As we turned down the driveway, I saw less carnage right away than I’d expected. The lawn was cleared. A large pile of brush, with branches and dead leaves, stood off to the side. One of my uncles continued to add to the pile. He nodded my way. Once we reached the house, however, I saw that all my landscaping was ruined. The water had washed away my flowers and knocked over the gnomes who guarded them. I choked back a cry when I saw the boarded-up windows on the bottom floor. The garage door was open, revealing a monstrous pile of black garbage bags. Had they
thrown away
my Christmas boxes?
Vera didn’t have time to stop before I opened my car door. “Hey!”
I had to know. Did they really have the
audacity
to throw my ornaments away?
I ran up the driveway panting with a rising fury. They wouldn’t
dare
. I was just in time to catch my father coming out the door from the kitchen to the garage. He peered at me as I tore open one of the bags. With my claws exposed, I ripped into the plastic. I’d tear them all to pieces if they’d thrown them away. All these days of treating me like a daughter again … it was all just so they could come here and toss out all my belongings behind my back.
Within the folds of the bag I found nothing but soiled newspapers from the recycling bin behind my house.
“Nat?” my father called. But his voice sounded far away as I cut into another bag.
“Where are my ornaments?” I hissed. “Where did you put them?”
“No one threw them away.” He touched my shoulder. “Come into the house.”
I snatched my shoulder away. “You kept me at your house this whole time so you could throw them away.”
“Get in the house now, Natalya.” He growled under his breath and I snapped to attention like a well-trained soldier. When my father commanded, the wolf obeyed. I clutched the garbage bag’s remnants in one hand while part of me fought to be allowed to check the contents of the others. I had to see. The garage was a mess, with all my gardening supplies in one corner. A stain on the wall indicated that the water had risen as high as my hips. High enough to enter my first floor and ruin the pristine condition of my home. I didn’t want to enter the house—yet I had to see.
I followed my father inside. The kitchen wasn’t as bad.
Dirt littered the floor, and a line from the floodwater stained the walls.
“How much damage is there?” I asked.
“Not as bad as I thought. Your mother called the insurance company and filed a claim. One of their people toured the house. Most of the appliances aren’t salvageable, but your home has good bones and should hold up just fine.”
My father actually thought I was referring to the contents of the kitchen and the major structural components of the house.
“I meant the boxes. The white boxes all over the house.” I paused for a moment as my throat caught. “Are they gone?”
He continued into the living room. I sighed in relief to see the Precious Moments figurines still on the fireplace mantel, but everything else was gone. My family had pushed my discolored furniture against the wall. The stench from the fields lingered in the house and was sour in my nostrils. This couldn’t be happening to me. All this had to be some sort of punishment. For trying to straighten my life out. As I reached to touch one of my figurines I felt numb inside. Empty and void.
“We tried to save as many as we could.” He took my hand and guided me into the dining room. This was where they’d stored what remained of all my treasures. The worst of the lot sat on the kitchen table, where Aunt Olga was wiping them off and wrapping them in newspaper. Helping her was a conveyor belt of three family members drying and wrapping them before carefully depositing them in a box. I covered my mouth with my hand. Even my brat of a cousin had come here after school and stood quietly drying ornaments. I could hug the little guy for coming.
What could I say to my family now? My hoarded items
were exposed for them to see. Yet here they were, trying to help me pick up the pieces. My world now consisted of nothing but a soiled home with floors smelling of earth and rot. Yet here I stood united with my family—a member of the Stravinsky pack.
E
ven
though my home still lacked power and heat, I wanted to sleep in my own bed. My aunt protested, but my father grumbled, “Some wolves need to guard their territory. Leave her be, Vera.”
“What about the Long Island werewolves?” she whispered.
“Pretty soon whether she wants to stay here won’t matter. I sense them coming soon, no matter what.”
I knew my father’s words were true. He’d told me once that he could sense upcoming battles in his bones. The itch to fight would come over him, and he’d tell his employer he needed several days off.
This had happened often when I was a toddler. All the while my mother would just stay at home, cooking large meals and keeping the house clean, with a child balanced on her hip. It was as if every family that had a stay-at-home mother also had a dad who battled other werewolves on occasion.
When I became a teen, I began to notice that life played out just the way Old Farley had described it to me. Werewolves had become much bolder when they tried to take over one another’s territory. Especially valuable territory like South Toms River. In hindsight, Old Farley should have seen a takeover attempt coming sooner or later.
That Wednesday morning, I spent my time surveying the damage in my backyard. Even though my family had done a fine job of tossing out most of the debris, they’d still left me with a bit of work to do. I had contractors going in and out, making assessments on repairs. In the meantime, I cleaned up. I tried to concentrate on my own task, raking the leaves, but my head just wasn’t in the right place. My gaze kept drifting over to the car. I felt an itch to pick up the keys, rush out to the nearest store, and … A loud snap brought my attention back to the rake. I’d broken the poor thing in two. I stared at the pieces for a minute before my resolve broke as well.
Oh, screw this!
I marched into the house and grabbed my keys. I was tired of feeling morose, dejected, and withdrawn. With my purse in hand, I drove south down the Garden State Parkway with the wild glee of a happy holiday junkie who didn’t care what she got. I stopped at a McDonald’s for breakfast, where they had holiday mugs for sale. I bought five mugs and two Happy Meals with Cheerful Christmas Cathy Dolls inside to boot. I didn’t give a damn if they could clearly see that I didn’t have any kids with me.
Next stop, Kmart. Most of the clerks had seen me there before. But not like this. I had on a pair of dirty jeans I used for yard work. My hair looked crazy. But that sure as hell didn’t stop me from grabbing a shopping cart and striding purposefully down to the Christmas aisle. I tossed stuff into the cart without looking at prices. Boxes of tinsel. A supersaver pack of Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer mittens. I didn’t care what I was picking up—just as long as I could take it home with me. Just as long as this wonderful feeling could last …
“Natalya? It’s time to go home.”
I slowly turned around to see Aunt Vera waiting patiently behind me.
My heart stopped. My family had never caught me in the act before. I wasn’t sure how long she’d been trailing me, but it didn’t matter. As soon as I saw the soft expression on her face, I wanted to break down and cry right then and there. I just couldn’t look at her. I couldn’t see the disappointment on her face. All I could do was stare at the tiny cracks in the floor as my cheeks grew warm.
But then I felt a pair of hands pry mine from the shopping cart. And then she wrapped her arms around me.
“How about we go back to the house and I make you some
kasha
just like your mama makes it?” Even though I stood several inches taller than she, it still comforted me to lean against her.
She was just like the loving aunt I remembered from my childhood. I managed a nod. “That sounds delicious.”
An hour later, with a full belly, I stood outside my home again using electrical tape to salvage my rake. After twisting the tape around the handle for the fourth time, I wished I’d just bought another rake during my little shopping spree.
Aunt Vera came outside and, after taking one look at my poor yard, said, “You need some help before I go home?”
“No need. I’m fine.” I looked around the shed. I had enough leaves and dirt to keep me busy for days, but I still felt like I had to turn her down.
She snatched the broken rake from me, snorting at its sorry appearance. “You have company. Go take care of him while I get to work.”
Company? I turned to see Thorn coming around the house. When our gazes locked, he gestured to the house. Even after the time we’d spent apart, I’d hoped to not
have to face him again so soon. Not with me broken down like this.
I followed him up the steps. He let me head inside first before he greeted me.
“Hey, you.”
“Are you here to escort me to the border?” Why not get to the point?
His expression didn’t change. “You know I’d never do that to you.” He assessed my kitchen. “How’s the work going?”
“Barely. If you saw the estimates for the repairs, you’d have passed out already.”
He ran his hand along a wall in dire need of replacement. “I can only imagine.”
“What brings you here?” I wasn’t about to ask him directly about that night when he’d kissed me. But from the way his gaze lingered on my lips, I could tell his memory of that night remained vivid.
He paused for a moment, taking in the view through the window over the sink. And then he said, “You need to leave. I’ve pushed my father as far as I can. I’ve distracted him to the point of aggravation. But …” His Adam’s apple bobbed. “I can’t keep him from sending out his enforcers to come for you when I’m out defending our territory.”
I opened my mouth to speak but nothing came out.
Thorn was ordering me to leave?
“I thought I had a few days left?”
He shook his head. “The Long Island werewolves are coming for my father. Any day now. And in great numbers. They’ve even joined up with the Burlington pack. I can’t protect you if you’re still nearby.” He gripped the sink and sighed deeply. “Right now, you’re vulnerable and I don’t want this kind of distraction, not while I’m facing my enemies.”
My throat dry, I gulped. I tried to pretend that Thorn hadn’t just told me to leave. “Maybe I should hide somewhere so I can stay to help? Have you spoken with my father?”
“Yes, I have—and he agrees with me. The Long Island werewolves have marked you for extermination, and your father believes you’re not ready for battle.” He ran his hand through his hair. “I thought I’d have a little more time before they came. But I can’t ignore all the attacks—all the disappearances. They’re coming, and they’ll kill everyone who gets in their way.”
A throbbing pain swelled deep in my chest—the pain of a broken heart. He couldn’t turn me away. Not right now, when I needed him the most. With every fiber of my being, I wanted him to pull me close, so he could make all my fears go away. A mere foot of space separated us.
But I knew that if I took a step forward, he’d take one back. For his sake and mine. The ties had to be cut now.
He drew his keys from his pocket. Our time together was already over.
“Will I see you again?”
He gently touched my shoulder. “I have to lead an army into battle. My trial by fire begins now. I need time I don’t have. Hell, time I never had in the first place.”
He hadn’t answered my question or told me he wanted me to return.
I watched him leave the house, wishing we hadn’t crossed that line into becoming more than friends. Wishing we hadn’t kissed. Wishing we hadn’t made love. If we hadn’t met in that registration line back in college, the view of my ruined yard from my kitchen wouldn’t feel so disheartening.
* * *
Of all the visitors to my home that afternoon, the last one I’d expected to show up was Nick. He always seemed to know when I needed a friend.
He found me working with the damp, dirty soil in the front yard. I could hear the
slosh, slosh
sound of his black boots in the puddles as he tromped up the driveway.
“No car, huh?” I picked up my winter lilies. The poor plants had survived the onslaught of the water, but they needed replanting so they could survive the winter. In the spring, they’d burst forth with color. Renewed.
“I took the jump point. What happened here?”
I tried to avoid his question. “That’s brave of you. I thought the jump point was full of gruesome ghouls.” I stood and took off my gardening gloves.
He assessed my yard with a frown. “You didn’t come to group therapy yesterday. I got worried.”
“A flood—my home was flooded.” I didn’t need to say much more. He’d know from the look on my face. After a panic attack an hour ago, I’d managed to come back outside to clean again in an attempt to feel normal.
Nick also had things he coveted. Only someone like me could truly understand. He looked at my hands and noticed my tight grip on my gloves. “Nat …” With a soft tug, he pulled me into his arms and held me close.
As waves of calm energy flowed from his body into mine, I sighed deeply in relief, and released my anxiety. His shoulder was the perfect height for me to rest my head. I sank into the embrace, resting in arms that wouldn’t let me go unless I asked. With my next intake of breath, the scent of his aftershave drifted to my nose and I thought bitterly,
Why hadn’t Thorn comforted me like this? Why had the world twisted Thorn and me so far apart?
I wanted to enjoy the comfort, but I pulled back gently and murmured, “Thanks.”
“Dr. Frank told me you never showed up for your private session either. How are you doing?”
I nodded with appreciation. “A lot of my ornaments are gone, but at least I’m still here and alive.” Alive—but without the nutcracker I loved or the beautiful set of Kwanzaa candles.
“So you need anything?” He watched as a contractor took his ladder into the backyard.