by Zoe Chant
She was on her feet running around from six until nearly eleven, after which it took a while to clean the tables, set everything up for the breakfast shift, and cash out. Upson Downs was not exactly a hopping place late at night, especially in winter, so she expected the bar to be pretty much empty except for Bud’s version of the coffee crowd.
So she was surprised to get to the bottom of the street only to find nowhere to park. Cars were everywhere, including double parked, blocking the fire hydrants (as if anyone was worried about fire), and one enterprising SUV sort of half wedged up on the sidewalk in front of the cleaners’.
When she walked into the bar, the hot, humid air smelled thick in the way you get with too many people packed into too small a space. She stared. The place was absolutely wall to wall people.
Up on the tiny stage, which was nothing more than some two-by-fours nailed together and set up on crates, West sat under a single lamp, his hair lightened to silver, the contours of his face emphasized by sharp shadow as he sang about the truck driver who loved taking passengers up and down the Colorado River.
People sat beating time on knees, and here and there phones glowed with bluish white light as their owners recorded him.
When he finished the song, everyone burst into applause, then Bud came up on the stage next to him and held up his hands. “All right, like I said, that’s the last one. You know I close down Sundays at midnight. If I don’t lock up soon, my wife will be down here and you do not want to get between her and a good night’s sleep if you’re smart.”
Half the audience laughed at that, then Bud said, “At break time, I asked West here if he’d stay the week. How about I pass the hat, and you show him whether it’s worth his staying on. Okay?”
Bud circulated rapidly among the customers as they reached into pockets and purses, then got up, stretched, and looked about for coats, hats, scarves, and mittens as they talked excitedly. It was like watching the breaking of a spell of enchantment. McKenzi watched in amazement as bills fluttered into the big, worn Stetson that Bud carried around. Upson Downs was far from being a wealthy town, and people tended to be conservative tippers. But a lot of those bills were fives and even tens, and she saw at least three twenties drop into the hat.
West spotted McKenzi then, and the way his face lit up made her light up, tired as she was.
Bud gave him his tips, which West thrust into the pocket of his leather coat uncounted. He was far more careful packing up the guitar into its case.
A short time later they pulled up at the cottage, and dashed inside. West shrugged off his coat and laid it over the arm of the chair.
“Wait, aren’t you going to count your haul?” she asked.
He glanced down as if he’d forgotten about the money. “It’ll wait. My throat’s parched.”
“How about I make us some sleepy-time tea, with a dash of whisky.”
“Sounds great.”
“Tell me how it went,” she said as she put water on to boil, and pulled out cups and teabags.
“How was your evening?”
“Mine was full of hungry people,” she said. “Which is pretty much what I see every day. But what I’ve not seen was Bud’s place that packed.”
“It was pretty much empty when I started, but then they started coming in in twos and three. A lot of young ones at first.”
“I bet that was Rolf texting his friends, and them telling brothers, sisters, cousins, working up to bar age.”
He shook his head. “Maybe it was curiosity. I don’t know them, but it felt good. The vibe was good.”
The tea kettle whistled, and she poured, then set the mugs down. Her body was tight with exhaustion, but her mind exhilarated: it was just the two of them, as rain poured all around them.
Just the two of them . . . and the entire town out there, having discovered him. She considered that, sorting through her feelings. Foremost was her usual worry: would that drive him away?
She was too tired for that conversation now. Instead, she relished every little movement as they got ready for bed, and reached for each other. For the first time, making love was slow and languorous, after which she slept, safely held in his arms.
The next few days passed by in a blur.
McKenzi loved the rhythm they had fallen into. She rose early, getting a big breakfast together. Rolf had gone back to school, so it was Nate and West for breakfast. The two went off after the kitchen was cleaned up.
At the end of the third day, when West returned with a new pair of jeans, a pullover top, and new shoes and socks for himself and Nate, she felt that as a private victory. The promised drawer had been cleaned out, and she loved watching him tuck his neatly folded things into it. He’d also bought a razor, and she was a little sorry to see his stubble go, until she saw the clean line of his jaw emerge. If anything, he was even hotter than before.
In the afternoons, despite weather so cold that the rain was nearly sleet, West, Nate, and Rolf shifted and went on a run.
Uncle Lee showed up at the cottage on the fourth day, as soon as the three were gone. “McKenzi, can I talk to you?” he said. “It’s about West.”
She said, “Sure. Um, is something wrong?” She held her breath.
“No. No! It’s just . . . West is really good. And now that I’ve heard a lot of his songs, I’ve done some digging on iTunes. That song by Anessa Noel is not the only one that someone else has claimed, but that he wrote.”
“I don’t think that matters to him.”
“I get that,” Uncle Lee said, looking down at his hands. “I failed as a pro musician, at least as Beverly defined success. She got her dad to toss me out of the band, and, well, all that’s ancient history. My point is, I wrote an email to Brian, my ex-brother-in-law. He wrote me back, so I told him about West, and asked if he still had contact with our old agent. He sent me the info. So now I’m asking you to tell West about this. He could make some real money, selling his music, if he had someone savvy handling things.”
McKenzi said, “I don’t get the sense that money means much to West.”
Uncle Lee said, “Yeah, I got that. It’s just, I thought I could do this one thing for him.”
McKenzi saw then that this was important to Uncle Lee, and she leaned up to kiss her uncle on the cheek. “It’s an awesome idea. But you’re the one to tell him. Not me.”
Uncle Lee nodded. “Okay. If you don’t think he’d mind my sticking my nose into his business.”
McKenzi considered West, then said slowly, feeling her way, “I bet, even if he doesn’t go for it, he’ll appreciate the gesture.”
At five the guys were still gone when McKenzi had to get ready for work. But she figured that Uncle Lee would probably take West to Bud’s for his gig, Nate going along as a one-eyed, hitch-gaited shadow.
The restaurant was packed, her shift flying by.
At midnight she drove down to the Surf, and found almost as big a crowd as before.
As soon as they got into the car, West said, “Lee told me about his agent friend. What do you think about that?”
McKenzi said, “What do you think?”
West shook his head slowly, the streetlamps painting his face with light, then shadow, light then shadow before he said finally, “I guess I’ve never been in one place long enough for anything like that to ever catch up with me. I told him I’d consider it. But that was a generous thing for him to do.”
McKenzi nodded. “I think my uncle really felt good about it.”
West seemed to be thinking that over that night. The next morning, he said suddenly, “I think I’ve figured it out. Tell me if this sounds right, because it’s all new. See, if we were all wolves, I’d say we are a pack.”
“All?” She laughed. “You mean the guys.”
“I mean you, too.” West brushed his rough thumbs softly over her lips. “You are part of this pack, and they know it. Or what feels like a pack. Nate feels it. Lee feels it. And each of them is doing his best to contribute, the way
a good pack is run. Just like you’re taking care of them all in your way.”
Caretaker, Kesley whispered in memory.
“Whoa,” McKenzi said.
“Is this a bad thing?” West peered into her eyes. “Or wrong?”
“No. It’s . . . it feels like a good thing. But new. And . . . also, could be my sister was right. Luckily for her, she’s not one for gloating.”
“Right about what?”
At that moment they heard knocking on the door. “Oops! Sounds like our maybe-pack is looking for Mr. Alpha? What would that make me? I refuse to be a beta wolf—I’m afraid my cat ancestors will take away my claws and tail!”
They laughed, and kissed, and kissed again, then got up to start the day. The glorious day, she thought—her first of two days off.
She had to laugh at herself. She’d planned it carefully so that she would not have to work Valentine’s Day. Her original plan had been to hole up with her favorite DVDs and a pint of mint chocolate chip ice cream both days.
But by that time, she no longer cared what day it was. She was just happy that she would get to go to Bud’s that night to see West sing.
To her surprise, Uncle Lee showed up with his banjo, and halfway through the evening, Tori Prendergast came in with her violin and jammed with them. Then old Mr. Lopez brought in his hand drum, and the crowded little stage became a bluegrass jam session.
Midnight arrived so fast that McKenzi felt as if they’d only played an hour, except for the sheen of sweat on everyone, and the shared grins of exhilaration.
She, West, and Nate returned to the hill, West and she to her cottage, where they fell into bed, and each other’s arms. And before she finally slipped into sleep, she gloatingly looked forward to another day—Valentine’s Day—of exactly the same.
And woke to her phone buzzing.
She left West sleeping and slipped with the phone out to the kitchen, where she saw her mother’s text: We’re short two parents. Sick kids. Need U to help decorate for H. S. dance.
Oh, hell no, was McKenzi’s first response. She knew that her mom had rejoined the PTA when Rolf moved in with them, after having done her time while Kesley and McKenzi were in school. McKenzi stood in her kitchen dealing with the initial surge of resentment, until it drained away. She remembered the conversation between Rolf and West. This was important to the teens. Even if none of them knew what true love was, maybe this kind of thing was practice for the real thing?
Because I know what the real thing is. He lay in the other room sleeping—her silver wolf mate. You were right, Kesley. It just took me a little time to find it out.
She smiled at the phone. Yeah, she could deal with hanging decorations at the high school.
She texted back, Okay.
She fixed a breakfast for West to find when he woke, then shrouded herself in her coat and walked up to the ranch house, where her mother had the van running. To her surprise, she found Nate there, with her dad’s old tool box.
As McKenzi climbed in, her mom said, “Nate here came to our rescue. He said he could build the photo booth, which the kids were going to lose. And the photos are one of our biggest money makers.”
McKenzi remembered that the hardware store owner’s wife was due to have twins. Looked like they would be sharing their birthday with Valentine’s Day, she thought as she clicked on her seatbelt.
Nate sat hunched in the seat, his hands restlessly running back and forth along the handle of the tool box, and McKenzi had a sudden insight. Even though Nate didn’t know anybody, and couldn’t be expected to care about some high school dance for a bunch of strangers, this decorating expedition meant something to him. It meant something in the same way that fixing her door had meant something to him.
And it was kind of related to Uncle Lee braving his ex-inlaws in order to find that agent.
She mulled that as they pulled up at the high school and made their way with boxes of decorations to the multi-purpose room, where a bunch of parents and miscellaneous relatives were already at work.
McKenzi came in for her share of greetings and questions. “Your West is amazing!”
“Yup,” she said.
“Is he moving here?”
“Where did he come from?”
And old Mrs. Prendergast shook her finger coyly. “Do I smell romance in the air?”
McKenzi turned her biggest smile on them all. “We’ll see!”
As she helped hang silver, white, and red balloons from the light fixtures, she saw Nate working miracles with bits of plywood and different lengths of two-by-fours.
The time raced by. They finished in time for a delivery of sandwiches by Deedee, from Ralph’s, after which she, her mom, and Nate headed back.
The entire family gathered around to see Rolf decked out in his only pair of good slacks and a dress shirt, with a corsage that McKenzi’s mom had picked up. McKenzi’s dad drove off with the nervous boy to pick up his date, after which West, McKenzi, and Nate climbed into the VW to head for Bud’s.
As McKenzi settled into her seat near the stage, she watched West get set up with the borrowed guitar, Uncle Lee now firmly established as his backup banjo. Uncle Lee had learned several of West’s songs, shifting his sound from experimental jamming into real duet. From snatches of conversation she overheard, it sounded like he was writing them out in musical form for West.
And the evening started out great, especially when the other jammers showed up and joined in. Some of the audience sang along with the easy chorus on the trucker song, and the wolf and the moon one. Everything was going great, until eleven o’clock—when the high school dance was to end, but Doris, McKenzi’s mom, had offered to be pick-up chauffeur so that Uncle Lee could play banjo.
Suddenly West faltered in a song, frowned, and though he went on to finish the verse, the tension pouring off him ignited worry in McKenzi. She glimpsed Nate, sitting on the other side of the stage, looking back and forth in a shifty way.
“I’m going to take a water break,” West said to Tori and Mr. Lopez, but surreptitiously beckoned to Uncle Lee, whose face blanched as he followed West toward Bud’s storage room. McKenzi rose and went after them. She shut the door behind her.
Uncle Lee was looking at his phone.
West said, “Something’s wrong with Rolf. I can feel it.”
And Uncle Lee said in a high, panicky voice, “He tried to text me—but it cuts off. I think he pressed send before he could finish, something about Jeff. Oh, God. And Doris has the van—”
“I’ll drive,” McKenzi said.
“Where’s Nate?” West asked.
They all looked around—but Nate had vanished.
Uncle Lee kept his phone gripped in his hands as McKenzi drove as fast as she dared through the rain straight to the high school. The parking lot was full of parents arriving and picking up oblivious kids. Nobody seemed to be concerned, and McKenzi began to hope that whatever was wrong had been resolved, except for the grim set to West’s jaw, and the way he moved through the crowd, his leather coat flaring. A lot of people got out of his way, some staring as Uncle Lee and McKenzi followed in his wake.
“There’s LaShawna, his date,” McKenzi exclaimed.
A pretty dark-skinned girl with beaded braids, dressed in a white lace gown, stood with her arms crossed, her mother nearby. Her scowl changed to a worried frown when she saw Uncle Lee. “There you are! Rolf went off to the restroom a million hours ago. My cousin Noah said that he thinks he went off with that ass-wipe Jeff. I don’t know what’s going on, but they haven’t come back.”
“Do you know where they went?” West asked.
She shook her head. When her mother touched her on the shoulder, LaShawna said, “Mom will take me home, Mr. Enkel. I made her wait until I saw you. But tell Rolf to text me, okay, please?”
“I will,” Uncle Lee said in a tight, sick voice.
“Let’s go to the restroom and start from there,” West suggested.
Uncle Lee said, “If I ha
ve to, I will shift and find a trail from there.”
But when they got outside, to their complete surprise, they found a one-eyed coyote dancing around. He pointed his muzzle in one direction, then danced back, ears flat, tail low. He’d been to the high school earlier, so he’d know right where to find it, McKenzi realized. And it looked like he’d already found the scent trail.
“Lead on, Nate,” West said.
McKenzi bent into the cold wind, hating the splats of rain chilling her head and neck, but there was no way she was not going with them. In silence they followed the coyote slantways across the campus, the buildings she’d lived with for four years a decade ago looking half-familiar, half-strange when lit by floodlights.
Very soon they reached the football field beyond the gym, which was totally dark. Their footsteps sloshed across the soggy field. McKenzi held tightly to West’s hand. She suspected that he and Uncle Lee would have preferred to shift, but they didn’t because she was with them. No one spoke as they reached the fence on the other side, and the open gate.
Beyond lay open field. Nate zipped through the gate, leading them into the field and down a hill, where branches slapped at McKenzi’s face, and her feet dumped into disgusting, muddy potholes. But all she could think of was poor Rolf out there—who knew why. It couldn’t be for any good reason.
Then the sound of voices registered through the soft hiss of the light rain. The coyote shot ahead, running mostly on three legs before he vanished in the gloom, barely lit from the distant school on the top of the hill to the west.
“Go on, get him! Get him!” shrilled teen voice.
And a man’s voice over them all, “Come on, son, show that little wolf turd who’s alpha around here.”
A half second later, a smallish boar let out a piercing yelp as the coyote attacked him. Then a leather jacket landed in McKenzi’s arms, followed by West’s top and jeans, and a moment later, a huge wolf, glowing pale in the weak light, howled, freezing everyone into a tableau of shock.
As West’s wolf paced toward the small boar, a rustle of clothing and some muffled cursing presaged a huge boar shape grunting angrily. McKenzi stepped to the side, with the light behind her, and made out the scene: a bunch of teens circled around the wall of a dilapidated shed, against which a cub shivered, menaced by the young boar now fighting with the coyote.