Summer of the Wolves (3 page)

 

Your uncle, Ian McNeill

 

The thing about cell phones not working where Ian lived was a plus. All of her friends with real families had unlimited text messaging, and being a foster child, she had never been able to afford a cell phone. Visiting the hinterlands, she wouldn't be the odd girl out.

Nika remembered how when they first got this letter, Randall had slipped onto the edge of her chair and asked her to read it again. She had felt his shoulders lift as he took a breath and held it.

“He studies wolves, Nika, real wolves,” he'd said. She had to admit that was pretty interesting but no excuse for losing track of two human children. “And he has the same last name,” Randall added.

She and Randall had sat together and written a letter back, using a stamp from Randall's collection that had a picture of a cat. Nika found the copy that Mrs. Fish made of that letter with the others.

 

Dear Ian McNeill,

 

Randall and I would like to come visit for a few weeks. We are used to being helpful around the house, and we won't cause any trouble. Right now we're staying at a pretty neat foster home, and we hope to come back here later.

It's okay if you are not around all of the time because I am used to looking after Randall anyway and we have been taught to be responsible and not do things we are not supposed to do.

 

Sincerely, Annika and Randall McNeill

 

When Nika read this letter back to Randall, he'd given her a thumbs-up, a sliver of his old full-moon smile beginning to rise, his eyes never leaving the paper in her hands.

As they flew, Nika felt for the necklace Olivia had made for her, a circle of green jade. She'd made Olivia one just like it. It calmed her to touch the coolness of the stone. Then she unfolded the third letter, also from Mystery Uncle. In this one it looked like he was already trying to unload them on somebody else.

 

Dear Annika and Randall,

 

We are all excited about your coming visit.

I'm sorry to say that my cabin on Little Berry Island is awfully small (one room), so I've made plans for Randall to stay with a really nice family on an attached island, called Big Berry Island. We've arranged for him to go to school by boat with their three boys those last weeks of school. Their cabin is close so we can visit every day and do things together.

Since Nika will have make-up credits to do and won't need to go to school, she has been invited to stay in Pearl's cabin, up the hill from me on Little Berry Island. Pearl is like a grandma to everyone. I have known her for years, I rent my cabin from her, and eat my meals with her. She's a good friend.

Looking forward to your visit,

 

Your uncle, Ian McNeill

 

Nika carefully refolded this letter and returned it to the pocket of her journal. Probably this uncle was just trying to do the right thing. Have the kids visit. Duty done. He wasn't even married. What would he want with kids?

She glanced at Randall where he sat with his head bent forward, one of his dragon books opened in his lap. Not knowing what else to do, Nika pulled her journal out again. She'd write something, like she was supposed to for English credit. She arranged the yellow journal in her lap and uncapped her pen. The vibrations of the plane made her handwriting jiggle raggedly across the page.

 

We are high in the air, somewhere . . . in a plane so small it's like a flying minivan. When I lean up to look out the front, I can see right through the propeller, it spins so fast. And the plane has floats for landing on the water. Flying is neat, though. Kind of like being nowhere and in between. Anything seems possible.

 

Suddenly Nika felt queasy as the sky pitched by, so she put her pen away. Her ears were popping. She searched in the pocket behind the front seat for the Ziploc barf bags Maki had mentioned. She'd almost forgotten how she always got sick after reading or writing in a moving vehicle.

To calm her stomach, she closed her eyes. When she opened them again, nothing much had changed. The sky was clear-water blue. The plane's shadow flickered over a toy town that looked like a half-done jigsaw puzzle.

When she cast a look at Randall again, he had fallen asleep, one hand holding on to the strap of his backpack, his dragon book beside him on the seat. Seeing him like that, a little drool rolling down his chin and his dark blond hair sweaty and standing up on one side, made her think of the bus bench by Meg's house. Large red letters were printed on the backrest announcing, “ADOPT SIBLINGS—sometimes all they have is each other.”

Nika removed the muffling headphones and settled into the thunderous rhythm of the engine. After an hour of steady flying, Maki suddenly leaned to the side and looked out his window. Turning to Nika and Randall and waving for their attention, he shouted, “Look off to the left! See that bare hill surrounded by trees? Five wolves are down there taking a rest!”

All she could see on the hill below were some small gray rocks. She poked Randall to wake him up.

“I'll circle down closer,” Maki said, pulling the plane into a steep turn.

In a pileup at the window, Nika and Randall stared through a full turn of the sky as the plane swept down closer to the ground. It felt as if they might fall right out of the plane. Finally, they could see that what had looked like rocks was a pack of wolves stretched out like dogs napping in the yard. With Nika's head on Randall's shoulder, they leaned to watch until the wolves were finally out of sight.

“Wow,” Randall said. “Just like the Discovery Channel!”

One had been black, Nika noticed. She never knew that wolves could be black as well as gray. She pulled out her journal to write about the black wolf. But before she could write three words, she felt a metal taste in her mouth. She salivated and swallowed hard. This was not a good sign. She looked around for the bag.

“How much farther?” she asked.

“Ten minutes or so,” Maki answered.

 

For a while she felt better. But then the plane began to tilt again and slip dizzyingly through the air. Her head felt hot, and her stomach clambered up toward her shoulders, as if it weren't planning to go along with the rest of her body as they headed down. She pulled out the bag and opened it. As Maki managed the pretzelshaped control, he flashed a smile in their direction as though, for him, this were a swan ride at the kiddie park. With a slight move, he tipped the plane into a steeper angle.

That's when she threw up, her face in the bag. Randall looked at her and plugged his nose. “Yuck,” he said. Nika perspired, gasped, and swallowed. How embarrassing. All she wanted was a breath of fresh air, anything but the burned metal and oil smell of the plane. She threw up again.

Maki looked back and raised his eyebrows. “You okay?” he asked loudly. “Almost there, hang on.”

She nodded.

He pointed through the down-tilted window at two islands below them, shouting, “There they are! What we call Big Berry and Little Berry Islands. Hold tight. I've got to head down lake a bit, so I can land into the wind.”

Nika raised her head to see a slim band of white sand linking the islands, as if they were holding hands.

After another circle in the air, they started to descend. A down-elevator weightlessness made Nika reach for Randall's arm and a second bag, just in case. Suddenly the plane lurched, and she slid forward into her seat belt, knocking her backpack to the floor. She peeked out to see water spraying up as land raced by at eye level. The roar intensified as the plane motored into a small bay between the arms of two islands. On both sides Nika saw rocks, water, trees.

As the plane grumbled closer, Nika noticed a man standing on a square dock squinting into the light, one hand shading his eyes. Beside him stood a smaller figure in a red shirt. The dock seemed suspended from a massive shelf of rock.

Nika slouched down in her seat and reached to drape her arm over Randall's thin shoulders. He must be scared. Glancing at the bag she was holding, he wrinkled his nose, shrugged away from her, and said, “You stink. Nothing personal.”

Then she followed the direction of Randall's eyes. They were locked onto the dock and the two waiting figures.

 

One day in spring, the air turned soggy and warm. The wolf sought the cooling earth of her hillside den. Suddenly, like an intake of breath, there was a threatening hush. Then a scouring wind bent the trees of the forest, followed by rumbles and cracks. Rain ran in streams down the hill, flooding her den. Outside the pen, trees fell in every direction, blown like straws in the mouth of the wind. Searing light flashed, followed by earth-shaking booms.

Maki killed the engine. Waves slapped the floats and rocked the plane until it thumped against the dock. Nika took in a long breath, then exhaled slowly to calm herself, as Meg had taught her. But her stomach still churned like a cement mixer. She held a hand over her mouth, not wanting to stagger from the plane and throw up on her newfound uncle's boots.

She tried to get her jelly legs to move. What would this woodsy uncle think of her city-tight mismatched clothes and her short, spiky, almost-black hair? As Ms. Nordstrom probably had done, would he take one look and think,
Uh-oh
? She raked her hand through her hair to flatten it a little.

Maki reached back, handing her a thermos. “Drink this,” he said. “Swish it around a little. Then drink some more. I'll take the bag.” The water made a cool path down her throat. She drank several more sips and felt better. She aimed a weak smile at Maki, who placed her Ziploc bag in a plastic garbage sack and tied it tightly. Then Maki opened the door, stepped out onto the pontoon, and tossed a couple of ropes to the man on the dock.

“Hey, Ian!” Maki shouted. “Brought your special deliveries . . . one's a little ragged from the flight!” He laughed and bent over to look inside the cabin of the plane.

Nika felt sewn into her seat. Her muscles wouldn't budge.

“Annika, move!” Randall said, suddenly impatient. She couldn't remember him ever calling her by her whole first name.

A blast of bright sunlight washed across Nika's face as Maki helped her onto the float, then onto the dock. Randall hopped out as if he did this every day. But then he lost courage and slipped behind Nika, leaning his thin seven-year-old body into her back. There was a sharp pine smell in the air, completely different from the chlorine-and-roses smell of Pasadena.

Nika reached back, pulled Randall around beside her, and whispered, “Say hi, Randall.”

Looking down at his shoes, Randall said, “Yeah, hi.” A megawatt smile slowly rose on his face. That was Randall—quick recovery.
Not like me,
Nika thought.

The woman in the red shirt looked strong and tanned, her gray hair short and wavy. Reaching out a hand to each of them, she stepped forward. “Pearl Guthrie. Just call me Pearl.” Holding on to their hands, she said, “Aren't we lucky to have such nice weather today? The ice went out over three weeks early this year. It's almost like summer already.”

In the letter Ian had called Pearl “everyone's grandma.” Nika supposed that meant everyone liked her. She was slightly stooped but agile-looking, dressed in tan pants and a white T-shirt, wearing a bright red flannel shirt like a jacket. Nika liked her eyes. They were blue, like small pieces of sky, turning up at the corners in an eye-smile.

From behind Pearl, the man came forward, hands in pockets. He was dressed in khaki clothes that looked as though they might have been trampled on repeatedly by large herds of wild animals. He was tall and lean and had dark brown eyes behind rimless glasses, and his curly almost-black hair waved down over his collar. His face was tanned and clean-shaven. His whole posture had an athletic bend, as if he'd be ready to run at the drop of a hat. She could hardly blame him if he did.

After seeming to look them over, Ian reached out to Randall, shaking his hand.

Nika stood very still, trying to breathe normally, feeling her stomach continue to threaten.

Randall smiled and said, “Nika barfed . . .”

Nika jabbed him and scowled, keeping her eyes on Ian. Clutching her backpack tight in front of her, she stared at this unknown male relative.

“Well, Annika, I'm Ian McNeill. You all right?”

She nodded.

“Well, good. You can call me Ian, or Uncle Ian, or whatever.” He laughed in a nervous way, shifting his feet, seeming unsure. Maybe he hadn't been around a lot of orphans. She stood very still, thinking how weird it was that this stranger had the same last name as theirs.