Page 37 of When We Were Magic
“Wait,” I say, staring into the trees. I could have sworn I saw a shadow—“There,” I whisper, pointing. Paulie looks up and follows the line of my finger with her eyes. The line of her neck is rigid.
“Say hi,” she whispers back to me without moving her lips.
“What?”
“Say. Hi,” she repeats through clenched teeth. “I called her, but I don’t know how to say hi to her.”
I look into the trees and see the shadow again. It’s completely silent, moving toward us in fits and starts. I say hi.
The shadow doesn’t move.
I tell it that it’s come to the right place; that we have something to share. I tell it that we’re not a threat, but that we’re not to be trifled with either. I tell it without words, using the language I’ve known my whole life without knowing how.
“Paulie,” I breathe as the shadow steps out from around a tree. “Is that a coyote?”
“Holy shit, yes,” Paulie whispers. “It worked. Oh my god, itworked.”
She’s smaller than I expected her to be. I guess in my head, I always thought coyotes were just brownish wolves, but she’s small and skinny. Her tail and head are low, and her hackles are raised. I repeat that we aren’t a threat, but she still walkstoward us slowly, pausing every few steps to stare at us with suspicious golden eyes.
Paulie’s got a tight grip on my fingers. “Is she, uh, nice?”
“She’s a fucking coyote, Paulie,” I mutter.
“Right, but is she anicecoyote? Ask her if she’s a nice coyote.”
I grit my teeth, but … it’s not like I have any better ideas. I ask her if she’s a nice coyote, and she freezes. She lifts her head, cocks it to one side, and sits. Just like a dog. It’s so bizarre, because she’snota dog, but everything in my brain is screaming DOG and I don’t know what todo.
I stare at the coyote. She stares at me.
“What’s wrong with her belly?” she asks, and I drag my eyes away from the coyote’s. Her belly is droopy, slack. Tented.
“She’s nursing,” I answer. “She’s got pups somewhere.” I raise my hand slowly and point to the leg. The coyote’s gaze follows the movement, but she just stares at my fingertip, uncomprehending. I tell her to look, and she glances between my eyes and my finger with an expression that clearly reads asWhat does it look like I’m doing?
I stand so slowly that my thighs tremble. She mirrors the movement. Paulie stays where she is, quiet enough that I think she’s probably holding her breath. I move forward, pausing with every step, until I’m standing over the leg on the ground. The blond hairs on Josh’s shin glint in the sunlight that filters through the trees. I point at the leg.
The coyote steps toward me so slowly that I almost don’t see her moving. It takes her at least a full minute to reach me.The top of her pointed ear comes up to my knee. I don’t move as she raises her head to look up at me, lifts her snout to smell my fingertip. One of her ears droops slightly in an expression I can’t read.
For you, I try to tell her. She cocks her head, and I hesitate for a few seconds before reaching out a shaking hand and resting it on top of her head.
The flood of communication is instantaneous, if garbled.Who what smell pups far meat who touch why?
I swallow and try again.Meat for you, I tell her.Meat for your pups. She shakes my hand off and takes a few steps away. I walk backward until my heels knock into the stump, then sit down and grab Paulie’s hand.
“Did it work?” she whispers. “Is it gonna work?”
Before I can say that I have no idea, the coyote ducks her head. She takes the leg in her jaws and drags it backward into the trees, and by the time I can think to say anything, she’s gone.
“Jesus,” I breathe. Paulie starts laughing, these huge gulping laughs, and I want to be furious at her for calling a coyote and expecting me to deal with it, but instead I start laughing too. We lean into each other and laugh way past when we should stop. We laugh the entire drive back to my place, and when I get out of the car and turn around to say goodbye, she leans across the front seat, reaches out the window, and presses her palm to the top of my head. She doesn’t say a word, but I say, “You too,” and I can hear her laughter streaming out the open windows of her car as she speeds away.
Later that night, I send her a text.Hey I just remembered you wanted to talk about something?
Nah, she replies. Then, a minute or two later:I honestly don’t even remember lol
It rings false, which is strange, because Paulie is scrupulously honest. I want to follow up. But I get distracted, because Dad taps his knuckles on my bedroom door. I look up to see him and Pop filling the doorframe. They look grim.
“What’s up?” I ask, trying to ignore that gut-clench of dread that comes with knowing, somehow, that I’m in trouble.It’s probably nothing,I tell myself.They don’t know about Josh. They couldn’t possibly know about Josh.
But they’re looking at me like they know every awful thing I’ve ever done.
