The Better to Hold You (21 page)

“Taking the car before you do.” I walked outside without taking a coat, knowing I would find the key in the ignition: country habits. The car was too warm and musty inside, and it took me three tries to move the seat so that I could reach the pedals. I almost never drove. Hunter said he hated to let someone else have control, and it wasn’t an issue with me.

We’d never had fights like this before. Before Hunter came back from Romania, we’d never had fights at all. That was one of the reasons he’d chosen me, I think: his calm little nun, his serene and quiet girl, his willing sidekick.

I gunned the engine and took off.

When I started crying too hard to see the road clearly, I parked the car. I’d gotten myself two miles outside of town, to the foot of Old Scolder Mountain. I supposed I’d wanted to walk all along, but hadn’t realized it till I’d started driving. It’s funny: In the city if you need to walk to clear your mind you just head out your door, and if you need to walk on grass you just turn toward one of the parks. In the country, there is lots more land but it’s all No Trespassing.

I was wearing a down jacket that I’d found in the car over my sweater and long black skirt, but my soft leather shoes weren’t really made for serious hiking. That didn’t bother me half as much, however, as the headache, which had begun as a faint pressure at my temples and was turning into something stronger.

I started walking anyway. I passed two orange markers before I realized I had picked a circular route, not the one that led up the mountain: I backtracked and started the ascent between two brilliant red and gold maples. The rest of the trees were half bare. After five minutes I began to breathe harder. A young man with a beard and a golden retriever smiled as we passed each other, he on the way down. I glanced at my watch: four o’clock. I hadn’t realized it was so late, but I figured I had at least two hours of daylight left, enough time to get to the top and back, if I pushed myself.

I walked until I stopped thinking of everything except where to put my feet: on that rock, over that root, between those loose stones. The air had that clean, sharp autumnal feeling of imminence, and my head cleared. Now and again birds chirruped and stopped, chirruped and stopped; some insect made a musical, squeaking sound. I could smell the dust of pine needles and the tickle of cold running water sending up foam, which isn’t really a smell, but feels like one. A breeze cooled the sweat drying on my neck and back, and I lifted my hair out of the way and fell into the rhythm of walking upward. It wasn’t until I saw the house that I realized I’d lost the trail somewhere along the way.

It was one of those ominously rusted trailer homes, planted in the middle of a weedy lawn. How it had gotten there was beyond me—there was no road wide enough for its wheels. I looked harder, and saw that the trailer was an antique—maybe 1950s, maybe earlier. So it had probably been brought up here de cades ago. But someone was definitely living here now: There was a carved jack-o’-lantern beside the plastic doe in the front yard, and a rake lying in a pile of leaves amid a veritable sculpture garden of half-rusted cars, trucks, and washing machines. I glanced back at the No Trespassing sign and wondered whether to simply turn around and try to find the trail, or to ask for help. Just above the trees, the sky was turning a darker shade of blue. I glanced at my watch—four forty-five—and then I heard the low growl of warning.

Shit. I turned and saw just the kind of dog you don’t want to see when you’re all alone on somebody else’s land—a great hundred-pound malamute mix, with some rottweiler or mastiff thrown in to account for the gold eyes, slick coat, and enormous jaws.

“Good dog,” I said, but the animal continued growling and circling me, hackles raised. They say a barking dog never bites, but of course, I thought grimly, dogs don’t make much noise when they’ve got their fangs wrapped around your thigh.

I could feel the frightened flutter of my heart—show no fear—and the dog could probably smell it. So I stayed very still and hoped someone would show up soon. Until the second and third dogs showed up, slightly smaller and smoother-coated than the first, and began barking.

“Hello? Hello the house! Anybody home?” As if anyone could hear me over the din the animals were making. As the sky turned a notch darker, a fourth dog came running out, cringing and barking near the shadow of a wheelbarrow. It took me a moment to recognize Pia. Jesus, all these dogs looked like goddamn wolves.

“Pia? Pia? Easy, girl, remember me?” She cocked her ears, and whimpered. There were terrible raw patches of skin on her chest and legs. Oh, Jesus, what was Jackie doing here, building her very own wolf pack? What a very lovely white trash hobby if you couldn’t afford an alarm system, and how ironic that I’d been the one to get Pia back to her. I’d learned my lesson: Next time, the wolf goes, and no special favors. If there was going to be a next time.

The other dogs had formed a circle around me, and seemed to be building up to some kind of frenzy. Catching the enraged eye of one, I cast my gaze down and kept it there. Submissive and nonthreatening, that’s me. Oh, Jackie, where the hell are you? I tried to imagine her face when she found me, bleeding to death on her doorstep. Guess she’ll stop worrying about whether or not Red’s interested. And Hunter won’t even have to get a divorce. No. Down, thoughts. Bad thoughts.

The fifth dog was the first I was sure was not a wolf-dog hybrid. It was a wolf-coyote hybrid. I could tell from the enormous leap that took him from somewhere up on a rise to right in front of me, a leap that a deer might have made, but not a dog. He had big coyote ears and a flat red-gray coyote coat, but his big muzzle said wolf, as in Grandma, what big teeth you’ve got. Even though he was slightly smaller than the malamute, and a lot leaner, he was clearly the more dominant. None of that domestic tail wagging and barking nonsense for this guy. He took one look at me, hunkered down, and tensed every muscle in his body. Deep, dark, stinking shit. I knew I was panting, and couldn’t help it. And then I made the mistake of looking up, just to see when my throat was going to get ripped out, and caught the Alpha Male’s eye.

Right as he winked.

Dogs do not wink. Wolves do not wink. Not in an intentional, Hey there, it’s a private joke between the two of us kind of way. There was something in the animal’s eye. A bug. It didn’t mean anything. It certainly didn’t mean, Don’t worry, I won’t bite you. So I stood there, waiting.

The reddish coyote-wolf raised its eyebrows and gave a questioning whine.

“What is it, boy?” I whispered. The other dogs had settled down to watch the show, but I wasn’t taking any chances.

“Well, hell, I wasn’t expecting you, Doc.”

I turned, and it was Jackie, wearing a fringed jean jacket and a guarded expression. She came up by the coyote-wolf and patted him on the head, and in the deepening twilight I felt as if she were standing with him somehow against me, like a wife with a husband bidding the unwelcome party guest a firm good night.

“I was hiking,” I said. “I didn’t know you lived up here. I guess I wandered off the trail.”

Jackie squinted at me. “Thought for a moment you might be one of the town kids, come up to catch one of my babies for Halloween. You never know what nastiness people won’t think up when they’re bored—my friend’s black cat got its eyes cut out five years ago.”

“I didn’t even realize it was Halloween.” In the city, there would have been children in the street before sunset, dressed in bright plastic superhero and princess costumes, carrying fake jack-o’-lanterns.

“You’re damn lucky the dogs didn’t rip your throat out. They don’t take to strangers. If Red here hadn’t seen you—”

“Red?”

“This guy.” She hesitated. “Named him after Red, ‘cause of his color. And his disposition. He’s a good boy, aren’t you, Red?”

The animal lifted his muzzle as his ears were scratched, then looked at me with wise, sad canine eyes.

“Jackie. Are they all wolf hybrids?”

Jackie continued focusing on the animal. Red. “There’s a good boy. Yes you are. Who’s your mama? Who’s your mama?” His tail wagged, but he glanced at me again, one of those guilty dog looks that say, I can’t help myself. Sorry.

“Are you breeding them?”

Jackie straightened up, and set her jaw. “No, I ain’t breeding them. I’m rescuing them from all the idiots who think they hear the call of the wild and wind up calling animal control.”

Picking up on their owner’s tension, a few of the hybrids began to make low, rumbling noises. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to insult you.”

“I know you didn’t. I suppose I get a bit tired of it, though.” She sighed, looking out at her dogs. “Stop it, now.” The growling around me ceased as if a switch had been flipped. “Lot of people object to my keeping these guys, no matter why I’m doing it.”

There was a rustle of wind and leaves, and suddenly the air was colder, raising goose bumps on my bare arms. I turned to the sound and realized how long the shadows had grown. A true harvest moon, full and tinged with red, was rising up over the shadowy tree line.

“I should be getting back.”

“It’s too late for that. You won’t be able to see the trail.”

“But Hunter …”

“You can call him. I do have a phone, you know.”

I smiled, not sure if she could even see my face. We were standing farther apart than we had on previous occasions. “I don’t want to impose …”

“It’s too late. You’ll have to spend the night. I have my jeep parked about a half-mile down on the other side, but by the time I got back it would be pitch black.”

“You don’t go out at night?”

“Not on Halloween, I don’t.” She turned and walked toward the trailer and I watched the lanky shape of Red the wolf detach itself from the other shadows and slink off into the night, presumably to join the rest of the pack.

“As long as I’m here, do you want me to take a look at Pia?”

Jackie lit a cigarette. “I wish you would.” She brought the slender dog back to her side with a whistle and a snap of her fingers. I examined the animal as best I could without the proper equipment. One thing was clear. She was losing all the fur on her legs and belly.

“My best guess is some sort of skin allergy,” I said, “but her abdomen seems to be hurting her as well. I think X-rays would be a logical—”

“Can’t do it. Not around here.” Jackie stubbed out her cigarette on the ground. “They say she bit someone.”

I mulled over this new piece of information. “Maybe I can e-mail my former boss. He might have some idea.” Particularly if he had assumed Pia had been abandoned and used her for one of his experiments. But I kept that thought to myself.

“You’re shivering,” Jackie observed. “Best come inside and warm yourself up.”

She opened the trailer door and I was relieved to see a certain amount of light, warmth, and order. There was a table and bench, a sink and counters, a bed tucked into the back. Jackie was unwrapping cellophane from a TV dinner.

“I guess you’re hungry. I just have these Swanson things, so they’ll have to do.”

“I, ah, don’t eat meat.”

Jackie looked over her shoulder at me. “Macaroni and cheese okay?”

“More than okay. Wonderful. Do you have a mirror?”

“Over there.”

I peered at my reflection and was surprised to see that I was not as much of a mess as I’d expected after a day of fighting, crying, and taking a long, impromptu hike: In fact, I looked … not bad. Flushed cheeks slick with perspiration, bright eyes, tangled hair. There was a rip in my long-sleeved T-shirt which deepened the vee, showing the white edge of my bra. It took me a moment to put a name to my appearance: wild. I looked wild. I tried to finger-comb my hair into a ponytail and wound up creating a Medusa effect.

“You want a beer?”

“Sure.” I turned away from the mirror and slid onto the bench that seemed to serve as both couch and kitchen table.

“It’s warm. Ice melted in the cooler.”

“That’s okay.” I took a sip of warm beer and felt as if I were truly having an adventure, even though the only thing I was doing was accommodating myself to someone else’s life for an evening, and that wasn’t exactly trailblazing behavior. No pun intended.

I looked around. All the plates and cups were small and stackable, and there was a kind of odd charm about that. It was like eating in Munchkinland.

“You know, Jackie, I’ve never been in one of these before. Everything’s so miniaturized.”

“Trailer’s old as shit.”

“1950s?”

“1970s. Here.” She handed me a little cardboard plate with macaroni and cheese, a few carrots, and chocolate pudding, each in its own compartment.

“I couldn’t use your phone first, could I?”

“Be my guest.” The phone was an old rotary, and Jackie turned on a small color television while I dialed. On the fifth ring, the machine picked up.

“Hello, Hunter? It’s Abra. Don’t worry about me, I’m staying over at Jackie’s to night. Got lost on a hike, I’ll be back in the morning.” I kept my voice neutral for Jackie’s benefit. “If you want to call me when you get back in, the number is …”

Jackie repeated her number into the receiver.

“So don’t worry. Good night.” I hung up without telling him I loved him, another first, just like the fight.

After Jackie and I had finished eating there was nothing to do, and even though it was not yet eight o’clock in the evening, it felt like midnight. I threw the remains of dinner away and Jackie folded back the benches and suddenly the table was a small bed.

“I’m going out for a cigarette and a pee. I got running water for brushing teeth and stuff, but I hate emptying the toilet out so if you don’t mind …”

“I’ll go outside, too.”

We walked out together into a symphony of crickets. There was a scratch and a spark, then the oddly comforting smell of cigarette smoke drifting up into the night. We leaned up against a pickup truck that hadn’t been anywhere in a very long time. The moon, just clearing the tree line, was full.

“Want one?”

“No, thanks. No, wait—yes. I do. Thanks.” I hadn’t smoked a cigarette since junior high, and like back then, I didn’t bother trying to inhale. Still, it felt rather satisfying, the whole business of holding something in your hand, breathing in and out, the smoke a perfect punctuation to everything said and not said.