A Solitude of Wolverines

by ALICE HENDERSON

  “To see wolverines!” Philip agreed. “Can you imagine?”

  She could already smell the high country, with its sun-warmed pines. “Indeed I can.”

  Over the phone, she heard someone knock on the professor’s office door. “Oh, I’ve got a student appointment. Call this number, and the LTWC travel coordinator will get you on a flight today.” He read off a number and she wrote it down on a pad of paper stuck to her fridge.

  “Good luck!” he told her and then hung up.

  Alex sat back down on the stool. Montana. The Rocky Mountains.

  She let herself catch her breath, then started scrawling notes on the same slip of paper, items she’d need to pack now and things like toiletries that she could pick up in the nearest little town in Montana. Her hand paused on the pad of paper as she questioned what she was doing. She’d be in Montana tomorrow? Was it the right thing to do? What about working things out with Brad? But she was done with her research, and the timing was right.

  She snapped out of her doubts and called the nonprofit’s travel coordinator. The woman was kind and efficient, thanking Alex for helping out the organization on such short notice. She booked Alex on a ten p.m. flight that got into Missoula the next morning and arranged for a rental car at the airport. Alex was to return the car at a drop-off location in rural northwest Montana, where a local would pick her up and drive her out to the old resort where she’d be staying. There was a truck already there she could use whenever she needed to go into town. It had been donated along with the resort. Alex thanked her and hung up, already mentally packing.

  She went to her closet and pulled out her worn, familiar blue backcountry pack and began stuffing it with clothes. Polypropylene shirts, fleece jackets and vests, a couple of warm hats, a sun hat, a pair of comfortable shoes. She’d wear her hiking boots on the plane. Some jeans and cotton shirts.

  Then she stopped, staring, a sick feeling creeping around her heart. In the far right of the closet hung two of Brad’s shirts, soft cotton pullovers he’d worn when they lived in Berkeley, back when he had such different ideas of what he wanted to do with his life. He’d never wear those shirts again. Wouldn’t be caught dead in them. No wonder he hadn’t bothered to box them up. She pulled the sleeve of one closer and pressed it to her face, smelling the familiar scent of him. What had happened with them? They’d been so close.

  She dropped the sleeve and stepped back, taking a few deep breaths. She should call him, let him know she was leaving.

  Reaching into her pocket, she pulled out her phone and dialed his number. It rang only two times and then went to voicemail, an indication that he’d just pressed ignore. She put it back in her pocket and, with an ache in her chest, finished gathering her clothes.

  She checked her watch. She still had time to stop by her neighbor’s place before getting a cab to the airport.

  She stepped into the hall and knocked on his door, waiting, smelling the faint scent of Indian food in the hall. It made her stomach rumble. After a few moments, the peephole went dark as her neighbor Jim Tawny looked through it. Then she heard his multitude of locks disengaging. The door swung open to reveal a massive man in his sixties, black hair thinning and combed over. Thick glasses that hadn’t been updated probably since 1975 obscured his green eyes. His girth barely fit in the doorway. His polo shirt sported a myriad of food stains, and a pair of cotton shorts had suffered the same fate, with evidence of mustard, ketchup, and what looked like teriyaki sauce. On his feet were two long-suffering terry cloth slippers that Alex was amazed had survived as long as they had. They looked like they were as old as his glasses, and their once-white fluffiness was now a matted and almost leather-looking gray.

  Behind him books and dirty clothes covered every available horizontal surface.

  “Hi, Jim,” she said as he smiled down at her, a cigarette clutched between his fingers, curling smoke into the hallway.

  “Hiya, Alex. What can I do you for?”

  “I’m going away for a bit, and was wondering if you could water my fern and just sort of keep an eye on the place?”

  “No problemo.”

  He’d watched her place in the past when she’d been on other research trips, and he was always reliable. Now that Brad was gone, she liked the thought of someone peeking in now and again. It wasn’t the best neighborhood in the world.

  “How long you going for this time?”

  She smiled sheepishly. “Could be a few months.”

  “Wowsers.” He took a drag on his cigarette. “I don’t know how you do it. I’d go stark raving mad if I had to be in the great out-of-doors that long.”

  “Well, it helps that I like the great out-of-doors.”

  “It’d have to. Sheesh. No AC, crappin’ in a hole, poison ivy. Forget it.”

  She smiled. People like Jim were all too common, not understanding the allure of the wild, largely, she suspected, because they’d never been out in it.

  “But I’ll keep an eye on your place,” he told her.

  “I really appreciate it. You still have the key from last time?”

  “Yep.”

  “Thanks, Jim.” She walked back to her door, and he stuck his head out into the hallway. “What’s it this time? Birds or antelopes?”

  He was referring to a trip she’d taken to Arizona to study the Sonoran pronghorn. “Wolverines.”

  “Jesus! Wolverines! I saw a nature show on them on Animal Planet. Aren’t you worried they’ll tear your arms off?”

  She laughed. “I’m more worried I won’t see any.”

  He shook his head, taking another drag on his cigarette. “You’re one of a kind, Alex. One of a kind.”

  She smiled and waved. “See you, Jim.”

  He ducked back into his apartment and she heard all the locks engage.

  Back in her flat, she tried Brad another time, but once again, it went to voicemail after two rings. She sent him a text to call her when he could, then arranged for a cab.

  Ten minutes later, she was headed up 1A, on her way to Logan International Airport and a new adventure. The words of John Muir floated into her mind: The mountains are calling and I must go.

  Three

  Alex pulled the rental car out of the lot, heading away from the Missoula airport. She’d barely slept on the plane, nodding off for only half an hour. Despite the lulling hum of the engine and the quiet of the other passengers, Alex kept mulling things over in her head, partly excited and partly worried about what she’d just committed to. During a layover in Denver, she’d downloaded the latest wolverine research. On the second leg of her flight, she’d pored over it.

  As she drove, she reflected on what she’d read. The largest member of the weasel family, wolverines sported muscular bodies covered with long brown and gold fur and had surprisingly long, lanky legs. These powerful legs could chew up miles in rugged terrain, and wolverines had a reputation for always being on the move, roving their territory on the constant lookout for food sources. With a powerful bite and strong claws, they could make a meal of the toughest of carcasses, crunching down even the bones.

  Wolverines in southern Canada and the Lower 48 required cold areas where the average summer temperature didn’t exceed seventy degrees Fahrenheit. For raising their young, they also needed deep snowpack, as dens were often dug down ten feet into the snow. This meant that mountain regions were ideal for wolverines in the Lower 48. It also meant that there was no continuous population of wolverines between southern Canada and mountain ranges in the United States. Instead, wolverines comprised what biologists called a metapopulation, a collection of separated groups that needed individuals to disperse from one group to another in order to ensure the genetic health of the species. But as this terrain had become more and more fragmented due to roads, housing projects, oil and gas development, and loss of snowpack as the planet warmed, the wolverines’ ability to move between groups had been seriously compromised. Add to that the fact that wolverines often fell victim to leg-hold traps,
some meant for them and some meant for bobcats and coyotes, and their numbers were dwindling.

  Alex merged into traffic and sighed. She didn’t want the wolverine to go the way of species like the sea mink, but oftentimes a feeling of hopelessness crept over her when she studied endangered animals. Like the wolverine, the sea mink had been a large member of the weasel family. It had once frolicked along the northeastern coast of North America, from Maine all the way up to New Brunswick. Sporting lush, reddish brown fur, it had been hunted to extinction in the late 1800s and early 1900s. This had almost happened to the wolverine, and for a time they had vanished from the Lower 48.

  Now she programmed the nearest coffeehouse into the rental car’s GPS unit and drove, taking in the sights of Missoula, the steep forested mountains and the charming university town.

  After a visit to the café and armed with black tea, she typed in a new location on the unit, steering herself to the rental car drop-off nearest the wildlife preserve. She drove north, past stunningly blue Flathead Lake with its frame of snowcapped peaks, before stopping for another cup of tea. Two hours into her drive, she checked her phone. Nothing from Brad.

  She continued her trek to the northwest, entering steeper mountainous terrain, going almost up to the Canadian border. After miles of not seeing a single small town or even another car, she pulled into her destination, a small gas station that doubled as a U-Haul and car rental facility.

  She dropped the car off with the bored clerk, checking her phone again. Amazingly she had service, even way out here in this rural place. Nothing from Brad. She still had twenty minutes before her local contact was due to pick her up.

  She browsed the magazine section of the little store, picking up magazines but not really reading them. Her mind was a tangle of thoughts, and the sick feeling in the pit of her stomach had grown bigger. She missed Brad. And she’d just taken off. But it wasn’t like he was talking to her right now, anyway.

  Finally she went outside, lugging her backpack with her. She pulled out her phone and called her dad, who picked up on the second ring.

  “Puddin’!”

  “Dad! Guess where I am!”

  “Boston?”

  “Nope.”

  “In a forgotten temple in the jungles of Central America?”

  “Nope.”

  “You finally found a closet that leads to Narnia?”

  “If only.”

  “I give up, then.”

  “Montana. I got a gig studying wolverines. I’ll be here through the winter.”

  “Montana! Now that’s a bit of all right,” he said. “You must be in hog heaven.”

  She laughed. “I am. Right now I’m waiting at a gas station for a local to pick me up. She’s not here yet.” She hesitated, thinking of the shooting. Her heart hammered. She could still feel the cold press of mud as she and Christine lay flat on the ground, hidden in the trees. “Something happened before I left.”

  His tone was instantly worried. “What?”

  “There was a shooting at this dedication ceremony I spoke at.”

  “What?” His voice was incredulous. “Are you all right?”

  She was quick to reassure him. “I am, Dad. Absolutely. Just a little shaken. A reporter was shot, though. I’m still waiting to see if she’ll be all right.”

  “That’s terrifying.”

  “It was.” Her hands started shaking on the phone. Just hearing his kind voice, she almost broke into tears. But she couldn’t do that. Not when her ride was about to show up. She had to be professional.

  “Did they catch the guy?”

  “They did. Well, one of them, anyway.”

  “There was more than one?” His voice grew even more alarmed.

  “A second person shot the gunman. But that person got away.”

  “What a nightmare. I’m so glad you’re all right.”

  She wanted to change the subject, assure him she was okay. “And now I’m in Montana!” she said, forcing her tone to be lighter.

  He was silent for a moment, then said, “And I’m really glad you are. Listen, honey, I’ve been worried about you in Boston. I didn’t think it was the right move for you in the first place, but I know that you loved Brad. But now that you’ve broken up, well . . . the wild places are where you belong.”

  She swallowed, the painful lump growing in her throat. “Thanks, Dad.” She could always count on her dad to be encouraging and supportive. Zoe was probably going to think she was crazy for coming out here, and she knew Brad would definitely disapprove.

  Her dad chuckled. “Your mother always said you’d end up in the Rockies. No matter where we lived, you always talked about living on that base in Colorado Springs.”

  The mountains are calling and I must go.

  Alex had grown up on a series of military bases around the world. Her mother had been a fighter pilot in the Air Force, and they’d moved every few years. Her parents could not have been more different. Her father was quiet, patient, affectionate, and creative, and earned his living as a landscape painter. Her mother was stern, a disciplinarian, and found showing affection difficult. But she had a creative side, too; she enjoyed tinkering at the piano and could be surprisingly playful at times. And they loved each other fiercely.

  Alex had enjoyed a few other bases besides the one in the Rockies, including one in Arkansas. There she’d loved the caves and limestone bluffs, the myriad colors of spring with purple redbud, violets, and white dogwood, but all the time her heart soared at the thought of the western mountains.

  Her mother had been killed while on a mission when Alex was only twelve, a devastating blow to her and her father. The mission had been secret, and to this day, neither Alex nor her dad knew exactly what had happened, only that her plane had gone down. Her destroyed body had been returned and they’d buried her, leaving the military base for civilian life. Her dad bought a comfortable little house in a suburban neighborhood in upstate New York, with big swaying trees, thunderstorms, and cicadas and crickets singing in the summer nights.

  At eighteen, Alex decided to move to California to attend college, and a few years later, when she opted to stay there for graduate school, her dad came west, too. Alex was overjoyed to have him there. He bought a lovely 1906 Craftsman house on a tree-lined street in Berkeley.

  “Can I come visit when I’m done here?” she asked now.

  “I’d love that.”

  “Thanks, Dad. I love you.”

  “Love you, Alex. Keep me posted.”

  “I will.”

  After they hung up, a warm feeling suffused her. She was truly blessed to have such great people in her life. She didn’t have a lot of friends, but the ones she did have, especially Zoe and her father, were hers for life.

  Alex breathed in the mountain air, gazing around at the surrounding peaks. Though it was mid-September, still considered summer in most of the country, up here it felt well into fall. Larch trees glowed golden yellow on mountain slopes around her, and the orange and red leaves of quaking aspen whispered in the trees around her. The air smelled crisp with the faint hint of rotting leaves, and she knew that the first real snow of the season wouldn’t be far off.

  Half an hour later, a beat-up truck pulled in to get some gas. A woman likely in her early fifties got out, long blond hair flowing in the wind. A few strands were braided and dyed purple, with small metal beads decorating them. She wore a brightly colored scarf, a purple knit sweater that hung almost to her knees, faded jeans with holes, and purple high-tops.

  The woman filled up her car with gas, looking tentatively at Alex as she did. When she finished, she walked over to Alex. “You’re the biologist, right?”

  Alex smiled and held out her hand. “Yes, I’m Alex.”

  “Jolene Baker.” The woman’s grip was tight, and she surprised Alex by pulling her into a hug. “We’re going to be neighbors!” Jolene laughed, brown eyes twinkling in a freckled, fawn-colored face. “Well, if you can call fifteen miles away by car nei
ghbors. And out here, you can. This your only bag?” she asked, pointing to the blue backpack leaning against Alex’s leg.

  “Yep.”

  “Man. I envy you. I’d have to pack five suitcases full of stuff. Books, my crystals, my jewelry-making stuff. I drive Jerry crazy. He’s my husband. But what can I say? I’m a pack rat.”

  Alex hefted her backpack onto one shoulder.

  “Wait’ll you see the old resort. Been shut down for years, and it’s pretty grim. You’re going to be bunking with the wood rats, that’s for sure!”

  Alex grimaced. “You make it sound so homey.”

  Jolene turned toward her truck. “You’re right. I shouldn’t say such things. Think positive. That’s what Jerry is always telling me. I’m sure you’ll have a great time. The wildlife people cleaned out the kitchen and a couple of the bedrooms, and the roof only leaks in a few places.” She gestured at Alex’s pack as they reached the truck. “You got a tent in there?”

  “Yeah, a small backcountry one.”

  “Good. That’s good. I go sometimes just to check on the place. Be sure there aren’t any squatters up there. But still, due to the pure creep factor of the old place, you might want to sleep outside in your tent. At least until the snows come.”

  Alex hefted her pack into the bed of the woman’s truck. “Creep factor?” The sick feeling in her stomach grew. What was she getting herself into?

  Jolene nodded. “Seriously creepy up there.”

  They drove to the preserve, passing ranches in deep valleys, cattle meandering amid miles of sagebrush. For the entire drive, Jolene didn’t pause once in talking to Alex. By the time they’d covered the sixty miles to the old resort, she practically knew Jolene’s life story. She’d grown up on the East Coast, then left home when she was sixteen. Traveled around with various bands as a singer and mandolin player. Met her husband, Jerry, at a music festival in her twenties, and they’d been together ever since. Now she made jewelry and knitted scarves and hats and sold them online. She volunteered at a wildlife rescue and rehabilitation place that took in deer, coyotes, bears, cougars, songbirds, and more.