Page 4 of Charlie and Her Sweet Escape
Does your marriage have what it takes to survive the wild?
3
CHARLIE
I’m committing it to writing: I’m telling Greg TODAY aboutMarried 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 gottenwrapped 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.
Mywedding shower. Well,technicallymy 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.”
