Along Comes a Wolfe

by Angie Counios

  At school, though, it feels like a wave has swept yesterday away. As soon as I’m through the doors, people are already coming up and giving me nods or an acknowledging “s’up.” I’m still getting sad puppy-dog eyes from some of the younger girls, but in general, the whole mood is different. Even my locker door has been scrubbed clean, with not even a hint of marker left on it.

  Mike greets me with a solid bro hug. “Good to finally see you back on your feet.”

  “I was here yesterday—”

  “Yeah, but you looked like crap.”

  “Thanks. What’s going on around here?”

  “Haven’t you heard?”

  Apparently, Mike tells me, Gekas had a one-on-one interview with the local paper about Maggie’s murder and Sheri’s disappearance. She said that despite the many similarities, no evidence of a connection has yet been uncovered. Dillon’s arrest was shortly followed by news of his release, and Gekas statement that “confirmation of his innocence has been substantiated by two witnesses.” So it would seem that Gekas has finally tracked Mia down.

  She also announced that another team, headed by Detective Ben Waters, would be investigating the circumstances of Maggie’s death while she continued to focus on Sheri’s disappearance. She expressed her gratitude to “the family and friends of Miss Beckman for their tireless patience and support,” and promised that these separate incidents would each be “given the Homicide Department’s foremost attention.”

  This information is supposed to put me at ease, but I’m not sure if it does.

  I go to my first class, history, and grab a seat. I expect the whispers, the looks, but there’s nothing. Everyone looks either bored or half asleep. No one is looking at me. I look up at the board. Maybe the only thing I should be caring about is that King John of England signed something on June 15, 1215 and it seems pretty important.

  I grab my pen and take notes, trying to figure out what’s going on and what was so significant about the Magna Carta. I’m finally making the connections between it and the Thirteen Colonies when the bell rings. The last hour has zipped by.

  By noon, I’m back in the groove of things. Whatever notions of vigilante justice swept through school yesterday seem to have been settled by Gekas’s news interview. I sit with Mike and some of the other guys from the basketball team and listen to their take on last week’s game. Again, I’m told I was missed and they hound me to get back to practice this afternoon. I push them off until tomorrow, knowing I need to carve out a chunk of time to deal with homework. Catching up will suck but it’s necessary. Who knows? A few hours of running drills tomorrow morning with Coach yelling at me the whole time might make things feel like they’re really back to normal.

  It isn’t until the 1:00 p.m. bell rings that I recognize the painful ache in the pit of my stomach for what it is. I miss the familiar bzzz of Sheri’s lunchtime texts. I have to force myself to think of other things. Afternoon classes fill the emptiness. I discover we’ve started George Orwell’s Animal Farm in English. In chemistry, I’m completely lost trying to understand mole conversion calculations. The last bell rings and I’m absolutely grateful to drag myself out of class.

  People fill the halls, talking, laughing, pushing, yelling, making out, breaking up, running ahead, and falling behind. I move among them, with them, between them. Yet, I feel different. There’s a space between those of us who’ve only known the ease of life and those who’ve felt the thorniness of death.

  Charlie would know what I mean.

  I push the thought away, forcing it into a deep, dark hole. It’s time I get back to living—Sheri would want it that way.

  chapter 56

  When I get home, Dad’s on the couch reading—this time it’s Better by Atul Gawande. The aroma of fresh baked bread fills the room.

  “You’ve been baking?”

  He doesn’t look up from the book. “I needed the right sort of something to go with my chicken green chili.”

  It’s all for effect. When Dad makes his chili, he starts in the morning and it simmers all day. A meal that Dad puts this much effort into usually means something good has happened.

  He must know that Mom and I have made peace.

  “How was school?”

  “Good.” The word comes out without thinking.

  “Hope they’re not taking it easy on you with homework.”

  “Nope. I’ll be at it until I’m your age—” I drop my heavy backpack.

  “Don’t say it—”

  “What? ‘Old man’ ?”

  “I can still throw you over my knee.”

  “Come on, bring it.”

  We look at each other and smile. I’ve missed this back-and-forth with Dad.

  “Get cleaned up before your mom gets home.”

  “Sure thing, Pops.”

  He grunts in acknowledgment of the insult as I head up the stairs. I toss my bag on my bed and am surprised to hear Heather behind me.

  “Ah, the prodigal son returns.”

  I know things are getting back to normal when I turn around and see her.

  “You must mean the prodigal daughter.”

  “I wasn’t about to stick around while the three of you fight. You were kind of a dinkus.”

  I shrug. I kind of was.

  She comes over and hugs me. “But seriously, are you okay?”

  “I was until you got all pda on me.”

  I’m joking, but it really does feel good to know she cares about me.

  She doesn’t let go and squeezes tighter, scrunching up her face. “But you’re my widdy-biddy baby brudder!”

  I feign a violent attack of vomit, then decide to play along, clutching her tight and swaying her side to side.

  “Oh, thank you, my big sissy-wissy.”

  She shrieks with laughter, trying to get out of my bear hug. We bump into my desk and almost fall over with our shenanigans. When we turn, Mom’s standing in the doorway.

  “You two are so very weird.”

  That’s all it takes and we’re on her, pulling her into the mix, and she can’t help but giggle as she tries to push us away.

  “Stop it, you two,” she shouts between hysteric breaths.

  I let them go and Heather and I crack up as Mom tries to gain her composure.

  It feels good to laugh. I feel like I haven’t laughed in forever.

  chapter 57

  Dad’s chili is amazing.

  I savour each mouthful and sop up the leftover sauce with fresh bread. I don’t think I’ve ever enjoyed Dad’s cooking so much and tell him so. I’m certain the unspoken truth at the table is that the events of the past week have given me a refreshed outlook on life. But I couldn’t care less about coming through a tragedy—I’m not worrying what might happen or thinking about what horrible things people can do to each other—I’m enjoying the good things life offers in the present.

  After we’re finished, I volunteer to clean up the dishes, but Mom and Dad send me upstairs to do homework. Knowing the stack of assignments I’ve got to catch up on is waiting, I reluctantly oblige. I don’t want to do any of it, but it’s gotta get done and there’s no way out of it. I drag myself up the stairs and sit down at my desk.

  I flip through the assignments and choose biology, since I skipped Mr. Harriet’s test on Monday. He’s given me a take-home version that’s twice as long, and I figure working on it might prompt some goodwill. It takes me until almost 7:30. When I’m done, I put it to the side and open up my psych text. There’s six chapters of reading and questions to get through and I want to get it done before bed.

  As I work, my phone vibrates. I check it quickly. All the usual faces, except for one—Charlie. For a moment, I wonder what’s happened to him. Did he really get himself thrown in jail—and if so, why? I dismiss it quickly and go back to reading about developmental psychology,
working my way from childhood to old age.

  I surprise myself and get done before 10:00. The house is dark but for the blue glow of the tv when I wander down to grab a glass of water. Mom and Dad are in the den, watching a movie. I say goodnight before going back upstairs.

  I shut the door to my room and climb into bed. If I’m going to show up to practice tomorrow before school, I’ll need my rest. I crack open Animal Farm and read, but can barely keep my eyes open after the first few pages. Setting the book down, I turn the light off, and fall asleep.

  chapter 58

  The next morning, I get to practice early. The doors are open, but the gym is empty. I grab a ball from the supply closet and bounce it, listening to the thunk-thunk-thunk echo in the cavernous room, building my willingness to give in to the energy of the space. I pass the ball between my left and right hands, shifting back and forth, building speed, my shoes digging into the court, the rubber squeaking each time I alter course. My eyes are on the hoop and I dig in, knees bending, muscles tightening, until I power into a jump and feel the ribbed leather surface of the ball solidly in my grip. I roll it off my fingers, ignoring the backdrop, slamming it home. I land rock-hard and it feels good. I feel like I’m me again. I’ve missed this.

  That is, until Coach and the rest of the guys show up and drills begin. By the halfway point, I feel like I’ve been away for a month and I’m dragging behind everyone else.

  Mike dashes past me, chuckling, “Too many bacon burgers on your time off?”

  I wipe the sweat from my eyes, ready to argue, but choke on my breath, which only leads to further razzing. I let him gloat. I know myself—it won’t take me long to get back in shape, then Mike’ll be dodging me and my smart ass comments.

  At the end of the hour and a half, I’m about ready to fall over. My muscles are worn out, I’m soaked with sweat, and I’m only now catching my breath. But I feel alive. The rush is comforting and familiar. I’m glad I got up early to be here. I’m even grateful for Mike’s verbal abuse.

  In the locker room, we get ready quickly then hustle to first period. Mike suggests plans for lunch. He wants to go to the new sandwich place because there’s another girl, Haley, that he likes.

  I roll my eyes. “Wingman extraordinaire. You’d never get anywhere without me.”

  “You wish.” He raises his arm, flexing the bicep. “It has nothing to do with you. It’s all this.” He kisses the muscle. “Who can say no to this?”

  I gag and he laughs as he starts to stride away down the hall. Somehow I find myself agreeing to tag along.

  I reach biology class and sink into a desk just as the bell rings. My phone is off and tucked away—Mr. Harriet hates distractions. He was good enough to give me a break on the test, but he’s all about order and things being done a certain way. He expects our notes to follow his rules and if they don’t, we lose marks. Yet, I force myself to focus not only because I have to, but because I want to.

  Ms. Statten’s psychology class is next, and I’m actually kind of looking forward to it. I’m even there early, before the bell goes. The lights are dim, and the vibe in the room is quiet, though the projector isn’t on yet.

  I go up to her desk.

  “Anthony?”

  “Hi, Ms. Statten. Here’s my missing assignments.”

  She smiles up at me, taking her glasses out of her hair to put them on—the guys in my class love this look. She glances down at the small stack of papers I’m holding.

  “Thank you, but I’ll be taking late marks.”

  I nod. “That’s fair.”

  She always says she’s preparing us for what’s to come after high school, and her standards are high and rigid. I respect that. And I’m grateful that she doesn’t feel sorry for me, that there are no favours here. She upholds her classroom principles no matter what and it makes me feel totally normal.

  She takes the papers from me and I go back to my seat. The projector snaps on and note-taking begins. Before I know it, the bell is going again. It’s been another productive hour and even the last class of the morning—chemistry—flashes by. By the end of it, Mr. James has helped me understand mole calculations and I’m feeling almost caught up. That swamp of work I had getting back into things is less consuming, and what I have left to do from these morning classes seems manageable.

  chapter 59

  As I exit the student parking lot doors, I go to reach for my phone out of habit but quickly tuck it back in my pocket without looking. I want disengagement from the digital world and let myself just be here, now, on this beautiful, warm fall day.

  Honk! I look around. It’s Mike and he’s in a hurry. He’s motioning me into the red rust bucket of a truck that is his pride and joy, the over-amped stereo pumping. This sandwich date’s got him worked up, apparently. I make like I’m running in slow motion and he honks again, so I jog over.

  “Sorry, man,” I grin as I get close. “Just buggin’ ya.”

  “Get in! I’ve got important things to do.”

  I hop in. “Like getting the number of this Haley girl?”

  “Hell, yeah!”

  He kicks up gravel as he peels out of the student parking lot. It’s not possible to look more desperate than he does right now, but I like his enthusiasm. I laugh.

  “Easy, tiger.”

  He looks at me, one eyebrow raised, and turns the stereo up even louder.

  I shake my head and yell, “Man, you’ve got a lot of work to do on your style.”

  He reaches for the volume again and I swat his hand away, surrendering with laughter to his crappy choice in music.

  chapter 60

  We walk into the food court at the mall. I stand behind him while he looks for the new sandwich joint.

  “There it is.” He scans the crowd and smiles. “And there she is.”

  I look across from the sandwich shop and among all of the people is Mike’s new dream girl, Haley, sitting with another girl.

  Mike starts to make a beeline for her, but then stops abruptly to get some food. He orders two drinks, two sandwiches with the works, and two cookies. I hope he’s buying.

  “No sauce,” I chime in as the sandwich is made.

  I watch as Mike shifts his weight from foot to foot—he’s nervous. It’s pathetic and brave all at once. He has the tray in his hand but hesitates.

  I look at him, then at Haley and grab the tray.

  “Follow me.” I meander through the crowd and plunk down beside the girls. “Ladies, two free cookies in exchange for two seats? Or a chance to meet two interesting guys?”

  Haley looks at me only briefly. “You can just have the seats.”

  She doesn’t want to talk but I’m feeling confident. “Thank God! Because my friend Mike here and I, well, we’re really stunted in the conversation department. Really, our goal is to try and speak in complete sentences.”

  Both girls laugh. The ice is broken.

  I hold up a cookie. “You want a bite of my mocha chocolate chip cookie?”

  Haley shakes her head no.

  “Your loss.” I take a bite, exaggerating its deliciousness, but not by much.

  The girls laugh again and I know they’re warming up to us.

  Mike and I banter back and forth with the girls, laughing and being ridiculous. It feels good—real and distracting—that is until I realize the time. “Crap! We’ve got to go. Ladies, nice to meet you both. We’ll have to do this again sometime.”

  As Mike and I head for the car, I ask, “Did you get her number?”

  He shakes his head. “Negative.”

  “Why the hell not? I thought that was the point.”

  “Uh, no. The point was to work on my game—and I got it, game that is.”

  “Like how you got the movie theatre girl’s number?”

  He scowls. “Listen, I like Haley, but I need to make s
ure I like her like her before every other lady loses out on this fine piece of man.”

  A huge bellow of laughter bursts out of me in the parking lot. “Every other lady? There are that many?”

  “Shut up,” he glares.

  I climb into the truck. It’s a good day.

  chapter 61

  The afternoon goes as quickly as the morning, and before I know it, I’m sitting in fifth, the last period of the day. The intercom crackles and a heavy jolt kicks me in the stomach.

  “This is a reminder from Mrs. Tavler to all students of the drivers ed program: tomorrow is the final chance to submit permission forms for in-car instruction. If you don’t get them handed in, you will miss your session and not continue on.”

  The intercom clicks off. Relief floods through me and dissolves the weight in my gut.

  The bell rings and I head for my locker. Tonight will be another night dedicated to homework and catching up, but it’s a lot more under control. I pile the books I need into my bag and sling it—oof, too heavy—across my chest. Outside, the air is cool, so I pull my hoodie over my head and walk home.

  Mom and Dad have supper figured out, as well as some of my time too. They get me to walk Ollie, take the garbage out, carry some donation boxes to the front step, and bag some leaves. I don’t complain. It’s their way of keeping things real, and keeping me busy and distracted.

  Heather joins us for supper. Her mid-terms are done. She’ll be relaxed only for a day or two.

  Afterwards, I negotiate doing my homework in lieu of dishes, since I’ve already done a bunch of chores. Heather kindly volunteers.

  Upstairs, I close my door, shutting out the clattering in the kitchen, and pull the heavy books and binders out of my bag. The stack of them is only slightly intimidating and I’m ready for another mini-marathon of homework. Being in top shape mentally is as important as it is physically. I stay up until 10:30 finishing the last of my homework, then crash into bed. I lie there, peaceful, eyes closed, the tension of schoolwork slipping away as I drift into the pleasant nothingness of sleep.