by Jeff Vrolyks
Of all the places to honeymoon, the last place we thought we’d go is where we went: Yosemite. We couldn’t let a trifle thing like being shot and almost murdered drive a wedge between us and the place that wove the fabric of our love together. For seven days we stayed in Wawona, and had the luxury of camping at an actual campsite, complete with nearby restrooms and showering facilities. One day was enjoyed floating down the Merced River in an inflatable yellow raft, bringing to life our shared dream. By the seventh and final day, Sunday, we missed Anne so much that we were content with it being the last day of our honeymoon. The seventh day was also the most anticipated day because we could finally open our wedding gift from Alison. Ali possesses a great many outstanding qualities; her thoughtfulness and creativity are two that made this beautifully wrapped gift so damn hard not to open early. We knew it was something special by how antsy she was when she handed it to us; and that crooked grin followed by an idle threat of kicking both of our asses if we opened it early. Alison instructed us to open it at night, even though we had planned on driving home in the late afternoon. We decided to compromise and open it during sunset and then head home afterward.
I had the Toyota Four Runner mostly packed up and ready to go before sundown. I left the folding chairs, folding plastic table, and the deluxe edition of Scrabble out to play by the campfire as we waited. We were on our second bottle of wine when we decided to make s’mores before opening the gift. After I gathered the ingredients from a box in the truck, I looked to the sun. The natural landscape of our campsite was bare of vegetation—a bald spot in a sequoia grove—and provided an uncommonly broad view of the horizon. Near the truck was an enormous boulder; I climbed up on it. The scope of my view doubled and the sunset painted the kind of ethereal beauty that postcards boast. I called Holly over to come take a look. She brought her replenished glass of red with her. I gave her a hand and soon we stood side by side and watched the molten sun melting over the forest skyline. Framing the sun were low rolling strands of dark clouds in a sky that looked like rainbow sherbet. The screech of a far away hawk was returned by one closer by. Behind me the sky was lavender and deepening quickly.
We sat on top of the boulder and watched the sunset, sharing her glass of wine. Once it was invisible behind the horizon, we ceased smooching and slid off the rock with an empty glass, chilly faces, warm hearts, and a pair of grins. I stoked the fire and we huddled next to it with a shared blanket draped over our backs as we offered Helios, the God of Wawona Campfire, a marshmallow offering from the tips of two skewers. Our idea of hurrying back home was forgotten somewhere between the first and second bottle of wine. We told stories of our first trip to Yosemite and veered onto the subject of our first heart-sparked encounter. Our words gave way to kissing. The crackling of the fire, the concerto of the cricket, and the musky pine smoke proved to be a recipe for romance for the seventh consecutive night. We pried our lips apart long enough for me to run to the Toyota to fetch a sleeping bag. I ran back to the eager heat of the flame, who sat waiting impatiently by the campfire. After sprawling the sleeping bag out, we slid inside and became an angry larvae, spitting out clothes from its mouth. For the seventh night we attempted to give our precious Anne a brother or sister. A little ankle-biting towheaded cherub with a renegade cowlick and a keen taste for thumb and the nectar of the mammary.
The lover’s cocoon finally settled and we lay embraced. We kissed and damned if she didn’t taste like a grape Jolly Rancher. A scratching sound against the nylon tortilla of our body-burrito scared the hell out of us.
“Who’s there?”
A low volume chuff.
We stuck our nappy heads out of the sleeping bag and were surrounded by wolves. Holly lost it.
Having only Alison’s gift left unopened, I dared judge the arrival of the wolf pack was the best possible wedding present either of us could have asked for. At first we didn’t understand the circumstances which not only led them here, but brought their numbers back up to seven. We didn’t recognize but one of them, the one Holly was most eager to see. It touched me to the soul watching Holly drop to her knees and hug Nawie, weeping like a child as she repeatedly apologized to her for our misunderstanding at Lake Berryessa. Nawie took the mauling of affection like a champ and licked Holly whenever a piece of bare Holly neared her muzzle. When she released Nawie and looked at me with her puppy dog eyes, I knew what was coming.
“I don’t think we can take them, Holly. They’re a family, it wouldn’t be right.”
“But maybe they want to come home with us.”
They looked away.
“Honey, I think they’re here to say goodbye, not to become out pets. That is awfully sweet of them.” To Nawien I said, “Especially you, Nawie. You couldn’t imagine how horrible we felt for doing that to you and leaving you behind. Thank you for giving us a chance to apologize.”
She woofed.
“I don’t recognize any of them but Nawien. Where did you all come from?”
Nawien trotted to the nearby campsite bench, and bit the bow of Ali’s gift and carried it to Holly. Between the ribbon and wrapping-paper was a sealed envelope with Mr. and Mrs. Kevin and Holly Reed written on it. A typed letter fell out. She read:
Happy one-week anniversary, guys! I hope you guys made it to Sunday before opening the gift, otherwise you’ll have a long week of confusion ahead of you. Someone told me a little secret, and if it’s true, you aren’t alone when you’re reading this! The details were a bit vague (aren’t they always!) but here’s what I know: Nawien was pregnant, so the others are her offspring. She also said something about how the body and soul are only immutable in earthen beings. I thought maybe that meant something about possession, but the more I thought about it the more I think it’s something else, because remember what you (Kevin) said about how you’ll see Jill again soon? Seraphy or something? So maybe that’s them.
I bet you’re pretty happy to see Nawien again. Give her a big hug for me! That little angel is the one who saved me in the forest, said a little birdie. I would have given you your present to open on your wedding day but it wouldn’t have made sense. Well, half of it wouldn’t have made sense. I’ll let you get back to being in love. I hope you give Anne a brother in 9 months…
With Love, Ali & Michael Junior
P.S. Don’t bother asking me how or where, because I don’t even know.
Holly unwrapped the gift with a large audience. On top was a red knit sweater. She pulled it out with the same perplexed expression I wore. It was a tiny sweater. Ill-shaped, but nonetheless a sweater.
“For Anne?” I guessed.
“I guess, not sure.”
Nawien’s tail whipped violently.
Holly turned the sweater around and in white it read: A Summer of One.
Nawie Chuffed and trotted off.
Holly and I were clueless. She laid the sweater on her lap and looked back in the box. Wrapping tissue covered another item. She removed it and gasped. I think it was the last breath of air she took for a good thirty seconds. She removed a Winnie the Pooh stuffed animal. It was old, really old, and in abused condition, like Pooh had been the receptacle of unspeakable atrocities. She held it at length before her eyes, smiling, crying, laughing. “I thought I lost you in the fire.”
I didn’t ask about the teddy bear until she was done cherishing the moment. The toy is to Holly what ’83 Fleer Wade Boggs (it sounded like she said Wade Bobbs) rookie card is to her brother: a gift of sacrifice from the immortal Anne.
As far as the sweater confusion went, Nawien cleared things up splendidly when she returned to the camp with her very own present for us. A wolf pup dangled by the nape of its neck in Nawie’s mouth. He was the size of a football, with a white coat and deep amber eyes. I named him Chesterton, and unsurprisingly the sweater fit him like a glove.
Our Anne would have her very own protector.
The End
If you enjoyed these stories, check out the author’s other works. You can co
ntact him at [email protected], where he eagerly awaits your comments and vows to email you back!
About the author:
Jeff Vrolyks, having recently separated from his wife (Christy, who will always be a wonderfully remarkable woman), lives with his kitten Hudson in Simi Valley, California. He is a new writer, in that he recently discovered a passion for writing and hasn’t stopped since. He was in the Air Force for a four year stint worked in the beer beverage industry, automotive industry, and in the oil fields on drilling rigs. His turn on’s include thunderstorms in the forest, rainy sunsets at the beach, and glowing reviews from you. His turn off’s include driving in Los Angeles, working-out in an over-crowded gym, and receiving scathing reviews from people intolerant of foul language and violence.
Some of his best friends are those whom he found through the conduit of his writing, from emails. So please drop a line, it’ll make his day. Also, Jeff is an independent author, so if by some miracle you know a publisher or an agent, and feel there might be some chemistry there, let’s work something out!
Find him on Facebook to be kept current on upcoming releases. If you’d like to send him a text message instead of email, by all means go for it: (818) 414-1232.
