Page 56 of Born to be Wilder

Mawmaw appeared, dropping a batch of warm biscuits on the table and setting down four glasses of water. “Can I get you anything to drink?”

We ordered our drinks, and she left to get them with a smile.

“See how quiet she was? Barely heard her coming. I’m not saying Mawmaw is a vampire. I’m saying she could be, and I respect it. She seems nice. Bet she’d turn Alice if the dude at the bar doesn’t turn out to be a vamp.”

“Marge!” Sylvie bumped me with an elbow.

“I’m serious! If we get Alice bitten, the cancer is a nonissue. Boom. Immortal. We’d just have to keep her out of the sun or buy her a lot of sunscreen. Problem solved!”

“We do not need to turn her into a vampire,” Doris scolded, her eyes wide. “I’ve been praying, Marge. Enough for four, plus extra prayers for Alice. I’ve got us covered. And besides, when we all die—because we aren’t exactly spring chickens anymore—it’s fine. I am confident now that I can get you all into Heaven. So, you don’t need to be immortal.”

I shrugged, tearing into a warm, flaky biscuit. I popped it into my mouth and spoke between chews. “Think about how ancient we are. In the Middle Ages, hitting forty was like winning the lottery. We’re basically prehistoric. Old enough we could have been on Noah’s Ark, for crying out loud. I’m just trying to upgrade us to ‘eternal.’”

“The only eternal I care about is the eternal afterlife in Heaven. And I’m pretty sure God won’t open the door for the undead, Marge,” Doris whispered, leaning in close. “I know He won’t take us if we’re... vampires. So we don’t need vampires. Because we will live long, full lives, and when we die, I’m going to be right there at the gate, arguing the case for all three of you.”

“Fine.” I picked up my own menu. “I’m just saying it was a clean solution.”

“Alice doesn’t want to be immortal,” Sylvie said. “She wants to live. There’s a difference.”

“And modern medicine has come a long way. I’m going to kick the cancer to the curb and survive… unless Marge gets us killed on her captain days,” Alice added.

I was about to say something else when the handsome man at the counter stood up, tucked some bills under his coffee cup, and turned to head toward the back of the diner.

As he turned toward us, I saw his hat.

BAYOU BILL’S BOAT TOURS with a big alligator mouth opening toward the front.

I was out of the booth before I’d made a conscious decision to move.

“Marge?” Sylvie whisper-yelled. “Do not ask him to freaking bite us!”

I crossed the diner and fell into stride beside him. “Excuse me. Sorry to bother you. Your hat.”

He stopped, turned, and looked down at me with a pair of blue eyes that were, I had to admit, legitimately suspicious in their handsomeness. Up close, late fifties, easy smile, the weathered quality of someone who spent most of their time outside. Flannel shirt, camo jacket, boots that had done real work.

“Ma’am?” His voice came out slow and warm, molasses over gravel.

“Your hat,” I said again, pointing at it. “Airboat tours. You run those?”

“Yes, ma’am. That’d be me.” He touched the brim. “Bayou Bill, most folks call me.”

“You can call me Marge.” I stuck out my hand. He shook it with a firm but gentle grip. “Can you take four of us out today? Like now? Right after breakfast?”

He tipped his head, contemplating it in the unhurried consideration of a true Southerner.

“Well, maybe this afternoon I can fit you in. Just have a few things to get done yet.”

I frowned. “Aw, man. Can’t take us now, by chance, can you? We’re on a tight schedule.”

He scratched his stubbled chin. “It’s really better in a few hours.”

I glanced at Alice, then leaned in and dropped the cancer card like a grenade. “She has breast cancer. The tall, pretty one. Could really use this win for her. You sure you can’t take us now?”

He looked at her, face softening as he shook his head. “My mama had breast cancer. Hell of a fighter. Man, sorry to hear your friend is going through that.” He chewed on his lip, head tipping back and forth. Then finally, a sigh. “Aw, alright. Gimme twenty minutes to make some calls and move a couple things around and I’ll get you and your friends out on a fantastic ride.”

“Yes!” I pumped a fist down by my waist. Cancer card for the win again. “Fantastic. We’re on a road trip, looking for fun stuff to do before her cancer battle, and a trip to see the gators sounds perfect.”

“Happy to help any way I can.” He pointed to my Viking hat. “Can I ask?”