Coyote Blues

by Karen F. Williams

  “Stop!” Fiona yelled. “Don’t lie to—”

  Jim raised his hand to her, and Fiona quieted. She felt ashamed for tolerating the abuse, ashamed that Edy had to grow up in an unhappy home. People were always quick to judge, and Fiona knew many would see her as weak, but it took every drop of strength she had to tolerate Jim and keep the peace in order to make sure she and her daughter stayed alive. Once Edy went off to college and was out of the house, she didn’t care what happened to herself.

  Jim glared at her. “I’m saying it because she needs to know that if she opens her mouth one more time, she’ll have to pack her bags and go live with strangers.” He looked at Edy. “They’ll put you in a group home with other kids that’ll beat you up, or maybe they’ll hand you over to a foster family who’ll get money to take care of you. Is that what you want—to go live with strangers and never see your mom again?”

  “No, Daddy.” Edy kept her head bowed, sobbing so hard she could barely catch her breath.

  Jim began pacing again, digging his fingers through his hair so hard it seemed he was about to rake off his scalp. “We were having a good evening, weren’t we? We were about to watch a movie and have ice cream cones. Didn’t Daddy bring home ice cream?”

  “Uh-huh,” Edy said in between gasps of air.

  “Would a bad father do that?”

  Edy lowered her head and shook it.

  “Of course not. Only a good dad would do that.” He came up in front of her and lifted her chin. “Look at me when I speak to you. I’m a good dad, right?”

  Edy nodded vigorously.

  “And that’s what you’re going to tell that man when he comes back. And anyone else who asks you in school. Right?”

  “Right.”

  “Right, what?”

  Edy could barely breathe, let alone get the words out. “I’m go-going to te-tell them that I ha-have a goo-good dad,” she managed to say in between heaves.

  “A great dad.” He turned and kicked the coffee table. “I’m a fucking great dad!”

  “A grr-grr-great…da-dad.”

  “Don’t you forget it, you thankless little…”

  Fiona knew he was using every bit of self-restraint not to beat them both to a pulp. And it took restraint on her part not to kill him. She often entertained fantasies of taking his life while he slept. Not that she’d ever act on them. God knew what would happen to Edy if Fiona went to prison for life. She’d be raised by her grandparents, and her life would become a repeat of Fiona’s. She already knew that Edy, as much a tomboy as she had been, was probably gay, and when she eventually showed an interest in girls, they’d be praying the devil out of her and sending her for conversion therapy as fast as they’d sent Fiona.

  Hands on his hips, Jim stared up at the ceiling, took a few deep breaths, then turned back with a smile, as though nothing had happened. “Okay, so what about that ice cream and a movie? He zeroed in on Edy again, his eyes focusing like that of a mad man. “You want a cone?”

  Fiona knew that all Edy wanted to do was run into her bedroom and cry herself to sleep. But she was smarter than her father, wise beyond her years, and she knew to appease him.

  Edy wiped her eyes with the back of her hands. “Ye-ye-yes, please, Daddy.”

  Jim looked at Fiona, gritting his teeth behind that maniacal grin. “You want one?”

  “Not now, thanks.”

  “All right then, just me and my girl,” he said and went off to the kitchen. By the time he came back holding two cones, Fiona had her arm around Edy and was blotting her eyes with a tissue.

  “Don’t coddle her,” he said. “This is all her fault. I shouldn’t even be rewarding her with ice cream. But I will because I’m a—” He leaned into Edy and put his ear to her face. “What am I?”

  “A grr-great dad,” she said, struggling not to cry out loud. She took the cone he handed her and gave it a big lick as if demonstrating her appreciation, but her nose was running faster than she could sniffle, and just as the snot dripped from her lip to the ice cream, Fiona grabbed more tissues, held them to Edy’s nose, and made her blow.

  * * *

  The sound of the Nespresso machine sputtering shook Fiona back to the present. She poured in a drop of milk and sat down with her coffee. A door opened then, and she heard Dr. Spencer’s voice.

  “Is that Edy I hear talking to those kittens?” Dr. Spencer winked at Fiona, then looked over at Edy standing by the kittens’ cage.

  “Hi, Dr. Spencer!” Edy said.

  “Good afternoon, Edy! Would you like to bring in a kitten with you?”

  “Yes!” She looked back at her mother and then at Miriam, who smiled and opened the cage.

  “Which one?” Miriam asked.

  “The white one with gray spots. She’s my favorite.”

  “Ah. That’s Luna.”

  “You named her after the moon?”

  “Well, I didn’t name her, but, yes. After the moon. You’re very smart.”

  “Thank you.” Edy gently scooped the kitten into her arms, grinning at her mother, and followed Dr. Spencer to her office.

  Fiona liked Dr. Spencer. She had such a casual and cheerful way about her, and she looked so pretty and vibrant today in white slacks and a floral top that brought out her reddish hair and green eyes. Her warmth and easy manner had immediately put them both at ease during their intake session last week. God knew Edy needed to be in therapy. They both did. But Fiona knew Edy had learned her lesson and would protect her father in order to protect herself and her mother.

  Jim, who was expected home today, knew they had this appointment. He’d called Fiona this morning and again in the parking lot to grill her on what he’d instructed her to say. Just like the last time. As the story would go, Jim Barrett was a church-going family man and a wonderful father. But his job was stressful. He was a trucker who owned his own rig and spent a lot of time on the road. Naturally, he sometimes arrived home overtired after days of driving, and on the night in question, the two of them had gotten into an argument. Nothing big, just the normal kind of fighting all couples do from time to time. They had been standing in the kitchen, both yelling and flailing their arms, and just as Edy walked in, the back of his hand had accidentally clipped Fiona’s jaw.

  “Mrs. Barrett?” Miriam called to her. “You can go on in. Second door on the right.”

  “Thank you.” Fiona grabbed her bag and coffee, went down the hall, and knocked on the second door. Just as she did, she read the brass plaque, Riley E. Dawson, LCSW. Her heart stopped and the door opened.

  Standing there was a professional-looking woman with a welcoming smile—the same woman from the parking lot who’d strutted by wearing aviator sunglasses, a sharp-looking suit, and slurping the contents of a plastic cup like a big kid. But now she saw those twinkling whiskey-brown eyes that blended with her golden hair and tanned skin. Her mind whirled, calculated the time that had passed, adding twenty years to the face of the teenager she’d last seen the day they’d made love. The twinkle in those eyes vanished, replaced by a look of utter shock that must have mirrored Fiona’s own. Suddenly woozy, she held on to the door frame for support, feeling like she might pass out if she didn’t sit down.

  “Red?” she whispered. “Is it really you?”

  * * *

  Riley’s mouth dropped open, and she clutched the doorknob to steady herself.

  Red…no one else had ever called her by her initials. I think I’ll call you Red since you’re always traipsing around the woods like Little Red Riding Hood.

  Yes, it’s me, Riley wanted to say. Funny thing, though. As it turns out, I’m not Little Red Riding Hood. I’m the big bad wolf. “Fiona…Fiona Bell?” She’d always been of a fair complexion, but even so, the color drained from the woman’s face. Even those big blue eyes seemed to pale. No wonder the little girl in the parking lot had seemed so familiar. She had her mother’s eyes.

  “I think I need to sit,” Fiona said, her hands starting to shake so badly her
coffee was about to splash out of the cup.

  “Of course,” Riley said, trying to help by taking the cup from her, but she was losing her own equilibrium, and the cup nearly slipped from her fingers. She moved aside, gesturing to the couch, and Fiona went straight to it.

  Riley followed, setting the cup on a side table, then dragged her leather chair close to Fiona so that they sat face to face, their knees almost touching.

  They didn’t pretend, made no attempt at small talk like two people bumping into each other for the first time since high school. They just stared in open-mouthed silence, adjusting to the dizzying effects of seeing one another, until at the same time, she and Fiona both said, “I can’t believe it’s you.”

  They exchanged a sad smile. “I didn’t recognize you outside with sunglasses on. And you let your hair grow,” Riley said, remembering that thick and spiky crop of short hair.

  “And you cut yours off.” Fiona’s gaze shifted to something on the floor. “My turtle stool…you kept it all these years?” she said, her voice caught between wonder and shock.

  “I told you I wouldn’t trade it for anything in the world…except maybe the artist herself.”

  “I didn’t even assume you still thought of me.”

  “Always,” Riley said. “I always think of you.”

  Fiona’s bottom lip began to tremble. She hadn’t aged well. She was still beautiful with those big blue eyes, classic features, and black hair that was shoulder-length now, but her passion for life had abandoned her eyes. Time had dulled them, erased the sparkle, and she looked worn and tired. At thirty-seven she could have passed for forty-five.

  Riley leaned forward and took both of Fiona’s hands in her own. For twenty years she’d reached for them in her dreams, and the initial feel of touching them again was indescribable. The sensation was like being lost at sea, treading water, and then being tossed a life preserver from a passing boat. Taking hold of that ring, feeling it in her grip—that’s how clasping Fiona’s hands felt.

  They were silent for a moment, then again spoke at the same time. “I’ve missed you,” they both blurted, then snorted a laugh at that synchronous quality their minds had always shared. But their attempt at laughter sounded more like a lament.

  “What…” Riley shook her head in disbelief. “What are you doing here? I mean, I know why you’re here…I know there’s an open case on your daughter—Edy, is it?”

  “We call her Edy, but her name is Edith.”

  Riley wrinkled her nose. “Edith?”

  “After you.”

  “Me? You named her after me?” Stunned, Riley blinked a few times, felt herself choke up, and let go of Fiona’s hands. “Excuse me,” she said, reaching across for the box of Kleenex reserved for clients. She pulled out two, handed one to Fiona, and dabbed her eyes with the other. “Geez, Fiona…you’re making me fall apart here. I don’t know what to say, except…God, that’s an awful name.”

  They laughed again through their tears, sharing a moment of nostalgic regret for what had been and could never be. Riley wiped her eyes, tossed the wadded tissue into a wastebasket by the table, and took a deep breath. “So…where are you living that you came here?”

  “Well, I’ve basically been in Lenox my whole life. You know my parents are there…and the church. After your family sold the cabin, a few others went up for sale. My father bought and turned them into a summer Christian retreat. Edy’s father, Jim, and I lived in one. And then last year his Uncle Dennis over in Monterey went into a nursing home. He passed last winter and left the place to my husband…which was kind of unexpected, considering Jim ran away from home when he was young and hadn’t seen his uncle in years.”

  The word husband made Riley’s eye start to twitch. “Where in Monterey?”

  “Blueberry Hill Road, not far from the river.”

  “Not that old white farmhouse.”

  Fiona’s eyebrows shot up. “You know it?”

  “I do.” Riley knew every inch of land within five square miles of her house. Only a small area of state land separated Riley’s forty acres from the pastures of the homestead. It was part of her coyotes’ larger territory, and she’d covered every inch of it while running in fur with them. A creek bordered the land, and while they always stopped to drink, as all the wildlife did, they never crossed over to the old man’s property. The air there always reeked of dried blood, scotch, and the chickens whose stinky coops he neglected. Sometimes they could hear him singing from his porch, drunk as a skunk, strumming his guitar and bellowing out of tune. And then one day, maybe two years ago, the noise stopped, and the smells began to dissipate. As far as Riley knew, the place had been vacant for a while.

  “I’m in Monterey, too.”

  “Wow…when did you move back from the West Coast?”

  “I didn’t move back. I’ve been in the area since college. I attended Smith in Northampton.”

  “Smith? I studied art at Holyoke and—”

  “Holyoke?” The two sister colleges were little more than ten miles apart.

  “But I thought…” Fiona looked confused. “Your parents told me you were attending school in California.”

  “My parents? When did you speak to them?”

  “Several times. I know my mother told you never to call the house again, but I tried to phone you. Your mom always said you were out with friends, or busy playing sports. I sent you two letters after that…a birthday card the following May. When you didn’t respond, I called again in June. Your father said you’d left for college early…that you’d gone off to school in California.” Fiona plucked another tissue from the box. “You broke my heart, Riley. I mean, we were inseparable those summers…two peas in a pod…the only ones that ever ‘got each other,’ you know? We fell in love…made love, not to mention promises…and then you up and disappeared the next day.”

  Riley couldn’t reveal why she’d suddenly disappeared. “I didn’t get those letters. I never got your messages. And I’ve never been to California.”

  “I don’t understand. When I called a few years later, thinking you’d returned to New York after college, your mother answered and said you’d decided to stay on the West Coast. I asked for your number out there, but she said it was better if she took my number and had you call me. But you never did.”

  “My parents lied. They’re liars. I haven’t seen them since the day I left for college. And college was up here. I’ve lived in Massachusetts ever since.”

  It killed Riley to know she and Fiona had never been more than a short car ride from each other—that Fiona had tried to find her. Her heart pounded like a jackhammer, her insides roiling with sudden rage. Those people who called themselves her parents had not only abandoned her, but also made certain she was cut off from anyone associated with the Dawson family. Keep to yourself, stay away from people, or you’ll end up in a laboratory, her father had warned her. True, it was her lycanthropic affliction, not her parents, that had sealed her fate, but to keep Riley from her best friend and one true love—to send a sick and frightened and confused kid off into the world alone? Why couldn’t they at least let her have Fiona?

  Damn the both of them. She had a good mind to drive down to Manhattan right now and barge in on Amelia, turn into a werewolf, and put on a show just to scare the shit out of her. She had visions of pinning Michael down, slobbering all over him, then snapping her teeth in Amelia’s face and threatening to eat her alive. She wouldn’t, of course. Eventually she’d back off and leave, flipping them her finger, her paw—whatever—before storming out. Or maybe she’d snatch up their precious new baby, Riley’s replacement, and dance around the Fifth Avenue apartment with it, howling an aria from one of Amelia’s favorite operas. Puccini’s Tosca. Ha! That would horrify her. But then it dawned on Riley that twenty years had come and gone. Her replacement would be over eighteen now. The Dawsons themselves would be in their mid-sixties. A visit from their estranged shape-shifting daughter might give them heart attacks. Really, it
was too late to be angry. Too late for anything. All of it was, as Police Chief Paul Foster would say, “water under the bridge.”

  “Just so you know, I did think of driving over to see you, Fiona…at least a thousand times…but when I didn’t hear from you, I figured you wouldn’t want to see me again. And knowing how your mother felt after what she’d seen…well, I thought she’d call the cops if I came around.” Nothing scared Riley more than the thought of being taken into custody, locked in a cell that would, once she shifted, become a cage from which she’d never escape. Her secret would be out in plain view of the shocked correction officers. As the scenario went in her mind, from there she’d be transported to a government facility for further observation and certain vivisection. Riley thought for a moment, deciding to chance asking what Mrs. Bell had seen and how much Fiona had been told. “What exactly did your mother see me doing that made her flip out?”

  “You doing? You mean us. And it wasn’t my mother. It was Mr. Mosley.”

  “Who?”

  “Mr. Mosley. Remember that old man from my church who used to fish in the backwater. I don’t know if he saw us having sex or just naked, but that same evening someone knocked on the door. It was him, asking my father to step outside so they could have a word.”

  So Mrs. Bell hadn’t seen Riley on the dock that night. When she called Riley an abomination during their phone conversation, her reference was to Riley being a lesbian, not a werewolf. “Geez, Fiona…I had no idea.”

  “And what happened with your parents that you never saw them again? They were always such nice people.”

  “Not so nice in the end. It’s a long, complicated story.”

  “Was it because you came out to them?”

  “You could say that.”

  “And what, they disowned you?”

  “Something like that.” It was a convenient answer, far easier than the truth.