Still Life With Shape-Shifter

  I forced back my tears, made myself stand still enough to get reoriented, and finally discerned the shape of the tent about fifty yards away. Only once I had arrived safely back at the clearing did I allow the tears to well up again, and I flung myself to the ground, sobbing without restraint. I didn’t usually give in to self-pity, but at the moment I felt utterly abandoned. I had nothing in the world, no one, except Cooper, and Cooper was gone.

  It was probably an hour or so before I pulled myself together, and even then I was limp and woeful. I wasn’t hungry, but I made a light meal before sunset arrived since I knew food preparation was difficult in the dark. And when night did fall, much more swiftly and inexorably than I’d expected, it was as if I was alone on the Earth on the very first day of creation. The woods rustled and whispered around me, never entirely silent or still, but that just added to my utter and uneasy sense of solitude. When Cooper was here, talk or laughter or lovemaking shut out the noises of the night; there was always something to say and someone to say it to. Now every minute seemed fat and slow, climbing reluctantly toward dawn on the huddled backs of all the heavy minutes that had piled up before it. It didn’t seem possible enough of them could accumulate to reach daybreak.

  Our batteries were low, so I didn’t want to use a flashlight to read or a radio to listen to music. There was nothing to do at all. I lay on my back in the tent and stared up at impenetrable darkness and waited for night to crawl by.

  * * *

  I had expected the first day without Cooper to be the worst one, but in fact, the next three were just as bad. I seriously considered striking the tent and moving it closer in to the public campgrounds, just to combat my desperate isolation with the knowledge that other human beings were nearby. I even thought about renting cheap lodgings for a couple of days—there was a Motel 6 down the road from McDonald’s, and it cost less than forty dollars a night—but we were both so used to hoarding our money that I couldn’t bring myself to be so wasteful. Maybe toward the end of the week, if things didn’t get better. If I didn’t get used to living without Cooper.

  That third night, I made myself stay busy while it was still light. I took a pillowcase full of dirty clothes down to the public bathrooms and washed them out in the none-too-clean sinks, ignoring the sidelong glances of the other campers, then carried them back and hung them from the branches to dry. I swapped out the batteries in all our appliances since I’d remembered to buy some that afternoon when I was on break. I read a few chapters of The Metamorphosis, since an information packet from the university had let me know this would be required reading in my freshman lit course. I listened to a baseball game, the broadcast floating mysteriously through the air more than a hundred miles to emanate, spectral and unreal, from my radio speakers. And I waited for the onset of night with a mounting sense of dread.

  We were deep into June now—in fact, I realized with a jolt, today was the summer solstice. There would never be a day so long for the rest of the year, never a night so brief. But instead of consoling me, the thought only added to my terror. If I could not endure this relatively short span of darkness without Cooper at my side, how would I manage for the next six months, each day progressively shorter than the last as the moon bit off the minutes one by one? Night would come sooner tomorrow, and even sooner the following day, and before long all daylight would fail before five o’clock. I told myself it wouldn’t matter then. By the equinox, I would have moved to Champaign and established myself in my dorm room, where there would be other people always within call; by the winter solstice, I would be familiar with the campus even at night, unafraid of its outlandish shadows. Things would get better, not worse, as the year progressed.

  But I didn’t believe my own words.

  I withdrew to the tent as night collected itself outside, coiling around the campsite like a malevolent dragon. But I didn’t feel safe. I didn’t feel settled. Panic filled my lungs so densely that there was no room left for air.

  I could not sit still. Leaping to my feet, I stumbled through the flap, tripped over a discarded shoe and came to my knees on the hard ground outside the tent. He had said he would stay nearby; he had said he would watch over me. He had not responded to my tears that first night, but maybe he had been hunting at that particular moment. Maybe he only returned to the campsite once deep night had fallen.

  “Cooper,” I called, my arms outstretched in supplication, a gesture he might be able to see, even in the dark, with his predator’s eyes. “Cooper, please. I need you. I’m so afraid without you. I can’t do this alone. Please don’t stay away. Please, if you’re out there, come to me—stay with me. Cooper, I love you.”

  My voice broke on the last few phrases; my words were so choked with tears that I wasn’t sure he would have been able to understand them even if he had only been a few yards away. For a moment, when all that answered me was the incomplete silence of the whispering forest, I was swamped with blackest despair. I dropped my hands to my folded knees, laid my face against my forearms, and wept uncontrollably.

  Then there was motion on the edge of my senses—no sound, only the sudden sharp awareness of another presence. I jerked my head up, wiping my cheeks with my hands, momentarily flooded with fear. Cooper wasn’t the only wild animal roaming these woods. There could be anything from a bobcat to a fox rustling through the undergrowth, and I couldn’t see well enough to tell what kind of visitor was creeping into my campsite.

  “Cooper?” I whispered.

  The shape drew nearer, black even against the blackness, a form and weight and silhouette I knew as well as my own. I felt his cold nose press against my wet cheek, and I let out a little cry of relief and gladness. I flung my arms around his neck and buried my face in his brushy fur. His head turned inward and he nuzzled my throat. One of his forefeet came up, callused and clawed, and rested on my leg. It was as if he had spoken aloud words of comfort and reassurance. Don’t be afraid. I’m with you. I’m always with you.

  I sighed and turned my head so that my wide, flat face for a moment rested against his narrow, pointed one. Then, without another word, I pushed myself to my feet and felt my way back into the tent. The wolf padded in behind me. I lay on my side on top of the sleeping bag, and he stretched out next to me. Side by side we slept peacefully through that brief and glorious night.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  MELANIE

  It’s a week before I speak to either Ann or Brody again. I’m actively avoiding Brody, refusing to pick up his phone calls and not answering his e-mails, but I don’t talk to Ann because she hasn’t been around. Since she and William left to go camping, they haven’t been back, and I’m so worried that I think my skull might split from tension.

  I’m not much use at work, but I continue to go into PRZ every day because I need the distraction. Debbie—whose true superpower is friendship—seems to know exactly when to sit with me so I can rant and rave, and when to leave me entirely alone. She runs interference with Em and Chloe, makes me go out to lunch every day, and tells me at least once an hour that everything will be all right. I don’t believe it, and I’m not sure she does either, but it’s still desperately important for me to hear the words.

  I can’t forget that the last thing I said to Brody was Get the fuck out of my life.

  Seconds after I’d snatched the paper from his hand, I’d leapt to my feet, and said, “Go home. Now. Just go.”

  He’d stood up in a more leisurely fashion. “All right, you’re obviously upset, but can we—”

  “No! We can’t talk about it. We can’t be reasonable people. We can’t do whatever you’re going to say! Just go!”

  “Do you really think—”

  “How could I have been such an idiot! All along, this is what you’ve wanted—you’ve wanted me to trust you, to let my guard down, so you could sneak in and destroy my life—”

  “How can you possibly believe that? Don’t you know me any better than that by now? I’m not—”

  I had charge
d across the room and flung the door open. My body temperature, cooled by dread, had dropped to zero, so I hardly noticed the chilliness of the air that swirled in. “I don’t care! Just go.”

  His face was entirely sober as he joined me at the door. “Do you really think I would do anything to hurt you?” he said, raising his voice to be heard over my continuing commands for him to leave. “Do you really think I would hurt Ann? I just want to write a book.”

  “I don’t care,” I said. “You’re too dangerous.”

  “Melanie—”

  “Get the fuck out of my life!” I grabbed his arm and shoved him out the door, accidentally banging his wrist against the glass, punching his shoulder to hurry him along when he stopped on the threshold as if to try one last argument. He probably outweighs me by thirty pounds, and he’s clearly stronger; I could tell that I only pushed him out because he let me. But I was too angry to be grateful, too terrified to be relieved. As soon as he was clear of the frame, I slammed the door shut and threw the locks, then sagged against it, panting as if I’d been running. I didn’t move until I heard the rattle of his feet on the gravel, the coughing sound of his motor reluctantly grumbling to life, the whine of his tires as they hit the pavement and pulled away.

  Oh God oh God oh God oh God.

  I crumpled to the floor, right there at the doorway, shaking all over with nerves or despair. Stupid—so stupid—how could I have let this happen? From the minute I met him, I had known what Brody wanted, and I had known it was a treasure I could not yield up. And yet I allowed him to charm me, entertain me, wear away my sharp defenses. And now he had it, the truth about Ann, and he had run away with it, a smiling thief with a prize so astonishing it could only be described in whispers.

  This was the man who had bragged he could find any key, open any lock. I’d spent so much time guarding my own heart that I’d lost track of the other items, priceless and exquisite, that were also in my care.

  I couldn’t even bring myself to hope he wouldn’t spend all that bounty in one profligate spree. I couldn’t hope that he would care for it with the reverence and affection something so rare deserved.

  I drew my knees up and dropped my head, shivering uncontrollably. All I could think was, What have I done? How soon is the world going to end?

  * * *

  In fact, the world blunders on for that entire week, and I stumble along with it, like a water-skier dragged behind an inexpertly guided motorboat. The one incident that sends a spike of clarity through my general fog of misery is receiving another offer on the house from Kurt. He sends it by registered mail, so I have to go to the post office to retrieve it. It gives me great satisfaction to stand there in the small dingy lobby, rip the paper to shreds, then buy an envelope and stamps so I can return the scraps to him that very afternoon.

  “How much did he offer this time?” Debbie asks when I tell her the story.

  “I didn’t even look.”

  By Friday, I’m a little calmer, though I still feel like my skin is just a degree away from igniting. I’ve gained a small measure of peace, though I can hardly admit it, from the last e-mail Brody sent me, on Thursday morning. I don’t open it, of course, but I can’t help noting the subject line, which reads: I’m not writing anything about Ann. I decide I have to believe him, if only to keep from going crazy. Even if he really means I’m not writing anything about Ann this month, it’s still enough to get me through the weekend.

  Oh, but there are even more joys to light me through these dark days. Because when I make it home from work that night, Ann is waiting.

  * * *

  “I can’t believe you were so mean to Brody,” she says.

  We’re sitting on the couch, eating gelato out of two pint containers. One’s raspberry, one’s chocolate, and after every few spoonfuls, we swap. Dinner was a little sketchy, egg-salad sandwiches and a couple of sad apples, so I figure it won’t hurt us to consume as many gelato calories as we want. Especially since Ann looks like she’s lost five pounds in the past week.

  “I can’t believe I was ever nice to him,” I reply. “I should never have let him get that close.”

  “I’m going to e-mail him,” she says. “Pretend I’m you. Tell him you’re sorry.”

  “Oh, no, you’re not!”

  “All right, then I’ll call him. I’ll tell him I’m me and that I’m sorry and would he like to meet me for pie at Slices?”

  I stare at her helplessly. “You can’t do that. Why would you do that?”

  “And you’ll be so worried about what I’ll say that you’ll come along, too, then you’ll see him again and forget why you were ever mad.”

  “Ann—” I set the carton down so I can press my fingers to my temples. I’d like to think it’s the cold gelato that’s given me a headache, but I know better. “It’s to protect you that I need to stay clear of Brody.”

  She leans over and touches a finger to my nose, leaving behind a chilly smear of chocolate. “I don’t need protecting,” she says. “I’m not afraid of him.”

  “You’re not afraid of anything,” I say. It’s an accusation.

  “Plenty of stuff,” she says. “Just different things.” She offers me her container, and we swap flavors again. “New topic.”

  I sigh to indicate I’m only humoring her. “What?”

  “Wanna go meet somebody?”

  “Sure. Who is it?” I say, though I’m pretty sure I can guess.

  “William’s family.”

  “I thought you hadn’t even met them, at least officially.”

  “Well, I did. This week. I really liked them, and I thought you would, too.”

  A family of shape-shifters, all of them as strange as Ann’s strange boyfriend. And she thinks I’ll like them? But there’s only one way to respond to this particular invitation. “I would love to get to know them,” I say, then I pause. “Wait—is this a subtle message? Is this like asking your mom to meet your boyfriend’s parents so you can announce you’re getting married?”

  She laughs. “Yeah, I don’t see us as the types to rent tuxedos and buy wedding gowns and go marching down the aisle.”

  “Plenty of other ways to get married.” I wait, but she’s silent. “So? Is that what this is?”

  She shrugs. She appears to be studying her hand as she digs her spoon into the raspberry gelato, making curved patterns in the creamy surface. “I can’t imagine being with anyone but William. I can’t imagine finding someone else who understands me and likes me and interests me and—and just fits me this well. He seems to feel the same.” She lifts her eyes to give me a brief, shy glance. How odd to see laughing, confident Ann this uncertain. “I mean, that’s what love is, isn’t it? That’s what commitment is?”

  Not that I’m an expert on the topic, I say only in my head. “Yeah. I think it is. Lucky you.”

  Now she’s smiling again. “I know. Lucky me.”

  * * *

  We have an early dinner with William’s family the very next day. From what I can gather, Ann and William had a heart-to-heart at the park, laying out their feelings and their plans for the future, then went directly to Maria’s house. (Even though Maria has been married to William’s brother Dante for three months, everyone still refers to their place as Maria’s house.) So Dante and Maria have had a few more days than I’ve had to grow accustomed to the thought that their family member has found a permanent full-time lover.

  I don’t know how they reacted; I’m still trying to absorb the implications. Will they set up a household together for those days that they’re human? Will they regret William’s decision to have a vasectomy, find themselves longing for children? Will they open bank accounts, register to vote, become more normal?

  Will I see Ann more often? Or less?

  We buy a couple of fresh containers of gelato as a hostess gift before we drive up on Saturday afternoon. The meal has been set for five o’clock to accommodate the baby’s schedule. Maria’s place is in the partially developed countrysid
e off Highway 44, in a sparsely populated neighborhood that practically backs up to woodland. The perfect setting for a woman married to a shape-shifter. Her house is a little two-bedroom bungalow, not much bigger than mine, and even before we’ve knocked on the door, I’ve decided I’m going to like the owner. The yard is tidy enough, and the house is in reasonably good repair, but it’s clear Maria doesn’t spend much time landscaping or repainting the shutters. What she cares about is all on the inside.

  The woman who answers the door is tall, well built, and looks to be my age or a little older. She has a mass of curly dark hair, shadow-blue eyes, and a baby on her hip. Though she’s smiling, I read a history of worry in the shape of her mouth, the faint tension around her eyes. This is someone who has spent much of her life loving someone with a perilous and unmentionable secret.

  “Hi, come on in,” she says, pushing the door wide with her free hand. “I’m Maria, this is Lizzie, and dinner is almost ready.”

  She manages to hug Ann without jostling the baby, then shakes hands with me, appraising me with eyes that are searching and sober, despite the continued smile. “Great to meet you. I have to say, I never thought William would be bringing a girl home to meet the family, but I’m glad it’s one as delightful as Ann.”

  So I was right. I do like Maria the minute I meet her.

  Dante’s another story. He’s in the kitchen slicing meat loaf, but he doesn’t need a weapon to look dangerous as hell. He’s lean and sinewy, with long, dark hair caught in a ponytail and a face both beautiful and unnerving. Like William, he exudes a certain indefinable air of wildness that you’d probably notice even if you couldn’t interpret what it meant. If I met him on the street, I’d cross to the other side, and I’d continually be looking over my shoulder to make sure he hadn’t decided to follow me and murder me in the dark.