“I never knew you existed, and here’s two meetings in one week,” I say. God knows what made me speak that thought out loud, but it’d be awkward as hell to leave it hanging at that. “Did we go to school together or anything?” Yeah, I suck at this shit.
“Um…” She takes her time, focusing hard on looping the surgical thread through the suture she’s working on. “No, I was mostly home schooled.”
There’s a story there, but I won’t press her to share and only offer a silent nod. So she’s been here all along; I just never knew it. Maybe I should have: her last name is finally starting to click though. All local law enforcement outfits are well aware of private property lines, and the Butler property has come up in conversation a few times over the years.
For the next hour or so, I watch Molly work; intrigued as all hell at her calm precision. Every step through the process she knows exactly what she’s doing. “He should be good for at least a couple hours,” Molly says softly, closing the crate door as if she’s tucking in a child. She reaches down and clicks a switch several times on a heating pad underneath the animal’s towel. She turns off the space heater and nods toward the door, indicating it’s time for us to leave the barn and, probably, for me to make my exit.
We emerge into full darkness, minus the light coming from the house. The air holds the nighttime chill, making the scent of pine and damp soil more prominent, which is like a serotonin hit. Even when I’m in the company of someone else, I’m always able to take in the soothing effects of nature around me. As we trek back toward the house, my mind absently registers the creek of branches swaying in the wind and the crunch of our shoes on the dirt beneath us.
That peaceful symphony is broken by the abrupt snap of a stick.
I stop in my tracks, all my senses shifting into hypervigilance, and turn in the direction of the sound. Molly’s body turns in unison with mine—so she heard it too—as if our movements have been choreographed, and when I look at her, she shifts her eyes between mine and the edge of the woods. Neither of us speak as I listen hard, waiting for any kind of follow-up sound.
“You should get going,” Molly murmurs.
“No way,” I whisper, taking a couple steps back in the direction of the woods. “Something’s out there.”
“I’m in the middle of the woods! There’s always something out there!” she hisses, tromping after me.
Her little outburst comes at the same time another sound emits from the trees, making it hard to discern if it’s animal or human. I curse under my breath. “Would you just shut up a minute so I can listen? You might have a trespasser.”
“It’s not a trespasser, and I can take care of myself, so it’s time for you to go!” Molly rattles the hushed words out in quick succession as she quickens her pace to head me off, putting herself between me and the tree line. “I’ll contact you tomorrow about the cat, now go!” she insists.
But a ghost-like movement from the woods’ edge catches my eye. It’s quick, like a flicker, but a tangible form lurks among the lower brush. “Shit!” I curse and grab Molly, throwing her behind me as I reach for my piece and aim it in front of me. My .40 Glock is aimed at the very spot I saw movement, waiting for whatever it is to show itself, ready to fire if it poses a threat. Cautiously, I move a few quiet steps closer, hoping for a better look, when the light of an apparent motion sensor is tripped. It’s not a direct spotlight, but the new illumination reveals a definite trespasser.
Before I can line the figure up in my internal cross hairs, the unmistakable sound of a nine-millimeter semi-automatic safety disengaging might as well be the blast of the gun itself—the one I know without turning around is pointed at me.
Twice in one night.Is this really my life?
“You shoot her, I shoot you,” Molly’s voice announces calmly.
Her?
My mind teeters sideways as I try to react to both a gun being held at me and the fact she knows the intrusive figure now emerging into the path of the floodlight. The wolf is the darkest of greys with a light underbelly. Its build is slim and slender, and the nearby light makes its pale legs stand out in stark contrast against the tree trunks. My brain diligently takes note and then reminds me of Molly’s weapon, and I hold both my hands out to the side, letting my gun dangle by the trigger ring. I turn sideways, because there’s no way in hell I’m putting my back to a wolf, and make a show of tucking my weapon in the waistband of my jeans.
“Two guns?” I prompt her to address my bewilderment.
Her eyebrows tilt as she shrugs and answers. “I’m a single woman living in the woods, what do you expect from me?”
Fair enough. And because I don’t want to put her on the defensive, I make sure my next words carry authority as a lawman of this territory. “You better start explaining real quick.”
“I told you this wasn’t the first animal I helped,” she tucks her own gun behind her, “And I don’t own this wolf, but I know her.” She waves an arm at the wolf that still stands in front of the backdrop of trees, staring hard at us but not taking any further action. It’s as if the animal is standing guard and awaiting further orders. “She must smell the bobcat,” Molly ponders out loud as she walks around me, back towards the barn, unbothered by the dangerous animal mere yards away that could feast on her flesh if it wanted to.
“Molly, what the fuck are you doing?” I bolt after her.
“I found Velvet last winter when I was ice fishing” she explains without turning around. “I don’t think she ever had a pack because she was alone and crossing the lake. She was almost to shore when she fell through the ice. I was able to get her out, but she was frozen. So I wrapped her up, brought her back here, and once she was better… I don’t know… She just kept close and never did find a pack to run with.”
“Why the hell did you not call the local wildlife professionals?” I slap at my own chest as she works the lock on an old fridge.
When it unclicks, she shrugs again, clearly uncomfortable and unsure of what to say. “I don’t know! I guess I just thought maybe the less human interaction, the greater the chance she had to rejoin her habitat and hopefully find a pack. Or maybe I very selfishly liked being needed. I don’t know! Okay? I admit I wasn’t really thinking like a responsible adult on this one!” She pulls out a large food storage container. “Maybe I’m just a seriously flawed individual, and it gave me purpose!” She throws out the sentence like a last prayer.
Her discomfited honesty is refreshing, and I open my mouth to respond, but nothing comes out. The need for such a thing as purpose is one of those life mysteries I’ve never had to consider. I’ve known my entire life what my purpose is and have been doing it since before I was old enough to get paid for it.
Molly sets the container on a nearby table, opens it, and retrieves a beautifully cut salmon fillet. Probably one she caught the other day.
“Molly, seriously, what the hell are you doing?
“A wolf afraid of a wolf?” She cocks an eyebrow.