PART ONE CARA
Seconds before our truck slams into the tree, I remember the first time I tried to save a life.
I was thirteen, and Iād just moved back in with my father. Or, more accurately, my clothes were once again hanging in my former bedroom, but I was living out of a backpack in a trailer on the north end of Redmondās Trading Post & Dinosaur World. Thatās where my fatherās captive wolf packs were housed, along with gibbons, falcons, an overweight lion, and the animatronic T. rex that roared on the hour. Since that was where my father spent 99 percent of his time, it was expected that I follow.
I thought this alternative beat living with my mom and Joe and the miracle twins, but it hadnāt been the smooth transition Iād hoped for. I guess Iād pictured my dad and me making pancakes together on Sunday morning, or playing hearts, or taking walks in the woods. Well, my dad did take walks in the woods, but they were inside the pens heād built for his packs, and he was busy being a wolf. Heād roll around in the mud with Sibo and Sobagw, the numbers wolves; heād steer clear of Pekeda, the beta of the pack. Heād eat from the carcass of a calf with wolves on either side of him, his hands and his mouth bloody. My dad believed that infiltrating a pack was far more educational than observing from afar the way biologists did. By the time I moved in with him, heād already gotten five packs to accept him as a bona fide memberāworthy of living with, eating with, and hunting with them, in spite of the fact that he was human. Because of this, some people thought he was a genius. The rest thought he was insane.
On the day I left my mom and her brand-spanking-new family, my dad was not exactly waiting for me with open arms. He was down in one of the enclosures with Mestawe, who was pregnant for the first time, and he was trying to forge a relationship with her so sheād pick him as the nanny for the pups. He even slept there, with his wolf family, while I stayed up late and flicked through the TV channels. It was lonely in the trailer, but it was lonelier being landlocked at an empty house.
In the summers, the White Mountains region was packed with visitors who went from Santaās Village to Story Land to Redmondās Trading Post. In March, though, that stupid T. rex roared to an empty theme park. The only people who stayed on in the off-season were my dad, who looked after his wolves, and Walter, a caretaker who covered for my dad when he wasnāt on-site. It felt like a ghost town, so I started hanging out at the enclosures after schoolāclose enough that Bedagi, the tester wolf, would pace on the other side of the fence, getting used to my scent. Iād watch my father dig a birthing bowl for Mestawe in her den, and meanwhile, Iād tell him about the football captain who was caught cheating, or the oboe player in the school orchestra who had taken to wearing caftans, and was rumored to be pregnant.
In return, my dad told me why he was worried about Mestawe: she was a young female, and instinct only went so far. She didnāt have a role model who could teach her to be a good mother; sheād never had a litter before. Sometimes, a wolf would abandon her pups simply because she didnāt know better.
The night Mestawe gave birth, she seemed to be doing everything by the book. My father celebrated by opening a bottle of champagne and letting me drink a glass. I wanted to see the babies, but my father said it would be weeks before they emerged. Even Mestawe would stay in the den for a full week, feeding the pups every two hours.
Only two nights later, though, my father shook me awake. āCara,ā he said, āI need your help.ā
I threw on my winter coat and boots and followed him to the enclosure where Mestawe was in her den. Except, she wasnāt. She was wandering around, as far from her babies as she could get. āIāve tried everything to get her back inside, but she wonāt go,ā my father said matter-of-factly. āIf we donāt save the pups now, we wonāt have a second chance.ā
He burrowed into the den and came out holding two tiny, wrinkled rats. At least thatās what they looked like, eyes squinched shut, wriggling in his hand. He passed these over to me; I tucked them inside my coat as he pulled out the last two pups. One looked worse off than the other three. It wasnāt moving; instead of grunting, it let out tiny puffs every now and then.
I followed my dad to a toolshed that stood behind the trailer. While I was sleeping heād tossed all the tools into the snow; now the floor inside was covered with hay. A blanket I recognized from the trailerāa fluffy red plaidāwas inside a small cardboard box. āTuck them in,ā my father instructed, and I did. A hot water bottle underneath the blanket made it feel warm like a belly; three of the babies immediately began to snuffle between the folds. The fourth pup was cold to the touch. Instead of putting her beside her brothers, I slipped her into my coat again, against my heart.
When my father returned, he was holding baby bottles full of Esbilac, which is like formula, but for animals. He reached for the little wolf in my arms, but I couldnāt let her go. āIāll feed the others,ā he told me, and while I coaxed mine to drink a drop at a time, his three sucked down every last bottle.
Every two hours, we fed the babies. The next morning, I didnāt get dressed for school and my father didnāt act like he expected me to. It was an unspoken truth: what we were doing here was far more important than anything I could learn in a classroom.
On the third day, we named them. My father believed in using indigenous names for indigenous creatures, so all his wolf names came from the Abenaki language. Nodah, which meant Hear me, was the name we gave the biggest of the bunch, a noisy black ball of energy. Kina, or Look here, was the troublemaker who got tangled in shoelaces or stuck under the flaps of the cardboard box. And Kita, or Listen, hung back and watched us, his eyes never missing a thing.
Their little sister I named Miguen, Feather. There were times sheād drink as well as her brothers and I would believe she was out of the woods, but then sheād go limp in my grasp and Iād have to rub her and slip her inside my shirt to keep her warm again.
I was so tired from staying up round the clock that I couldnāt see straight. I sometimes slept on my feet, dozing for a few minutes before I snapped awake again. The whole time, I carried Miguen, until my arms felt empty without her in them. On the fourth night, when I opened my eyes after nodding off, my father was staring at me with an expression Iād never seen before on his face. āWhen you were born,ā he said, āI wouldnāt let go of you, either.ā
Two hours later, Miguen started shaking uncontrollably. I begged my father to drive to a vet, to the hospital, to someone who could help. I cried so hard that he bundled the other pups into a box and carried them out to the battered truck he drove. The box sat between us in the front seat and Miguen shivered beneath my coat. I was shaking, too, although Iām not sure whether I was cold, or just afraid of what I knew was coming.
She was gone by the time we got to the parking lot of the vetās office. I knew the minute it happened; she grew lighter in my arms. Like a shell.
I started to scream. I couldnāt stand the thought of Miguen, dead, being this close to me.
My father took her away and wrapped her in his flannel shirt. He slipped the body into the backseat, where I wouldnāt have to see her. āIn the wild,ā he told me, āshe never would have lasted a day. Youāre the only reason she stayed as long as she did.ā
If that was supposed to make me feel better, it didnāt. I burst into loud sobs.
Suddenly the box with the wolf pups was on the dashboard, and I was in my fatherās arms. He smelled of spearmint and snow. For the first time in my life, I understood why he couldnāt break free from the drug that was the wolf community. Compared to issues like this, of life and death, did it really matter if the dry cleaning was picked up, or if he forgot the date of open-school night?
In the wild, my father told me, a mother wolf learns her lessons the hard way. But in captivity, where wolves are bred only once every three or four years, the rules are different. You canāt stand by and just let a pup die. āNature knows what it wants,ā my father said. āBut that doesnāt make it any easier for the rest of us, does it?ā
There is a tree outside my fatherās trailer at Redmondās, a red maple. We planted it the summer after Miguen died, to mark the spot where she is buried. Itās the same type of tree that, four years later, I see rushing toward the windshield too fast. The same type of tree our truck hits, in that instant, head-on.
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A woman is kneeling beside me. āSheās awake,ā the woman says. Thereās rain in my eyes and I smell smoke and I canāt see my father.
Dad? I say, but I can only hear it in my head.
My heartās beating in the wrong place. I look down at my shoulder, where I can feel it.
āLooks like a scapula fracture and maybe some broken ribs. Cara? Are you Cara?ā
How does she know my name?
āYouāve been in an accident,ā the woman tells me. āWeāre going to take you to the hospital.ā
āMy . . . father . . . ,ā I force out. Every word is a knife in my arm.
I turn my head to try to find him and see the firemen, spraying a hose at the ball of flames that used to be my dadās truck. The rain on my face isnāt rain, just mist from the stream of water.
Suddenly I remember: the web of shattered windshield; the fishtail of the truck skidding; the smell of gasoline. The way when I cried for my dad he didnāt answer. I start shaking all over.
āYouāre incredibly brave,ā the woman says to me. āDragging your father out of the car in your condition . . .ā
I saw an interview once where a teenage girl lifted a refrigerator off her little cousin when it accidentally fell on him. It had something to do with adrenaline.
A fireman who has been blocking my view moves and I can see another knot of EMTs gathered around my father, who lies very still on the ground.
āIf it werenāt for you,ā the woman adds, āyour dad might not be alive.ā
Later, I will wonder if that comment is the reason I did everything I did. But right now, I just start to cry. Because I know her words couldnāt be farther from the truth.
LUKE
What I get asked all the time is: How could you do it? How could you possibly walk away from civilization, from a family, and go live in the forests of Canada with a pack of wild wolves? How could you give up hot showers, coffee, human contact, conversation, two years of your childrenās lives?
Well, you donāt miss hot showers when all soap does is make it harder for your pack to recognize you by scent.
You donāt miss coffee when your senses are on full alert all the time without it.
You donāt miss human contact when you are huddled between the warmth of two of your animal brothers. You donāt miss conversation when you learn their language.
You donāt walk away from your family. You find yourself firmly lodged within a new one.
So you see, the real question isnāt how I left this world to go into the woods.
Itās how I made myself come back.
GEORGIE
I used to expect a phone call from the hospital, and just like I imagined, it comes in the middle of the night. āYes,ā I say, sitting up, forgetting for a moment that I have a new life now, a new husband.
āWho is it?ā Joe asks, rolling over.
But they arenāt calling about Luke. āIām Caraās mother,ā I confirm. āIs she all right?ā
āSheās been in a motor vehicle accident,ā the nurse says. āSheās got a severe shoulder fracture. Sheās stable, but she needs surgeryāā
I am already out of bed, trying to find my jeans in the dark. āIām on my way,ā I say.
By now Joe has the light on, and is sitting up. āItās Cara,ā I say. āSheās been in a car crash.ā
He doesnāt ask me why Luke hasnāt been called, as her current custodial parent. Maybe he has been. But then again, itās likely Lukeās gone off the grid. I pull a sweater over my head and stuff my feet into clogs, trying to focus on the practical so that I am not swallowed up by emotion. āElizabeth doesnāt like pancakes for breakfast and Jackson needs to bring in his field trip permission slip . . .ā My head snaps up. āDonāt you need to be in court tomorrow morning?ā
āDonāt worry about me,ā Joe says gently. āIāll take care of the twins and the judge and everything else. You just go take care of Cara.ā
There are times that I cannot believe how lucky I am, to be married to this man. Sometimes I think itās because I deserve it, after all those years of living with Luke. But sometimesālike nowāI am sure thereās still a price Iāll have to pay.
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