Scarred Wolf by Charlene Hartnady

26

Everleigh

Di’s expressionis carefully neutral as I unravel the story for her, but I know my friend well enough to know there’s incredulity beneath the surface.

“Wait…you did what?” she asks.

I clear my throat. “I…uh…I growled at her. And maybe, I shoved her a bit.” In retrospect, I can’t quite remember if I touched the woman. I’m pretty sure I didn’t. She fell. Probably because she saw murder in my eyes. I’m not going to tell Diana that, though. I’m not ready to reveal all of it yet. I still haven’t quite grasped it myself.

Let’s go for a drink, Di. Oh, and by the way, I’m a wolf.

Nope, not cutting it. There’s only one person I can trust with that right now, and he’s sitting right next to me. I feel his brooding presence like a warm balm. I’m almost tempted to reach for his hand, but there’s only so much I can unload on Diana this minute. Although somehow, I’m pretty sure she suspects it. After the way we left my birthday dinner the other night…

The other night? It wasn’t even two days ago!

A lifetime. When I was a different person. When I was merely human.

Diana has her notepad out, and she’s slipped on a pair of reading glasses, looking serious. I’ve always teased her about the dark-framed spectacles, but I’m loving them at the moment. Diana in “legal mode” is a force to be reckoned with.

“Right, we need to get an angle for you. Something to fight back with,” she’s saying as she scribbles on a notepad. “So, you’re saying this woman stepped into a managerial role a while ago. August last year?”

I nod. Diana has already read my suspension letter and muttered a few choice curses as she went through it. She’s planning to come back fighting.

“And since then, things have changed…” she goes on, tapping her pen on her bottom lip, thinking. “Can you put your finger on anything in particular? Have you personally seen her physically harming anyone?”

I shake my head, trying to remember a time, but come up with nothing concrete. “No, but there’s been a general deterioration of the facilities.” I launch into examples. “The worst part is that the residents are afraid of her; I can sense it.”

Diana gives a wry chuckle. “Babe, we can’t make a case out of ‘general deterioration’ and ‘sense it.’ We need facts.”

“But Livvy said—” I begin.

“Will this ‘Livvy’ make a statement?” she stops me. I pinch my lips together. I love Mrs. Arbuthnot, but she’s hardly a credible witness. Though I love her moments of lucidity, they are growing few and far between. I give a sad little shrug.

“She has dementia,” I simply say. “It’s not looking good for me, is it?” I add softly. I’m pretty sure I’m going to lose my job. Despite the upheaval of the last few days, the thought of that would break my heart. I’ve fought so hard to work at Rosie’s.

“I’m not saying that, hon’,” Di reassures me, her expression softening. I sometimes find it hard to remember that, in addition to being my BFF, she’s also seriously good at her job – which is no mean feat. She kicks butt. Heck, that’s why I came here in the first place.

“I guess,” I say. “I just know she’s up to something, Di. And I’m worried about my oldies. They have so little time left. I want it to be beautiful for them. As it is, we’ve already lost so many, and—”

Diana’s eyes narrow. “Lost so many? What do you mean?”

Beside me, Jaxon has shifted slightly to get a closer look at me as I speak. I feel like I’m suddenly under the spotlight.

“We’ve lost a lot of residents lately,” I say. “I know it’s an occupational hazard.” I feel stupid for mentioning it. “I work in a senior care facility; I know what that means. They won’t be with us forever.” I want to cry at the thought. Mr. Harding was such a sweetie. He’d been there when I first started at Rosie’s. It wasn’t all that long after my folks had passed. Losing him had reminded me of the day I lost them. The more I think about it, the more it dawns on me that it’s been that way with every passing. Releasing a tiny connection to my parents each time.

Arghh! What am I? Some kind of masochist? A psychologist would have a field day with me!

But Diana’s expression has shifted into what I’ve often described as her “sleuth” look. “How many people are we talking about here? Two? Three? Over what time span? Can you make a list?” She pushes a notepad and pen to me, and I begin jotting down names and rough dates. I have to think about it a bit. These things upset me.

“Do you have a picture of this woman? Hilary Stevens?” Diana asks as I’m scribbling notes.

“Um…I don’t think so. Now that you mention it, she’s pretty camera-shy. She had a complete fit when they tried to get her picture for the last newsletter.” I mull it over. “No! Wait! Actually, I think…” I set my pen down and reach for my phone, scrolling through my photo album. Diana starts going through my list, her eyebrows rising as she reads. I go on, “We snuck one of her at the Christmas party last year. Julie and I were planning to, um…Photoshop it a bit and put it up on the bulletin board.” The memory makes me grin. Hilary would have shit her pants.

I stop as I get to the photo album of the event. A lot are fuzzy. There was fruit punch, it couldn’t be helped. And there it is. She’s standing off to the side, her eyes cold and flat despite the obvious festivities around her. It’s a good, clear image, her face in sharp focus. Even the sight of her on my screen is enough to make my blood boil. I make a low noise, which I try to cover when Jaxon brushes his fingers over my knee. Diana looks at the gesture and then looks from him to me. She raises her brows for a moment but doesn’t say anything.

“Send me that picture,” she says, obviously deciding that now is not the time to go into what’s happening between me and my roommate. I know that it’s not forgotten, though. She’s going to grill me at the next available opportunity. I mail the image through, hearing the email alert on her laptop a second later. She’s reaching for her phone.

“Sarah, get me Maurice on the line,” she says. “Or better yet, get him in here.” She sets the phone down and turns back to me. “I have ‘a guy’,” she says.

I shake my head, not getting her point.

“I private investigator,” she elaborates. “I think you’re right, babe, there’s something going on here. I don’t like the number of patients you’re losing – I don’t think there should be this many, despite their age. What have their families said about all this?”

I shrug. “Nothing,” I answer. “Most of them are…lost.” I use the word I’ve always saved for the folks with nobody. The ones left behind.

Diana sets her jaw. At the same time, I feel Jaxon’s fingers tighten on my knee. It occurs to me that the two of them have a fair amount in common. Both can be fearsome.

“I have a colleague who does malpractice work. Health insurance stuff. I’m going to speak to him. And I’m going to get Maurice to look into Hilary’s background. There’s something about this woman that’s bugging me,” she says. “If she’s up to something, has any dirt in her past, Maurice will find out. And I’m willing to put money on the fact that Maurice is going to find something.”

I try not to imagine what she might be getting at, but if anything, she’s only giving weight to my suspicions. I feel something sink in my gut like a rock.

My oldies! If she hurts any of them—!

I feel more pressure on my knee and realize I’ve been bristling again.

“Don’t stress about this, Ev, I’ve got it, okay? You’re not going to lose your job. And I’ll see what this woman is up to. If nothing else, we’ll rattle her cage enough to get her off your case.” Diana gives me a smile, clearly misinterpreting my reaction. Because why would she imagine that there’s a part of me planning to find “Matron” Hilary in a dark alley somewhere and give her a taste of her own “medicine.”

She stands up abruptly. “Right, I’m going to sink my teeth into this. Sarah has rescheduled my morning so I can give it my full attention. What I want you to do is to get out of here, and take the day off. You look like you’ve been dragged through a bush backward.” She frowns. “Is that grass in your hair?”

Without thinking, I put my hand to my hair, half-expecting to find some. The strands are smooth and silky, but Diana busts out a laugh.

“Babe! I’m pulling your leg. But seriously, why would you need to check?” Her expression is calculating again, and I hear Jaxon clear his throat beside me. She shoots a look at him. “Jaxon! Take my friend for lunch. Spoil her a little. Think of it as an extended birthday treat.” She winks at me.

Jaxon rises and I stand too, trying not to sway toward the warm strength of him. His hand is under my elbow.

“Thank you,” he says to Diana. It’s the first thing he’s said since we arrived. I’m not sure if he’s simply been leaving me to deal with my own problems, or wondering what kind of crackpot he’s got messed up with.

What am I thinking? He’s hardly Mr. Straight-and-Narrow himself.

“It’s nothing,” Diana says to him. “Thank you for bringing Evie here.” The pair share a moment, and I’m sure I read something unspoken between them. They’re definitely much the same; a common thread.

It’s all too much for me, and I turn to leave. I’m tired. I haven’t eaten.

I haven’t eaten…

Somehow, Jaxon’s at the door before I get there, opening it.

“I need food,” I say as I walk past him.

“Bye, babe!” Diana is calling breezily from behind me, as if I haven’t just abruptly left her office without saying goodbye. “I’ll call you later, ‘kay? Keep your phone handy!”

“Bye.” I yell as the door shuts behind us.

“She’s a good friend,” says Jaxon.

“She is,” I agree. Why would I argue? She’s my “people.” And I like to think I pick good people.

“There’s a place outside in the square,” he goes on. “I saw it earlier. Steakhouse. You need meat.” I nod. Of course I do. “We’ll take the stairs,” he says, guiding me away from the elevator. I aim a distracted farewell wave at Sarah as we pass her.

“The stairs? But we’re five floors up. What’s wrong with the elevator?”

“People,” he replies, as if it explains everything. I don’t push it further. I’ve been sitting in the office for too long and I’m restless. Smokey needs to run. I think back to those moments of freedom last night in the woods. And then what happened after. I lick my lips and Jaxon pauses mid-stride to look at me, nostrils flaring. It might be my imagination, but I’m certain he moves closer.

“What’s up?” I ask when we reach the lobby. Skipping down the stairs has barely left me breathless, although I could happily eat a heifer on the hoof right now.

Food!Smokey says.

Jaxon is shaking his head in response to my question. “All good.” But he’s looking around as if something’s going to leap out at us any minute. I have a sudden memory of his reaction to his phone this morning. He hasn’t been the same since then. Something’s eating at him. I feel a swirl of jealousy. Perhaps there’s another woman. Jaxon has made no promises to me. What do I really know about this man, after all? Maybe he has freaky wolf-girls all over the country.

Mine! He’s mine! that smoky voice says inside me.

What the actual fuck?

I have no claim over this man. None! I realize my life is left of center at the moment, but when did I become this crazy woman? I’ve never been like this around men. “Cautious” would best describe my approach to love. The term “frigid bitch” may have been thrown at me once or twice. I can’t help it. I guard my heart.

But this man…

I come to a halt and realize that we’ve arrived at the entrance to the steakhouse. The fragrance of charring meat surrounds me, and I drool. As in, drool drips onto my chin! Who is this person?

I brush it away quickly with the back of my hand. Jaxon says nothing about it, turning to the restaurant manager and arranging a table for us. He’s insisting we get something on the far side along the wall. I don’t care where we sit. I’ll eat right off the floor where we’re standing.

As we wait, I realize we’re drawing attention. Not surprising. Jaxon and I are an interesting pair. He’s built like a tank and looks like he stepped out of a men’s fitness magazine. And I look like I’ve been dragged through a bush, as Di pointed out. I jut out my jaw and narrow my eyes at a group of brunching ladies who are giving him the once-over. I bare my teeth and they quickly look away. I need to get a grip.

By the time the waiter comes to take our order, I’m considering eating him. “How would you like your steak, ma’am?” he asks politely. I’m sure it’s a stretch.

“Raw!” I say sharply when the man asks me how I’d like my steak. His eyes widen.

“Rare,” Jaxon says. “For both of us.” This seems to placate the waiter some.

As we wait, Jaxon remains strangely tense. He’s staring out the window as if waiting for someone and responds to my half-hearted attempts at conversation with one-word answers. Eventually I give up. I don’t want to talk, anyway.

When our meals arrive, it’s all I can do not to grab the chunk of meat and eat it with my hands. I want to tear into it and growl as I do. As it is, when it’s done, I take time to lick my fingers clean. There’s blood pooled on the empty plate, and I tip it to my mouth and slurp at it. The people around us look away discretely.

“Good?” Jaxon says. There’s nothing ironic in the comment. There isn’t a hint of revulsion in the way he watches me eat. I keep licking my fingers and grin. It’s the first time I’ve felt upbeat all day. “Want more?” he asks. I shake my head, still sucking on my fingers, and his eyes drop to my mouth. I see him swallow.

“Let’s go home,” I say abruptly. I know exactly what I want to eat next.

He’s up and throwing cash on the table before I’m even out of my seat.