Lone Wolf A Novel Read online

  The next day, I tried to find the pack. But although I looked for weeks, they had made themselves all but invisible. Crushed—was this the extent of the wolf interaction I’d have in the wild? Had I gotten this close only to be disappointed?—I fell into my former habits. During the nights I’d wander, but in the daytime I went back to the spot where I had first met up with the entire pack.

  Several weeks went by, and then they returned. They were down to five members—one of the males was absent—and seemed more skittish than they had been the last time. They settled in about forty yards away. The young male I’d seen first played with his sister, rolling in the snow and chasing each other like puppies. Occasionally one of the older wolves would warn them off with a throaty growl, and eventually they collapsed in a tired heap.

  I wish I could explain to you what it felt like to be near them. To know that, of all the places in the woods where they might have relaxed, they chose to be near me. I had to believe it was intentional; there were plenty of places they would not have had to keep a wary eye on the stranger in the distance.

  The combination of euphoria and hope, of feeling like I’d been chosen in some way, was enough to sustain me during the weeks when they would vanish—weeks of ice storms and snow when it sometimes felt like I was the only living thing left in the universe.

  I would sleep during the day, when it was warmest, but even then, sometimes, the temperatures were brutal. Then, I’d find shelter from the cold: a rock cave, a fallen tree with a hollow inside it, even a little burrow in a pile of snow—a personal igloo. I’d line the space with pine boughs for warmth. I’d pile green branches to keep out falling snow or a wild wind. I’d eat whatever I could trap, and when that failed, I’d split open a rotten log with my hands and pick off the ants.

  One night, the pack howled. It was low, painful, mournful—the type of cry meant to search for someone who was missing. In this case I figured it was for the big gray male that had not returned. They howled every night that week, and on the fourth night, I replied. I called the way a lone wolf would call, if he thought there might be a position in a pack for him.

  At first, there was only silence.

  And then, like a miracle, the whole pack howled back.

  EDWARD

  The wolf has chewed through the seat belt of the rental car.

  “Goddammit,” I say, tugging the belt away from the latticed grate of the cage. “Didn’t he teach you any manners?”

  I wonder if the optional insurance I took on the rental car covers damage by wild animal.

  I wonder how much trouble I’m going to get into.

  Mostly I wonder why I let Cara talk me into doing this.

  I had headed to the hospital this morning with the best intentions—and clutching the piece of paper I’d found with my signature on it. I’d tried to show it to Cara before, but my timing was off: a surgical resident was examining her sutures in the morning and then she was being sponge bathed by a nurse and then my father had been taken down for another CT scan, and then she was running a fever. Today, I had been determined to show it to her. Cara might not believe I had any right to speak for my father, but I had proof otherwise.

  After checking on my father (no change, as if I needed any more reason to talk to my sister), I had gone upstairs to the orthopedics floor. Cara was sitting up in bed, sweaty and disheveled. My mother stood beside her. They both turned when I walked in. “I have something to show you,” I’d said, but Cara interrupted me before I could show her the paper.

  “The wolves,” she announced. “That’s what he needs.”

  “What?”

  “Dad’s always saying that the wolves communicate on a different level than humans do. And he can’t hear us telling him to wake up. So what we have to do is bring him to Redmond’s.”

  I had blinked at her. “Are you crazy? You can’t transport a guy on a ventilator to some crappy theme park—”

  “Oh, right, I forgot I was talking to you,” she snapped. “Instead we should just kill him.”

  I’d felt the paper burning where it rested against my chest. “Cara,” I’d said evenly, “no doctor is going to sign off on a field trip for Dad.”

  “Then you have to bring a wolf here instead.”

  “Because nothing says ‘sterile environment’ like ‘wolf.’” I turned to my mother. “Don’t tell me you agree with her.”

  Before she could answer, Cara had interrupted. “You know Dad would move heaven and earth to save one of the animals in his packs. Don’t you think they’d do the same for him?” She swung her legs over the bed.

  “Where do you think you’re going?” my mother asked.

  “To call Walter,” Cara said. “If you two won’t help me, I’m sure he will.”

  I had looked at my mother. “Can you explain to her why this is impossible?”

  My mother touched Cara’s good arm. “Honey,” she said. “Edward’s right.”

  Hearing those words on her lips—well, on anyone’s lips—I can’t tell you how it made me feel. When you are the family fuckup, receiving credit is almost overwhelming.

  This is really the only explanation I can offer as to why I did what I did. “If I do this,” I had said to Cara. “If I do this for you, and it doesn’t work . . . then will you listen to what I have to say?”

  Her eyes met mine, and she’d nodded, a nonverbal contract. “Tell Walter to give you Zazigoda,” she said. “He’s the one we take to schools. Once, when he got spooked, Dad kept him from jumping through a window.”

  My mother shook her head. “Edward. How are you going to—”

  “And he has to ride in the front seat,” Cara interrupted. “He gets carsick.”

  I had zipped up my coat. “In case you were even wondering,” I told her, “Dad’s condition is the same as it was last night.”

  Cara smiled at me then. It was the first real smile she’d offered me since I came home. “But not for long,” she had said.

  Redmond’s Trading Post is a sorry anachronism from a time before 3D and Sony PlayStations—a poor man’s Disney World. In the winter, it’s even more depressing than it is during its high season. Closed to everyone but a few animal caretakers, it feels like the land that time forgot. This was only reinforced by the sight that greeted me the minute I hopped over the turnstiles and let myself into the park: a faded animatronic dinosaur with icicles dripping off its chin that roared at me and tried to swing a massive tail mired in snowdrifts.

  It felt strange to walk up the hill to the wolf enclosures, as if I were peeling back years with each footstep, until I was a kid again. As I passed by one of the pens, a pair of timber wolves trotted along the fence line with me, watching to see if I might lob a rabbit over the chain-links as a treat. My father’s old trailer stood at the crest of the hill, above the enclosures. A curl of smoke pumped from the woodstove vent in the trailer, although when I knocked no one answered.

  “Walter?” I called out. “It’s Edward. Luke’s son.” The door swung open at my touch, and I found myself knocked backward by a memory. Nothing had changed in this trailer. There was the sofa with foam cushions that had been ripped by the teeth of countless wolf pups, where I had read dozens of books while my father gave the daily wolf talk to the trading post visitors. There was the bathroom with a toilet flushed by a foot pump.

  There was the narrow bed, where everything had gone to hell.

  This was a bad idea; I never should have listened to Cara; I should just go back to the hospital . . . I slammed my way out of the trailer, and heard a whistle of bluegrass coming from the wooden shack where the fresh meat brought in for the wolves was refrigerated. I poked my head inside and found Walter in a butcher’s apron, quartering a deer with a gigantic knife. Half Abenaki, Walter is six foot four and bald, with spirals of tattoos up both arms. As a kid, I’d been alternately mesmerized and terrified by him.

  Walter looked up at me as if he was seeing a ghost.

  “It’s me,” I said. “Edward