Loping back toward home in the pre-dawn darkness, shoulder to shoulder with my dad, gave me a sense of comfort and completeness. We had connected up during the night, getting to know our new neighbors. Dad and I had left the new pack behind, the two of us mock-fighting, hunting for small game and playing together.
Dad and I were so close physically that our shoulders or sides touched most of the time. We would part for the occasional leap over an obstacle then come back together again, both of us needing that closeness. We had the same pace, and similar heights now. Dad was still huskier than me, and I was a bit taller in the shoulder than him. I could only hope that we would be closer emotionally as well. I know he loved me, but the last year, especially the last few months, had been hard and lonely with Mom gone.
Our home was on the outskirts of our little community, right up against a stand of trees. Dad led the way along the row of bushes to the opening in the crawl space under our trailer, ensuring privacy for wolfish excursions. Dad leaped up through the hidden door he had made in the floor of the spare bedroom. He was altering his body even as he made the awkward jump up. By the time I scrambled up and finished shifting in the hall, he was already opening the fridge, shaking his head at its sparse offerings.
"How long was I out there?" he asked, his voice a bit rough from lack of use. He pulled out the remaining lunch meat.
I finished sliding on the pair of shorts I nabbed and threw him his before replying.
"About a month," I answered as I pulled out the bread. "Don't forget the mayo and mustard while you're in there. People were beginning to talk, wondering if you'd be back for the start of classes in a few weeks."
Dad threw me a troubled look but didn't say anything right away. He took the time to set everything on the old pine table, started to close the fridge door, reopened it to grab the milk, before closing the fridge tight. He finally got around to putting on his shorts.
"That long? I'm truly sorry, son. I thought it was only a week at most. You must have thought I'd abandoned you."
There was remorse and pain in his eyes as he turned to me. Since Mom died, we'd continually snapped at each other without meaning to; then we'd trip over each other to apologize. Before long, we would go off on each other again, then apologize, snap, apologize... The cycle had been repeating more often for the few months before his extended run. The thought he caused me pain while lost in his sorrow tortured him.
I quickly reassured him. "Nah, I know you needed some time and a bit of space. I think we both did," I added softly.
I looked down in a bit of shame over our behavior without even thinking. Mom would have chewed us both out for acting like that. Looking back up, I couldn't help but grin. I tried to keep my tone cheerful without overdoing it.
"Uncle Two Feathers had me over often enough for dinner, and even Grandfather invited me over a few times."
Making it sound like my uncle had invited me was stretching the truth a little. Running Elk had literally and forcefully dragged me out of my house, again and again, to join him on his summertime excursions. He hadn't given either me or his parents any choice, maneuvering me to his family's dinner table for most of the last month.
Grandfather, on the other hand, was a touchy subject. The old chief still had mixed feelings about his only daughter's choice of spouse, even after all this time.
Grandfather saw my dad as a stranger, not of the people, and only tolerated because my mother loved him. That my father was bound to the wolf, as my grandfather saw it, caused a bit of awe mixed with concern. As much as I knew my grandfather loved me, I think the old man also resented my very existence. He never liked the changes my mother desired to be able to give birth to me.
I figured maybe it would be easier if I got everything out at once. I tried to be nonchalant about things as I put my skimpy sandwich together across from my dad.
"I was kinda surprised Grandfather approved of the job offer I got while you were out." After weeks of my arguing with him, I added silently.
A quick look of surprise, coupled with the guilt of abandoning me during his grief, washed over my father's face. I flashed him what I hoped was a reassuring smile.
"Glasses," he commanded, motioning with his chin while his hands opened the mustard.
I could tell by the glance he gave at the empty sink he realized I hadn't bothered using a glass while drinking down the carton. I could almost hear what Mom would say every time she thought I was sneaking a drink without using a glass. Dad was silent as he gave the milk a quick sniff to make sure it hadn't spoiled.
He emptied the last of it into the two glasses I set on the counter.
"I'll go shopping once the stores open," Dad said.
There was a pause, with closed eyes on his part, as if he was pulling himself together still. When he opened them, he picked up the milk glass, raising it as if making a toast.
"Congratulations on getting a response from those many applications you filled out," he said.
A slight smile like old times touched his lips before he hid his disappointment at me leaving him soon. I think he just realized he needed me as much as I needed him.
"I know you've worked hard. Which company are you going to go with?" Dad asked.
"Ranger station over in Yellowstone. I figure it will provide plenty of opportunities to put my schooling to effective use. Plus, it will look attractive on a future resumé should I decide on a change."
"Yellowstone is some gorgeous territory, enough to keep you busy considering its size. Your grandfather approved? Good, I'm glad."
Again, so much unspoken. I know my dad would fight for me, whatever choices I made for myself. I'd been debating what to do with my life for the past year. Before Mom died, I didn't want to stay. After she died, I couldn't bear to go. I based my final decision on the disappointment Mom would have had, knowing I held back from living the life I wanted because she died. Realizing Dad wouldn't have any confrontation with Grandfather made things a bit easier.
"What say I come with you to do the shopping?" I suggested. "We could use some laundry stuff too."
Dad looked at me with raised eyebrows. I answered with a surrendering shrug. I usually fought and argued with my dad about almost everything. There was no fight in me today. For me to volunteer was above and beyond the usual.
Dad came around the kitchen table and pulled me into a hug. He took a deep breath to take in my scent as if he had been gone so long he forgot my smell. I took a deep breath as well, content with the familiar odor of his heavy musk. His breath caught in his throat. Damn, I didn't expect him to start crying. I hugged Dad back, another rare event, and his grip tightened before he let go.
"Think I'll shower up. I could probably use a good scrub," Dad said, turning his head away and lifting his arm, giving himself a whiff. He turned back around a little more in control of himself. "Do I have any clean jeans around, or did you wear them all?"
I grinned sheepishly. Dad just sighed and headed toward his bedroom. I cringed, thinking of the piles of dirty clothes I had left about the place. I waited for an outburst that never came. He must be out of strength to fight as well, I thought.
A minute later, I heard the water running in the bathroom. I took the opportunity to clean up some, so the place looked more respectable. I felt guilty over the mess, knowing mom would never have tolerated it, and knowing I wouldn't have left such a disaster in the first place had she still been around. Maybe my not picking things up was my small way of rebelling against her death, I mused.
What I did know is that Dad would feel guilty over my lack of self-discipline. I could see him thinking it was his fault, neglected his fatherly duties during his prolonged absence. A quick spray of air freshener finished the job just as the water turned off.
Dad hesitated in the doorway before joining me in the living room. He wore the brown jeans my mother had gotten him; one of the few pairs I would never dream of "borrowing" from his closet as I would most of his other clothes.
When a sudden growth spurt had me outgrowing most of mine, Mom started raiding Dad's stuff, so I'd look decently acceptable during my junior year of high school. It was a trend I had continued, much to his annoyance, even after birthday and holiday gifts helped upgrade my closet. That growth spurt had, in its way, triggered the start of our many fights.
Dad had shaved and was towel-drying his hair as he came over. He stood there as if he didn't know what to do, before sitting down in his chair. We stared at each other in awkward silence.
I contemplated Dad's appearance as we sat in silence. His dark hair wasn't quite the same raven black that my mother and I shared. I had inherited an odd combination from my parents; the more squarish face of my mother's people slightly tempered with Dad's more European looks. My skin tone was only a few shades lighter than my mother's had been, and darker than Dad's even with his tan.
I had my Dad's odd eye color, so light a brown to appear golden, which stood out among my mother's people. He often said my eyes were filled with my mom's eternal curiosity and her desire to learn. I always thought it was his excuse to throw more lessons at me.
"I'm gonna have to get a haircut while we're in town," he said.
The look he gave me didn't match his simple comment. He opened his mouth to speak, then shut it. He raked one hand through his hair, then carefully folded the towel and set it off to the side. He leaned forward with his elbows on his knees and steepled his fingers. He brought his fingers to his chin before pointing them at me.
"We need to talk, " he said solemnly, "which means I need you to listen, like the man you're becoming, and not the boy you were."