by Amy Star
Norris put his hands gently on his daughter’s shoulders. “Anna, I love you. I love you with all my heart and all my blood. You are my heart, and you are my blood. But so is my sister. I’m the head of this family, and it was up to me to look out for everyone—you, your brothers, my sister, everyone. And…I failed her. I did. I failed your aunt. I was meant to take care of her, and I didn’t. I let that bloody American bear have her. And look where she is now.”
“They were in love, Daddy. What were you meant to do, stop her falling in love? Really? Because you can’t; you know that. You can’t stop love. Could anything have stopped you from loving Mummy? No, it couldn’t. You and Mummy loved each other and needed to be together. That’s the way life is. And Auntie Fiona and Jaxon were in love. There was nothing anyone could do about it. You couldn’t have stopped them, and Auntie Fiona wouldn’t have let you. She would have fought you for him. What would you have done then? Would you have fought your sister to make her not love Jaxon? It wouldn’t have worked. And we’d still be here like this.”
It was all Norris could do to stop himself breaking into a hiss. It was all he could do to stop the scales breaking out on his skin and the horns erupting on his forehead. “We’d still be here like this,” he growled, “and he’d still be back home in the States, and I know he’s over there now dragging some other girl into bed, Lord help her. I should only hope this one doesn’t end up like your aunt. It’s not right, Anna. He’s left Fiona like this and gotten away with it all.”
“Having your heart broken isn’t my idea of getting away with anything, Daddy,” said Anna sadly.
“His broken heart is nothing compared to my sister’s broken soul,” said Norris.
“Hurts can heal,” Anna insisted. “We can go back to the doctors, talk to them again.”
Norris tore his arms away from his daughter and turned away, looking back at the door to Fiona’s room. “Piss on the doctors!” he almost spat. “The doctors examine her and give her drugs, and she sits there. And they lay her down at night to sleep, and she’s not even conscious. Piss on the bloody doctors; they’re not going to get my sister any justice. That bloody Yank. The American Air Force just sent him home at the end of his tour. He’s still got his life, worthless as it is. My sister has nothing.”
Anna stepped over to him and put her slender arms around his big arm. “She’s got us,” she reminded him.
“She needs justice,” said Norris.
“What’s it going to do?” Anna asked. “What good is it? She’ll never know.”
“To hear you and the bloody doctors tell it,” said Norris, “someday she might.”
“And what will she think then? What will she think of her brother and what he did to the man she loved?” She stepped around him to look him in the eye again. “That’s why you can’t do this, Daddy. I’m asking you for me, but I mean it for her, don’t do this.”
Norris brushed his knuckles along Anna’s hair with all the tenderness that he could find as a father for his daughter. But he was unmoved. “Your brothers and I are going to the States,” he said. “We’re going to get him, and we’re going to make him pay, and that’s the end of it. Take care of your Auntie ’til we get back. Get your cousins to help if you need them.”
Anna hung her head in sorrow and defeat, resigned to her awful inability to sway her father. She had appealed to reason and compassion, and both had failed. She had nothing left.
Norris kissed his daughter’s head. He tilted her face to look up at him one more time, to see the resolve in his eyes. Anna sighed up at him and felt a weight of sadness upon her that she feared would never lift.
Spontaneously, she flung her arms around her father and buried her face against his chest in a last wordless plea. Norris let Anna hug him and hugged her in return. Then, gently, he pulled her from him and chucked her under the chin. “We’ll be back when it’s done,” he said.
Then, he let his daughter go and walked off with purpose down the hospital corridor.
Anna Jones watched her father walk away, and tears fell down her face. Her heart told her that the tragedy and sorrow befalling her family had only begun.
Chapter9
Across her mother’s bedroom, while Sherry sat on the bed looking through the old family albums, the sewing machine hummed and clattered away. Draped upon it was the dress that Sherry saw her Angela McCabe wearing in the old photographs so lovingly preserved in one section of an album.
Vic and Angela McCabe had married under what were, to say the least, very different circumstances than Sherry was marrying now. They were young and in love, but they were also both human, and no one was pushing them together to perpetuate any old tradition created to keep the peace between two species who feared and distrusted each other. Sherry and Jaxon, on the other hand, were also young, but Jaxon was only human most of the time, and the whole thing was being done to satisfy his grandfather’s belief in carrying on the old ways and not letting time snuff them out.
That was why they were doing it, wasn’t it?
The truth was that Sherry and Jaxon had been very much in love—when they were kids in school. And they had been more than successful in bringing the physical part of that relationship back to life in bed. It almost embarrassed Sherry to be lying across her mother’s bed, looking at pictures of her parents on their wedding day, and thinking of all the things that Jaxon was once again doing to her in bed and the things they were once again doing to each other. Jaxon was spectacular having sex with her when they were younger, but now that they were older, and Sherry was using birth control, he was epic. Even now when they were in different parts of town, she could practically feel his muscles dominating her and feel him still inside her.
But was it really love, or was it only reliving the past and making the physical part better than it was? What would happen when the summer was over, and they had satisfied the tradition? They both agreed that they had lives to get on with, Jaxon in the family business, Sherry on whatever professional career path opened up for her. Would they really have one last mind-boggling, body-melting night and morning in bed, then kiss and say goodbye as they had done before? Could Sherry really pick up her life where she left off, without her uncannily beautiful, inhumanly horny bear?
Did she still love him? Had they ever stopped loving each other?
It was all too much to think about right now. Better, she thought, to enjoy Jaxon’s exquisite body and prodigious maleness now, and marry him as planned, and think about tomorrow when it came.
That was the great advantage of being twenty-four: there were still many more tomorrows in front of her than behind her.
To distract herself from the thought of Jaxon—and what would happen when she saw him, and the clothes came off later tonight—Sherry concentrated on the pages of preserved pictures in the album lying open in front of her. Angela looked so beautiful in the dress now being clattered over on the machine across the room. And Vic looked so handsome in his tuxedo standing beside her. The dress was a thing of lace, chiffon, and ruffles with bare shoulders and an open back. Sherry could only hope that she looked half as beautiful in that delicate, elegant thing as her mother did. In spite of herself, Sherry thought of what that day meant to her parents. They had married with the devout belief and the full intent that it was forever, come what may, until the last breath of one or the other. And they meant it, and they had lived their intent. Sherry and Jaxon’s wedding was a whole other thing: a marriage made partly of passion and desire and partly of duties and expectations from outside. Was it a cynical thing they were doing? Was it all a sham? Was it just plain dishonest?
It felt honest enough when Jaxon got her into bed. And there she was again, right where she had been. She frowned and scolded herself in her thoughts. This was getting her nowhere and doing her no good. They were doing this, and it was as real and as honest as it was ever going to get.
As if she knew what was on her daughter’s mind, Angela McCabe paused the sewing machine
and looked back over her shoulder at Sherry on the bed with the albums. “Honey,” she called, “I know we talked this all out, and I know you talked it all out with Jaxon. And I know you’re all grown up now, and you know your own mind. But are you really all right with this? Because like you were saying when it first came up, this is going to put your life on hold for the time being. Is it really okay?”
Sherry looked up and over at her mother. “I haven’t got any firm job offers yet,” she replied with a shrug, “so it’s not like I’m holding up any definite plans.”
“But you would have gotten offers soon, with your GPA and your resume,” said Angela.
“I know,” said Sherry. “That’s why I know I’ll get something once we’ve satisfied Humbert and gotten the annulment. Besides, a lot of graduates take off the summer after graduation and have one last little ‘adventure’ before they get on with ‘real life.’ Some people travel. I’ll do this for a little while. Just for a few months. For all we know, Humbert may be gone by that time.”
She stopped herself suddenly, looking off and feeling very guilty. She knew the way her mother was looking at her now, that open-mouthed, blinking look of mild dismay that she got whenever someone said something that startled her or something that provoked her mild disapproval. Sherry had never liked that look.
When she was sure the expression had passed, Sherry broke the sudden, leaden silence in the room and faced Angela again. Sounding as guilty as she felt and as guilty as she probably looked, she asked, “Do I sound like a ghoul, thinking that way? Or selfish? Or do I sound like some irresponsible kid?”
Angela drew a deep breath, giving herself a moment to consider. “No. Maybe not. Not really, no. You are doing it to help the family, after all. That’s basically a good reason.” She paused a second, turning the argument over in her mind just a little more. “It is. Family is a good reason. It’s not selfish.” She turned all the way around in her seat and faced Sherry, very sincerely. “Listen, honey. If anything good comes of this, it may be that you and Jaxon will probably be the very last couple in Smithintown who ever do this. The whole tradition that people see for what it is now, something that doesn’t fit into modern life, it’ll probably end once and for all with you. We can close it up in a book, like those albums, and everyone will finally be done with it.”
“Yes, that’s right, isn’t it?” Sherry realized. “This isn’t just any wedding. It’s kind of like…history. We’re making history.”
“So, we’ll do this thing, and it’ll be like turning a page, and everything will just go forward from here. We’ll get you and Jaxon married, and that will make history. People will talk about it, the part of history that ended with the two of you.”
Sherry smiled a reassured smile at her mother, and Angela smiled back. Then Angela turned around again and went back to work on the alterations to the dress.
Meanwhile, Sherry looked back at the album and turned to the blank pages in the back—the pages where, no doubt, the photos from her and Jaxon’s wedding would soon go. She and Jaxon, making history.
Which was nothing compared to what they would be making later tonight, after Jaxon’s bachelor party. She had heard all about some of the things that went on at human bachelor parties, and been thoroughly grossed out, not to mention quite offended at the more sexist parts. But she had also heard that the bachelor sendoff for a male werebear was just a bit different.
_______________
The red garage door of the firehouse rolled up, and there stood Jaxon, right on time.
The men inside were all gathered in front of Smithintown’s one big fire engine, cheering, whistling, congratulating him. They also mock-insulted him for the asinine decision he was making and asked him with which of his brains he was thinking when he made it. Jaxon suggested a few things they could do to entertain themselves in private, and walked, laughing, basking in the camaraderie and the love, into the firehouse where he was further greeted with handshakes and pats on the back.
Jaxon’s father was there with his older brother and his uncle. His father and brother were principally in charge of running the family business and had been since Jaxon went into the Air Force. Bernard Michaels, Jaxon’s father, and Ethan Michaels, his older brother, were both predictions of what Jaxon might be in his thirties and later in life, assuming the consistency of genes in the family. They looked just like Jaxon, but their bodies were in different stages of thickening and filling out. His uncle, Joel Michaels, was a lawyer on retainer with the family. He looked much the same as Bernard, except with a neatly trimmed goatee that Jaxon had always admired. Perhaps, now that he was out of the service, Jaxon would grow one of his own. He wondered what Sherry would think of that. The Fire Chief, Carter Wilson, was a big, husky, bearded werebear, as was one of the three firemen who worked with him. The two other firemen, Gary and Brett, both in their thirties and in admirable shape, were the only humans in the lot, one blond with ripped muscles, one dark and just as ripped. They were never seen with women but frequently seen together, about which no one said anything; it was their own business. The other members of the party were the Sheriff, Glen Bradley, a stout gentleman, out of uniform and in plain clothes, with his badge on his belt loop; and his Deputy, Denny Slade, who seldom seemed to go anywhere out of uniform, even to so informal an occasion as this.
These were men that Jaxon had known all his life, the people that he would most want with him at a time like this when he was turning one page of his life into a new chapter—even if it turned out to be a brief and fleeting chapter, one summer out of all his days, one little arc in his long-term story, that would soon give way to something entirely different. Or so Jaxon and everyone assumed. Everyone knew the reason why Jaxon was doing this. Everyone understood that he and Sherry were laying to rest a tired, creaky old tradition that was obsolete and dying out before Jaxon was ever born. They all knew that he was doing it to satisfy his grandfather and keep Sherry’s family from undue financial stress. It was a needless, empty concession to a state of affairs between humans and Ursans that no longer existed in this place, but here they were, Jaxon and Sherry, doing it one more time, and wherever there was a wedding there were customs to be observed with it. Tonight was the night for those customs.
Jaxon’s father, brother, uncle, and friends led him up the spiral staircase from the ground floor of the firehouse to the living area on the second floor. This was a neatly kept place with a hard wood floor, area rugs, polished wood tables, and modern furniture—functional and spare but comfortable. It was all the firemen really needed. And it was all that the group needed for the time they would be spending here tonight. This was where they took the celebratory meal of thick steaks served with bread and honey—lots of honey, which all bears loved. Along with the steaks and bread came plenty of mead—a drink, of course, of fermented honey. Human males’ alcoholic drink of choice was beer. For Ursans, it was mead, and the firemen had it by the pitcher. It flowed freely throughout the meal, and there was toasting and laughing and old stories told—regardless of how embarrassing they might be to the guest of honor.
There was talk, too, of life in Smithintown today and how little ever changed even though old traditions might disappear. There was talk of births and deaths, and people who had moved away, and new people who’d come to stay, and how few of the new people were of the bear-shifting persuasion. It seemed the general population of Smithintown was seeing a greater influx of humans than Ursans. There had always been more humans, of course, but the mix of people in town seemed to be changing in favor of people with only one body. It was another sign of old ways changing, though the old rule that only certain humans were to be trusted to know that the Ursans existed was in place as strongly as ever, and everyone of both kinds still carefully kept the secret. Along with the new permanent residents in town, there were the weekend people, and along with those who worked in town there were the inevitable commuters from the city who used Smithintown as a “bedroom community” away from th
e city’s congestion. All things considered, except for the rising human population, the more things changed in Smithintown, the more they seemed almost to remain the same.
Jaxon and Denny, sitting together at a table, took the chance to catch up a bit while everyone around them drank and laughed and talked up a myriad of things.
“Nothing much changes around here, does it?” Jaxon mentioned. “People come and go, and maybe there are more humans than there used to be. But Smithintown is still Smithintown.”
“It is,” said Denny with a swallow of mead. “The most excitement we’ve had around here was the vandals right before you came back from the Air Force.”
“Vandals?” Jaxon repeated. “I didn’t hear about any vandals. What did they do?”
“Eh, they raised some ruckus—broke some windows, turned out some people’s trash, that kind of thing. They were mostly a problem around the high school. Kids from outside, coming through, thinking they could raise some hell in a small town and get away with it. Broke some of the high school windows, sprayed some graffiti that they had to scrub off or paint over for Community Service. Punks, really. Lucky they didn’t end up behind bars.”
“Is that right?” said Jaxon. “We never had any kind of goings-on like that here before.”