Winnie's POV
Werewolves are real... Werewolves are real.
Werewolves are real... Werewolves are real.
Werewolves are real... Werewolves are real.
"You knew?"
"Of course I knew, Winifred." Enola rolls her eyes at me.
After a night of barely sleeping I was at Enola's door bright and early at six, absolutely restless with questions. She wasn't surprised to see me that early, but was more interested that I didn't come demanding explanations sooner. Embry had spent all day yesterday promising me he would answer my more loaded questions with the pack, but once he left there wasn't anyone to keep assuring me.
The shock had worn off to give way to astonishment. Now I'm less in awe and now feel the beginning of an existential crisis starting.
"I was getting worried there you'd find out when it was too late. I wanted to tell you sooner, but Quil Senior kept telling me how it wasn't my place," Enola waves off with a bitter grumble.
"Too late?" Like yesterday, I land on one question then immediately have three more.
Werewolves are real... Werewolves are real.
Werewolves are real... Werewolves are real.
Werewolves are real... Werewolves are real.
"Why wasn't it your place? You said my grandparents would have wanted me to know." I feel small on the stool in my pajamas watching Enola ready something for breakfast. Not small in the sense of belittled, but like I'm five again.
I came over looking crazy. With mismatching pjs, hair falling out of what started as a braid, and flannel bottoms damp from the morning dew from marching across the yard to Enola's back door. I've never seen Enola this casual. I caught her quite literally at first thing in the morning—at the first morning light. It's still blue out and she's still in her robe and slippers. Despite being an early riser, I caught her too early. Enola's eyes are still a bit puffy with sleep while mine are probably lined with dark underbags.
"It was Embry's place." Enola sighs, taking a pause to give me a look. "Now your grandparents would have wanted you to know. But Quil was right, it wasn't my place. It was Embry's." Enola says more to herself than to me, going somber as she glares at the frying pan like there's something unfair about it.
"He was scared I wouldn't believe him." I supply gently. That seems to bring Enola back from whatever memory she was in, reminding her I'm here in her kitchen.
"What does that boy have to be scared of?" Enola scoffs, back in her usual spirits with a mean but keen look in her eyes. "He's a werewolf."
There it is... someone finally admitting it out loud that werewolves are real. Hearing it from Enola is chill inducing as it is gratifying. Enola doesn't bullshit—she barely even jokes. The truth rattles around in my head, nearly bringing on a sudden headache before giving me jitters, then landing at the bottom of my stomach in an all certain, concrete realization that werewolves are real.
Werewolves are real... Werewolves are real.
Werewolves are real... Werewolves are real.
Werewolves are real... Werewolves are real.
I can't even fathom how I responded so unafraid yesterday. Though, I'm aware without Embry here to assure me, the existence of werewolves is now all teeth and claws, and less of a protector without Embry.
"You haven't eaten since you found out, haven't you?" Enola eyes me.
"How do you know?" I ask, suddenly desperate for a glass of water and the greasiest plate of anything from the Lodge.
"Because when my father first told me, I forgot to eat too." Enola starts cracking some eggs into the skillet.
"Can I help?" I offer, hearing how my knees are wobbling in my voice.
"Now does my house look like a diner? No. You're not on the clock, Winifred." Enola wags a brow at me. "Plus, with your cooking skills the fire department will be here and we'll never eat."
"Practice would do me good." I suggest flimsy. Just having something to do with my hands would make me feel the slightest bit better.
"You can peel potatoes. Slowly." Enola sighs, handing me bag of spuds and a peeler. I know better to thank her for the task, and just let us fall into a comfortable silence. I get through my first potato decently well before I have another pit in my stomach that will only be filled with another dose of truth.
"When you took me hunting with you and Quil Senior..." I struggle with the words. "The Cold Ones... they're not werewolves."
"No," Enola shakes her head at the stove, but I'm not sure if she's too busy to look up at me or too focused too look away. "The Cold Ones are the very reasons the werewolves change. They're abominations of nature. They're the monsters."
There's something sounding like a shout, then a clatter. Enola's hand is like a vice around my wrist, stopping me just in time from nicking the back of my knuckles. Her hands closed around my wrist startling fast, like a nun at a catholic school.
"Now, I told you peel the potato. Not your finger." Enola takes the peeler back.
"How did you handle the truth?" I ask, suddenly needing for one of Enola's stories. The feeling of her grip on my wrist lingers, it's no wonder how she shoots that rifle so steadily.
"I certainly handled it better than you are." She grins to herself. "When my father told me, I thought he was going to tell me he was running out on us. Or that the government was going to take our house." I know she means my cabin, not this victorian house.
"When my father Amis first changed, my family was struggling. The change took away the father I had. It made him a different person. The change made him quick to anger, an anger that took all the human in him to control. It made him starving, like he was going to die if he didn't eat another plate, which put a lot of pressure on my mother. It had him coming home late or sometimes not at all. And when he did come back, he'd be half naked. My parents were fighting, when before they fought together not with each other. My brother was trying to be the man of the house much too young and I wanted to be anywhere but home. So, you can imagine my relief when he said he was a werwolf." There's so much grief in Enola's voice. If I listen carefully I can hear the young girl she was. There's bitterness, loneliness, cynical chuckles all between something so sad and so all consuming you can tell the woman she is now had to grow bigger to out live that kind of grief and pain.
"More than anything the change made my father afraid, afraid for us, for his family and friends." Enola sighs, "But when my father learned to the control it, the change was just that; a change. And what came next was some of the best years of my life. After he told us, all our problems went away as fast as they started. When he wasn't afraid anymore, he was braver, courageous. He went from my hero to an actual hero. Finding out that what you put your faith in is real and it's your family, really humbles you in a spiritual way." Enola nods off, her gaze drifting up towards a black and white picture of the tribe hanging on the wall. I can see the exact moment when her eyes find her father, for they go soft and warm.
"It sounds like he put a lot of good into the reservation." I say.
"He did. He also defended the good in this community. The good that made him special." It's a rare thing to see Enola smile, it makes me special to be one of the few to see it. Whatever fear that was bubbling in me is gone.
"There's a lot of advantages to having a werewolf in the family." Enola chuckles, going back to the eggs before they burn.
"Like what?"
"He would take my brother and I riding on his back on patrols." Enola laughs at that, a warm sound that just makes me feel safe and well. "He now knew my mother and him were soulmates."
"How did being a werewolf confirm that?" My question turns Enola's laugh into a bitter snort. She turns to me with an amused look and a shake of the head.
"That boy of yours is in an idiot."
"You're awake." Enola's family room comes into focus. My body uncurls into a long stretch till that changes into a painful pull on my limbs, and bones start to creak. I can tell by the way my head is beginning to dully ache it was a deep sleep that was probably was three hours too long.
"I fell asleep?" Rising up on my elbows, I try to power through the grogginess.
"Right after breakfast." Enola nods, busy with a pair of boots and some shoe polish. It's clear she's focus by how she's wearing a pair of eye glasses and her braid is instead a tight bun at her neck. Her robe and slippers are gone, now showered and dressed in a beige canvas button down and brown corduroy pants. While I'm still in my mismatch pajamas that I'm not realizing have been inside out this whole time. There's a knit blanket around me and a pillow, signaling Enola made sure I was comfortable. "You sat down on the sofa while I was making a pot of coffee, ten minutes later you were out like a light."
"You didn't wake me up?" I ask, hearing how thick my voice is with sleep.
"I tried after two hours." Enola looks up from her work to spare me a look over her glasses. "I even went out to go out to lunch with Sue and Leah Clearwater, and you were still asleep when I came back."
"How long have I been asleep? What time is it?" I pat around for my phone. The only response Enola gives is a low whistle to signal it's really late. The muffled buzz at my lower back leads me to fish out the phone from in-between the couch cushions. The long list of missed calls and texts makes me bolt upright.
"I was suppose to be at work two hours ago." I've been sleeping for five and a half hours! I would tear the blanket off but even being in a rush I can't help but to take a moment to fold up the blanket into a neat pile "I completely forgot I even had a shift..."
"After finding out the existence of werewolves." Enola finishes for me, abandoning her work to help me look for my shoes.
"I've never just not shown up for work before." I shove on my shoes, omitting tying them to save time.
"My mother missed work for a week when my father told us. The truth is a heavy thing to know. It's hard to just go back to 'normal' when your life won't normal ever again. So being late to one shift isn't too bad, Winifred. Just take it one day at a time."
"Are you dying?" Maisie helps me knot my apron behind me while I clock in with one hand while trying to put my hair up with a claw clip with the other.
"No," I say over my shoulder.
"Are you sick? You know you can call out if you're sick." Maisie's hand goes to check for a temperature at my forehead. When she doesn't feel any fever she looks more worried rather than relieved.
"I've taken sick days if I needed them. But that's not today." In actuality I can't remember when I had taken a sick day, though I'm fairly certain I have. I scramble for a pen and pad for orders, pausing in the middle of my search I add in how I'm willing to stay later to make up for the hours I missed.
"Let's just get through your first shift and see how you're feeling before I give you more hours." Maisie uses the voice that leaves no room for questioning or arguments. She usually uses for really bad customers.
"I'll let you know an hour before I'm suppose to go home." I negotiate but the grim look on her face doesn't budge. "Maisie, I feel perfectly fine."
"Did you eat today, Winnie?"
"I did." I don't tell her how I ate at sunrise, but it's undoubtedly eating some time today.
"And you're not sick?"
"Healthy as a horse."
"Is it your period? Because honey, screw trying to tough out cramps. You know I'll let you go home if it's a really bad flow."
"You really think I'm down with the flu, don't you, Maisie?" I stifle a sigh.
"It's just you've been working here since high school and this was your first no call-no show. Either you're on your death bed or somebody must have actually died." Maisie looks like she wants to check me for a fever again.
"I just slept in," I sum up, not even telling her how I hadn't sleep because I know Maisie will grill me for some explanation as to why I didn't. If she already wants to send me home without any flu like symptoms then she'll definitely send me to a doctor if I say werewolves kept me up.
"Winnie, you don't have to tell me anything. I respect privacy and professionalism and all that. I just want you to know if you'd like to go home at any time today the option is there." Maisie states with her hands struggling to stay at her sides. "Now with that said, I've known you since you first came in here asking for an application. I've worked with you almost everyday for years. I like to think all that time together means I've gotten to know you, and in my Winnie expertise I can say for certain something is off with you."
Damn it, she's good. Maisie is sharp as a tact and her guts instincts could probably solve cold cases given the right circumstances.
"Last week, the boy you're seeing gets in a fight. Now you're suddenly missing work. It's just not like you, Winnie. As front of house manager, I wouldn't be doing my job if I didn't make sure you're okay. And job or not, I consider you a friend Winnie so just please tell me if everything is okay."
"I'm sorry I made you worried." I forget about the pen and paper to give her inner arm a comforting squeeze. "In all honesty, I just had a late night and I slept in. Embry came over to talk about the fight. It was late by the time it ended and I slept in, Maisie."
In a way, that is the truth.
"Good, so you two worked it out." Maisie nods, mumbling to herself. "That man of yours is an angel. That punk deserved more than a broken hand for a shitty sucker punch. I'm amazed Embry didn't lay a finger on him."
That horrible day at the diner was the day that changed everything. It's what changed Embry from the boy I had a crush on in high school to the werewolf. It was from that exact fight I knew something wasn't just different about Embry—but something abnormal. It was the way that I had to throw my entire body weight on his arm to stop him from hitting back... the way it didn't even slow him down, but how it lifted up over his head, dragging me with it like nothing.
How he didn't realize he lost control.
Werewolves are real... Werewolves are real.
Werewolves are real... Werewolves are real.
Werewolves are real... Werewolves are real.
"Maisie, please don't cut my hours." I get back to the subject at hand. That's as close to begging as it gets in the waitressing industry.
"Fine." The blond sighs. "But we'll see about those extra hours after I see you eat on your break."
"Deal."
"By the way, did Embry tell you?"
"Tell me what?" My heart stops altogether in my chest. Does Maisie know? Do Forks locals know beside the chief of police?
"By the look on your face, I'm guessing no." The concerned look on Maisie's face hints that the blood probably drained from my face. "He stopped by the other day before opening to bring the staff bagels as an apology for the fight. Woke up at the crack of dawn and drove all the way out here. Then wouldn't stop apologizing, going on and on about how he felt terrible risking people's safety with a public disturbance. Embry gave Joel a whole speech about how he wouldn't put any of the girls in harms way like that again—especially you, Winnie."
My heart soars in my chest. A watery smile spreads across my face as my heart swells and swells with warm emotions.
That's Embry.
"Oh hey," Embry rises up from the front steps of my cabin when he sees me. The cut off shorts and bare feet tell me he ran here. He looks nervous to see me as he does relieved, sheepishly scratching the back of his neck as he stays in place rather than greet me with a hug like he usually does. "I know I didn't give you a heads up I was stopping by. I was on patrol and had a break—and I wanted to check in on you."
"Did you come in to see if I still believed everything?" I ask, the hint of humor in my voice releasing some of the tension in his shoulders.
"I may have came to see if you had any questions..." Embry stiffens up, looking down at his feet before looking back up at me. "I also wanted to see you, Winnie."
That feeling from the diner blossoms in my chest, and I smile at my feet. The feeling is certainty... it's the knowing feeling that no matter what Embry is he'll always be Embry.
The feeling is love.
"So, how are you taking the news—" Embry doesn't get to finish as I abandon my apron and bag behind me on the ground to rush at him with an urgent need to have him in my arms. He lets out a startled noise as his hands fly to catch me at my waist, while my arms loop around his neck.
"Winnie—" Embry barely gets my name out, my name whispering against my mouth as I kiss him. I kiss him deeply, silently putting that four letter word into the kiss. When I pull back the worry is gone from his face, his eyes melting into gaze.
"I believe you, Embry."