Wild Card (North Ridge #1)

“Stand up straight, Shane,” my father says to me, patting me on the shoulder. I immediately put my shoulders back. He acts like posture is the end of the world. I mean, it’s not like having great posture makes you smart or rich.

By the time grandpa finally trundles out of the washroom, running his hands through his thin grey hair and pushing it back against his head like he’s trying to be in some Godfather movie too, there’s a knock at the door.

Maverick opens it. “Merry Christmas!” he exclaims.

Except it’s October, it’s Thanksgiving, and now Mav just looks like a big dork.

The man on the other side of the door pretends to find my brother funny but I know he’s lying because no one finds Mav funny.

I’ve seen the constable pick Rachel up from school once before in his car. He’s tall and balding with a moustache that looks like a caterpillar. He’s got a big smile and white teeth, but his eyes don’t seem to blink.

I don’t trust him. I don’t like him.

Rachel’s mom is behind him, short with a face that’s kinda pretty but also small, like a mouse.

Then there’s Rachel herself.

Rachel looks like an angel, especially tonight. Her hair is long and dark and super shiny. It reminds me of raven’s wings. But she looks totally nervous and I don’t blame her. There’s a lot of us here, and we’re all just staring at her like a bunch of turds.

The introductions are made quickly by my grandpa. He can be quick when he wants to be. Pretty soon all my brothers, my dad, Jeanine and Del know Rachel, her mom, and her dad.

Our dining room table is a big wooden thing, something my grandpa says was made from a huge oak tree when he was a young boy, but it’s not big enough for everyone so Jeanine takes out a folding table from the closet and sets it up in the corner of the room.

I know this is the “kids” table, she doesn’t even have to say it, but I don’t mind being the kid for once because there’s only one other kid here: Rachel.

“Shane, Rachel, you’ll have to sit here,” she says as she quickly puts down a red plastic tablecloth that we usually use on the picnic table. She glances at me briefly and gives me a small smile. I know what she’s doing, like she’s trying to put Rachel and I together on purpose, and my cheeks go red.

When the table is ready and set, Rachel and I sit down across from each other. She’s so pretty that my tongue feels like dirt in my mouth. I can’t speak. And she doesn’t speak either, so we just stare at each other. Funny that it feels like enough.

We should invent a secret language.

I try and convey this with my eyes but Rachel just looks at me like I’m weird. Okay, maybe I am being a bit weird right now. But how cool would that be? My brothers ignore me so I’ve never been able to do this with them.

The food is passed around, the adults start to talk, then my grandpa insists we say grace. He’s funny like that. He’s the only one of us who mentions God or prayer, but it’s important to him so we all do it.

As I’m saying grace, I open one eye to peek at Rachel.

She’s watching me, and when I catch her, she smiles.

Gosh, she’s pretty. I should be saying grace for her.

When it’s over, the adults go back to talking to each other. Sometimes Rachel’s mother will ask Fox or Mav what they like to do but the police chief doesn’t seem to care. In fact, he doesn’t seem to like it when she talks.

I’m not sure what to say to Rachel at first so I stuff my mouth with turkey and observe the room. I like to do that. Jeanine says I’m the strong, silent type, though I still don’t think I’ll get as strong as my brothers. But I like to watch people. Sometimes I pretend I’m watching a play and I narrate it all in my head.

There’s Maverick, always trying to make someone laugh even though his jokes are dumb. Fox just thinks he’s too cool for school, flexing his stupid muscles, trying to impress Del.

“So when did you two meet?” Rachel’s mom says to my dad and Jeanine.

My face goes red for no reason. I see my brothers stiffen. None of us like this question even though we’re not ashamed of it.

The chief clears his throat. “Vernalee,” he says sharply, and the look that he gives her is like he’s trying to fry her alive on the spot. He’s kind of scary.

But Vernalee just looks at Jeanine in surprise. Because she doesn’t know.

“I’m actually the nanny,” Jeanine says calmly with a nice smile on her face. “Hank’s wife, Emily, died when Shane was just six months old.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry,” Vernalee exclaims loudly, hand at her throat.

“Okay, enough,” the police chief says. “They clearly don’t want to talk about it and you made a fool of yourself bringing it up.”

I look over at Rachel and she seems to shrink before my eyes, her shoulders curling in, staring down at her plate like she wants to disappear.

“It’s quite alright,” my father says quickly. “Honestly. It’s been a long time. We’re just all so lucky that Jeanine was here for us and still is.”

Jeanine and him exchange a pleasant look.

My father has had to say that so many times. So have I. But living in a small town, unless someone is new, everyone knows so we don’t have to say it often anymore.

It’s weird for me because to me Jeanine feels like a mother, my mother, but I also know she’s not. Even when I was really young, I called her Jeanine because that’s what my father would call her. I don’t know what it’s like to have a real mother. I think if there is a God, like the one that grandpa believes in, he thinks I don’t deserve one.

The truth is, I’m the reason my mother is dead. I’ve heard it put that way more than once.

“So,” Rachel says in a small voice.

I look at her in surprise. The adults have gone back to talking about other things. My grandpa was quick to change the subject to the ranch.

But then Rachel doesn’t say anything else so I say, “Do you like the food?”

She smiles, nodding. “It’s very good. We usually have ham, but I like turkey better because of the gravy. Did you know, in America they do Thanksgiving at the end of November? That’s so close to Christmas. I’d hate to be a turkey there in the winter.”

“We used to have turkeys,” I tell her. “But we ate them.”

Rachel scrunches up her nose.

“I’m not sure where this turkey came from.” I point at the plate, talking fast. “But we just have chickens now, out in the coop. We only eat their eggs.”

“Do you have any dogs?” she asks.

“We do. All my brothers have one. Me too. Mine’s called Blue cuz he’s a Blue Heeler. But Fox’s is called Red and Maverick’s is Yellow. So maybe that’s not why he’s called Blue.” I stop talking because I sound like a moron.

“I’d love to meet them all,” she says. “Especially your Blue.”

I smile at her. Suddenly I don’t feel so dumb anymore.

“They’re all in the barn right now, maybe sleeping in the hay. Or out and about. Jeanine wanted the dogs out of the house for dinner.” I suck in a breath and summon courage. “Maybe you could come over one day after school. We have lots of horses too. Do you like horses?”