June 4th, 2006
I don't know why it feels weird to dream. The boys do it all the time when we're wolves, and I have to hear it all. Every time they start whining in their sleep, I don't need to see the images dancing behind their eyes; but still, I do.
The imprinted ones usually dream of—you guessed it—their imprints. Gag.
The boys' dreams are more interesting. Growing up, I wondered what went through the male mind during adolescence. I'd always assumed the obvious, and while the boys spend at least half their time obsessing over pictures of half-naked women in magazines and fighting over which of them has the most body hair, their dreams aren't like the others.
Collin had a dream about drowning. He found himself submerged in the water, looking up at the sun as it rippled through the waves, but somehow his sleeping brain had convinced him that the oxygen in his muscles was not enough to get him to the top, so he decided to let the air in his lungs float him to the top. At one point, he realized he couldn't hold his breath long enough. Instead of starting to swim—as he might've if he'd been awake and in a right state of mind—suddenly, his heart was no longer pumping with fear. His body was flooded with the perfect peace of acceptance. He had only twinge of remorse for the people he would leave behind—no grief for his life, no regret for the things he'd done. Afterward, he called it his 'near-death experience.'
Brady had a dream about being on a Ferris wheel. He was stuck at the top, looking down at the tips of the silver fir trees. They seemed to go on for miles. They covered the slopes of the mountains like a thick blanket, each tree a thread in a grand tapestry. In some places, there was a bare spot where a tree had fallen, and he cried for the lost soul. Brady was always the most sensitive of the group.
One night I caught Seth dreaming that he was talking to a giant fish. He stood at the edge of a tank so large he couldn't see the ends; it may have just been a glass wall holding back the ocean, for all he knew. The fish spoke indistinctly since it was a fish and also underwater. But I could've sworn I heard Dad's voice as the bubbles poured out of its mouth.
I didn't dream. At least, I didn't remember my dreams, and the pack had never noticed anything interesting. I could listen to them all I wanted, but in a pack as big as ours, it was easy to get drowned out and pulled along with the majority.
Until last night. I dreamed for the first time in what felt like years.
I should've known any dreams I might've had would be nightmares.
The next thing I knew, I awoke to the smell of meat wafting from the stove. The crack and sizzle of something frying reached my ears and had me stirring.
"She's up!" Mel cried.
"Wonderful," Jack grumbled.
I sat up, my head jerking from side to side, trying to make sense of my surroundings. I hadn't woken up in a bed for months. The feeling of soft sheets was foreign; the knick-knacks on the windowsill were unfamiliar. A sudden wave of homesickness fell over me. A groan escaped my mouth, and my hand reached for my pounding head.
"Here, honey," Mel cooed, leading me over to the kitchen table and handing me a cup of coffee. "This should help with the hangover."
I covered my laugh with a cough. I wished I was hungover. Sadly, my werewolf metabolism had burned through the alcohol faster than the average human, and I no longer felt the numbing effect.
Every single one of my muscles was on edge. After months of surrendering to the wolf, holding my body in place felt like a strain. My eyes darted around wildly, searching for some escape.
Jack eyed me warily. "I noticed everything was where we left it last night," he commented, taking a sip of his coffee and gazing at me over the top of his glasses. "You didn't take anything, did you?"
"Jack!" Mel scolded, holding up the spatula she was using as a warning.
He held his hands up in surrender. "I'm just asking, Mel."
I took a deep sip of my coffee. It felt lukewarm to me, though a thick cloud of steam came up.
"You might wanna let it cool down first," Mel suggested as she placed a plate in front of me full of eggs, sausage, and bacon.
I didn't listen to her, scarfing down the food in less than a minute.
When I came up for air, Jack watched me, his eyes wide.
"Where're you puttin' it all?" He wondered.
Despite myself, I smiled. "Nowhere in particular."
He shook his head in amazement, then turned to look at the newspaper in his hand. "No missing person ads in the paper today fitting your description," he noted.
My body stiffened. "No one is looking for me."
Mel's chair scraped against the floor as she dragged it out and sat at the table across from Jack. "Don't be rude, Jack. Let the girl wake up before you start with the twenty questions."
Jack nodded in assent, but his suspicious eyes watched me as I finished my second cup of coffee. I studied the table, trying to find patterns in the aged wood.
When breakfast was over—and Mel had emptied two frying pans worth of eggs onto my plate—Jack stood up from his chair and grabbed his apron off the hook by the door.
"Well," he said, looking at me expectantly. "You comin'?"
"Where?" I asked.
"You can't eat me out of house and home then expect not to put in an honest day's work, can ya?" He replied, undoing the bolt lock.
I stood up mechanically, following him downstairs to the bar while Mel cleaned the dishes upstairs. He had me take down the stools from where they were perched upside-down on the counter before gesturing for me to sit across from him.
He stared at me for a moment. I stared back, trying to figure out what he was thinking.
"You're not from around here," he finally stated. It wasn't a question.
I nodded.
"We don't get a lotta people from outta town," he explained. "Folks are gonna have questions."
I felt my cheeks get hot. "Maybe they should learn to mind their own business."
Jack sighed. "All I'm saying is, it would be a lot easier to trust you if we knew a little more about where you came from."
I glanced at the bar, wondering why I hadn't run yet. Was it because they'd fed me? I liked to think I was more sensible than that. Maybe it was just their kind, trusting eyes.
"I'm no one," I replied, looking back at him. "And I'm not from anywhere. If you don't believe me, then I can leave."
Jack nodded, his gaze softening. "Well, if you've got no other plans, I could use a hand around here. Tourist season is coming up. Long as you pull your weight, I don't see why you couldn't keep sleeping on the futon. That is if your back isn't worn out from last night," he added, a crooked smile lighting up his face.
Before I could stop myself, I lunged over the bar and wrapped my arms around his neck, hugging him close.
"Thank you," I whispered, closing my eyes.
Hesitantly, he hugged me back before pushing me away. He cleared his throat, reached under the counter, and threw an apron at me.
"Okay, then," he said gruffly. "Let's get to work."
May 29th, 2007
Do you ever wonder if you've gone insane?
A year ago, if you'd told me I'd be living in a dusty farm town in the middle of nowhere, I would've called you crazy. I couldn't have imagined the little apartment above the bar or the fire escape on the other side of the window where I'm writing this now. It's like an island floating on a sea of golden grass spread out as far as the eye can see in every direction, rimmed with green trees that give passing glances of ambrosia sunsets. I wouldn't have been able to imagine the peaceful feeling here, like a refuge from the outside world.
I'm not sure what I expected, but it wasn't the dirt roads, the Peters, or their funky old fold-out futon. I was picturing something more like Bermuda or Hawaii. Maybe imagining a beach vacation wasn't very practical of me.
I should've noticed the seeds of hope taking root when they fed me. If I had, I would've pulled them out while I had the chance.
Hope is a dangerous thing. I've known its sting. Hope lures you with shiny things and leaves you with too many 'almosts.' It raises you into the clouds and grants you a glimpse of immortality in the heart of another, only to slam you back down to harsh reality. Hope is something I've learned to discourage.
Despite knowing better, I let hope grow, like the stupid she-wolf I am. I had allowed hope to grow until—like pulling up weeds—fate came along and ripped it out, leaving me with dark, barren soil.
Maybe I'm just being dramatic. Living with Jack and Mel is pretty easy, all things considered. Mel cooks enough to feed a small army, and I eat more in a day than most grown men do in a week. Jack minds his business, for the most part, and there's always plenty of work at the bar to keep us busy. At the end of the day, I'm usually too beat to do anything but eat, shit, and fall asleep.
Last weekend, I was helping Mel clean out the attic, and I found this notebook. She said I could keep it. I'm not sure why I decided to write in it. Maybe it reminded me of the journal Mom suggested I write after Dad died. Maybe it doesn't really matter. Maybe I just had to get out all the secrets I've been carrying.
I never knew lies could be so heavy. It's been a while since I could lie at all, with the whole 'pack-mind' thing always giving away my deepest, most intimate thoughts. Here, though, no one knows anything about me. I can say anything, really. Who's gonna check it out? Not the police.
This town has two cops, one sheriff and a deputy, who work at city hall down the street—which, by the way, is just a dirt road. They come by every morning for coffee and some of Mel's fresh apple fritters. So far, they don't seem suspicious of me. But Jack might've talked to them when I wasn't listening.
I've overheard too many hushed conversations in the bar about me. Usually, it would've annoyed me enough to make me phase, but lately, I've found it easier to stay human. I wonder when I'll start aging. Will I get my period again one day?
That's one thing IDON'Tmiss about being human.
I fell into Jack and Mel's routine with little effort, adapting quickly to human life. It took me a week to learn who the regulars were, then another to commit their names to memory. It reached the point where I could look at the clock whenever the bell dinged and know which one was walking in.
Less than a hundred people lived within driving distance, and I'd probably met everyone working at Jack's bar. It was the only functioning, year-round business besides the hardware store across the street and the grocery store down the road. In a small town, everyone knew everything about everybody, and I learned a lot through the gossip chain.
There was one person I had yet to meet, though—the infamous Buck Ashwood, who ran the largest working ranch in town.
"Does he ever come here?" I wondered aloud to Jack one day while wiping down the bar.
"Oh, yeah," Jack answered distractedly as he counted the cash in the register. "He's a big contributor to the bar and the town. Folks say he oughta run for Mayor one of these days, but he's too honest for a politician."
"And his Mama's a witch," one of the regulars—a sloppy old drunk named Hal—interjected.
Jack rolled his eyes, as was the custom whenever Hal opened his mouth.
"Mama ain't no witch." Jack waved the idea away with his hand.
"And that nephew of his," Hal continued as if he hadn't heard him, "he's a suspicious fella. He's the son of Buck's older brother, Tom. You remember, Jack? He ran away when we were all young. Then along comes a woman, claiming to be his wife, holding a baby she says is Tom's son. Up and dies before they could get the full story out of her."
I didn't pay much mind to Hal. He was always acting deliriously drunk, even when he was stone-cold sober. I harbored the suspicion he'd started drinking as an excuse to say whatever weird shit popped up in his head. Sometimes he reminded me of Quil, and I had to squash the memories to the bottom of my stomach before I could delve too far into them.
Even not taking into account Hal's gossip, I was curious. I wondered idly when I would meet the man and his elusive family.
It didn't take long. A few months after I'd settled in with Mel and Jack, Buck Ashwood sauntered through the door. He was a big, mighty-looking man with a broad chest, decidedly shaggy hair, and an overgrown beard covering most of his tanned, leathery face. He wore a plaid t-shirt underneath beat-up overalls, which he tucked his thumbs into, showing off his calloused hands, his arms covered in dirt up to the elbows.
"Mr. Ashwood!" Jack cried when he saw the man hurrying from behind the bar to shake his hand.
"How many times have I gotta tell you to call me Buck?" The man laughed, his giant shoulders jumping up and down.
"At least one more," Jack replied, a grin splitting his face. "Sit down; Mel's got lunch on the grill. You still like hot dogs?"
I couldn't help it; my mouth watered. I scrubbed harder circles into the table I was bussing.
"I like 'em more every time Mel makes 'em for me," Buck replied, his eyes falling on me. I could feel them, even though I wasn't watching; such was the weight of his gaze.
"Got a new girl working here, huh?" He asked in a lower voice, turning back to Jack as he handed him a glass of ice and brown liquid. "Where's she from?"
Jack's voice was a whisper when he answered. "Wherever she's from, they weren't feeding her. Wandered in here looking like a lost dog, and you know how Mel is—always taking in strays."
I had to stop myself from snorting at his choice of words.
Buck took a sip of his drink, clinking the ice together. "Ahh," he sighed after he swallowed. "Sounds like Mel."
"Even still, she's one of the toughest things I've seen in a long time," Jack continued, too low for anyone but Buck and I to hear. "Eats like an elephant, too. I keep wondering when she's gonna put some weight on."
Buck laughed. "Must be a living hell for Mel—to be cooking all the time," he added sarcastically.
I could hear Jack's eyeroll from across the bar. "You could say that."
"She staying with you two, then?"
"Yeah. She don't fit on the futon, though, and those feet hang off by a good two feet."
"Looks taller than me," Buck commented under his breath. I felt his gaze again. "She come from the reservation?"
My body stiffened. I glanced over, meeting Buck's eyes and staring him down until he looked away before turning my head back down to the tray of dirty dishes.
"Not sure," Jack whispered, his voice lower than before. "Good bet, though. Can't ask her about it without sending her into a deadly silence. Last time I brought it up, she didn't speak for two days."
A day and a half, I corrected in my head.
I'd had enough of eavesdropping on the conversation. Perching the tray of dishes on my hip, I turned towards the kitchen door.
"Hey, Leah," Jack called.
I winced.
"Yeah?" I asked, looking over at the two of them reluctantly.
"Come and meet Mr. Ashwood," Jack instructed.
"Call me Buck," he said, extending his hand toward me.
I dropped the tray on the counter and walked forward, meeting his grip with my own. He gasped, recoiling as if he'd touched a hot stove.
"You feeling all right, ma'am?" He asked, his eyes wide below his furrowed brow.
"Peachy," I replied, picking the tray back up.
"She runs hot," Jack explained. "Scared Mel half to death one time."
I scowled over at Jack.
"Really hot," Buck murmured, shaking his head, his eyes dazed.
I could hear my heart beating loudly in my ears. I'd gotten used to the slow, mosey-about way people had of doing things there. Still, I'd forgotten about their suspicious nature—they were more alert to the supernatural, being secluded from the rest of society.
"This girl is one of the strongest I've seen in a long time," Jack announced when the silence got awkward. "She may even have what it takes to hold her own on that ranch of yours."
"And she can speak for herself," I interjected, noting how my voice had returned with practice. "Nice to meet you, Mr. Ashwood," I added, picking up the dish tray and backing away to the kitchen door.
"Call me Buck," he replied.
"Sure, sure," I answered automatically before darting into the back.
I took the dishes over to the far end of the kitchen, where the industrial sink was bolted into the wall. I turned the water on full blast, but their voices still drifted into my ears.
"We think she's a runaway," I heard Jack explaining through the kitchen window. "Came in here so thin we couldn't even see her shadow. She trusts Mel now, I think since she feeds her—but she's still wild." His voice dropped lower. "Maybe you can tame her on the ranch. I hear you got a horse that needs breaking—you could let her tire herself out on him," he joked.
Buck grunted. "I like her," he said. "You should send her over for dinner this Sunday. Mama'll feed her a real meal."
"You're one lucky son of a bitch that Mel ain't here to hear you say that!" Jack laughed.
"I heard him!" Mel called from where she was peeling potatoes in the storage room. "And if I weren't knee-deep in tater skins, I'd be whoopin' your dusty ass, Buck."
"Hello to you too, Mel," he yelled back.
June 11th, 2007
It feels like the calm before the storm. But I've already weathered it, haven't I? What more can the universe throw at me? As if joining the pack wasn't enough. As if leaving the pack wasn't enough.
My heart still aches about that. Like I've left part of myself with them. I wish I could call Mom. But she would ask me to come home—I'm not sure I could say no if she begged. And she will. She loves me. She loves me even though I don't deserve it. That's why I need to stay away.
I'm a bummer to all of them. I'm the gray cloud in an otherwise blue sky, putting a damper on the mood every time I walk in the door. At least here, I'm not a killjoy. Even if they don't know the truth.
I groaned, throwing the pen against the paper and resting my head against the rusty metal rods of the fire escape. My eyes wandered to the horizon, where the sun was melting like butter on a pancake of wheat fields. I could hear Mel and Jack in the kitchen getting ready for dinner.
Mel was making her blue moon gumbo, which had been simmering on the stove for three days, filling the apartment with a rich, tangy smell. She had just thrown in the blue crabs when I started scribbling a note.
Gone out. Back by morning. Save some gumbo? –L
I reached through the window and placed the note on the end table of the futon, resting the lamp on one corner to keep it in place.
I tucked the journal in its usual hiding spot—behind one of the loose bricks on the side of the building—and shimmied down from the fire escape.
With a deep breath, I stripped down to my bare feet and tied my clothes onto the wire bracelet wrapped around my ankle. Even though I closed my eyes, I still saw the shimmer of the phase against the back of my eyelids.
Leah! I heard Seth in my head immediately.
Hey, little bro, I thought with a sigh.
Heard you missed me, Jake interjected.
Like hell I did, I teased. Heard you knocked up Bella.
Guilty as charged, Jake confessed, though he wasn't the slightest bit sorry.
You know I have to cut off your balls next time I see you now?
You can try, he scoffed.
I ran off into the woods bordering the town, enjoying the feel of the night on my fur. Finally, I could stretch my legs.
What are you doing on a farm? Jake wondered.
What are you doing in the Grand Canyon? I retorted.
Touché.
You seem happier there, Seth noted with a hint of betrayal.
I miss you, was the only thing I could think.
We miss you, too, Lee, Seth replied. I saw through his eyes an image of our mother standing at the window, watching the trees, waiting for her daughter to return.
She should move on, I answered. What about Charlie?
Seth rolled his eyes. He's married to his job.
And Billy?
Won't quit making moves on her, Seth replied, pulling his lips back from his teeth in a snarl.
Hey, go easy on my old man, Jake defended.
It's the truth, Seth shrugged.
Where's everyone else? I wondered.
Sam's been easing up on phasing, Seth explained quickly. He wants to start aging again now that he's gonna be a dad. Plus, there hasn't been a trace of any leeches since the battle. We're all back in school now.
You should've been in school this whole time, I thought scornfully, letting the weight of his words settle in.
Now that he's gonna be a dad... I repeated, trying the words out. They felt distant, somehow. Their meaning almost escaped me.
Almost.
Emily's pregnant, too?! I snarled, coming to a dead stop. My claws cut into the wet earth on the forest floor.
Nice one, Seth, Jake chided.
Stay out of this, Jacob.
Oo-h, whatcha gonna do about it, Leah? Cross the States to come and beat me up?
Don't tempt me.
What's the big deal? Seth argued. It was gonna happen sooner or later.
Ugh, I groaned. I don't know why I even bother.
With that, I phased back into a human.
My breath was coming fast, and my vision kept going fuzzy. I felt the cool dirt beneath my knees as I fell to the ground next to a tree on the edge of a clearing. I craned my neck backward, trying to keep the tears in my eyes.
It was then that I saw the stars for the first time.
I'd seen stars before, but until that night, I'd never really seen them. Most of the time, it was too rainy in La Push to see anything, so I'd hardly ever looked up. Here, the cloudless sky stretched on forever. It was almost too bright, lit up with dots of white against a black, empty canvas, like an artist had flicked their paintbrush at it.
I laid back on the soft grass, enraptured. My silly werewolf problems seemed small and insignificant in the face of such brilliant beauty.
I sighed, and my whole body relaxed as I let go of the weight on my chest. I could breathe for the first time in as long as I could remember. Tears of relief flowed from my eyes and watered the grass. At long last, sleep embraced me willingly, without the usual pangs in my stomach or violent visions behind my eyes.
I dreamt of the Third Wife. I knew who she was, even though she had Bella's face. We didn't talk about anything—just laughed and joked with each other—until the very end, when she leaned forward and whispered in my ear.
"I have something to show you."
My eyes fluttered open.
The blinding sunlight was new to me. I wasn't used to such a big, blue sky—it almost reminded me of the ocean, as unending and unbroken as the waves on the beach—but it was too bright, a wispy light blue compared to the dark navy gray I was used to. I loved it immediately, but I could've done without the ache behind my eyes.
I jolted back when I felt a wet nose sniffing my cheek. There were big blind spots in my vision left over from the sun, making me blind and nervous.
Then something interrupted my view of the sky. I shielded my eyes to look up at a strange man observing me with a blank, empty look.
Oh no, I thought as the world turned upside down.
I suddenly understood how the boys were so whipped. I felt the untethering, floating for a fraction of a second before gravity re-oriented itself, and I was tied to him now—forever—to keep myself from floating off into the clear blue sky, weightless as a cloud.
Oh crap, was my next coherent thought.
God could make a gorgeous sky, and God could make a gorgeous guy, plain and simple. He was tall, with strong arms and sturdy legs. He had curly brown hair the color of dark chocolate, dappled with golden flecks of sun, and eyes to match. He wasn't smiling, but there was the shadow of a dimple on his left cheek, and I was willing to bet there was a matching one on the other side when his jaw wasn't hanging slack.
I sat up too quickly and became overcome with a dizzy, disorienting feeling. It felt like the earth was shifting beneath me. I pressed a hand to my head, trying to keep it upright as the world spun.
Then his hand was on my arm, and beyond the ringing in my ears, I could hear a distant, deep voice, parting the dark spots in my vision.
"Miss?" He asked anxiously. "Miss? Are you all right?"
"Yeah?" I gasped, staring up at the stranger my life now revolved around.
I examined myself, feeling like I was in a new body. The hole in my chest carved out by Sam had disappeared completely—evaporated into the cloudless, open sky like steam from a pot—as if it had never been there in the first place. I still loved Sam, of course—I would always love him, in a way—but it was different now. The fire had been extinguished, and the magma hardened over the volcano of anger in my stomach.
Now, there was something worse to deal with.
An imprint.
I reluctantly accepted the stranger's hand, letting him pull me up.
"How'd you get all the way out here?" He asked, his dark, thick eyebrows pulling over his eyes.
I glanced down at his lips for a moment, then quickly back up to his eyes, so captivating and warm. Looking at him felt like coming home.
He held me steady as I swayed on my feet.
"You must be starving," he said consolingly.
All I could do was nod weakly.
He supported most of my weight until we got to a decrepit light blue truck, even older than the Chevy Jake fixed up for Bella. A dog lapped at our heels and hopped up in the cab by the steering wheel. The dog sat between us, panting happily and copiously licking my face.
Dogs always smelled me out.
"Rusty must like you," the boy said, a grin on his face.
I was right about the dimple.
"Is that his name?" I asked a beat too late, clearing my throat.
"Yeah," he nodded. "And mine's Noah. What's yours?"
"Leah," I blurted.
Noah beamed, making me melt against the seat. I pushed the dog's snout away from my face and concentrated on rubbing his ears.
"Well, where're we headed?" Noah asked as he put the keys in the ignition.
"The bar," I responded automatically, then winced. "I mean, I work at Jack Peter's bar and live there with him, too. I'm not going there to drink."
Noah grinned again, raising his eyebrows with amusement. "Is that so?"
Maybe not anymore, I almost said. Not if I keep word-vomiting.
"Yes," was what I settled on instead.
"So, you know Jack?"
I nodded. "Yup."
"Small world, I guess," Noah chuckled. "That's my uncle's best friend. I'm Noah Ashwood, Buck's nephew."
I felt the blood drain from my face.
"You must be the girl they've got staying with 'em. Buck mentioned it to me."
I wondered if I was still dreaming. Would he think it was weird if I pinched myself?
"So, where'd you get the overalls from?" He asked, glancing at me out of the corner of his eye.
I quickly closed my jaw when I realized I was gaping at him. "Uhm, what, these?" I pulled the denim over my shoulder. "Nowhere special." I shrugged.
"They look familiar."
Now it was my turn to give him the side-eye. The overalls I wore were those I'd stolen from the two skinny dippers on the riverbank when I'd first phased back into a human. I hadn't gotten a look into the eyes of the two swimmers, but I remembered the man being blond.
He pulled at the denim on his shoulder. "Samesies," he snickered.
I laughed along nervously.
Rusty went back to licking my face, giving me an excuse to shut my mouth.
"I've seen you at church, haven't I?" Noah asked, pulling the dog off me.
"Probably."
Everyone in that dusty little town went to the same church. Physically, Mel and Jack had forced me to go every Sunday—even bought me a formal dress for the occasion—but I spent my time in church gazing at the wooden posts and ceramic tiles, blocking out everything else.
"Maybe I'll see you around sometime," Noah said as we approached the bar.
"Maybe," I hedged.
"Sooner rather than later, I'd bet."
"Why?" I asked, my eyes narrowing suspiciously.
He parked the car and grinned at me over Rusty's back. "It's Sunday morning, silly."
My eyes widened. "Shit!" I cried, grabbing the door handle.
Noah was shaking with laughter. "Hey!" He cried as he recovered. "Can't swear on the Lord's day!"
I scowled over my shoulder and slammed the door in his face, sending rust sprinkling on the ground. I could still hear him laughing as I ran to the alley and shimmied up the fire escape.