Summer of the Wolves (2 page)

Again?
Contact him
again?
Right. Nika needed to act. As with the mudslides last spring in the canyon up behind Pasadena, once again she felt as if a whole hill were moving and there was no place to grab hold. “I know. I've got an idea,” she said quickly with a fake strong voice. “Let's just figure out a way to stay here in Pasadena with someone else.” She took a breath. “Maybe Olivia's? They've got an extra room since her sister went to college. I can walk more dogs and take care of people's cats when they go away. Then after you're better, we'll come back. We could even come over and cook for you, bring magazines and stuff. You know I can clean, and I know which days are for garbage and recycling.”

Meg's face crumpled. The woman Nika had grown to love was upbeat and strong. Now here she was, bent in a chair, speaking with a thick, defeated voice. “Oh, Nika, honey, I'm so sorry. I was hoping your uncle would travel here . . .” She paused, shook her head, and then said, “Oh, this is all so hard, but I'm afraid the plans are made. I was just waiting to hear back from Mrs. Fish.” She stood and reached out to Nika.

At first Nika stood with her arms clutched in front of her, but who else would comfort her? The two of them collapsed together in a hug. After they had a good cry, Meg reached for the teakettle. She made blueberry tea, and they each had a cup, sitting in the yellow kitchen with the groceries still in bags.

By the time Randall got home, Nika felt light and sharp and closed. Now even Meg couldn't fill the emptiness where family should have been.

 

In a special babysitting class Nika had taken this year they'd studied child development. The textbook said most of what you learn happens in the early years. So, she figured, however she'd turned out at twelve, she was done, like a baked cake. Randall was only seven. Maybe he was still young enough to want a parent who held the bike seat while he learned to ride. But she didn't need a new family. She'd had a great mom. Meg's had been a loving hand to hold. End of story. She would be the girl in the Brave Girl Movie and take care of herself and Randall. If they had to go to another foster home in Pasadena, she could handle it.

But no way was she leaving California for good. Since Mom had moved them across the country, they hadn't even visited Minnesota. Mrs. Fish obsessed about the idea of real blood relatives and must have put out an all points bulletin. If Nika and Randall had to, they would visit this missing-in-action uncle. That was all.

 

From that phone call on, the days ran together like smearing paint. Saying goodbyes. Packing. Gathering make-up assignments from her teachers. After what happened last year, she wouldn't miss the clone-girls very much, but Olivia and Zack were her friends forever. How would she live without her best friends for six whole weeks? She and Olivia cried and laughed together during one last sleepover. They traded necklaces they made for each other, then said goodbye, promising to write real handwritten letters, stamped and sent through the mail.

Nika spent an extra-long time with Rookie the day before she left. His owner, Glenna, invited her in for a Coke and cookies. Rookie leaned against Nika's leg the entire time, and she wrapped her arms around his immense neck. She thought he looked sad. Maybe he was picking up her feelings. She knew dogs can do that.

 

When May tenth finally came and they lined up for security in the L.A. airport, Nika hugged Meg so hard, they both stopped breathing for a moment. Over and over Nika kept reassuring herself.
Whatever happens, this is just a visit. In a few weeks it will be over. We are coming back. If Meg gets better, we can maybe even live with her again.

 

As the wolf became an adult, her coat grew in silvery-tan with pale gray markings. Her golden eyes followed every movement outside her fence. The woman visited with food, sometimes bringing road-killed deer. In the woman's absence the wolf stood watching, her ears forward in attention. Most days she paced the boundaries of the fence, or danced below the raven that taunted her from his perch of freedom. From beyond the fence came unknown smells. Sometimes she heard howling in the night and howled back. With her large paws she dug holes in the ground by the buried fence, holes the woman soon filled with rocks.

A Minnesota social worker with downcast eyes and a one-sided smile met Nika and Randall at the Minneapolis air terminal. The attendant from the airlines checked identities and paperwork, and they were handed over like two packages, postage paid. During the long walk from the landing gate, the social worker moved them along almost at a trot, introducing herself in hurried breaths as Ms. Vera Nordstrom. In the drizzly airport parking lot, she loaded them into her maroon minivan, giving them nervous, hurried smiles.

On the interstate, Ms. Nordstrom followed a map marked with a yellow line, staying in the slow lane. Her windshield wipers flapped for the first hour and very few words were spoken. Through the window Nika saw cars and big parking lots and dull gray buildings at first, then gradually more trees and farms as they got farther from the city. They stopped at a rest stop with bathrooms and soda pop machines, then once more for Mexican fast food. Randall fidgeted in the seat belt beside her, tearing the wrapper from his burrito until small pieces littered the seat. When Nika stared at his mess and raised her eyebrows, he just half smiled and shrugged.

 

Just as the sun began to win the battle with the clouds, the van left the highway and nosed down several unmarked dirt roads, arriving at the starred location on the map. It didn't look promising, just a steep gravel drive, a small rusted shed, and a large gray wooden dock perched at the edge of a long narrow lake.

Randall and Nika huddled on the dock with their small cluster of bags. Ms. Nordstrom loomed behind them, a sheepdog in position. It was cooler than Pasadena but not as cool as Nika had expected. The air smelled like Christmas tree needles. Long bands of sunlight laced through the tall trees. Occasional bird songs fluted over the water. Nika began to take mental snapshots: puddles on the ground reflecting sky, broken branches strewn beside the dock. She wondered if there had been a recent storm. The forest around them was dotted with a million neon-green buds on curtains of bare branches. Darker green trees with needles were everywhere. Of course, there wasn't a palm or cactus in sight.

Then, on the lake's far side, a plane dropped out of the sky like an insect, almost soundless as it flew. When it hit the water, they heard the distant hum of its motor. Randall slowly walked to the very end of the dock, his eyes fixed on the plane.

Ms. Nordstrom moved closer to Nika. “Imagine the children who never get an opportunity like this. You are so lucky. Oh, I know how hard this has been, at your age, such
incredible
loss . . .” Her words were like picking at a scab that was almost healed. Always, always, there was that picture in her head of her mom climbing into her friend Barb's car, her mom smiling and waving.

Nika jerked in a breath and looked away from the woman. An awkward silence spread around them like rings in a pool. Then the low mosquito buzz swelled to a small roar as the plane approached.

Ms. Nordstrom leaned toward Nika, shot her gaze at Randall, and shout-whispered over the noise of the plane, “Well. Even if you don't want to be here, think about Randall.” She crossed her arms.

Nika bit back a rude response. What she didn't need was some strange social worker telling her about Randall's feelings. During the days preparing for this visit, she'd watched Randall's excitement mushroom as he gathered his fishing gear and looked at maps.

She was relieved when the wall of noise and wind from the plane stopped further conversation. Then the engine cut to sudden silence, and a bright yellow floatplane drifted in to thump against the rubber tire bumpers on the dock. A man hopped out onto the float, then onto the dock. His face was framed by dark curling hair, his eyes crinkled above a smiley opening in his beard. “Hi. I'm Reino Makinen,” he said. “Ian McNeill's pilot.” He effortlessly looped ropes around posts to tie the plane. “Good old Finnish name. Everyone calls me Maki.”

Why hadn't their uncle come along to pick them up? Nika looked at the plane—it seemed so small.
Some uncle,
she thought,
asking us to risk our lives, flying in this thing.

Looking at their lumpy duffel bags and backpacks on the dock, Maki said, “This everything?”

“Yeah,” Nika answered, looking over their pathetic pile. “Pretty much.”

Nothing could have been truer. Except for some stuff they'd left in storage back at Meg's, everything important they owned was inside those sad heaps of nylon. Socks, CD players, CDs, a copy of
Just So Stories,
and report cards. Some photographs, Meg's address, old jeans, friends' school pictures, toothbrushes, and Band-Aids. Randall's superhero cards, Nika's old brown bear, sweatshirts with their school motto, records of vaccinations, Nika's journal. There was the stuff her uncle had had them buy at a camping store—bug repellent, new hiking boots that laced up above the ankle, hats, pants, and hooded jackets called anoraks, the clothes still bearing tags.

Nika pulled her worn orange backpack from the heap.

Maki smoothly loaded the rest into the back of the plane, then said, “Well then, let's fly. How about it?”

They said a quick goodbye to Ms. Nordstrom, unsuccessful at dodging the stiff hugs she gave them.

With the hug, Ms. Nordstrom couldn't resist a few last words to Nika, very close to her ear: “It's up to the oldest to set the proper tone. I hope you're going to do your best to make this placement work!”

Placement. As if she and Randall were merchandise about to be positioned on a newly dusted shelf.

They settled into the back seat, and the plane began to pull slowly away from the dock. Nika looked into the empty front seat, to the right of Maki. There was a second pretzel-shaped control that moved when Maki turned his steering wheel. As if a ghost were flying in the right seat. As the plane tugged against the water, she remembered one important question she'd forgotten to ask. She'd meant to ask Ms. Nordstrom what excuse this Wonder Uncle had given her for his being so completely gone from their lives, for not even showing up for their mom's funeral, for being gone during a time when everything in their world had turned upside down, inside out, and backwards.

 

Nika's teeth knocked together as the small plane erupted into a blast of sound during takeoff. She gripped her backpack as they became airborne and the roar settled into a loud, vibrating drone. When they tipped into a turn, it felt as if the lake were falling away. She smiled at Randall to show him she wasn't scared, even though she was. But Randall seemed unaffected, hunched at his window, his forehead pressed against the glass. When the plane straightened out, Nika leaned and watched until Ms. Nordstrom and her minivan became dots on the lakeshore and finally disappeared from sight.

Beneath them now was a rug of trees stitched through with threads of rivers and patched with lakes. An occasional ribbon of road led to a miniature house. As they sailed above, Nika settled into the monotone of engine sound. The smell of oil and scorched metal reminded her of the service garage near Meg's house.

Randall seemed hypnotized by the view. “Wow, can you believe it? It's nothing but trees down there. Like an ocean.” He smiled at Nika and settled back in his seat.

Maki handed Randall and Nika large headphones. When she fitted them over her ears, she didn't like how the engine noise seemed distant and unreal, as if they were in a tunnel at the water park.

After about ten muffled minutes, Nika released the death grip she had on her backpack, dug around, pulled out her yellow journal, and flipped to the back, where she'd made a taped-on pocket. It held three letters. She picked up the one that had arrived soon after Mrs. Fish's call. The letter was tattered from being unfolded and refolded by Randall.

 

Dear Annika and Randall,

 

I couldn't believe it when I opened my mail and found the letter from Mrs. Fish. Yes, I am your father's brother. He was much younger and we weren't really close. I'm sorry that after he died I lost track of your family.

I was distressed to hear about your mom. I wish I had known. Apparently your mom's accident happened when I was in Finland and Russia studying wolves. The letter written to inform me must have gotten lost.

I live way up in northern Minnesota now, almost on the Canadian border, where I do wildlife research with wolves. I hope you don't mind the timing, but it seemed best for you to start your visit before I get busy with the summer season.

Anyway, I will try to call when I can get into town. (Cell phones never work here on the island.) I look forward to your visit.