“Oh, Riley…I’m so sorry they kept us apart. And here I was convinced you’d sneak back to rescue me.”
Riley rested her elbows on her thighs and buried her head in her hands. She could barely contain the angst of knowing that what she’d wanted more than anything had been waiting for her all along, hoping for her return. “All those lies, deceptions, misunderstandings…it gives me a better appreciation for the doomed lovers in Shakespearian tragedies.” The feel of Fiona’s fingertips gently stroking her hair made her look up. “I would have rescued you. I would have been there in a heartbeat if only I had known.”
“I didn’t know how else to contact you. This was all before cell phones, you know. But I was sure you’d at least know where to find me…if you wanted to…and so I waited. Crazy, but I kept a packed overnight bag under my bed for I don’t know how long…and an empty Rubbermaid container in my closet for Morticia and Gomez…in case I heard your car late at night and had to make a run for it.”
“Morticia and Gomez…I’ve often wondered what became of those turtles.”
“I have them.”
“No!”
“Yep. They’re huge, over a foot long.”
“I can’t believe it. Did they ever have babies?”
“No. It turned out that Gomez is a girl, which explains why they get along so well. Female turtles don’t like to be confined with males because all they do is harass the females and force them to mate.”
“So even female turtles need to be included in the Me-Too movement.”
“Ha.” Fiona smiled. “They really do.”
“And what about you? How did someone who had zero interest in guys and pledged her love to a girl end up married to a man?”
“That’s another one of those Shakespearian tragedies, I guess.”
“How so?”
“Well, look at me. I’m a lesbian who never loved or desired a man and ended up coerced into marrying an abu—” Fiona stopped and hung her head.
“Is he abusing you?” Riley gently lifted her chin with a finger. “Tell me what’s going on.”
“Oh, Riley…” Fiona shook her head and looked away. “I have so much to say, but I—”
“Is he abusing Edy?”
“Not physically, no.”
“But he hit you? Dr. Spencer said that was in the report. Edy told her guidance counselor that he slapped you.”
“He didn’t mean to.”
That’s all Riley needed to hear. Peggy had suggested Mrs. Barrett might be suffering from narcissistic victim syndrome, and that one comment—he didn’t mean to—confirmed it. People who fell victim to narcissists usually had the best of traits, which made them easy targets. They were typically humble, self-sacrificing, devoted to family duties; empathic, and sensitive to their partner’s needs. But after years of living unhappily and in constant fear of punishment, they were bound to become depressed—who wouldn’t? And with depression came exhaustion. When they got too tired of fighting, it was easier to give up and allow the abuse to continue. Better to keep the peace, take the blame, and take a punch.
Fiona was depressed. Riley could sense it. She could see the exhaustion on her face. Maybe that’s why she looked older than her years. The thought of Fiona being mistreated sent another wave of rage through her. It was all too much, this sudden intensity of conflicting emotions—anger toward her parents, shock over seeing the only woman she’d ever loved, regret over the lost years they could never get back, and now the knowledge that someone was hurting Fiona and Edy. Edy…her namesake…such a kind, sensitive little kid.
Riley scratched her arm through the fabric of her linen blazer. She was feeling itchy all over. Feverish, too. Both signs that she was getting ready to shift. Over the years she’d mastered control over the change by learning to avoid emotionally charged situations. Keeping even-keeled, staying calm, was key—that, and limiting her consumption of red meat.
Riley stood up and put a hand to her forehead. Yep, the fever was starting. It would keep climbing until it stabilized near 102—the perfect body temperature for a dog, coyote, or wolf, but a heck of a fever for a person. Next would come the piloerection, better known as goose bumps. They were considered a vestigial reflex in humans, an involuntary response to the cold, to arousal or fear. In animals, goose bumps raised the fur to make the animal appear larger or, in winter, allowed air to be trapped for better insulation. In Riley’s case, the pilomotor reflex meant hair was about to shoot up from her follicles.
She bent over, casually slipped her fingers up under her pant leg to scratch, and panicked when she felt the fur on her calf. Fuck! She couldn’t let this happen here. Not at work. Not with Fiona in her office. She needed to get her out fast.
“Are you all right?” Fiona asked, as if seeing the alarm on Riley’s face.
“We’re out of time, Fiona. I have another client coming any minute.”
“Oh! I’m so sorry. I guess we lost track of the time.” She quickly stood, regarding Riley hesitantly. Her arms hung stiffly at her sides, and then she spread them a little, as if wondering whether a hug was inappropriate.
Riley didn’t have time for a hug. Already a few strands of golden hair were visible on the back of her hands. She slipped them into the pockets of her slacks and rushed to sit behind her desk.
Fiona seemed confused by Riley’s sudden change in demeanor but took the hint. She picked up her bag and the cup of cold coffee she’d evidently forgotten about. “Should I, uh…come back next week?”
Riley nervously wiped beads of sweat from her brow, then hid her hands. She must have looked insane sitting there with her arms tucked under the desk. “I can’t treat you, Fiona. I’m too close to the situation to help. I won’t even charge you for today. There’s really nothing to charge you for.”
“You spent forty-five minutes with me. Charge me. I have insurance. And don’t worry about treating me, Riley. My situation isn’t treatable. Trust me. I’m doing what I need to do to survive and protect my child. It would be nice to see you one more time though, just to hear more about—”
“All right. Same time next week.” Riley agreed just to get her out of there. “But you’ll have to excuse me right now.”
Fiona looked at her oddly and headed for the door. As she passed the desk though, she looked down at Riley’s car keys. Riley watched her stop, pick them up, and fiddle with the tiny coyote she’d whittled years ago. Her spirit animal. It still hung from the keychain, much smoother and darker from years of wear and handling.
Fiona pressed her lips together like she was about to cry again but didn’t say another word. She looked between Riley and the little wooden figure, then put the keys down and walked out.
Exacerbated, Riley jumped up and locked her door, then dialed Peggy’s extension. “Are you alone?”
“Edy just walked out.”
“Good. Listen to me. I need you to call Barbara and have her run me over some Xanax or Ativan as fast as she can.”
“What’s going on?”
“Fiona Barrett is Fiona Bell. I’m a wreck.”
“Oh my God. Do you want me to call Denise Landau? She’ll write you a script for anxiety if you—”
“I don’t have time to fill a prescription, Peg! Customers will run out of the store screaming when they see a werewolf waiting in line, and it’ll all be caught on camera.”
“You mean…you’re turning? Right now? In your office?”
“I’ve got about ten minutes.”
“Okay. I’m on it.”
“And use your key to get into my office. I have it locked so Miriam can’t come in.”
“Gotcha.”
Riley went to the couch. The leather was still warm from Fiona’s body, and she curled up there, taking deep, measured breaths to slow the change.
Chapter Five
Barbara passed the church on her left, drove past the yellow cottage, and continued two miles up Tyringham Road with Riley in the passenger seat. She’d given her benzodiaze
pine medications in the past—Xanax, Ativan, Valium—and at a dosage that would have made most people need a nap, but in Riley they seemed to reduce nerve activity just enough to keep her from shifting. Still, Barbara hadn’t trusted her to drive. She’d never seen Riley this emotional, and she worried the drugs might not be enough to halt the change. What if Riley, unable to grip the wheel or work the pedals, veered off the road? She couldn’t imagine Riley hurting herself, let alone someone stopping to help and finding a wolf dressed and unconscious in the car. They’d probably think it was some nut driving around in a costume, getting an early jump on Halloween, until they reached in and actually touched her.
Peggy, who had other clients waiting, told Miriam that Riley had come down with a sudden and violent stomach virus and that she should cancel all her appointments for the day. Then Barbara, still in her white pharmacy coat, had escorted Riley out the back door and straight into her sky-blue pickup truck. She’d bought the Toyota Tacoma just last month. Riley didn’t say much on the ride home. She sat with her arms around herself, gently rocking and groaning every so often. But now the rocking had stopped, and Riley seemed stable.
Barbara slowed down along the low stone walls, remnants of old property lines that ran along Riley’s land, and made a right into the driveway.
The gray, red-trimmed house, built into a sloping hill and hidden in summer by the dense foliage of oak and maple trees, stood a good five hundred feet from the road. It was a saltbox house, a traditional New England style of architecture that took its name from the shape of wooden boxes used to store salt during colonial times. The back of the house faced the road and came into view first: the barn-style garage door, the windows of a ground-level basement, and overhanging them a deck that ran from the double doors of the dining room on one side, straight across the living room to the doors of the master bedroom on the other. The driveway forked there, but Barbara didn’t turn in. She continued up along the line of huge rocks and hemlocks edging the incline. From the side, the saltbox looked like half a house, the front of it two stories high with the roof pitching down at a sharp angle to the single story in back.
“I really appreciate this,” Riley said as Barbara circled up and around to the front door of the house.
She put the truck in park and pressed a palm to Riley’s forehead. “Fever’s gone.” So was the hair on the backs of Riley’s hands and the bushy sideburns that had sprouted and threatened to cover her face like a Chia Pet. “You want company?”
“Nah. I know you have to get back to work. But I have some sun-brewed iced tea in the fridge if you’re thirsty.”
“Sure. I have time for a quick glass.”
Through the windshield Barbara glimpsed a coyote trotting by with what looked like a limp squirrel dangling from its mouth. If the movement hadn’t caught her eye, she wouldn’t have spotted the other two watching from between the trees, or the one standing atop one of the enormous glacial boulders that dotted the woods. That was Gadget. He was huge, more silver than brown, and easily mistaken for a wolf because he was part wolf. Riley often talked about the debate among biologists as to whether the northeastern coyote, mixed with gray wolf, should be considered a separate subspecies. They called them coywolves. Up near the Canadian border they were known to locals as Tweed wolves. “Isn’t it too early for them to be out?”
“Not really. They’ll hunt in the day if no one’s around.”
The coyotes watched, obviously wary, but didn’t move. Normally they would have been gone in a flash at the sight of a human, but this pack knew the sound of Barbara’s pickup and recognized her scent—a scent often left behind in the house or carried home on Riley’s clothing after evenings at the cottage. Instead of disappearing or barking a warning, they let out a low uff as Barbara got out. And when they saw Riley, the uffs turned to yips of greeting, but Barbara knew they wouldn’t enter the house until she was gone.
The red front door was of a Craftsman style, with heavy hardware that fit this beefy house, a home way too big for one person. She loved it and more than once had jokingly suggested that Riley take the cottage and let her and Peggy live here. She followed her through the mudroom and into the kitchen. No matter that the place was thirty years old and Riley had spent ten of them living here, the post-and-beam interior still smelled like fresh wood. The floor plan was an open one, and in the middle of it all—central to all saltbox homes—was an enormous fireplace, its massive brick-and-stucco chimney rising clear past the balcony of the second floor and out through the cathedral ceiling. Rising along the back of it, a staircase led to three bedrooms overlooking the first floor. On the other side the hearth faced the living room. With only the woodstove to enjoy in her own house, Barbara, Peggy, and Tom spent countless fall and winter nights here, having drinks around a blazing fire.
Barbara walked around to the dining area, climbed up on a stool at the high granite counter that faced into the kitchen, and looked up at the glass globes of pendant lights she’d installed for Riley a few months ago. “How do you feel?” she asked as Riley took glasses from the cabinet and a pitcher from the refrigerator.
“I’ve been better…I’ve been worse,” Riley said as she filled the glasses with ice and tea, and set one on the high counter in front of her.
Barbara didn’t know the whole story. Peggy didn’t discuss her cases often. All she had said when she called the pharmacy was, Get here as fast as you can with Ativan. Riley’s a wreck. Her new client is her ex, Fiona Bell. She’s starting to change right here in the office. “I think I might have seen her in the parking lot—petite woman, long dark hair, sunglasses?”
Riley came around with her own glass and climbed up on a stool. “She had a kid with her?”
“Uh-huh. I didn’t get a good look. They were getting into the car when I pulled in.”
Riley nodded. “Thanks for rushing to my rescue.”
“Hey, that’s what friends are for…even better when the friend’s a pharmacist, right?” She gave a sympathetic smile, reached into the pocket of her white coat, and pulled out a prescription bottle with no label. “I’m leaving you with just a few more. Just in case.”
“Thank you. I didn’t want to ask…but I’ll definitely need one before I see Fiona again.”
“It must have been a shock seeing her after all these years. Especially having her come in as a client. Geez…” Riley hadn’t said much on the ride home. She’d been curled up on the couch unable to speak when Barbara got there. They’d made her sit up, Barbara pushing a pill between her lips while Peggy handed her a cup of water. And then they had sat quietly with her, waiting for it to kick in before sneaking her out the back door. Barbara hadn’t tried to ask any questions. She just drove, focused on getting Riley home as fast as she could.
Barbara took a sip of her iced tea, then proceeded to down half the glass. “This is really good. I didn’t realize how thirsty I was.” She studied Riley’s face, reached and patted her knee, about to ask if she wanted to talk about it. Not that Barbara was great with this sort of stuff. When it came to emotionally charged situations, she was much better at taking action, doing things to help, than listening and offering advice. That was Peggy’s department.
A coyote howled, the ringtone on Riley’s cell phone. Riley pulled it out of her back pocket and looked at the screen. “It’s Peg.”
“Take it.” Barbara guzzled the last of her tea and slid off the stool. “I’m heading back. But come for dinner later. Spaghetti and meatballs.” It was one of her signature dishes. The other was Chinese spring rolls, her mother’s recipe. But she didn’t make either one too often. Aside from holidays, she preferred to stay out of the kitchen, unless it was to paint or lay a new floor. Peggy did most of the cooking.
“Thanks, Barb, but I’m better off staying put tonight.”
* * *
Riley had no intention of staying put. As soon as the Ativan wore off, the wolf would be back. She could feel it resting inside her with one sleepy eye open, tempora
rily tranquilized, but eager to burst out and bolt over to that old farmhouse. She wanted to snoop around, get a peek at this Jim Barrett guy, find out what the hell was going on in that house.
“Hi, Peg,” she said into the phone.
“Hey. How are you holding up?”
“I’m okay.”
“Is Barbara still there?”
Riley heard the truck start. “She just left.”
“I have your car keys. I’ll pick you up in the morning since we’re both at the office all day…but I can come by and get you when I’m done here. Barb’s making spaghetti and—”
“Meatballs. She told me. But I don’t think I’ll have much of an appetite tonight.”
Peggy sighed. “I understand. God, Riley…I can’t get over this. Here I had Fiona Barrett and her daughter in my office last week, never knowing she was your Fiona.”
Her Fiona…and now some rotten man had her. The thought made her skin prickle.
“I’m taking the case from you,” Peggy said, her tone resolute.
“What?”
“Miriam scheduled a new client today. We’ll switch. I’ll take Fiona, and you take this new one.”
“No!” Riley blurted out before she could think.
“Well, you certainly can’t treat her. You’re in no position to help her. I mean, look at you. You’re already counter-transferring. Christ, Riley, you couldn’t even be in the same room as her without starting to—”
“I know. But today was a shock. I never expected to see her again. The last time I saw her was the first time I changed. It all just…blew me away…everything came rushing back. And then I had to find out that…” Riley stopped to take a sip of tea, trying to hold back the tears. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d cried. She steeled herself and told Peggy about Fiona having tried to locate her…about the letters her parents had intercepted, the lies they’d told…about Peggy’s hunch having been right about Fiona Barrett being the victim of an abusive husband.
“We’re not going to argue about this, Riley. I’m taking the case.”
Coyote Blues Page 12