The nightmare had returned. I lived it all again. The guns. The bullets. The screams. The dreadful silence after the screams. I woke up and cried. Usually the nightmare meant that I was up for most of the rest of the night, tired but too afraid to go back to sleep. That night I was able to go back to sleep and didn't repeat the nightmare. I awoke feeling more rested than I had for several weeks. I puttered around the cottage after breakfast, and found 'Uncle' Gustavo's old spotting scope and tripod in the back of the closet in the office. It was a nice day, so I cleaned up the old scope and took the scope, tripod, and a Field Guide to American Birds out to the shore of the lake. The sun was bright, and the air had a promise of spring. There was still ice out in the center of the lake, but the migrating ducks had arrived. I spent the rest of the morning and early afternoon watching. Blue-winged Teal, Scaup, Mallards, Buffle Heads, Canvas Backs, Red Heads were all there. I carried the scope and tripod along the edge of the lake. By mid-afternoon, the snow from the storm two nights before was completely gone. There were signs of some of the spring wildflowers starting in the woods. I saw deer tracks and the tracks of a big dog. I wondered if it was the same one that had been outside the cabin before. The tracks looked to be about the same size. The afternoon grew warmer. I went back to the cottage, put on some running gear, and headed out. I hadn't run since before the incident in Mexico, so I took an easy pace. I headed out the driveway to the road, and took the road that circled the lake. I got maybe a quarter of the way around the lake before turning back. I spent the rest of the afternoon reading and surfing the web. I made my daily call to Uncle Nathaniel. Ate dinner, read some more, and went to bed. I'd finished breakfast the next morning and was walking around the edge of the woods looking for more of the big dog's tracks when I heard a vehicle coming in the driveway. A Ford pickup with 'Jake's Property Services' stenciled on the doors pulled into view. I recognized the two occupants and went to greet them. Jake Kuusisto and his son Jake Jr. had been a fixture around the cabin as long as I could remember. They looked after and maintained most of the summer cottages in the area. They did some yard work in the summer, checked for broken water pipes or snow and ice damage in the off-season and winter, and basically provided the absentee owners with a sense that their property was safe. If a property owner wanted to come up for a long weekend, a telephone call to Jake would ensure that the cottage/cabin was clean, aired-out, and had working plumbing. They were good, down to earth people. Jake Sr. climbed out of the passenger side of the truck. As I neared, he stuck out his hand and pulled me into a bear hug. "Mitch, Mitch, it's so good to see you, son. It's been years." One of the major ethnic groups that settled Michigan's Upper Peninsula were Finns. And, the Kuusistos were just about as Finnish as they come. As a kid, I remembered Jake Sr. as a big, blond man with a hearty laugh. He always made a point of including me in the conversations when he was visiting with Nathaniel and Gustavo. He had to be in his late sixties or early seventies now. He was still a big, solid man, but he moved with an arthritic stiffness that hadn't been there the last time I'd seen him several years before. I returned Jake Sr.'s hug. "It's good to see you again Mr. Jake. You're looking good." He laughed, "And you're a lying sack of crap. I'm an old man now." Then he grew serious. "How's the Professor? I haven't seen him since Prof. Gustavo died. Sad thing that. Good man like the Professor shouldn't be alone in his last years. I miss having the two of them up here in the summer." "He's doing fine. He's slowed down some, but he's still enjoying life and teaching some. Maybe he'll come up sometime this summer." "I'd like that. You tell him I asked after him." "I'll do that." We released the hug, and I turned to greet Jake Jr. He was forty; four years older than me. Like his father, he was a big solid man, whose pale complexion always seemed ruddy from the sun and wind. The summer between my junior and senior years at prep school, I worked for Jake's Property Services. Jake Junior and I had been paired together. I had a serious crush on him, and after a few missteps and nervous conversations, Junior and I started having sex. At first, I was the one doing most of the jerking and sucking, but after a couple of weeks, our sex sessions became completely mutual. Junior and I made enthusiastic, if inexperienced partners. And, we were doing it two and three times a day during breaks from the job. It's a wonder we ever got any real work done. Our affair ended when I went back to school in late August. By the next summer, Junior was married and expecting his first child. I saw him often, but we didn't do anything sexual. I invited Mr. Jake and Junior into the cabin, I put on a pot of coffee, and we spent an enjoyable hour or so talking before Mr. Jake announced that they had other places they needed to check. I got another big hug from the old man, and a warm handshake from Junior before they loaded into the truck and headed out the driveway. The next four days were just about the same. The weather was great. Clear and sunny. I was sleeping better. The lake was filling up with more species of waterfowl, and the land birds were busy singing and establishing nesting territories. I saw more deer tracks and tracks of the big dog. I was pretty sure it was the same one. The tracks were all about the same size. Wyatt, the hunk, called the next day to ask if I needed to go into Escanaba for groceries. He said he'd run out of a few things, and thought he might as well make the trip the next day, instead of waiting for the end of the week. I didn't really need anything that couldn't wait, but I was happy he'd called, and agreed to ride into Escanaba with him. I found myself humming and singing the rest of the afternoon and evening. I woke up about 4:00 the next morning. The sky was clear, and the moon was almost full . . . it was almost light enough in the room to read a book. I lay quietly for a few minutes, then decided to get up and drink a glass of milk. As I passed through the living room on my way to the kitchen, I glanced out the windows toward the lake ‑ I stopped. A large animal was sitting out by the lake at the edge of the woods. I grabbed the binoculars off the table and tried to focus on the animal. It looked like a big dog. I thought, 'Here's my nighttime visitor . . . he sure is big.' As I watched, the dog stood up and took two steps toward the house, stood and sniffed at the air before turning and melting back into the woods. I sat down in a chair and started to breathe again. My visitor wasn't a dog . . . it was a wolf! I knew Michigan had wolves on Isle Royal out in Lake Superior, but I'd never heard of one in the Hiawatha Forest. I could hardly wait to hear what Wyatt had to say about it. Maybe he'd seen the wolf, too. I was so excited about the wolf that I had trouble getting back to sleep. As a result, I slept in a little later than I'd intended the next morning. I was still pumped about seeing the wolf earlier that morning when I heard a vehicle pull into my driveway. It was about the time Wyatt had said he'd arrive, so I didn't bother checking out the window. I opened the door, stepped out onto the porch landing, and stopped dead in my tracks. Wyatt was getting out of a dark colored Chevy Suburban. One mental aftermath of the shootings in Mexico was that my heart raced each time I saw a Suburban, especially a dark colored one. I hadn't seen Wyatt's vehicle before. He'd been parked away from me at the grocery store and had arrived at the restaurant after I was already inside. There was no way I was going to be able to ride in that SUV all the way to Escanaba and back! Wyatt stopped in the middle of calling out a greeting to me, and hurried up to where I stood just outside the door. "Mitch, are you okay? You look like you've seen a ghost!" Then he looked from me back to his truck. "What is it about my truck that's got you so nervous?" He put his hand on my shoulder, and I immediately felt calmness spread through my body. My knees almost gave way, but he anticipated that, and put his arm around my waist to support me. "I'm sorry, Wyatt. My accident was in a Suburban. I just had a flashback . . . I'll be okay in a minute." "Listen, if the idea of riding in my truck makes you nervous, we can take your Pilot." Relief flooded through me. He really was sensitive to other people's emotions. "I think that might be a good idea." Thankfully, Wyatt didn't ask any more questions about my reaction to his vehicle. We drove into Escanaba without any further incident of mental frailty on my part. We ate a long lunch at a small restaurant near the lake shore, picked up our groceries at Super One foods, and drove back to the cottage. The day was clear and seasonably warm. The scenery to and from Escanaba was outstanding, as always, and the company in the passenger seat of my Honda was pretty darn nice, too. I helped Wyatt move his supplies into the back of his Suburban, and didn't have an anxiety reaction about it. I thought that was progress. Wyatt helped me move my things into the kitchen. I offered a beer, and he accepted. We took the beers out onto the screened porch and talked. We went through two more beers each. I invited him to stay for dinner; he accepted. I fixed spaghetti sauce from a can and mixed in some browned sausage, mushrooms, and onions. He made a salad, and we opened a bottle of wine. It was nearly eleven when we finished the last of the wine. He was preparing to leave when I remembered that I'd meant to tell him about the wolf. "I saw a wolf last night." "You did? Where?" "He was sitting out at the edge of the woods by the lake. The moon was so bright that I was able to see him with the binoculars. I didn't know there were any wolves in this part of Michigan." "I suspect there are a few around here. The Hiawatha Forest is a pretty big natural area. I think it's close to half a million acres. Please don't say anything about the wolf to anyone else. Wolves are protected, but some of the locals around here would still shoot one on sight. Better that no one else know about this, but the two of us." "I hadn't thought about that, but you're right. I'll keep my mouth shut." "Good night, Mitch." "Good night, Wyatt. Thanks for being so understanding about my Suburban phobia." "Not a problem. I'll give you a call in a day or so. If the weather holds like this, we could drive down to Big Bay de Noc, and go into Fayette State Park to check out the migrating water fowl." "I'd like that. See you." I stayed up for another hour or so to let the buzz from the wine recede. I set the alarm on my cell phone to vibrate at 4:00 a.m. If the moon was as bright as it had been the night before, I might see my wolf again. The wolf sat and watched the dark cabin. The man was inside asleep. The man had seen him last night, but had only watched. The wolf sensed a change in the cabin. His ears picked up small sounds. The man was awake again. The wolf sniffed the air. The man was happy. He knew that this man would not try to harm him. The wolf stood and stepped toward the cabin and into the full moonlight. The wolf was there again. I saw his sitting form just at the edge of the woods. The wolf moved. He stood up and cautiously stepped into the moonlit clearing. He stood stiff for a minute or two before taking another step toward the cabin. I put down the binoculars and, quietly as possible, hurried back into the bedroom to pull on pants, shoes, and a coat. The wolf was still standing there when I returned to the window. I slowly opened the door to the screened porch and stepped out. The wolf remained standing by the lake. I sat on one of the porch chairs and waited. The wolf moved closer. It was darn big wolf. Adult male Gray Wolves get up to about 100 pounds. This one had to be nearly double that size! We sat and looked at each other for a long time. Finally, the night chill became too much for me, and I had to get back into the warmth of the cottage. I looked back outside as I was closing the door. The wolf stood, turned, and walked back into the cover of the trees. I was so pumped after seeing the wolf that I couldn't get to sleep right away, so I was late getting out of bed in the morning. It was another brilliant spring day. The ice was now completely gone from the lake. I checked out the water fowl with the spotting scope, went for a run, and cleaned up around the cottage. In the early evening, I set up a camera on the porch aimed out to the yard. I ate a late dinner and saved some of the chicken for later. Right after dark, I dressed warmly and went outside. I placed the leftover chicken on a plate about ten feet from the porch, trained a camera on the spot, then settled down in one of the porch chairs to wait for the animal I now considered to be my wolf. I only had to wait about an hour before I spotted the wolf standing at the edge of the woods. The big animal sniffed and moved quietly out into the open. "That's it, boy. There's a treat for you closer to the porch," I said softly. He moved closer, but sat down about halfway between the safety of the woods and the plate of chicken. He waited. "It's okay, boy. The chicken is for you." He cocked his head at me, and moved the rest of the way to the plate. He sniffed the chicken . . . it was down in two bites. He sat down and looked at me. I chuckled. "Sorry, fellow, there's no more tonight. I'll have some more for you tomorrow." I depressed the remote switch for the camera. The sound of the camera shutter barely registered in my hearing, but the wolf jumped back and ran for the woods. I called after him, "Don't go ‑ I'm sorry. I won't do that again." To my amazement, the wolf stopped at the edge of the woods. "It's okay, boy. It was just a camera. Come back. I won't hurt you." Cautiously, the wolf came back out of the cover of the trees. He moved back to the now empty plate, sniffed, then came within about six feet of the porch before sitting down. He sat and stared at me. Damn, he was a beautiful animal. I talked to him in a soft voice. Just to have something to say, I started telling the wolf about my day. I talked to him as if he could understand my words. I told him about how happy I was that he trusted me. I told him I'd told Wyatt about him, but I wouldn't tell anyone else. I told him about how kind and sexy I thought Wyatt was. Then I started talking to him about why I'd come to Nowhere. About Mexico. About my guilt that I'd survived. About my hand that probably wouldn't ever heal completely. Tears ran down my face. I had spent four years in medical school, a year of internship, and three years of residency. Eight years in all, learning how to be a doctor. Now, it looked like I would have to find something else to do with my life. I had kept so much of that bottled up inside me. It felt so good to finally tell someone, even if that 'someone' was a wolf. At least, he listened. It was nearly two in the morning when I finished pouring my heart out to the wolf. I was exhausted and cold. I told him goodnight and went inside. I pulled off my clothes, peed, and brushed my teeth. I looked out the window. The wolf was still there. I climbed into bed and fell asleep right away. I slept the whole night. No nightmare. I awoke late in the morning, but felt better both mentally and physically, than I had since the shootings. As I ate and drank my first cup of coffee, I checked the weather on the Internet. There was a cold front moving into the area. It was slated to arrive in the early evening with much colder temperatures and rain . . . possibly some sleet mixed in before it was over. Temperature yo-yos are typical for spring in the UP (Upper Peninsula). Even the thought of colder weather and rain didn't dampen my mood. Maybe I could use it as a reason to invite Wyatt over for another dinner. I was pretty sure Wyatt was gay . . . at least, I sure hoped he was. Maybe I was the one that had to make the first move. I puttered around the cottage. Cleaning. Reading. Taking a nap. About four in the afternoon, I decided that I should take my run before the weather turned. I went out to the lake to get a clear look at the sky. Still no sign of the cold front, so I changed into my running gear and started out. Each day I had gone a little farther than the day before on the run. I felt confident that I'd soon be back up to my pre-Mexico routine of eight miles a day in another few weeks. The distance was coming back, but I was still darned slow. I'd turned around and was headed back toward my cottage, enjoying the last part of the afternoon, and the last few hours before the cold front moved in. Clouds were gathering in the northwest. It was coming in faster than I'd anticipated. I hadn't seen a single vehicle on the road the entire time, so when the old Jeep Wagoneer appeared around the bend in front of me, I studied it a little. The driver was a little erratic and going way too fast for the road conditions. I moved farther over on the edge of the road. Just as the old Jeep was passing me, I saw something fly out of the driver's window. Beer bottle! I tried to duck, but wasn't successful. The bottle slammed into the side of my head. |