Page 72 of Heart and Soul
Nolan’s not afraid of me. He leans in closer. “And I meanstrictlypack only. You know exactly what would happen if you were to be seen there.”
I make a half-assed kick at him, which he easily dodges. “Then why did you come, Nolan? Just to rub it in my face?”
He spins around, wringing his hands with frustration. He spins back at me. “Are you listening to me, Shayne? What I’m trying to tell you is that you can’t be seen there. You have to make sure you aren’tseenthere. Understand?”
The fight goes out of me. My anger turns to sadness, stealing my voice away again. Jay answers for me. “Got it. We’ll make sure.”
Satisfied, Nolan gives a curt nod and walks away, muttering. Jay hugs me, pressing my face to his chest. I mumble into his shirt. “You mean it? We’ll go?”
“We’ll go.” He kisses my forehead. “Of course we’re going.”
The Newport woods look nodifferent than the Elmwood Cemetery woods—same types of trees, covered in the same snowfall on this same dark night—but theyfeelcompletely different. I know these woods. Despite their impressive acreage, I could never be lost in them. It was here that I first developed my core sense of direction.
That’s the secret of a fox’s superhuman navigation—we all have a “true north,” like those old-ass explorers who sailed around the world using just the North Star. Like that star, Newport woods will never move. For me, it stays in one place while everything else moves in relation to it. When Ifeelthe direction east or the direction north, it’s because I’m east or I’m north of Newport woods. For foxes, the saying is literally true that all roads lead back home.
It’s a terrible saying for somebody who burned all the bridges along those roads; who literally kicked and screamed and slapped and scratched on her way out of that home; who is now considered a trespasser within the boundaries of her own true north and could be killed on the spot.
I approach from downwind, bounding through the snow from tree to tree. For the final quarter mile, I lay my tail flat on the ground and crawl on my belly through the underbrush. Snow peppers my fur as I wiggle into and out of bushes, over and under large tree roots. When the sounds of the creek tickle my sensitive ears, I slowly raise my head above the brush.
Everybody’s there, on the far bank of the creek. From the oldest to the youngest of our ragtag pack, there’s not a single absence except for me. Ray and Blanche stand with my dad. Mrs. Cody cries into Nolan’s shoulder. Ben drops pebbles into the creek. Standing at the head of a group of young kids is Randy, our future alpha. He looks bored and cold, which is the most subdued I’ve ever seen him.
My heart quickens when I see Little Bunica, hunched and hobbling in a tattered nightgown. Starting with the little kids, she makes her way through the group, giving hugs and kisses and whispered words. For Randy, she assumes a stern posture and a warning finger, followed by a pinch of the cheek, which she knows he hates. Not surprisingly, she gives the same bold treatment to Ben, minus the cheek pinch. I think Bunica’s the only person in the world who could talk to him like that and live.
My dad gets the longest hug and the most words whispered into his ear. He is weeping openly. Bunica is technically his grandmother—my great-grandmother—but Dad’s mom died when he was too little to remember, so Bunica became his surrogate mother, as she had done for so many others of her pack. Of all her children, it was no secret that she played favorites with my dad. She says he was born with an old soul—quiet, gentle, and introverted, which makes him an oddity among shifters.
For Ray, our respected alpha, Bunica has nothing but praise and smiles and encouragement. In return, Ray shows his generous nature with the ultimate gesture of respect. At Bunica’s feet, he drops to one knee and bows his head. For some alphas, it would be physically impossible to submit like that. She bends down slightly and kisses the top of his head.
Foxes don’t cry, but we can whine, and I do. The high-pitched cry whistles through my throat. I want to leap across that creek and jump in circles around my Little Bunica and tell her not to do this—don’t go. I would ask her why. She could have a lot more time. Why shift?
If I were standing there, still a member of the pack, what would she say to me? What final words? I’ll never know.
I wish somehow she could know why I’m not running in there to crash this event. She might be proud to know it’s not because I’m afraid of what would happen to me. It’s because this is her time, and I’m ashamed of all our shared birthdays I spent complaining that she was getting all the attention. I feel very small and insignificant.
The sky is getting lighter, a red glow on the horizon. Dawn is here, and several heads are now turning to look at a figure standing apart from the group with her back turned to them. She is the only one yet to give or receive a farewell from Bunica. I can read Mom’s posture clearly; she’s angry and petulant. Clearly, she disagrees with this choice and is determined to call Bunica’s bluff. I’m sure Mom thinks that if she doesn’t acknowledge this moment, it simply won’t come true. It never worked on me, and it won’t work now. Bunica stares at Mom’s back and waits patiently.
Maybe it’s not typical for in-laws to be closer than direct family, but then there’s never been anything typical about Bunica or my mom. When she was twelve years old, Mom was a homeless, orphaned rogue with no loyalty but to the giant chip on her shoulder. It’s no surprise to anybody that she met her match when Bunica took her in. They often clashed, of course, but their only real falling out was when Mom betrayed Bunica’s hospitality by falling in love with the old soul of her prized grandson, her precious. They didn’t speak again until Blanche was born, and then, seemingly overnight and for good, they became inseparable.
Until now.
The first piercing orange ray of sunlight appears. Bunica shrinks back from the group. Their gestures to Mom become more urgent.Say something, hurry.Turn around.Don’t leave it like this.
I lean forward, fighting every instinct to rush in, to bite Mom on the ass.Don’t be like this. Not now. I want to nudge Bunica, make her wait just another few minutes.Mom will give in.She’ll turn around.Just wait.
A shift at Bunica’s age is irreversible. It will take the last of her shifter magic, leaving her stranded in her animal body. Some who undertake this final shift don’t even survive the transformation. There are good reasons, I suppose. Some do it to avoid the long, painful decline of illness or old age. Some prefer the simpler life of their animal forms anyway, so why not make it permanent? Bunica fits none of those, so she’s got to wait. She just has to.
But she doesn’t. As several family members begin to raise their voices at Mom to turn around, to get one last look, Bunica wades across the creek. In doing so, her eyes find mine. It’s a moment that will forever be burned into my mind. Our gazes lock, her human eyes easily recognizing my fox’s eyes. She pauses just long enough to smile before shifting. Her nightgown drops in a pile, from which her dull brown fox shakes loose and wanders into the underbrush, a permanent addition to Newport woods.
Mom collapses, shaking violently. As Nolan and my dad carry her away and Ray crosses the creek to retrieve the nightgown, I realize that Ben is staring in my direction. I lower my head and back away.
But I’m not leaving yet. I know where to go. There’s a spot in the woods where an old fallen tree serves as a playground of sorts for animals, with hollow cavities to explore and mazes of branches to traverse like monkey bars. It’s where Bunica first taught me how to hunt, and where she listened to all my teenage tales of woe, sometimes about boys, but mostly about Mom. It’s our together place.
When I get there, Bunica is also just arriving, her short, gray legs half-buried in snow with each step. I bow my head, and she nuzzles her furry cheek against mine. There’s a sheltered spot in the fallen tree, great for sleeping. I follow her there, and she lies down, blinking slowly with fatigue. After I curl in beside her, she lays her head across my neck. I feel ten years old again.
When I wake, she’s gone.It’s not for good, I remind myself. Even though she wasn’t born here like me, these woods have become as much her true north as they are mine. She’ll roam and hunt and do all the things any fox would do here. I expect my family will see her now and then crossing through the wagon train or stealing scraps from the bonfire. But as for Dottie Davies, the original Double-D of Detroit, she is now passed into legend.
I retrace my steps with reluctance. Foxes don’t feel much by way of complicated emotions. Anything beyond fear and hunger becomes dull. I can still understand complex human interactions, but I won’tfeelthem deeply. Not until I shift back, and then everything will come flooding in. No need to hurry for that.
When I reach my bag, still sitting at the base of a white pine, I’m surprised by a whiff of that campfire scent. Was Nolan here? I sniff at my bag and poke it with my nose. He didn’t touch my stuff. The leaves, though, are definitely trampled, as if by boots. I look around, but I but see no one. I listen. All clear.
