Page 19 of Eclipsed Legacy

“I’m going to be taking some time off—”

He cuts me off, quickly falling into a stricter tone, “Company policy is that you must give at least three weeks’ notice before taking vacation ti—”

“It’s not vacation. My grandmother passed away, so I’ll be taking my three days of bereavement for Thursday, Friday, and Saturday. I’m not yet sure when we’re having the funeral, but I’m not going to be in any shape to work for the next few days.” I manage to keep the emotion out of my voice, but lack of emotion likely says more about my current mental state than tears would.

It takes Mason a second to respond. “O-of course! Whatever the company can to do support you and your family in this difficult time. Please let me know if you need more time or if there is anything else—”

“Thanks, Mason,” I say quickly before he can wish me further condolences or ask how I’m coping.

“You’re welcome.”

“Talk to you later,” I say and hang up. Good God! I sigh. That took more out of me than I thought it would. I’m not sure if it’s normal or not, but the thought of well-wishes, condolences, and sympathy makes me want to retreat. I don’t want to talk about it. I don’t want people to try to understand. Maybe it’s rude. I suppose I should be genuinely grateful for the support, but those kinds of emotions feel so far out of reach. There’s a way people portray loss, and it’s nothing like this. In films, people cry and cling to those around them; people come around and say just the right words. The funeral comes and they move on, but I’m only beginning to realize that it’s nothing like that. I want to scream until my throat bleeds. I want to rip apart the person responsible, and yet… I want to shut off every creeping feeling associated with her, but I can’t. I’ve never felt so lost and empty before.

Sure, I’ve lost people before. My grandfather, Earl (Grandma’s second husband), died when I was ten, but my grandparents had divorced before I was born. He lived halfway across the country in Nebraska. I remember being sad when he died, but we were never close. He sent me cards on my birthday, and Mom took me and Michael to see him for a couple Christmases, but that was the extent of my relationship with him. It wasn’t the same. With Grandma, I feel like part of me died with her. I don’t know what’s normal. I don’t know how I am supposed to act or what the socially acceptable way to mourn is, or if there is one to begin with.

Grandma wasn’t exactly the poster child for social propriety herself. She lived most of her life as a vagabond orphan. Her parents died when she was a kid, and she had no other family. There wasn’t much of a foster care system back then, so it was easy for her to run off and find her own way. She went through a wild phase and partied quite a bit which resulted in her having Uncle Carl when she was seventeen, but she wasn’t sure who the father was. She got married to her first husband, Gregory, shortly after, which resulted in all of my Grandmother’s kids, except for Aunt Ruby and my mom. While I always respected my Grandmother’s “fuck ‘em all” attitude, it’s also one of the reasons I’ve never pursued a serious relationship (if you don’t count Robbie, the guy who was my high school boyfriend for six months). Romance is fleeting. People fall in and out of love all the time, like Mel with her Aaron guy. One day he wanted her, the next he wouldn’t answer her calls. There were at least three guys my Grandma fell for before realizing it wasn’t worth it. My own mother couldn’t stay in a relationship. Maybe it’s just my family. I can’t even mourn right.

But I can’t dwell further. My crazy family needs me. The pack has to come first. The pack has to come first. My phone vibrates. It’s Ricky, likely to ask about his plan to hunt down the other pack. I decide not to answer. Maybe that’s a dick move, but I can’t deal with the Ricky situation right now. I decide to call Uncle Carl again. He picks up after a few rings. “Hello,” he says.

“Hey,” I respond. “I realized that we still need to discuss the plan for tonight.”

“Okay,” he says. “What did you have in mind?”

“I’ll take point. There’s always the possibility that the other pack could attack, and I wouldn’t want anyone else in that position. Could you take the rear?”

“Whatever I can do to help. That’s what family’s all about.”

“Thanks, Uncle Carl.”

“Anytime.” We say our goodbyes and hang up. I really do need to give him more credit. I’ve called the guy twice today, and it’s not even two. He really does put the family first. I decide to keep that in mind. Maybe I can eventually share all of my concerns with him. A little trust goes a long way, I know this. Grandma drilled it into me— or tried to— for years, but it has never been my strong point. Knowing something and feeling it are two different things. I’ve opened up more to Ricky than anyone— Ricky of all people— and now that seems to be biting me in the ass. Would a leader share everything that I know?

I want to be alpha. I’m not the kind of person who has ever cared much about status or popularity. I sure as hell didn’t care about the social “hierarchy” in high school but being alpha— it matters. It’s the one thing that I have never doubted my ability to do. Sure, I’ve technically never held the position, but I was born to do this. Grandma certainly thought I could do it, and she delegated several of her duties to me. I also can’t help but admit that maybe leading alongside or under Uncle Carl wouldn’t be so bad. He does let everyone use his back yard, his acreage, and everything else whenever we need them. He has resources and money. I used to think he overcompensated for not knowing who his father is. It seemed like he went out of his way to show Grandma that he was successful, like getting approval from the parent he did know would somehow make up for not knowing his father. Several of my aunts and uncles have joked about him this way too. All of them know their fathers, but few have stayed connected. It doesn’t seem to have affected them much. Maybe Uncle Carl really has been so available to get Grandma’s approval, but he has been available for everyone. He’s allowed us to use his land at a moment’s notice. I’m not positive he’s really vying for the position of alpha. Yet, I know he does deserve it. He’s never shown any real interest before now, but his statements at the meeting last night made me assume he wanted to be alpha.

Or, maybe, he was just genuinely concerned, Tala. Not everyone has an ulterior motive. The last few days have me on edge and questioning everything and everyone. I could lie and tell myself that I am just trying to play it safe, but I feel like I am going a little insane. I need to stay focused on what’s in front of me, on preparing for tonight and ensuring everything goes smoothly.

I should head over to Mom’s to talk with her and Michael about what he can likely expect. He’s a member of the pack, and someone has to guide him through his first change. The circumstances around my first change were less than ideal, but the change itself wasn’t awful. It wasn’t painful or drawn out like most wolves’. Lizzy and Ray had shared how excruciating their first changes had been. I don’t envy what they went through that first time.

The drive to Mom’s goes by quickly. Before I know it, I am knocking on Mom’s front door while opening it before she can say, “Come in.” The scent of tomato and basil, along with the warmth of steam, envelops my senses. The slight moisture in the air clings to my skin. I hear Mom frying something. When I enter the kitchen, she’s moving back and forth. There are three boiling pots of penne, shells, and spaghetti. Meanwhile, she alternates between stirring a giant mixing bowl full of red sauce and a yellow cheesy-looking concoction. In the iron skillet, she’s browning ground beef.

“Mom?” I say, a little surprised. She looks like she’s cooking for an army.

She jumps before smiling. “Goodness, Tala! You scared the shit out of me.”

“Sorry! What’re you doing?” I ask.

“Oh, I don’t know.” She shrugs. “I thought that maybe all of you would be hungry tonight, or after tonight?” Mom sighs then turns away to move the beef around in the skillet. “I needed something to do, I suppose.” She turns back to look at me with a closed-lip, reluctant smile.

“I guess I’m not the only one who’s been in need of a distraction,” I reply, returning the sad smile.

Mom nods. “It’s been hard. And it’ll get worse before it gets easier,” she says before changing the subject. “I suppose you’re here to talk about Michael?”

“Yeah,” I say, shifting gears to focus on the easier topics. “We know it is highly likely that Michael will change tonight, so I want to prepare him for what he’s going to go through. For a lot of wolves, the first change is hard, painful even. I’ve got something that can help. It’s important that he knows what to expect and understands how to make the change easier on his body. On the off chance he doesn’t change with the rest of us, he needs to know how to proceed.”

“So, you plan on taking him out into the woods with the rest of them?”

“Yes.”

Mom doesn’t say anything, but the concerned look in her eyes tells me everything I need to know.