart melted at her trust.
At this point, I was officially super late for the shower. What were a few more minutes?
To Greg, they’re a lot. My stomach twisted.
I dialed the number on Molly’s collar. It went to voicemail, so I left a message with my contact information, and then pulled up Greg’s number.
It rang half a second before he answered.
“Where are you?” he asked in a tense voice. “Everyone’s waiting to eat.”
“On the forest road entrance. Don’t wait for me, though.”
I ran my hand gently over Molly’s body to feel for any more thorns before I helped her with her leg. Devil’s club was a terrible bush to tangle with. Thorns the size of my pinkie finger were hidden by huge heart-shaped leaves. Molly whined when I got too close to her back leg.
“What was that?” Greg asked.
Greg and I got along well, except for one thing.
One big thing—or really, one small thing, depending on how you looked at it.
My rescue dogs. Specifically, my tiny foster dog, Hansel, a three-legged Chihuahua that had been with me for going on six months now.
Greg liked to say that the only way he liked his animals was between two buns, which really hurt Hansel’s feelings.
“An injured dog,” I said when Molly barked, despite my pleading expression for her to stay quiet. “I’m going to drop her off at the shelter—” And change my clothes, but he didn’t need to know about that part. “—and then I’ll come back.”
“You’re going to be almost an hour late by the time you drop it off and get back here.”
“I’m sorry—”
“I know, I know you’re not going to leave it on the side of the road, so I won’t even suggest it. Just come straight here, and then you can take it to the shelter once the shower is over.”
“Greg.” I looked down at my muddy dress. “I can’t—”
“See you soon.” He hung up before I could get another word in.
I hated it when he cut me off like that. “I can’t come to the party looking like this. And I don’t want to leave Molly alone for too long,” I said into the silent phone as if Greg could still hear me. I sighed and set my phone down.
It was this wedding. Greg was more on edge than usual, and I hated disappointing him. Two more weeks and we’d be married, and then he could go back to the version of Greg who wasn’t constantly frustrated.
“Want to go on a field trip, Molly?” If I could at least get the thorns out, it would help her to feel so much better while she was relaxing in my car until her family came. I’d done this enough times that I knew to be quick and give her a treat after each one.
Molly snarled at me as I removed the first thorn, and after the second, her head whipped toward me so fast, I didn’t even see the nip coming until it was done.
It was just a warning, but her teeth scraped down my arm as I yanked back on instinct. The scratches stung and would need to be cleaned, but they’d hardly broken skin. Dogs had so few ways to communicate.
“I know it hurts.” I held her face while I pulled out the third, and last, thorn. She wriggled under my hold, and then, as if realizing she wasn’t hurting anymore, she suddenly stopped.
I let her have another treat as she tentatively put weight on her back legs.
My phone buzzed with a text from Greg. “Why aren’t you moving?”
“On my way,” I wrote back.
I emptied out the first aid kit and poured my water bottle into it. Molly eagerly lapped it up.
The cool summer wind blew through my open window as I took the winding road up the mountain and into the neighborhood that had endlessly fascinated me as a kid. The wealthy—which felt like an entirely different species of human—vacationed here.
When I was little, my mom and I would drive up here on her rare weekend afternoons off work and dream of living in one of these huge, gorgeous homes, instead of in the tiny, rickety duplex—with drafty windows and questionable wooden stairs—we’d moved into after my dad died.
My future in-laws lived here. And Greg promised we’d buy a house here too.
I’d come a long way from the poor little girl who wore her cousin’s hand-me-downs until there were patches on the patches, and ate school breakfast and lunch even in the summer. Sometimes it was hard to believe this was my life.
Well, almost my life.
I pulled my old SUV into the circular driveway and parked behind a line of luxury vehicles. “I’ll be back to check on you in a few minutes,” I told Molly as I rolled down the windows and refilled her water. I kissed the top of her head and dashed toward the house.
The stone walkway up to the front door never ceased to make me feel like I was entering the scene of a movie—the protagonist with the fresh, glasses-free makeover preparing for her debut as irresistible and desirable. I didn’t wear glasses, but the fantasy was the fantasy.
I debated walking in, but it felt weird to me, even with the party going on.
The Millers weren’t really a “just walk in” kind of family.
I rang the doorbell and then tried to rub off as much mud as I could, leaving little speckles of brown near my feet.
My shoes were even worse, and I kicked them off just as Greg’s mom, Mrs. Miller, opened the door.
Her eyes perused from my head to my bare toes, and her pert nose wrinkled. But, ever the gracious hostess, she forced a smile to her face. “Charlotte. My goodness, are you okay?”
I blew out a quick breath. This was my future mother-in-law. Not some stranger I was meeting for the first time. I kept waiting for the nerves to settle when I was around her, but so far, I was out of luck. “I’m okay.” I motioned downward at my dress. “My clothes, on the other hand…”
I hoped she’d chuckle and usher me in warmly, but instead, her frown deepened, and she kept me there on the doorstep. “Garrison’s business associates are all here—”
The door opened wider, and Greg stood there, his brow furrowed even deeper than his mom’s. A chill wind blew up from the mountain, bringing with it the promise of a storm. I shivered.
“I’ve got this, Mom,” he said.
She nodded and returned to the party I could hear toward the back of the house.
He stepped outside and shut the door behind him. “Charlotte, you know how big of a deal this shower is to my parents.”
I thought the party was for us. But I didn’t say that, not when he was looking this angry. “I’m sorry—”
“Are you?” His mouth tightened. “My mom has been planning this for months.”
“I’ll go home and change—”
“There’s no time.” He pinched the bridge of his nose. “Maybe my mom has something you can borrow.”
“Okay.” I hated how small my voice sounded, but my throat was too tight for volume. Guilt roiled through me. I’d messed up their—our—party.
“For once, couldn’t you have let the dog be?”
Yes, I was late. Yes, I’d stopped to help a dog.
But I’d hardly committed a criminal offense.
Hurt rolled through me and unbound my tongue.
“You used to like that I’d stop and help.
” I hadn’t changed—this was who I’d always been.
But somewhere along the line, he’d gone from thinking it was adorable to finding it annoying.
“When we were teenagers. Don’t you think it’s about time you grew up?” He stormed inside, the open door the only invitation I’d get.
I stayed on the porch for another moment to corral and hitch my emotion. He was stressed. We were both worn out. I was late to something important to him. The wind blew a few icy raindrops in my direction. Getting sick right before the wedding was the last thing I needed.
I felt like a trespasser as I edged past the door. The tinkling of silverware on cutlery and glasses, along with laughter and chatting, drifted toward the front entryway.
The cream-colored marble tiles (Mrs. Miller was obsessed with cream) were warm beneath my bare feet as I took another step toward the huge oval mirror in the entryway.
My carefully curled long hair lay limp and lifeless down my back.
The dress was a lost cause. My makeup had smeared while caring for Molly, and my freckles were on full display, making me look at least five years younger.
I guessed I wasn’t just acting like a teenager; I was going to look like one as well.
In the reflection, I spotted Greg coming down the stairs with a women’s blazer, a button-up blouse, and a tweed pencil skirt (all cream, of course). His mom’s signature look.
“You can change in the bathroom down the hall,” he said as I swiveled toward him. “I’ll grab some shoes.”
“Your mom’s feet are a size smaller than mine.”
“Do you have another solution?” he asked, his voice clipped.
I slowly shook my head. Going barefoot must be out of the question. I changed quickly in the bathroom. Greg’s mom was a petite woman, and her clothes were on the snug side.
“Sexy business casual,” I said with a hip shimmy. It was the kind of joke that would have made Greg laugh when we’d first started dating but would now earn me a pained frown. The wedding stress was killing us. We just needed to get through it, and then things would go back to normal.
I’d tipped my head over to shake out my hair and give it body when I heard a clattering noise on the marble floors. “Greg?” I called out.
When he didn’t respond, I opened the bathroom door to find no one there. I swore I’d heard someone in the hallway.
“What is that!” one of the guests shouted.
“Get back!” another one yelled.
The sound of clinking silverware and screeching chairs on tile intensified.
And then I heard the bark.