Wolves, Boys and Other Things That Might Kill Me (29 page)

Will’s says, “I hate to break it to you Dr. KJ, but hating wolves doesn’t mean I’m crazy.”

“I don’t think you’re crazy. I think you need help.”

“What kind of
help
? Someone to make my knee better? To do all my crappy chores? To get my parents off my back? Someone to get rid of all the people like you who make it impossible to make a living anymore? You got that kind of help, sign me up.”

Far away I hear thunder. I look up and cold rain drops hit my face. I’ve already waited too long to get off the water.

His voice is livid. “What did you come out here for?”

“I want you to turn yourself in.”

He laughs, but he looks at me with something besides total dismissal.

“If you turn yourself in for arson and the parade you might be able to plea it down to a misdemeanor. You could get a fine or probation. But you wouldn’t have to hide this for the rest of your life.”

“Turn myself in? After what you’ve done to
my
family?” he says, swinging his arms. The empty beer cans on his seat clatter to the floor of the boat. He stammers, “What the hell are you talking about?”

Between Will and the weather I’m scared out of my skin but I can’t quit now. I’ve got to make this stick. I say, “Will, I’m talking about a second chance. That’s what I came here to tell you. Even though this sounds awful, coming clean is a second chance.”

“Jail time? That’s your idea of a second chance?”

Our boats rock together, hitting each other in the gray water. “If I turn you in it’s all different. You’ll do five years just for the fire. And a lot more if they try to prove you knew my dad was inside, or claim the store as a residence. If you add that to Virgil getting hurt and the potential for harm in the parade, you’re talking about most of your life. But if you turn yourself in, you might not go to jail at all.”

Will folds his arms across his chest like he’s getting ready to spring. “How do you know that? You go to law school in your spare time?”

“No, but my dad did.” I don’t have to tell Will this probably wouldn’t hold up in court. I’ve learned that from my dad, too. It’s better to be lucky than good.

He takes out his oar and rows on one side to keep us close. “You would spread these lies about me just to stop me from protecting my family? After my parents took you in and treated you better than they treat their own? After they let you live in their house and eat their food. After you let wolves kill their cattle? You want to send
me
to jail?”

“No.” I row backward.

He rows toward me. “Like you say, accidents happen.”

Before I can get my oars in the water twice, he’s next to me. All his sloppiness is gone. He swings up with one of his oars and connects with my shoulder. I jump back to get away and fall out of my boat.

The water is so cold I can barely breathe. My head is spinning and I swallow enough water to sink a Boston whaler. When I come up for air, Will’s driving away in a spray of water, his boat hitting full speed on the deep waves. The
chug chug chug
of his boat smacking the wake fills my ears as I drag myself into my boat.

The rain is turning to sleet. My sweatshirt and jeans aren’t exactly keeping me warm anymore. What I need is a sleeping bag with Virgil in it. I look in the utility box and find an emergency blanket. It’ll have to do.

I can still hear the
chug chug chug
of Will’s boat. I grab my oars and try to get my bearings. The clouds are low but I’m sure of it. He’s heading straight for those logs I saw coming in. Almost as quickly as I think this I hear a cracking sound and the
chug chug chug
stops.

“Will?” I shout, but I’m too far away.

It’s not that it doesn’t cross my mind to go in the opposite direction. That’s the smart thing to do. For all I know, he’s fine. But I wouldn’t have come out here in the first place if I gave a hang about doing the smart thing.

I dig in my oars but it turns out that it’s hard to row very fast in white caps when you’re freezing to death and you’ve just been knocked out of your boat with an oar. On the other hand, I’m motivated.

Within a few minutes I am in the logs. The sleet is turning to heavy snow and a cloud has settled on the water but I see the outline of Will’s boat. “Will,” I call.

Nothing.

“Will, answer me!”

“Here,” he calls.

I row to his voice and find him hanging on the far side of his boat with one arm. He looks like a Halloween decoration.

“What are you doing?” I say.

“I got tossed . . . over the front.”

He nods his chin to the chunk of propeller floating between us. I see the front of his boat is taking on water. I row to his side “Can you get in here?”

“Arm’s busted.” His face is pale and his mouth is bleeding.

“Use your other arm.”

He looks up at me like he’s not sure where my voice is coming from and then stares off into space. Maybe something besides his boat is cracked.

I lean out of the boat and put my arms underneath his. “On three.”

He doesn’t move.

“Stop trying to be a hero,” he says. “You hate me.”

“I don’t hate you. And you’re the hero, right? Let’s see what you got, Sure Shot.”

I pull at him but I’m at a bad angle. “Come on, Will!” I yell.

“Won’t work,” he says.

Holy smack, I’m sick of pessimistic men.

“Don’t be such a pansy, Will. Drop down in the water and spin around. Put your good hand on my boat and I’ll pull you in.”

“You’ll never be able to get us both back in this storm. You’re already blue.”

Part of me, the cold, scared, chicken part of me, hears what he’s saying. But I’m not taking orders from my inner chicken anymore. I reach over and pull hard at Will’s waist, ripping him from his boat and dropping him into the icy water between us.

Now he’s in the water there’s no more discussion. He reaches his good arm over the side of my boat, nearly tipping us. I lean out and grab the back of his pants. “On three.”

Will growls in pain. I yell. “One. Two. Three.”

Will pulls and I yank. It doesn’t work.

“Come on, Sure Shot. Let’s go.”

I lean out farther and count again. Will lets out another pain-filled grunt and together we yank him onto the lip of the boat. The boat starts to flip. I throw myself back to stabilize and feel myself falling backward. All the way backward.

My second trip into the water is paralyzing. I’m too mad to even swear at myself.

I swim and reach up for the rim of my boat but I’m spent. I hang for a second and try to pull myself in when I feel Will’s hand on mine. He doesn’t say anything, but his hand is steady. I pull up again. We rock badly but somehow with his help I roll into the boat.

Will falls back to the bench and slumps into a heap. I know the beer in Will’s system means he’s even worse off than I am. I find the emergency blanket and wrap it around both of us. His eyes are half open but he doesn’t look at me. “Will? Will, you got me in,” I say, hugging him. We’re both shaking.

He looks like a ghost. He says, “I didn’t mean for the store to catch on fire.”

“I know. Did you hit your head?”

I prop him between the life jackets and tuck the emergency blanket over him. Not first aid by the book, but there isn’t anything as important as getting us off the water.

I grab my oars. I tell myself I’m going to warm up once I get going. I try to lock my hands around the oars but they don’t bend right.

“I can do this,” I say through banging teeth.

Will doesn’t look up.

I want to climb under the blanket with him and go to sleep. I want my teeth to stop chattering out of my head. I want to stop shaking. I look around. All I can see is snow. I can’t just row anywhere. I have to find the dock, or someplace else that we can get into shelter fast. At least the wind has slowed down.

What if I can’t do this? I have never done anything this hard. I’ve failed at hard things all my life. We could die. It happens all the time up here. What if we die because I can’t do this?

I see my dad holding that horrid shirt, saying, “A pattern is only a pattern if you follow it.” Change the pattern.

I concentrate on the shape of the lake and where I need to go. I tell myself it’s like walking in my house at night. The May snow falls in wet lumps from the sky. I close my eyes, lock my hands to the oars, and start rowing.

After about a minute the oars burn the cuts in my hands. I get out the first aid kit and try to wrap them. I’m too cold to pinch the tape.

The rest of me is stiffening, too. My arms and shoulders are locked up. My neck is a giant charley horse. I know what’s happening to me. I pull off my four-hundred-pound ice block sweatshirt. My skin is corpse color and I’m falling out of an old training bra that looks like two wet Kleenexes. It’s so like me to die in bad underwear.

I’m shaking so much it’s hard to stay on the bench. I grab the oars to steady myself and I start rowing. I concentrate on the movement of my arms and legs. The only sound is of my breathing, the oars slapping, and the water hitting the side of the boat.

After a few minutes more I look around. My breath is shortening. I’m shaking like I’m in an earthquake. I’m running out of time. I try to see anything that would tell me where I am but all I see is a cloud of snow. I’m lost. My hands are useless. I might as well be rowing with my elbows. I’ve never been in this much pain, not even close.

Will’s head is tipped forward and covered with snow.

“Will?” I say. “You hanging in there?”

No response.

I can’t do this.

I imagine my dad yelling,
Stop rowing like a girl.

I yell to the snow, “I am a girl!” I give my hands a good shake and keep rowing.

I think about sitting around the campfire at Kenner’s place. Virgil’s next to me. Dennis is explaining that stars can be dead by the time we see them. Kenner’s making fun of Dennis to Addie. Sondra’s feeding a chipmunk her dinner. Everyone is warm.

I can’t remember how to make the oars work together. My arms are shaking too hard. The oar handles are red. Should’ve brought the gloves. Should’ve brought a whole lot more than gloves. I keep rowing.

I want to quit. I want to lie down. I want to disappear. I put my oars together. My eyes close.

I see my bedroom. I see Dad drinking an elk shake. I see Virgil smiling. Then I think I
hear
Virgil. “KJ!”

I open my eyes. I’m dreaming. Am I dreaming?

“KJ!”

He must be within a quarter mile. I call back, “Out here!”

“Row to my voice!”

He didn’t leave. He’s here. “Keep yelling!”

“Come on, Wolf Girl. You’re nearly in.”

I put my back to his voice and close my eyes again, but this time I row with everything.

“You comin’?” he yells.

“Yep. I’ve got Will.”

“Of course you do.”

“His arm’s busted.”

“Keep rowing!”

I keep rowing.

“Keep coming!”

I keep coming.

“Almost there.”

I look behind me and I see the dock. I see Virgil jogging along the pier. He’s waving his gorgeous arms. I keep rowing. I row to the nearest slip and crawl out of the boat. I drag my rope and tie up. Will’s still not moving. He’d better just be passed out. He was hard to row in. “Will, we made it.”

The snow is quiet. All I see is the boat and the cloud and the pier.

I sit down on the dock and look around. No one.

“Virgil?”

I’m not shaking anymore.

“Virgil?”

Everything stops hurting.

I go to sleep.

GOING TO HEAVEN

I KNOW I’M dead and in heaven because I am in my father’s truck, sitting in the backseat next to Virgil. He has both his arms wrapped around my shoulders but he’s not looking at me. I am rolled in a fluffy blanket. My dad is driving, with Eloise riding next to him. We are heading through the trees toward town. Dad’s lights are shining on the road. The old men trees are watching over me. I close my eyes. Dying is perfect.

 

When I wake up again I am not dead, or perfect. I am alive and in pain in places I never knew existed. I’m wearing mittens so heavy I can’t pick up my hands. The faces from my heaven are here though: Dad, Virgil, Eloise, Aunt Jean, Officer Smith, Mr. Muir, and my entire obnoxious journalism class. My heaven is crowded. But it’s warm. I go back to sleep.

 

The next time I wake up, Dad is standing over me, and he says, “You’ve milked this long enough.”

I sit up. I’m in my own bed but I’m wearing somebody else’s blue silk nightgown. My mittens are actually giant gauze bandages. My head is sweaty. The crowd’s gone, but Virgil is in the corner with his head against the wall, asleep. I look at Dad. “Whose clothes are these?”

Dad takes my hand, which hurts. “Eloise thought you needed some new things.”

Virgil startles awake. He looks at me and jumps out of his chair. “Hey! Oh, hey, you’re back.” Virgil’s smile glides over his face. His eyes are swollen and bloodshot, but his smile is all sunshine. As quick as that, I’m warm.

Dad lets go of my hand. I fumble it back. I say, “Did you come get me?”

Dad cracks a smile, too. “Virgil and I showed up first. Will’s family came right after. And then Officer Smith and Eloise.”

“I remember being in the truck. Kind of. How did you find me?”

Dad says, “I’m a guide, remember?”

Virgil says, “Kenner called him.”

Eloise waltzes in. “Look who’s awake. How’s our little hero?”

My mind wakes up a little more. “Where’s Will?”

“They had to Life Flight him to Idaho Falls,” Dad says.

“Is he okay?”

“He alive,” Dad says. “But he’s in bad shape. Inside and out.”