The Loop (40 page)

She smiled at him and he asked her again, gently, what animals?

‘Why, silly, the ones you’ve killed. All these years. I was trying to add them up. It’s so many, Joseph. All those lives, every one of them a separate life.’

‘You shouldn’t be fretting about things like that.’

‘Oh, I’m not fretting. I was wondering, that’s all.’

‘Wondering.’

‘Yes.’

She suddenly frowned and looked at him with great intensity.

‘Do you think, Joseph, their life is the same as ours? I mean, what it’s made of, that little flicker or spirit or whatever it is, inside them. Do you think it’s the same as what we have inside us?’

‘No, dear, of course it’s not. How could it be?’

Her puzzling seemed to have drained her, for she closed her eyes and sank back on her pillow, with a faint, contented smile on her lips.

‘You’re right,’ she sighed. ‘How silly I am. How could it be?’

 

The blizzard had been blowing for the last two hours. It was coming from the northeast, straight across the lake. Helen listened to it wailing around the cabin like a choir of the unforgiven. She was glad they had decided in time to call off their night-tracking. She levered the lid from the stove and dropped in another log, setting off a small volcano of sparks. The noise roused Buzz where he lay sprawled on the cabin floor, in prime heat-hogging position. He gave Helen a look of disapproval and she knelt and ruffled his head.

‘Oh, excuse
me
. I’m
so
sorry.’

He rolled over onto his back so she could rub his tummy.

‘Was there ever such a spoiled, ugly mutt in all the world?’

Luke was sitting at the table, with his back to her, putting the last of the day’s tracking notes into the laptop. He turned and smiled, then went back to his work.

He knew his way around the GIS software by now as well as she did. He could create new maps or combine them, often in ways that hadn’t occurred to her, to show why the wolves might be using a particular route or why they might be spending time in a particular place. Helen had never known anyone learn so fast. It was the same when they were out tracking during the day. He was a born wildlife biologist.

Their routine, now the snow had come, was to go by truck or snowmobile until they found a good signal, then put on their skis and search for tracks. When they found them they would follow them back, sometimes for miles, until they found the wolves’ last kill. In the snow it could be a gory sight and the first time, having heard Luke’s account of shooting the elk, she had been worried it might upset him.

Backtracking, they had come across a mule deer, a young doe, which the wolves had killed only hours before. They’d brought her down in a clearing and painted the snow widely with her blood. As Helen got down to work, measuring and taking samples, she had watched Luke from the corner of her eye and been surprised by his calm.

That same evening, back at the cabin, they had talked about it while they ate and Luke had explained, without a single stop or stutter, why it was different. When he’d shot the elk, he said, it wasn’t for his own survival. Sure, there had been all that pressure to please his father, but in the end he had killed from choice. He had taken a life without needing to. Wolves, Luke said, like the Blackfeet who had once hunted here too, had no such choice. For them it was a matter of kill or die.

Helen watched him now from where she knelt, still stroking Buzz, in the glow of the stove. She treasured these evenings together. It was always dark when they came back from their tracking. Outside the cabin they would stamp their boots and brush the snow from each other’s backs. Then one of them would bring in the skis and the rest of the gear from the snowmobile, while the other lit the lanterns and got the stove going. They would keep their hats and gloves and jackets on until the cabin warmed up and the steam was rising off them. If the cell phone was working, Helen would check her voice mail and return any calls and then one of them would cook supper while the other started transferring the day’s tracking notes into the computer.

Tonight, they’d eaten Helen’s macaroni and cheese, which even though they had it at least three times a week Luke still insisted he adored. In a short while, when he’d finished entering the last of the notes, he would be heading home and Helen would feel the usual, lonely hollowing within her. And if she didn’t at once busy herself with something, she would slide inexorably, almost from habit, into a pit of self-loathing and recrimination over Joel.

The stove spluttered. Outside, the blizzard sounded as if it was dying down. Luke clicked on Save and sat back.

‘All done?’

‘Uh-huh. Come and look.’

Helen got up and went to stand behind his chair, while he showed her on the screen what he’d done.

He had set up a new sequence of maps, showing all the locations where he and Helen had found ‘scent posts’ - places where the wolves regularly urinated to mark the borders of their territory as a warning to invaders. In other seasons, these were hard to find, but in the snow you could spot them easily and they were finding new ones every day.

His new map sequence showed how the wolves had established a clearly defined territory of about two hundred square miles which they patrolled every few days. Its most northern tip was the foot of Wrong Creek and it spread from there, south and east, to the western edge of Jordan Townsend’s ranch.

Luke clicked up a new map and overlaid it.

‘Look, this is funny. It’s like, every weekend they go down to the Townsend place.’

‘Well, of course they do. He’s got that movie theater.’ Luke laughed and she suddenly realized that, all the time she’d been standing there, her hands had been resting on his shoulders.

‘Maybe he puts on one of his g-girlfriend’s movies for them.’

‘Right and serves them bison burgers.’

‘Those bison are real mean. If I were a wolf, I’d stick to deer.’

Helen tapped her hands lightly on his shoulders.

‘Well. Nice work, professor.’

He tilted his head back and smiled up at her and she had a sudden urge to lean down and kiss his forehead and only just stopped herself in time.

‘You’d better be getting home,’ she said.

‘I guess.’

His car was down on the road, about a half-mile below the lake, which was where Helen left her pickup too now that the snow had come. Some evenings, if it was late, she drove him down on the snowmobile.

‘Want a lift?’

‘It’s okay, I’ll ski.’

While he got himself ready, Helen went busily around tidying things, hoping to conceal her confusion over what she had felt when Luke looked up at her.

What kind of kiss, exactly, had she had in mind? Was it sisterly? Or motherly? Or was it something else entirely? She told herself not to be ridiculous. He was a friend, that was all. A friend, in whose company she felt easy, who - unlike Joel - never judged her or criticized, who’d taken care of her and hauled her back from the brink.

She knew how Luke felt about her. It was obvious from the way she sometimes caught him looking at her that he was a little in love with her. And there were times, she had to admit, such as just now, when she felt something not wholly dissimilar for him. She missed the physical comfort of those times, when at her most despairing, after Joel’s letter arrived, he had held her in his arms and let her weep.

But her emotions were still hopelessly shredded and raw. In the flash of a second, she could plummet from elation to despair. In any case, the idea of anything happening between them was absurd. He was ten years younger than she was, just a boy. God, when she was his age, at college . . . well, perhaps that wasn’t such a good line of reasoning. In fact, she had dated men much older than she was now. One of them had been in his mid-thirties, almost twice her age. But, it was different that way around, when it was the guy who was older - just look at her father and Courtney. Though she was still having trouble with that.

Luke was at the door now, ready to go.

‘What time in the morning?’ he asked.

‘Eight?’

‘Okay. G-goodnight then.’

‘ ’Night, professor.’

The instant he opened the door, a pile of snow fell in on him, followed by a howling blast of wind. The blizzard hadn’t died, as Helen had thought. It had simply muffled its sound by drifting snow right up the front of the cabin. Luke had to shove hard against the wind and all the snow that had fallen in to shut the door and when he’d done it he stood with his back to it, laughing and covered in snow.

‘Back so soon?’ Helen said.

 

Luke woke in total darkness and took a moment to remember where he was. He lay on his back, on the lumpy mattress of the top bunk, listening to the muted moan of the wind and wondering what had woken him.

He strained to hear the sound of Helen’s breathing in the bunk below, but all he could hear was the dog snoring and the occasional crackle of the stove. They had stacked it up before turning in and kept their clothes on inside their sleeping bags so as to be warm when it later burned out. He looked at the luminous dial of his watch. It was a little after three.

‘Luke?’ she whispered.

‘Yes.’

‘Are you okay up there?’

‘Sure, I’m fine.’

The last of the logs shifted in the stove, showering the grate with cinders and briefly filling the cabin with an amber glow.

‘I never thanked you,’ she said.

‘For what?’

‘For everything. For looking after me.’

‘You don’t need to thank me.’

‘Why have you never asked me about what happened?’

‘I figured, if you w-wanted to tell me, you would.’

And now she did. And he listened, trying to picture places he’d never been and the face of this man she had loved, who Luke figured must be completely out of his mind to have left her. She talked in a level voice, almost matter-of-fact, though sometimes she paused and he could hear her swallow and knew she was fighting tears.

But she kept them at bay. Only when she got about halfway through telling him about the letter, the one Luke had found in the road and given her on the night Abe Harding shot the wolf, did her voice start to crack and he knew she was crying. But she kept on going, even while she told him about the woman that Joel must by now have married. Luke lay in his bunk, above her in the dark, saying nothing.

‘I’m sorry,’ she said, when she was done. ‘I really thought I could do that without blubbering.’ He could hear her sniffing and wiping her eyes.

‘It’s just that I thought this was it, you know? That he was the one. But there you go. You lose some, you lose some. I hope they’ll be very happy.’ She paused. ‘Actually, I hope they rot in hell.’

She gave a little snuffling laugh. Luke wanted to tell her the guy didn’t deserve her anyway and that she was well rid of him, but it wasn’t his place to say it.

For a long time neither of them spoke. Down by the stove, Buzz was making little whimpering noises, chasing bears somewhere in a dream.

‘What about you?’ she said at last.

‘How do you mean?’

‘I mean, girlfriends and all that. I remember I saw you talking with that really pretty girl at the fair.’

‘Cheryl. Oh, she’s not a g-girlfriend. She’s nice, b-but—’

‘I’m sorry. It’s none of my business.’

‘N-no, I don’t mind. It’s just that, girls . . . Well, you know, with my s-stutter and all, it never k-kind of . . .’

He felt his cheeks coloring up like a child’s and was glad she couldn’t see him. He hadn’t meant it to come out like that, or rather, not come out like that. He couldn’t bear the idea that she might feel sorry for him, because it wasn’t like that. He’d learned real early on in life that self-pity only made things worse.

He heard the rustle of her bedclothes and suddenly she was on her feet and her pale face was right beside him in the dark.

‘Luke? Hold me. Please, hold me.’

Her voice was an urgent whisper, on the edge of tears. He sat up and pulled off his sleeping bag and slipped down from the bunk to stand beside her. She reached out and put her arms around him and he put his around her and held her head to his chest. And the feel of her body against him almost took his breath away.

‘Y-y-you’re . . .’

He blocked. He couldn’t say it. She looked up at him, though in the dark her face was only an impression, like the shadowed side of the moon. And still he couldn’t say it, couldn’t tell her that she was the only one he had ever loved or ever would love. Then he felt her arms release him and her hands reach up and softly take hold of his face. He saw the unfathomable pools of her eyes and her mouth lifting toward him. And he bowed his head and closed his eyes and at last, after all his long imagining, felt the touch of her lips.

She kissed his forehead as if in blessing, then lightly traced the tops of his cheeks and kissed the lids of his closed eyes. She rested her cheek against his and it was cool and damp and for a moment they stayed like that, quite still. Then he opened his eyes and kissed her face in the same way. He could taste the salt of her tears on her cheeks and in the corners of her lips.

And when at last their mouths met, he felt his whole body quake and he breathed the smell and the taste and the feel of her, drinking her down into his lungs as if he would willingly drown.

26

T
he Christmas bazaar and pie sale looked as if it was still going strong when Buck got into town. Feeding the cattle had taken so long, he’d worried it might be over, but the street outside the community hall was lined with parked cars and there were still folk arriving.

Hettie Millward and the other women who organized it seemed to have made more of an effort this year. They’d decorated the front porch and rigged up a Christmas tree with colored lights outside and with the sunshine and the fresh snow, it looked real pretty. Hettie had even managed to persuade Eleanor to get involved for the first time in years. She was in there now, at least that’s what Buck was counting on.