Grandma said, “I always thought Cruz deserved better. With Eden’s illness, he should forget about her.”
Aunt Olga nodded seriously as if they were speaking about important legislation in Congress that would feed orphans in Atlantic City.
We also had a gentleman caller that afternoon. But not in the way you’d think. How cousin Yuri could afford to call Grandma internationally every other day, I didn’t know. They chatted for about twenty minutes. I know Grandma has endless kindness for all her grandchildren, but when he started asking for money I’d had enough. If Nick could give a “man-up” pep talk, I could sure as hell try one on for size.
“Grandma, say goodbye to Yuri.” I reached for the phone and she reluctantly turned it over after a few parting words.
I put the phone to my ear. “Yuri, please hold. We need to have a little chitchat.”
With a curt smile, I excused myself to the dining room. My conversation began crisply. “Our family might be too kind to do this on any other day, but today is your lucky day.”
We watched TV for two hours before it was time to eat lunch, which came with a tea service. How these two women sat around all day watching these shows I just couldn’t fathom. My fingers twitched and my stomach churned uncomfortably from waiting. How I wished I could leave here and venture out to see my own home. To hell with Bill and The Bends. I had damage to survey!
My aunt detected my rising anxiety and made me drink herbal tea by the gallon-full. By mid-afternoon, I’d used the bathroom more times than I could remember. As soon as I emptied one cup, she filled it again.
“By the time you finish this next pot, you’ll be Mellow Mindy,” she said, with a conspiratorial smile.
“She doesn’t need tea,” said my grandmother. “A few hours and some shots of vodka will have her calm and collected.”
I chuckled, imagining my grandmother slipping me some liquor to help me forget my sorrows. I gazed out the window at the overcast sky. The rain had ended long ago, but puddles still covered the streets. The whole scene drew me deeper into sadness. Across the street, a set of small urns lay overturned and broken on a porch. Sunflowers in another neighbor’s yard no longer stood tall, reaching toward the sun; their green stalks were bent and frayed. The flood hadn’t ravaged this neighborhood, but its passing had left its mark.
By the time my parents came home from work, the whole scene felt surreal. Here I was, in my parents’ home again, and I had to wonder if the welcoming embrace they offered would last.
A hand slid down my back, drawing me from slumber. Fingertips caressed my shoulders before they rested on my hips. My nostrils flared. Thorn. He pressed his body against my back, enveloping me in the warmth generated from his hard torso.
“How did you sneak inside?”
“I have my ways,” he whispered into my hair.
“You’re not supposed to be here.” I tried to whisper but my voice came out strained. How long had it been since we’d last made love?
Maybe back in my apartment in NYC, when all I had to worry about was my job. Both of us had been hungry for success in the new world as college-educated professionals. We’d both wandered off the edge and now we were trying to climb back up.
“I … hadn’t expected you to come find me. I woke up alone after the flood.”
He shushed me as he hugged me close. I couldn’t prevent the sorrow from clutching my chest and leaving me breathless for a moment. All my things. They couldn’t be gone. This had to be a dream. Hell, I had Thorn with me in my childhood bedroom touching me like a horny teenager. His hand shifted and I decided that if this was indeed a dream, I wanted it to end on a positive note. A very positive note.
The heat from his breath against my ear stirred my blood. I stifled a growl when he gripped my waist. The gesture seemed so subtle, yet his palm burned my skin. Before I could chastise him for his roaming hands, they slipped up my T-shirt and played with the heated skin under my breasts. What kind of game was he playing tonight? Had he just swatted away Erica’s warning like an incessantly buzzing horsefly? It’s amazing how the slightest touch from him could turn into a heated caress. So warm. So perfect. When his hand ventured upward to caress the underside of my left breast I turned around.
“How I’ve needed you,” I whispered into his mouth before I captured it with mine.
“I’ve wanted you too.” He didn’t need to say anything more. We pressed against each other as if we were in danger of losing this moment and never getting it back. It just felt so right to be here with him, holding him close. Why couldn’t everything that had gone wrong right itself again so we could be together? All those times when we passed each other on the street, and I couldn’t deny the shiver that passed over me when he glanced my way. It was almost as if, every time we met, we exchanged a secret, a secret that spanned the years, without breaking even when miles separated us. And even when he’d left for San Diego, I’d wondered if he still thought of me.
Our lips parted for a moment. With tenderness, he wiped a single tear from my cheek. “No more tears. You’re stronger than you think.”
“I’d feel stronger if I knew whether this thing between us could last—”
He covered my mouth with a finger as he stretched himself on top of me. Another stolen moment perhaps ruined.
But the truth was the truth. Outside this room was reality: the rest of the pack, who depended on him to stand as their leader. I could beg and plead with him, but that would mean he’d have to make a choice. The ultimate choice: between me and his pack. I couldn’t help feeling resentment toward him. The bitterness stirred deep within my soul and dug at me until I felt guilty for such thoughts. God help me, was I strong enough to move on from this? To turn him away when he felt so good? I doubted it.
I ran my hands down his back and under his shirt, tracing my fingers along his hard muscles. The weight of his body pressing into mine left me urgent with need—the need for him to take me into the forest again. To rip my clothes away and claim me as his mate. He kissed me again and I couldn’t hold back a moan. One eager hand rubbed against a nipple. We would’ve kept going—but a noise came from the hallway. Thorn’s head rose.
By the time my grandmother knocked on my door, Thorn had opened the window and left. A chilly breeze flowed into the room and blew over my china doll on my dressing table. The wind fanned my face, then went back outside. My heart escaped with it into the night.
By morning, I woke with resolve to finalize my last days at work, check on Aggie, and finally see the carnage that awaited me at my home. My aunts didn’t think visiting the site was such a wise move in my condition, but I had to know. I had to see it. Waiting was making me anxious and jittery.
“Stop pacing, Nat,” Aunt Vera complained. “You’re driving me into the nuthouse with all this walking.” She’d brought Aggie over from her place so we could see each other.
“I don’t see why you try to keep me here,” I said.
“Because they know you’ll crack like a barely boiled egg,” cackled Aggie. She joked from the comfort of the armchair. I’d learned earlier that she’d bruised her knee and had a minor concussion. When she’d arrived, I hugged her close until she said, “Hey, careful there. I hit my head on a rock. My dad said I was hardheaded but I guess he didn’t mean I really was.”
“What the hell happened to you?” I’d asked her.
“I went over the river and through the woods before I hit my bucket on Plymouth Rock.”
I didn’t find her story humorous at all. She spoke as if New Jersey got flooded often.
“Sit your butt down before I kick you with my good leg.” She started to stand but I took the hint and plopped down next to Aunt Vera.
My grandmother sat to the side, sewing a quilt for the baby. I marveled at how hard she worked and gushed about the newest arrival. Even if the baby didn’t turn out to be a werewolf, the women in my family would still go loco for a lotion-scented infant in a bassinet. A half-nymph and half-werewolf b
aby qualified just fine for Grandma’s love.
Aunt Vera picked up her car keys. “I’ll take you to spend a few hours at work. Then later this afternoon you can see your home.”
My jaw dropped. “You’re tormenting me on purpose.”
“No, we’re not. We’ve seen your place. We want you to be calm and ready for it.”
Oh, yeah, a few hours with Bill would really make me calm. I grabbed my coat from the closet and said a silent prayer that harpies and other irate customers would stay away from South Toms River for the day.
We rode in silence from my parents’ home into town. Aunt Vera was a no-nonsense woman; even though she was usually soft-spoken, she didn’t hesitate to push hard when necessary. Every family needed a bulldog like her in their corner. She filled the position quite well, while, by contrast, Aunt Olga was the European pageant princess. I wondered where that left my mother. I guess she represented all the cooking-obssessed fifth-grade teachers.
We pulled up to The Bends. Before I could shut the door, Aunt Vera said, “Have a good afternoon, Nat. I’ll be back later to pick you up.” Her stern face cracked into a smile. “Take it easy and relax. We’ll get through tonight together.”
I hadn’t expected her to say such words. With great respect for my aunt, I nodded and tried to share in her optimism. The time I’d spent with my family this weekend hadn’t been what I’d expected either. It was a damn shame I wouldn’t be around to enjoy their company much longer.
Inside, I found that The Bends was still functioning, but not at the level I preferred. The clerks were doing their jobs well enough, but they’d left bits of paper and garbage around the registers.
The back room also left more than a little to be desired. Bill hadn’t thrown away the boxes from the incoming merchandise. A pile of antiques waited on a table to be entered into the cataloging system. That goblin hadn’t done a damn thing since I’d left. Had he simply unlocked the door, herded the employees in to work, and then collected his money and headed home? From the state of the single bathroom and the dock, I suspected that was exactly what had occurred. I had only a few hours until Aunt Vera picked me up. Time to get to work.
When Aunt Vera’s car pulled up at The Bends later that day, I couldn’t dam the anxiety that was pouring out of me in waves. My palms were damp with sweat, and I thought I’d start to pant like the mutt that was always hanging around outside the store.
I had to see my home, yet part of me didn’t want to. I didn’t want to think about the debris I’d have to clean up or the repairs I’d have to make. Or the tons of money it would all take. I had a bit of money saved for emergency repairs, but a flooded home would have wood damage and the potential for rot. And mold. I couldn’t even think of it without increasing my tension.
During the drive, Vera could smell my anxiety. “Roll down the window, Nat.”
Locked in place, I slowly moved toward the switch. Instead of waiting, she used the window control on the driver’s side. The breeze chilled my face and forced me to close my eyes.
My imagination was too active. Way too active. I could only see ruins. Maybe a tree had fallen across my lawn into my house. Broken ornaments covered with mud and dead leaves. I had to unclench my fists, they’d lost circulation from my squeezing them too long. But somehow, after all my waiting, the drive went by too fast. I needed more time to prepare. More time to relax before I saw my house.
As we turned down the driveway, I saw less carnage right away than I’d expected. The lawn was cleared. A large pile of brush, with branches and dead leaves, stood off to the side. One of my uncles continued to add to the pile. He nodded my way. Once we reached the house, however, I saw that all my landscaping was ruined. The water had washed away my flowers and knocked over the gnomes who guarded them. I choked back a cry when I saw the boarded-up windows on the bottom floor. The garage door was open, revealing a monstrous pile of black garbage bags. Had they thrown away my Christmas boxes?
Vera didn’t have time to stop before I opened my car door. “Hey!”
I had to know. Did they really have the audacity to throw my ornaments away?
I ran up the driveway panting with a rising fury. They wouldn’t dare. I was just in time to catch my father coming out the door from the kitchen to the garage. He peered at me as I tore open one of the bags. With my claws exposed, I ripped into the plastic. I’d tear them all to pieces if they’d thrown them away. All these days of treating me like a daughter again … it was all just so they could come here and toss out all my belongings behind my back.
Within the folds of the bag I found nothing but soiled newspapers from the recycling bin behind my house.
“Nat?” my father called. But his voice sounded far away as I cut into another bag.
“Where are my ornaments?” I hissed. “Where did you put them?”
“No one threw them away.” He touched my shoulder. “Come into the house.”
I snatched my shoulder away. “You kept me at your house this whole time so you could throw them away.”
“Get in the house now, Natalya.” He growled under his breath and I snapped to attention like a well-trained soldier. When my father commanded, the wolf obeyed. I clutched the garbage bag’s remnants in one hand while part of me fought to be allowed to check the contents of the others. I had to see. The garage was a mess, with all my gardening supplies in one corner. A stain on the wall indicated that the water had risen as high as my hips. High enough to enter my first floor and ruin the pristine condition of my home. I didn’t want to enter the house—yet I had to see.
I followed my father inside. The kitchen wasn’t as bad. Dirt littered the floor, and a line from the floodwater stained the walls.
“How much damage is there?” I asked.
“Not as bad as I thought. Your mother called the insurance company and filed a claim. One of their people toured the house. Most of the appliances aren’t salvageable, but your home has good bones and should hold up just fine.”
My father actually thought I was referring to the contents of the kitchen and the major structural components of the house.
“I meant the boxes. The white boxes all over the house.” I paused for a moment as my throat caught. “Are they gone?”
He continued into the living room. I sighed in relief to see the Precious Moments figurines still on the fireplace mantel, but everything else was gone. My family had pushed my discolored furniture against the wall. The stench from the fields lingered in the house and was sour in my nostrils. This couldn’t be happening to me. All this had to be some sort of punishment. For trying to straighten my life out. As I reached to touch one of my figurines I felt numb inside. Empty and void.
“We tried to save as many as we could.” He took my hand and guided me into the dining room. This was where they’d stored what remained of all my treasures. The worst of the lot sat on the kitchen table, where Aunt Olga was wiping them off and wrapping them in newspaper. Helping her was a conveyor belt of three family members drying and wrapping them before carefully depositing them in a box. I covered my mouth with my hand. Even my brat of a cousin had come here after school and stood quietly drying ornaments. I could hug the little guy for coming.
What could I say to my family now? My hoarded items were exposed for them to see. Yet here they were, trying to help me pick up the pieces. My world now consisted of nothing but a soiled home with floors smelling of earth and rot. Yet here I stood united with my family—a member of the Stravinsky pack.
Chapter 22
Even though my home still lacked power and heat, I wanted to sleep in my own bed. My aunt protested, but my father grumbled, “Some wolves need to guard their territory. Leave her be, Vera.”
“What about the Long Island werewolves?” she whispered.
“Pretty soon whether she wants to stay here won’t matter. I sense them coming soon, no matter what.”
I knew my father’s words were true. He’d told me once that he could sense upcoming battles
in his bones. The itch to fight would come over him, and he’d tell his employer he needed several days off.
This had happened often when I was a toddler. All the while my mother would just stay at home, cooking large meals and keeping the house clean, with a child balanced on her hip. It was as if every family that had a stay-at-home mother also had a dad who battled other werewolves on occasion.
When I became a teen, I began to notice that life played out just the way Old Farley had described it to me. Werewolves had become much bolder when they tried to take over one another’s territory. Especially valuable territory like South Toms River. In hindsight, Old Farley should have seen a takeover attempt coming sooner or later.
That Wednesday morning, I spent my time surveying the damage in my backyard. Even though my family had done a fine job of tossing out most of the debris, they’d still left me with a bit of work to do. I had contractors going in and out, making assessments on repairs. In the meantime, I cleaned up. I tried to concentrate on my own task, raking the leaves, but my head just wasn’t in the right place. My gaze kept drifting over to the car. I felt an itch to pick up the keys, rush out to the nearest store, and … A loud snap brought my attention back to the rake. I’d broken the poor thing in two. I stared at the pieces for a minute before my resolve broke as well.
Oh, screw this! I marched into the house and grabbed my keys. I was tired of feeling morose, dejected, and withdrawn. With my purse in hand, I drove south down the Garden State Parkway with the wild glee of a happy holiday junkie who didn’t care what she got. I stopped at a McDonald’s for breakfast, where they had holiday mugs for sale. I bought five mugs and two Happy Meals with Cheerful Christmas Cathy Dolls inside to boot. I didn’t give a damn if they could clearly see that I didn’t have any kids with me.
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