Page 53 of Born to be Wilder

My eyes bulged. “They are never, ever going to find out.”

“What if you moon someone by accident?” Alice pressed a finger to her chin. “Or a gust of wind lifts your skirt while you’re setting up the bake sale.”

I gasped. “Well, I’ll have underwear on! It’ll cover it!”

“What if you’ve got a wedgie and your cheeks are showing when it happens?”

“Marge! That won’t happen!”

She shrugged. “I’m just doing risk assessment. Don’t want you getting kicked out of your Bible group, but I guess if you do, it’s more time you get to spend with us. The bad seeds who corrupted you.”

I laughed, and the laugh turned into the kind that had no end to it, rolling through me in waves as we reached Bertha.

I turned to them before we climbed inside. This was it. The end of my shift. I reached up and slowly pulled off the Viking helmet. It felt lighter now—or maybe I just felt stronger.

“My time is up,” I announced. “Captain Doris is officially retiring.”

I held the helmet out toward Marge. The plastic horns caught the moonlight.

“I’ve done the Ark, the aprons, the dancing, the bull riding, and the ink. I think I’ve pushed us as far as I can. Marge, you’re up.”

Marge didn’t hesitate. She snatched the helmet and jammed it onto her silver hair. She looked like a woman about to declare war on the entire interstate system.

“Captain Marge is on the bridge!” she shouted. “Strap in, widows.”

Alice groaned. “Please don’t get us killed, Marge.”

Marge just grinned. “I haven’t gotten us killed yet. Ye of little faith.”

Sylvie leaned toward Alice and whispered, “Yet being the operative word.”

Marge spun on her heel and marched up into Bertha. “Let’s get some shut-eye, soldiers. Got a big day tomorrow! Captain’s orders!”

We all shared a look and a worried smile, then climbed in one by one, warm from the whiskey and the dancing and the evening that had been more than any of us had planned for.

We got into our jammies and climbed into bed, and I lay there on my tender hiney, looking out the window at the tattoo parlor I could still see down the street.

Thank you, I told God quietly as Marge started snoring.

This is exactly what I needed. I hope You’re having as much fun watching this as I am living it.

And I was fairly certain He was.

MARGE

Chapter Eleven

“I love this song!” I cranked it up and hammered the steering wheel of Bertha like it was a set of war drums. My right foot pressed heavily on the gas as we flew down the interstate, the Mississippi pines blurring into the swampy, moss-draped tangles of Louisiana.

“Too loud!” Sylvie reached over and turned the radio back down. “And slow down! All this bouncing is hurting my tattoo.”

“Mine too!” Doris called.

“Ninnies.” I ignored the sting on my own ass cheek while I tapped the wheel to the beat of Tom Petty, singing loudly as it hit the chorus.

“Oh, my ears,” Alice grumbled from the booth behind me.

“You weren’t blessed with a great singing voice, Marge,” Doris added.