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I press my lips against her hairline and just wait. For her to tell me something. For all I’ve told her about my shitty past, Gwen hasn’t told me much about her accident. I would never push her, but I’d be lying if I said I didn’t feel a need to know about it. Seeing her in that bed…
I kiss her forehead and the bridge of her nose and squeeze her, praying to be better than I am. “I’ve got you, Pig. I won’t let go.”
“Thank you.” Her voice is small and strained. It makes my own throat ache.
I smooth her hair against the back of her head. “I love you.”
“I love you too.” She squeezes me tightly, and then she pulls away. “Wow, you pulled over. Sorry.”
“Don’t be sorry. You okay now? Want to talk about it?”
She gives me a funny little smile.
I smirk. “Talking helps, that’s what I’m told.”
She smiles wanly.
I give her one last kiss before we start back home. We play music loud and Gwenna holds my hand, and I try not to think of what she said.
“You were skiing…”
* * *
The next morning, I’ve got a meeting with a vendor to measure for cubbies on one wall of the studio. Gwen’s still sleeping when it’s time to go. I kiss her head and leave a Reese’s Peanut Butter Christmas tree thing on her nightstand. Her mom passed me a bag of them on our way out the door and told me that they’re Gwen’s favorite.
I intentionally make a little noise as I get dressed, because, pathetic as it is, I want her to go with me. But she’s sleeping pretty hard, and her sleep doesn’t seem troubled, so I can’t justify waking her up. As I walk out the door, I get a call from Dove and hit the ‘fuck you’ button.
I’ll find time to call him soon. I haven’t been able to track Blue anymore. I think he ditched his car. But Dove will have told him I’m not planning to do it, so there’s no reason for Bluebell to try to interfere.
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I feel peaceful as I ride my motorcycle toward town. Tomorrow, I have an appointment with Sean. I’m supposed to go over my notebook. I had a nightmare last night—Gwen, of course—and wrote it down for him. I wrote it in Italian because I don’t want Gwen herself to read it. But I can be open, or almost open, with Sean. So I guess I will be.
I think of what Gwen said about adding some more rocks to the enclosure. I’ve been thinking of buying a truck. Maybe if she’s still sleeping when I leave the studio, I’ll swing by a dealership. I’d love to drive her around in something safer than that little Mini Cooper…
* * *
Gwenna
I think there’s something wrong with Papa. All my other bear babies are tucked into hollowed trees, thick underbrush, or little coves spread over the 300-plus acreage, and Papa was, too—for a while.
In the last week, though, he’s been unusually restless. Bears have social things they do before they hibernate, and even bears that live in climates too warm for “true hibernation” do these things. I’ve narcissistically wondered once or twice if Papa wanted to see me again, and for this reason, I’ve avoided the enclosure, even postponing a scheduled trip inside the day before yesterday, hoping Papa will settle down and get some rest. Instead, I wake to find his little green dot on my phone’s screen positioned right inside the gate of the enclosure.
Weird.
I move into my office, watching on the cams, but I can’t see anything out of the ordinary. Just Papa, moved from the gate over to the pond, where he is walking by the water. I check the temperature outside. With all this El Nino stuff, I wonder if maybe the warm days are messing up his hibernation or something. But the weather app on my phone says it’s 39 degrees. Cold.
I have a flash of memory of my dream from the car: Barrett, racing down the slopes. At the bottom, he falls, and he and I are wrapped up in the snow they way we were on the rug at his house that night I brought the wine over. The weirdest thing about the dream is, the snow was white. Usually when I see or think of snow post-accident, I see it slightly pink, in keeping with my new reality. Wonder why it was white. Maybe longing for my life before the accident? Wishing I’d met Bear before it happened?
I dress in thermal leggings, a pair of tall, gray Merrill snow boots, and a roomy, dark green fleece from Mountain Hardware. Then I braid my hair and toss it over my shoulder. Just to top it off, I pull on a cream-colored beanie. I can’t find the bear spray, and after a few minutes looking, I decide it doesn’t really matter. It’s just Papa. I trust him.
I take my time walking along the fence line, enjoying the sunlight on my skin, getting lost in my own head as I watch my shadow drift over the planks. By the time I get to the enclosure gate, Papa’s dot has receded deeper into the woods. I go inside anyway, figuring I’ll wander a little ways past the pond to see if I encounter him.
To my slight disappointment, I don’t. I daydream about Barrett, imagining unbuttoning his pants and rubbing my hand along his happy trail as I step out of the enclosure, into a burst of wind. With leaves swirling at my feet and golden sheets of sunlight slanting through the limbs, I think it’s beautiful here.
Then the world goes dark.
I’m pulled against a hard chest. Someone’s voice is in my ear—a voice I know but can’t place. “Shhhh, I’m not going to hurt you. You don’t fight and I won’t. I just want to talk.”
