by Terra Wolf
Deacon chuckled. They sat together for a long while, chatting about life. Deacon confessed his relationship troubles, and Bennett his lack thereof. They devoured their breakfasts, Deacon finishing off what Bennett couldn’t put away, just as Maynard Talbot rose from his booth and turned for the door. Deacon watched as the man struggled to straighten by the booth. He was having trouble; trouble Maynard didn’t have in Deacon’s living room. Deacon came close to hopping up and attending the old man. Yet, Maynard caught himself, shuffling silently toward the door. Deacon watched him, intently, catching sight of a dark patch that had appeared on the old man’s jeans.
Bennett beamed up at Gracie as she came over to the table. Bennett offered up his credit card to pay for their breakfast.
She shot him a sarcastic stare. “Put that away, fool. Your money’s no good here.”
Bennett’s eyebrows shot up, and he glanced between her and Deacon.
“Breakfast’s on me,” she said, and with an almost surreptitious gesture, scratched Bennett’s shoulder as she walked away from the table.
Bennett watched her go, his pheromones kicking up around him like a cloud of fog.
He wasn’t the only one giving them off, Deacon noticed.
Deacon and Bennett said goodbye in the parking lot, Bennett heading off to work as Deacon stood outside, fighting to still his racing thoughts. He’d begged Bennett to have breakfast as much for distraction as for a chance to catch up. Being alone was misery. Being alone meant stewing in his own pathetic juices, feeling sorry for himself and constantly debating over whether to text Carissa yet again or not. Now he stood in the parking lot of the Blackrock Inn and Tavern with nothing to do but wallow. He could call Lara back. That would be distraction, wouldn’t it?
A beat up sedan kicked up gravel at the edge of the parking lot, its wheels stalling and starting as pressure on the gas wavered. Deacon caught sight of the driver, and hopped into his SUV to follow Maynard Talbot home.
The man’s driving was erratic, veering a bit too close to the shoulder as he rounded corners. Deacon followed at a distance, keeping his phone close by in case the man’s driving became too troubling, and Deacon needed to call the police. He was sure Maynard wasn’t drunk, but he was certainly not at his best. They rolled over the boundary of the Passamaquoddy Reservation, heading past the first few trailers toward the center of the rez. Maynard turned down his own road, heading toward the water. Deacon rolled into the center of the rez and slowed down. He remembered the way from there. He didn’t want Maynard to realize he was being followed.
Deacon rolled up outside the cottage just in time to see Maynard stumble and fall on his front steps, crying out softly as his gray hair fell over his face. Deacon lunged out of his car, hauling ass across the front yard just as the door to the cottage opened.
“Papa, damn it!”
Deacon stopped dead as Maggie Light Foot appeared in the doorway. They caught each other’s eye, her reaction betraying a similar discord at the sight of him.
She didn’t acknowledge him with word, swooping down to her father as he grumbled on the cold ground. “You stubborn ass. You told me you wouldn’t go out!”
Maynard fumed on the ground there, swatting at her to get off him. Deacon couldn’t understand a word he said; the older man was cursing in another language. Deacon settled a hand under the man’s arm as Maggie took hold of the other. Even as the man hollered at them both, they lifted him to his feet. Maynard ripped his arms free of both of them, almost throwing himself off balance again. Then, with several more words muttered in some native tongue, he limped up the front steps and flung open his door, disappearing into the house.
“What the hell are you doing here?” Maggie asked as soon as the door slammed behind her father.
The tone wasn’t angry or accusatory. She seemed honestly curious. Deacon shrugged. What the hell was he doing there? “I saw your dad down at the tavern. He didn’t look so good.”
“You don’t say?”
Maggie marched up the steps and into the house. Despite not being invited, Deacon followed. His paramedic training was beginning to kick in and overtake his well enforced manners.
“Did I invite you in?” Maggie asked, just as Maynard began to point at Deacon, waving and gesturing at him in angry dismissal.
Deacon stood his ground.
“Papa! Stop it! You shouldn’t have gone out! You’re not well enough.”
Maynard continued fuming, muttering in that strange staccato of another language. Despite her feigned offense at Deacon’s appearance, she shot him an apologetic glance. She crossed to her father who was fighting with the recliner to lift his feet. Deacon caught sight of the dark patch on the man’s leg – blood was seeping through his jeans.
Deacon moved forward without invitation.
“What are you doing?” Maggie asked as Maynard roared at him. Deacon squat down in front of Maynard, quickly assessing the old man. His leg was seeping, his gait had an obvious limp that morning, and from his trouble with the recliner, his arm was injured as well.
“Look, I just want to help.”
Maynard glared at him and set off on a slew of angry words. Deacon glanced at Maggie for translation.
She offered him a similar glare, but after a moment, sighed. “He says, ‘it’s just like the white man to think he can come onto tribal lands and fix everything. Hubris. Go to hell.’”
“That’s what he said?” Deacon asked.
She shrugged. “No. It wasn’t ‘go to hell.’ It was something worse.”
Deacon exhaled out his nose in a half laugh and turned back to Maynard. “I’m a paramedic.”
“Yeah, that won’t do you any good. He refused the ambulance when they were here last time. Says he’s not going anywhere.”
Deacon stopped, turning to face Maggie. “Will he let me look at least? I can stitch him up best I can?”
Maggie’s brow furrowed. “Why? Why do you care?”
Deacon paused. He wasn’t sure of the answer. “Tell him I have my first aid kit in the car. I can at least bandage him up so he doesn’t bleed through his clothes like this.”
Both Maynard and Maggie turned their attention to his wounded leg, Maggie gasping as Maynard’s face went pale. It was clear Maynard understood English, even if he refused to speak it. It was also clear that Maggie hadn’t realized how severe her father’s injuries were. Maggie spoke in a hushed voice, her father’s glower softening only slightly as he nodded, offering up no more than half a grunt of agreement. Deacon was pulling the First Aid Kit from his car a moment later.
Despite Maynard’s initial protests, Maynard begrudgingly let Deacon look at his leg. Deacon was glad he did.
Maynard was a bear, his wounds would heal swiftly. Knowing this, Deacon flinched at the sight of the massive gash in Maynard’s thigh.
“Mr. Talbot, this needs sutures,” he said, meeting Maynard’s gaze as he spoke. Whether Maynard Talbot would speak English or not, Deacon was sure he understood it. Maynard frowned, ready to protest.
“I can do them here, if you really don’t want to go to the doctor. I shouldn’t, but I can,” Deacon said.
The gash was across the inner thigh, and Maynard’s attempts to bandage it himself had resulted in soiled and folded over strips of gauze getting caught and dried against the wound, pulling it open more than keeping it shut. The flesh was torn and jagged there. Deacon recognized the pattern – teeth marks. Maynard Talbot had been mauled by something big.
“Are these the result of a Kalmud?” Deacon asked, letting his voice rise so Maggie could hear him from the next room. She appeared in the doorway just as Maynard snatched the pillow from his seat, covering his bare legs and his wound as quickly as he could. She caught sight of it nonetheless.
“Oh, Papa. Why didn’t you tell me?”
“These are definitely teeth marks. Were you a bear when this happened?”
Maynard shot him an angry glare, wordlessly hollering at him to shut his meddling mouth
.
Deacon shrugged. Wordlessly say all you like, old man. I’m telling Maggie everything, he thought.
Deacon paused, glancing up at Maggie’s tan face.
“There hasn’t been a Kalmud, no. Papa, who did this?”
Deacon turned his eyes back to Maynard’s leg, pulling alcohol wipes from his kit. Maggie and her father conversed there as Deacon prepped to suture the old man’s leg, unable to understand their words. Still, despite the unfamiliar language, their tone was clear. Maggie was not happy with her father.
“No, he wasn’t a bear. God damn it,” Maggie said, and disappeared out of the small room. They could hear her rattling around the kitchen, slamming cupboard doors as though for the sheer fun of it, rather than in search of something. When she returned a moment later, she handed Maynard a small glass of what looked like whisky, then she headed for the front door.
Maynard shifted in his seat, calling after her with fierce words.
“I don’t care. I need some fresh air, damn it! I’m going outside.”
Then, she was gone out the front door, leaving Deacon to suture the man’s torn leg in silence.
Maynard did not protest again as Deacon checked him over. His shoulder was badly bruised, and there was another small gash on his scalp, but that had already begun to heal. Maynard gave Deacon a curt nod when the examination was over, and the old man turned his attention to the television. Deacon packed up his kit and headed out onto the porch.
Maggie was sitting on the steps there. She’d been lounging around the house that morning in a tank top and sweatpants, and her arms were now bared to the cold air. Deacon thought to give her his jacket, but thought better of it. He could only imagine the look she’d give him at such an offer.
“Well, I sewed him up best I could, and I left him a few packs of bandages so he – or you, maybe – could replace it if need be. I told him not to do too much walking around. Placement of the wound makes it easy to reop -”
“Thank you,” she said, almost dismissively.
Deacon took a deep breath and turned for his car.
“Why’d you come out here?”
He stopped, his kit banging against his leg as he turned to face her. He opened his mouth to speak, but stopped. Why did he come out here?
“I saw your dad down at the tavern. He looked to be in rough shape so -”
“So you followed him all the way home to check on him?”
Deacon swallowed. “Yeah? You sound surprised.”
“I am.”
“Well, clearly you’ve forgotten one very important detail of my character.”
She raised her eyebrows. “And that is?”
Deacon pointed at himself. “Serial killer. Remember?”
Her stern expression cracked and Maggie laughed, turning her face away from him as she did. Deacon tossed the First Aid Kit back into his SUV, then returned to the steps. He knew well after a lifetime of living on the boundary of the reservation that the Talbots kept to themselves. Still, he plopped down on the stairs beside Maggie Light Foot and settled his chin in his hands.
She shot him a sarcastic look, but her expression had softened. For the first time, Deacon noticed a redness to the woman’s eyes – the kind of pink hue that comes from crying. Maggie’s black hair was braided down her back, her black tank top clinging to her figure. She wasn’t a slight girl, she was solid and tall, her arms and shoulders betraying strength. Her tank top did a nice job of betraying a large chest as well, and the black fabric clung to the subtle rolls of her belly as she sat there, hunched over, frowning as she stared out at the gray sky.
“You just gonna sit here all day, then?” She asked after several moments in silence.
Deacon shrugged. “Don’t have much else to do.”
She snorted, and they both went quiet again. It felt strange to Deacon. Despite the cold reception, he felt strangely comfortable there beside her, as though she welcomed him, even as her demeanor professed otherwise.
“Is it really bad?” She asked finally, her eyes still trained on the horizon.
“It’s sewn up now. I told him to stay pretty sedentary until it closes up. Can’t even imagine what it looked like a couple days ago.”
She flinched at this thought, pressing her forehead into her hand.
“You alright?” Deacon asked, touching his hand to her shoulder. Her skin was warm, the color a golden brown against his own pale skin.
She shot him a strange glare, as though confused by his curiosity, but again her expression softened. She glanced back at the door, checking for company. Then she stared at him again, as though coming to some decision. “We’re not great, no.”
“Is there anything I can do to help?”
She glared at him.
“Sorry. Sorry. White man trying to swoop in and save the day again.”
She laughed. “Apparently. No, there’s nothing that can be done. I just wish they’d settled their business with me, not my father.”
Deacon glanced back at the house. “Who? Is someone giving you trouble?”
She nodded, giving a sarcastic smirk. “You bet.”
“Who?”
“The Talbots.”
Deacon chuckled, but her expression betrayed no humor. “What’d you do now?”
“I refused to marry you.”
He feigned shock and betrayal, splaying his fingers and pressing them to his chest. “Why, I do declare. Why on earth?”
She laughed again, turning away. “Guess I just wasn’t marriage material.”
Deacon’s brow furrowed. The words, ‘I disagree’ almost flew out of his mouth, but he caught himself. Such a thing might be taken the wrong way, he thought.
“And why is that?”
She shot him a half smile, as though sizing him up somehow. “Because -” she paused, glancing from him to the skyline. Then she shrugged. “Because I’m not as advertised. Not quite Talbot material.”
She stared at Deacon, and after a moment, seemed to read the confusion on his face. Maggie shot a glance back at the door again, then crinkled her nose. “I’m not actually a Talbot. I’m a Porter.”
“Ok?”
“I was born out in Neah Bay – out in Washington State. My parents fell victim to that unfortunate side effect of low income communities with fuck all to do.”
“Drugs or booze?”
She gave a sad smile. “Both. I was two when child services stepped in and took me from my parents. And you know bears. The Fenns know the Talbots, the Talbots know the Porters out west and the Holdens up north – we all keep abreast of each other, you know?”
Deacon nodded.
“Yeah, well. Chief White Eagle wasn’t gonna let a potential breeding female be lost to the system, so strings were pulled, and I was adopted by my mum and dad out here.”
“God, when you said that, it made my skin crawl.”
“Said what?”
Deacon shuddered. “Breeding female.”
Maggie smiled. “It’s what they see me as.”
“Jesus, I wonder if that’s how Gramps refers to my cousin, Gracie.”
She shrugged. “If he’s a bear, probably.”
They sat in silence a moment, the gray clouds breaking to betray blue sky beyond. He found himself searching for something to continue this conversation. He liked hearing her speak. “So, what made you spurn me? Leaving me all heartbroken and unmarried.”
Maggie smiled, her eyes glistening with a hint of whatever tears she shed before he arrived. She took a deep breath, fidgeting with a hole in the knee of her sweatpants. “Can you keep a secret?” She asked.
For some strange reason, his heart began to race. “Of course.”
She shot him a skeptical look. He nodded, gesturing for her to continue.
“Do you Fenns have a First Hunt ceremony kind of thing? When you get old enough, I mean.”
Deacon shrugged. “Yeah, I’d say so.”
“Well, I got to the right age for mum and dad to take me out for
the hunt, and -” she paused, her brow furrowing. “I can’t believe I’m telling you this.”
“I swear, your secret is safe with me, darling,” Deacon said, reaching over to squeeze her knee. They both froze in the wake of the gesture, Deacon pulling his hand away as though her sweatpants were on fire.
Wow, Deac. Nice one. Ass hat.
Maggie shook her head. “Well, that was it. That night I became the biggest disappointment in Talbot history.”
“What? Why?”
She gave a sad smile. “Because unlike my parents, I can’t turn into a bear.”
Deacon’s mouth fell open. “You’re not a shifter?”
She shrugged. “They assumed I was because they thought my biological mother was a Porter. She wasn’t. My birth dad was.”
Deacon watched her there, the breeze flitting strands of black hair at her temples. “Holy shit.”
“My parents here kept it a secret for years. That’s why I wasn’t with Candyce the night she died.”
Deacon stopped a moment. She spoke as though he should know these names, but he was lost. “Candyce?”
Maggie nodded. “My sister. She and my cousin, Beth, were the girls that disappeared a few years ago.”
Deacon stopped dead. He knew the stories that spread when the girls disappeared – tales of hermits and other nonsense. In the end, though their bodies were never found, Bodie Calhoun was named their killer. He’d attended their funeral.
His stomach turned to think he hadn’t seen Maggie there.
“Beth and Candyce invited me to hunt with them the night they disappeared. Got all hurt when I refused them, but even Candy didn’t know about me. I couldn’t go because I couldn’t let her and Beth know I wasn’t a bear. I never saw them again.”
Deacon watched her face a moment, wanting to touch her, but thinking better of it. “All this time, your parents were the only ones who knew?”
She frowned. “Yeah. They were sure something bad would happen if Chief found out they’d adopted a norm. Richard gave a great deal to get me here when I was a baby. Finding out the tribe’s youngest breeding female wasn’t actually a breeding female might be unwelcome news. But then they sprung this wedding bull shit on my dad, and we had to do something, you know? I couldn’t very well lie to you, could I?”
