Fly by Night

by Andrea Thalasinos

  27

  “Hi, Joyce.” TJ put the Bayfield 911 dispatcher on speaker so that Charlotte could hear. “Helluva storm, eh?”

  Charlotte looked over from where she sat reading. Their five dogs surrounded her chair while Barney the crow was roosting up on one of the ceiling beams, letting out an occasional “caw” as the situation warranted.

  The two of them had just settled in to warm by the fire after having been out hours searching for a den of orphaned foxes reported by a cross-country skier but had found nothing. Though foxes mated from March on, they’d been skeptical of the sighting but had nonetheless investigated the report.

  The worst of the storm was on its way. Estimates ranged from three to four feet and Charlotte had prepared a pot of whitefish stew that was now simmering. Her hands still smelled after slicing onions; for as many times as she’d washed them, she still caught a whiff after each page turn.

  “Uh,” Joyce the dispatcher went on, “got a vehicle stuck up by your mom’s place, TJ, wedged in against that pine at the bottom of the hill.”

  He chuckled, thinking of the tree. “Crash landed there plenty of times myself.” The two-hundred-year-old white pine had scarring on its trunk from the number of motorists who’d encountered it during similar road conditions.

  “Reason I’m calling is that this individual might be a relative—”

  His stomach tightened. It couldn’t be her. He felt Charlotte turn in her chair.

  “—one Amelia Drakos?”

  Out of the corner of his eye he saw Charlotte stand up with an air of aggravation.

  “Now that’s not a name you hear every day,” the dispatcher joked.

  “Guess not.” He’d regretted putting the phone on speaker. After Amelia’s first message, he’d silenced his cell phone thinking that with the impending storm anyone with a lick of common sense would have turned back.

  The dispatcher went on. “About to call for a wrecker, TJ, but everyone’s swamped.”

  “I see.” He bristled, gauging Charlotte’s reaction.

  “It’s an hour wait, maybe more,” the woman said. “Thought you could get there faster. Her car won’t start, no heater, road’s too icy to walk. Gettin’ kinda dangerous out there, TJ, know what I mean?”

  He heard Charlotte’s footsteps by the coatrack in the foyer, rustling sounds of her parka and winter gear.

  “Uh—probably so.” He visualized how quickly the hill iced up.

  “Says she’s been calling you for the better part of the morning.”

  The rustle of Charlotte’s winter parka stopped.

  He winced.

  “Landline’s probably down,” he said and heard Charlotte’s intentional step into the kitchen to lift the receiver. She slammed it back in the holder.

  “Plenty of outages,” the dispatcher confirmed.

  “Cell’s been spotty too,” he said. “Surprising you could reach me.”

  “Oh, save it,” he heard Charlotte mumble in a tone that rendered him indefensible. Sounds by the coatrack as she zipped her boots, bent over, rummaging to find mittens.

  “Said something about finding pups at your ma’s—”

  Then he heard silence and looked, watching as Charlotte slowly straightened.

  “There’s a male party with her.”

  “We’re leaving now, Joyce.” He turned toward sounds of the inside garage door shutting.

  As TJ climbed into the truck in the garage, Charlotte was already seated with a soft-sided cooler of supplies in her lap.

  He asked, “Wonder if they’re hers.”

  “I’m not talking to you,” she said as they drove to his mother’s place in silence.

  * * *

  “God, finally,” Amelia said under her breath as TJ’s number flashed on her screen.

  “Hi.” She tried to not sound irritated or like a kid talking to the high school principal.

  “Dispatcher called,” he said. “Sounds like you’re in a bit of a jam there, Amelia.” There was a certain irony in his tone as if happy and annoyed at the same time.

  She didn’t answer.

  “You all okay?” he asked.

  There was a hint of a chuckle and Amelia imagined him saying, Yeah well, tough luck, kid.

  “So far.”

  “We’re on our way.”

  She glanced at Bryce. His head had plopped back in relief on the headrest.

  “Sure.” Asshole.

  “Joyce the dispatcher said you have dogs?”

  “Why?”

  “Just curious.”

  “Two. Pups. Found ’em under your mother’s deck.”

  “Oh.” TJ’s voice dropped. The first note of sincerity she’d heard.

  “Something wrong?” she asked.

  He didn’t speak for a moment, and then Amelia heard him murmuring.

  “Be there in twenty minutes.”

  “How far—” He’d ended the call. “Jerk wad,” she muttered and tossed the phone back on the dash. Bryce looked over in surprise.

  * * *

  “That’s gotta be them,” Bryce said as they watched headlights through the snowy windshield from a vehicle that turned at the bottom of the street.

  The truck slid uphill sideways, looking as if about to plow right into them until it veered over to park nose to nose near the Jeep and set on emergency flashers.

  The two of them had just begun shivering. Their breath frosting up the inside windows like lace doilies and Amelia kept scraping them clear. Thin flakes of ice curled off like coconut shavings.

  “It’s creepy,” she’d kept saying as she reached to scrape.

  “Just leave it,” Bryce said.

  “No,” she’d insisted, “it feels like being in a coffin if we can’t see out the windows.”

  “First stages of delusional hypothermia,” he muttered.

  “Oh shut up,” she said.

  “Second stage—irritability.”

  She gave him the finger.

  As soon as the emergency flashers started, she recognized the outline of TJ’s frame as he walked toward them. Back in the truck Amelia spotted a woman sitting in the passenger seat up at full alert, watching.

  Amelia rolled down her window. Ice crunched in the tracks.

  TJ bent over, hands in his pockets, looking into her eyes, their noses a few inches apart.

  “I left you messages,” she said before he spoke and realized this was not the time.

  TJ looked over at Bryce, reached in, and tossed something to him. “Here,” he said.

  Bryce caught them and nodded.

  “Bryce Youngs,” she introduced. “Friend and co-investigator.”

  “Glad you’re both okay,” he said. Bryce nodded. They had a rapport that she didn’t share.

  “Can I see the pups?”

  Amelia unzipped her coat.

  The braver of the two poked out its head and looked at TJ.

  It made him smile in a sad way.

  The other remained nestled on Amelia.

  TJ sighed. It was laced with a finality that touched her.

  “Yeah,” TJ said. It was a sad admission.

  “Are they wolf pups?”

  “Wrong time of year.”

  “Should I have left them?” She turned and looked up toward the summit, aching with the urgency of return.

  He didn’t answer.

  “We saw a—” she began to say but stopped, realizing he wasn’t interested.

  TJ turned to signal someone in his truck.

  Then he opened the Jeep’s passenger’s side door and offered Amelia his arm.

  “Hold on.” She took his arm and stepped out, holding the pups in place with the other hand.

  “Charlotte’s in the truck. She’s got food for them.”

  TJ steadied her as she teetered along the icy road. A gust of wind almost knocked her down; the scent of pine trees was strong, their needles clicked in striations of green as the wind rattled through their boughs.

  “How come yo
u’re not falling?” she asked.

  “Magic Indian feet,” he said in his ironic tone.

  “Bullshit,” Amelia said. His chuckle made her soften.

  The truck door opened. A tall, thin woman with glasses and closely cropped dark hair stepped out, pulling both sides of an unzipped parka together. Amelia felt the woman studying her in the same way as she’d just memorized the figure of the animal in the woods.

  “Hi, Amelia,” she said and reached for her hand. “I’m Charlotte, your sister-in-law.”

  Amelia’s eyes widened. “Oh,” she said and grasped the woman’s hand, holding on to the pups under her coat with the other. “No one’s ever said that to me before.” She blinked back unexpected tears. “Thank you, thank you for saying it.” Suddenly aware of how important that was, though surprised that it was. “I-I…”

  “Well, it’s true,” Charlotte said in a matter-of-fact way. “That’s what we are.” The woman grasped Amelia’s forearms and squeezed.

  “Thank you.” They exchanged glances and Amelia’s throat ached.

  “Well, come on in,” Charlotte said, in a teasing way. “It’s too goddamned cold out here.”

  Amelia climbed into the backseat of the truck’s cab. Despite the lighthearted exchange there was something very somber about her and TJ.

  As Amelia scooted over, Charlotte climbed in next to her.

  “What’s your friend’s name?”

  “Bryce.” Amelia nodded and unzipped her coat. “I’m worried about these little guys.”

  “Can I see?” Charlotte reached toward her coat.

  Amelia sensed something bad or that she’d done something that she wasn’t supposed to.

  She opened her coat. Charlotte reached for the braver of the two pups.

  “Oh.” The woman’s voice dropped off. “Oh yeah,” Charlotte said in a soft voice, her head lowering as she looked over the pup. “Oh yeah.” Her voice quieted to a hush. “They’re Lacey’s.”

  Amelia looked at her. The pup began shrieking.

  “Lacey’s pups,” the woman said as Amelia heard her unzip something on the floor and watched her take out two bottles, shaking them both in one hand.

  “Who’s Lacey?”

  Charlotte handed one bottle over to Amelia.

  The woman exhaled in an emotional way and lowered her head for an instant. Then she held the one pup under her belly, securing its jaw up as she touched its lips with the nipple from the bottle. The pup latched on and began sucking down the formula, the front paws paddling as if swimming. Immediately, the quiet one began shrieking.

  Charlotte took a deep breath before she spoke.

  “Lacey’s their mom,” she said and looked at Amelia with angry eyes.

  Amelia’s thoughts raced. “Their mom?” she asked as she positioned the black one as Charlotte had, and held the bottle in the same way. The pup also grabbed on.

  Maybe that’s why they’d both seemed so somber; maybe she’d taken the pups and Lacey was looking for them.

  “Yesterday evening the road crew called me after they picked up a dead nursing female. It was Lacey. Somebody shot her,” Charlotte said. “She’d been carrying a dead rabbit in her mouth. I went and got her after they called, her body’s in my garage. TJ and I’ve been out looking for her den since the call, never thought to look at Gloria’s.”

  “Somebody shot her?” The horror of the image stayed with Amelia. “Why? Why would somebody do that?”

  Charlotte was quiet as if composing herself. “Wolf hunt’s on, Amelia. Lacey’s a wolf/husky cross who’s more wolf than husky. Sad circumstances often come with having a wildlife biologist as a husband.”

  The woman sighed deeply and looked at Amelia for several moments.

  “Was Lacey your dog?”

  “Lacey was everybody’s dog,” Charlotte said, her voice curt, loaded with sorrow mixed with anger.

  They sat, not speaking. The black pup lost suction and began to shriek.

  “Sometimes you gotta keep trying,” Charlotte said. “A rubber nipple’s different than Mom, so every time the suction breaks, keep shoving it in. Sometimes takes ’em a while to get the hang of it.”

  Amelia gripped his belly again and lifted his head to arch up, pushing the nipple into his mouth until he latched on. His front legs too began paddling like he was dog-paddling.

  “What is this?” Amelia asked.

  “We call it paddling; it’s how they use their feet to stimulate the mother’s milk by kneading her nipples.”

  The dark pup’s hind legs splayed out behind him on her thigh. He moved up his front paws to clutch the bottle. After gulping down a few swallows, he began grunting contentedly before the suction would break. Then he shrieked as his head rooted from side to side, trying to locate the nipple again before he latched on to finish off the rest of the formula. His tail moved from side to side like a furry earthworm. The pearly nails of his front paws gripped the fabric of her jeans with such pressure she could feel it. Clinging to her for fear of losing what little he had.

  Neither spoke as the pups finished the formula, listening to their squeaking noises of contentment.

  “Do we give them more?” Amelia asked.

  “In a while,” Charlotte said. “Not good to give too much at first. They’ve gone without since Lacy was shot.”

  Amelia nodded, stroking the back of the black pup as he laid belly-down on her thigh.

  Charlotte turned over the squirming gray pup. It immediately began squealing, fighting, and shrieking as she looked underneath.

  “A girl,” Charlotte said. “Like your mama.”

  Amelia took out the dark one and looked underneath. “This one’s a male.”

  “Black like Jethro,” Charlotte said.

  They sat watching the pups. “So you’ve done this before,” Charlotte said. “I can tell.”

  “Not with dogs,” Amelia answered her. “Abandoned baby walruses, several seals, otters, orphaned baby dolphins but no dogs.” She sighed. “I’m usually sort of afraid.”

  “Of dogs?” Charlotte let out an ironic chuckle. “You feed animals who can roll over and crush you to death but you’re afraid of dogs?” Charlotte looked at her in surprise with an ironic smile.

  “Yeah, well.” Amelia smiled shyly. “Maybe no more.”

  “Well, better summon up some courage,” Charlotte chortled. “We’ve got five at home, and two are siblings to these two.”

  They sat watching as the pups fell asleep. Charlotte handed the grunting female back to Amelia.

  “Tuck them back into your coat where you had them, next to your skin,” Charlotte said. “Always keep them together.”

  Once in her coat they molded together, wriggling up to the same spot on her chest in the crook of her armpit. She zipped up her coat and rocked them, patting them as they made soft grunting noises through the fabric.

  “You mentioned a wolf hunt?” Amelia was confused.

  Charlotte continued. “Yes. Last year wolves were delisted as being protected under the Endangered Species Act. Now you can purchase a permit to go kill a wolf, trap, use dogs to tear them apart.”

  Amelia looked around and shook her head furiously; remembering photos of early twentieth-century bounty hunters from an undergraduate wildlife biology class as they’d proudly displayed racks with rows and rows of dead wolf carcasses hanging upside down. The goal had been to eradicate both native people as well as wolves from North America. She’d remembered learning how deep the European hatred and fear of wolves was. It had followed them onto the North American continent. The goal had been eradication with heavy bounties placed per head and wolves were hunted to the point of extinction throughout the northern tier states. The parallel belief that both wolves and Native Americans had no place in North America, with a battle cry from General Philip Sheridan who’d stated that “The only good Indian is a dead one.” Same had been with wolves, Little Red Riding Hood and all.

  “She was a wild girl, never could keep a collar on
her, but everybody up here knew her. Lacey’s the town dog. On the docks, the streets, the rez. Sweet, friendly, not one mean bone toward anyone.” Charlotte pulled one side of her unzipped parka closer.

  “Had to be goddamned out-of-towner trophy hunters with their fancy hunting dogs wanting to say they’d bagged a wolf.” The woman’s voice shook with anger. “Probably the only time the bastards get hard.”

  Amelia’s eyes opened wide. “I’m so sorry.” She touched Charlotte’s shoulder.

  “Gloria, TJ’s mother, always left out food for Lacey when she lived there,” she explained. “Everyone did. And for Jethro too. Lacey’s had one or two litters under that porch over the years. All the pups get adopted.”

  “Why didn’t Lacey get adopted?”

  Charlotte was quiet.

  “We all tried to adopt her, we have some of her grown pups, wanted to claim her but she’d never let us,” she said. “Apparently only a bullet could. Lacey belonged to the wild.”

  “I’m so sorry.” Amelia didn’t know what to say.

  “She was out finding food, the road crew said. Someone probably shot her in the woods, seeing the rabbit dangling from her mouth, thinking they’d bagged a real wolf.” Charlotte’s eyebrows raised with the word real. “Sounds like she dragged herself, bleeding and mortally wounded to the road, trying to cross, get back to her den with the rabbit when a car came.”

  “Oh my God.” The image was too much. Amelia covered her eyes. All the hair on her body stood electric, sensation flooded her, feeling the animal’s angst, dragging herself bleeding across the road, back to her pups, blinded to her own safety by the instinct to return.

  “I’m so sorry.” Amelia choked up, raising her hand to her mouth. “I’m so, so sorry.” Seeing the dog’s struggle play out in her mind’s eye, she couldn’t stop the imagery from repeating over and over, the will to get food back to her pups. Amelia sat quiet, absorbing the emotions.

  “Bet Jethro was with her.”

  “And he is…” Amelia looked over.

  The woman sighed deeply before answering. “Their dad.”

  Charlotte looked at the bulge under Amelia’s coat. “That black one is the image of him.”

  Amelia thought of his little jaws, his unfocused eyes that fought to make sense of the new shapes and smells.

  “Hunters probably saw her red collar after they’d shot Lacey and took off, the bastards,” Charlotte said.