Chapter 17

Chapter 17

A fter a good hour, I finally look out at her. She stands trembling by the fire, watching the newspaper article she threw into it burn. My stomach hardens. It doesn't make any sense why she did that. Maybe she lost hope.

A few minutes later, she enters the RV with wet cheeks and a rattling chain.

"Lou? You okay?" I want to touch her, but I promised her I'd only touch her if necessary. Right now, it might be necessary to stroke her hair or hug her, but that's out of the question. And of course my you okay was uncalled for. Nothing has ever been less okay with her, I can see that. Why did I ask such a stupid question?

Tonight, I realize how far I still have to go to be normal. Maybe further than ever before.

Wordlessly, I free her from the second chain so she can go to the bathroom, then cuff her to her sleeping area. The stony pit in my stomach continues to grow, paralyzing my arms and legs with a leaden heaviness.

At night, as I watch Lou sleep, a thousand thoughts, a thousand feelings, and a thousand memories fill me. Maybe because I have experienced what she's going through.

I remember my stepfather. He told me my mom left me with him. The little boy sometimes thought he'd never had a mom. Naturally, my mind knows that is not true. Everyone has a mom. But at times, it still feels that way. To this day, I don't know why she did such a horrible thing to me. No mom should leave her child with a deranged sadist.

I explain it by assuming she was simply afraid of him. Maybe he did all those bad things to her, too, and she put up with it for a while. Eventually, at an opportune moment, she ran away and left me behind. Sometimes, I believe she spontaneously decided to leave. Maybe she went shopping for him, and in front of the liquor store, it hit her like a bolt of lightning. She decided to use the housekeeping money for a train ride to a better life and that sealed my fate. I like that version best of all. I can live with an impulsive decision better than if she had planned it over time.

Later on, when I lived in the slums and Ramon gave me my name, I initially considered searching for her. But first, I lacked money, and second, I lacked understanding. What could this woman have told me?

I didn't want to hear excuses. Besides, I probably wouldn't have found her anyway. She might have changed her name for fear he might go looking for her.

That night, I watch Lou longer than usual, imagining how she misses her brothers. The boy misses his mom just as much despite what he thinks of her.

Once again, I'm trying desperately to conjure up images that come from an even earlier time, pictures from a life before Thorson Ave, before Los Angeles. There must be images of that, but I can't access them or I was too young like Dr. Watts explained. The picture of my radiant Miss Sunshine must be one of those memories. I know it as sure as I can breathe.

Since that night, everything has changed. At first, I chalked it up as a win since Lou has been eating three meals on most days.

But now, on the fifth day, I feel something is even less right than before.

Her apathy increases. Sometimes, she stays in the same position for hours. She no longer responds to words—and not because she wants to annoy me. It's like everything flows through her and she's in a completely different place, leaving only her outer shell behind.

Mentally in Ash Springs, she's ignoring the here and now. Maybe she's imagining her life as it could be. Thinking of Ethan, Avery, Liam, and Jayden.

I'd love to help her, but I can't reach her. Even her necklace, which she used to hold so often in her hand, no longer seems to have any meaning for her.

The wall she builds around her is impassable. Sometimes, when she's lying on her bed staring at the ceiling, I sit next to her and talk to her.

"What do you want to do tomorrow? See more of the area? Or we could go to the lake again? Perhaps you'd like to learn which berries are edible?" I know she hears my questions, but nothing comes out of her. She is completely withdrawn. She won't fight anymore, not against me, not against her hopelessness. Her mental exhaustion knows no bounds and I don't know how to help her. I'm secretly praying for a miracle even though I've never believed in a god. It makes me want to bang my head against the radiator because it doesn't take God to save Lou. I could solve this problem by letting her go, dropping her off in Ash Springs and saying: Okay, Lou, it didn't work out.

More and more often, I become afraid that she might never pull out of this state. Outwardly, I appear imperturbable. I do all the chores; wash our laundry in the lake, fill and empty the water tanks, and pick lots of fresh blueberries. But inside me there is a chaos of feelings. Rarely have I felt anything more than anger, loneliness, and emptiness. Now there are sensations I've only ever tried to imitate before. Concern, pity, affection. Real affection, not obsession that leaves no room for other thoughts. This upsets me. It makes me someone who I don't recognize and I don't know how it might progress or if that someone won't scare me one day.

This morning, as I'm heading to inspect the two rabbit traps and build a new one, I leave Lou chained to the RV. I've given up asking since she doesn't want to come anyway.

Before I leave, I put a blanket over her shoulders so she doesn't get cold. As always, she's dressed scantily as if she doesn't care if she gets sick.

I take the path through the spruce tree line and walk along the stony lake shore. Coolness rises from the water's surface, bathing the heart of the forest in cold, clear beauty. The coniferous forest all around is still full of morning shadows, the sky gray blue with only a few rays of sunshine reaching the ground. At dawn, they look like bars of light. It's too bad Lou doesn't want to see this.

I search the area and decide to set the new trap near the creek. I walk along the embankment for a while, trampling a couple of Canadian bush nettles and eventually return to the thicket. After a few minutes, I pull up the hood of the sweatshirt because of the cold.

I can't get Lou and her grief out of my head. Should I force her to go out with me again? We could hike along the creek, maybe to the rocky gorge at the top of the mountain, it only takes half an hour following the deer trail.

Lost in thought, I stop at a spruce tree to tie a red cloth to it. The location is perfect for a trap as it is on the deer trail and not far from the creek. As I tie the last knot, a faint sound reaches my ear. The whining of an animal. It reminds me of the whimpering of a beaten child who can no longer find words in his pain. Black light flickers in front of me for a moment. Out of instinct, I put my hands up to cover my ears, but then I think about it and lower my arms again. I need to see what's going on. The whining sounds like it's from a young animal. Young ones around the RV pose a risk if the parents perceive us as a threat. It could be a fox cub or a wolf pup. Or a grizzly cub. Maybe its mother is nearby, too.

I stand still for a moment and listen intently.

I must be close. The sounds are only soft because the animal is weak. I carefully walk around the spruce to which I tied the cloth and step over several broken branches. A chipmunk darts away. Now the whining is right below me. In slow motion, I squat down and brush aside a few feathery fern leaves with the back of my hand. My heart beats faster.

Luckily, not a bear cub!

A tiny wolf cub is crawling all alone on the ground.

"Hey, what are you doing here?" The cub turns in circles as if completely lost. Its tiny legs tremble in a futile attempt to keep running, but the next moment, it falls over and just lies there.

"You're way too skinny, you know that?" I reach out to it and it immediately licks my fingers. Its tongue is rough and tender. It's not afraid of me, at least, it hardly reacts to me, only to my hand. This is bad. I've read a lot about wolves since the first pack established their territory on my land. I don't remember everything, but this cub is definitely too skinny for its age. I carefully feel the protruding ribs, pluck a few ticks from the fur and throw them back into the ferns in disgust.

There's no way I can leave it here. A few feet to the left, I discover a cave, directly below a mound of earth. It is unusual for a young to lie in front of it and not in it. I creep closer and cautiously peer into the dark tunnel. Silence. No sound emerges from the darkness. I lean further toward the opening. The cave appears empty, at least, as far as I can tell.

Apparently, the mother wolf left it behind. Something we have in common that immediately draws me to it. I step back and pick up the tiny bundle. I gently place my hand on its back, feeling the soft, fluffy fur between my fingers. It reminds me of Blacky. Its rough tongue is licking my thumb, awakening another memory: me lying huddled in the closet, my hand twisted in the manacle. There isn't a spot on my body that doesn't hurt. The monster beat me with a belt until I stopped moving. Even today, I sometimes hear the cracking of the punches and my insides convulse.

Are you crying, you wimp? Are you crying?

N-no, sir .

Then you obviously haven't had enough, right?

And he struck me again just because his dog came to me, licked my hand, and jumped up on me. It loved me, not him. At the time, I was certain that was the real reason and not the spilled varnish.

The tiny wolf pup whines and I realize how hard I'm digging my fingers into its fur.

"What am I going to do with you?" I ask loudly, looking at the stream. It's too weak, it won't make it. It will fall victim to another animal. That would be the natural course of things and it would help the other being, but I don't want to leave it to that fate.

If I were fair, I'd drown it to spare it further agony. But then I think about Blacky again, lying in the crate… I hold the pup in front of my face, examining it from all sides.

"You're male, aren't you?" I say. Luckily, it doesn't seem to have any parasites. The fur doesn't look shaggy yet and it's clearly calling for help.

"You know what? I'll take you to Lou and give you something to eat!" I hold it against my body with one arm and lay the other one over it as I walk back. This time, I don't bother to move quietly through the undergrowth, but rush forward. I don't care how many animals I startle with the noise.

"Lou! You have to see this!" I call out when I'm only halfway through the tree line. With long strides, I climb over blueberry bushes and dead wood and get caught on a branch near the ground at the edge of the clearing. I stumble forward, cursing, but catch myself in time.

Lou stares blankly at me before discovering the bundle of fur in my arms. Her eyes widen.

"Here, take it!" I don't give her any time to reply and just place the cub in her hands as if it were natural. "A wolf pup," I explain before she starts thinking it's a grizzly and make a dash for the rear of the motorhome. "I found him near a cave." For a moment, I look at Lou, who is holding the tiny wolf as gently as she would a baby. "I heard him whining," I say, opening the RV's rear compartment. There has to be the powdered milk I bought in abundance at a Walmart somewhere in here. There are at least twelve large packages that were supposed to last us all winter. I climb into the opening on my knees and push a few boxes aside until I find the one that says Winter/Milk/Fruit in bold letters.

"You didn't steal him from his mother, did you?" I suddenly hear Lou ask from nearby. Apparently, she followed me.

I glance over my shoulder in disgust. "Of course not! Who do you think I am?" I shake my head in disbelief, although her question is justified. I stole her from her brothers, so why should I have any qualms about taking a mother's pup?

I rummage around in the box with both hands. "Come on… I know I bought you…"

I impatiently pull out a few cans of preserved peaches and forcefully set them down on the tin floor. A mighty rattle rumbles through the storage space. "I figure his mom rejected him. Or she died and the other cubs were eaten. Any number of possibilities…" I feel like I have to explain it to Lou. I don't want her to think that I simply took the cub.

I hear her say something, but judging by the affectionate tone, it's for the cub, not me. After searching the winter containers and not finding anything, I climb a little further back. If Lou were to slam the door shut now, I'd be stuck in the storage area.

It's a good thing she's on the chain and I have the key.

"I think he's hungry," she says, somewhat at a loss.

"What do you think I'm doing in here?" I grumble, annoyed. "I'm trying to find the powdered milk. I'm positive I bought some in case we run out of canned."

At that moment, I discover a box. Milk here! is written on it, even underlined and with a bold exclamation mark. I vaguely remember repackaging the milk shortly before my departure.

"You bought powdered milk?" Lou sounds stunned again, but not quite as desperate.

I quickly open the lid, pull out a packet of powder, and crawl backward before Lou actually slams the door shut.

"Of course." Smiling triumphantly, I slide out of the storage compartment and hold the blue package in Lou's face. "Got it." I glance at the pup in Lou's arms—like he always belonged there. A strange pang burns in my heart, a fleeting memory of something I once thought.

Mother. Father. Child .

"I hope he drinks it"—I look at her seriously—"if not, I'll have to drown him."

"What?" Stunned, she hugs the wolf even tighter.

"So he won't suffer, I mean."

"You're insane!" Her blue eyes sparkle with indignation. "That is completely out of the question."

I raise my hands reassuringly. "Lou, be reasonable. If he doesn't drink any milk, he'll starve and he'll die a miserable, painful death. Is that what you want?"

She takes a few steps back, and in that second, all I can think about is that she's going to be a good mom to her kids when it's time. Children she may have with me. Eventually. I watch her as she stands there caressing the tiny wolf's fluffy fur. A tender, wild desire pulses in my stomach. For a moment, we stare at each other.

"He'll drink it," Lou says quietly, her eyes glowing with determination. "I know he will!"

Lou followed me into the RV and simply took it upon herself to wrap the pup in my dark blue fleece sweater. I see this as progress because usually, she asks my permission for everything. May I open the window? May I go to the bathroom? May I watch Hero of the Week? May I lie down .

"We have to weigh him so we can monitor if he's growing," I say and turn on the gas burner to boil the water for the milk. Then, I rummage around in the kitchen drawers until I find the sandwich bags. Three years ago, when I decided to venture into the wild, I watched a lot of wildlife documentaries. In one, two farmers found an orphaned fox cub and nursed it with milk in bags. They didn't have milk bottles and the tractor had to be repaired. Until they were mobile again, they fed the little one from these plastic bags and it worked—until the fox was old enough and never came back from its excursion into the wild.

But wolves are different from foxes. Wolves bond quickly with humans, and when they love someone, they love them forever.

I remove a plastic bag and make a point of holding it up for Lou to see. "This'll be our milk bottle."

She frowns like it's not good enough for the wolf. "That? How?" she asks skeptically.

I put the bag next to the milk and use the enclosed spoon to measure out the amount of powder I need. "I'll cut off one corner and he can suckle on it like a teat." I carefully pour the powder into a measuring cup and look at Lou, who uses my sweater to warm the pup with her hands. "The first domesticated wolves were nursed by human women. Did you know that?" An image of Lou breastfeeding the pup pops into my head and I can't help but smile in amusement. "I doubt that would work with you though."

She practically pierces me with her gaze. I turn away quickly, grab the scale from the base cabinet, and place it on the table.

I press the On button with my thumb. "Go ahead, put him on there before we feed him."

Lou unwraps the pup from my fleece sweater and lays him on the smooth surface. The way he lies there is a pathetic sight. He's shaking and won't stop whimpering.

"Hurry up, he's getting cold." Lou is standing now, her hands clenched.

I press the button again and read the display. "Seventeen and a half ounces." Dammit, he's even lighter than I feared! "Way too scrawny. Wolf pups normally weigh that when they're newborns and this one must be three or four weeks old."

"How can you tell?" Lou boldly grabs the pup and wraps him once more in my sweater as if to protect him from me. And indeed, he is suddenly quiet as if he knows that only good things will happen to him with her.

"His eyes are open," I tell her. "So, he's more than two weeks old. Plus, he reacts to sounds. Watch!" I let out a throaty sound, a wolf howl like I made greeting the pack on my property two years ago. I must have been desperate, I think. Desperate and extremely lonely.

The little guy in my sweater probably thinks my howl is lifelike because he immediately starts yowling, this time even louder than before.

"See!" I tell Lou happily. "They don't start doing that for at least three weeks."

Lou looks at me sternly. "You're scaring him," she replies angrily. With the wrapped wolf on her lap, she turns away from me as if shielding him from me.

I laugh. "This guy? Nah." The kettle on the stove begins to whistle, so I turn and prepare the milk. I realize I'm usually different. I laugh because I feel like it not because I think it's appropriate. Measuring cup in hand, I turn to Lou and study her for a moment. All her interest is focused on the pup, who is making pitiful noises again. "Believe it or not," I say impulsively, "there are people and animals in this world that aren't scared of me."

"Don't worry, you'll get your food in a minute," she whispers to the little one, not responding to what I said. Maybe she didn't hear it.

Suddenly, she jerks her head up. "Do you think he can handle the powder?"

I shrug. "Hopefully. The first question is if he'll drink it at all. He's pretty weak." If his mother left him, she must have thought he wasn't going to survive. Perhaps he seemed sickly to her. I briefly think of my mom and think maybe I seemed weak to her too. Angrily, I suppress the thought and continue talking. "Sometimes, wolf mothers bury their young. Actually, they only do that when they believe the pup is dead."

"Maybe she was about to bury him but something startled her."

"Maybe. Or the mother wanted to move to a new den." And never came back . I add cool water to the milk before pouring it all into the bag. I tie off the top of the bag and hand it to Lou with a "Hold this for a second!"

I go to the cupboard above the side door.

This is where I keep most things Lou could use to do damage if she got her hands on them: narcotics, tools, knives, and scissors. I reach for a pair of nail scissors to cut open the pouch and turn back to Lou.

She sits transfixed, staring at the compartment behind me with bright eyes. A dark feeling crosses my heart like a shadow.

Oh, yes, Lou, now you've seen it. Yeah, the stuff has to be hidden somewhere .

The spark of exuberance I felt a few minutes ago is no more.

"Give me the bag," I say calmly, but my insides are screaming. And my eyes convey something completely different: Never again! Never try to escape again!

As she hands me the milk, her fingers tremble like they did in the beginning, but I can't stop staring at her like I'm a sniper aiming at his target.

I snip a tiny hole in the bag with the tip of the scissor blade and hold it shut. "That should do it." I nod my head. "Do you want to feed him?" My voice is still too dark, too controlled by the waves of anger in me. I could smack myself—the bar on the good feelings is stuck.

Lou looks at me and then the pup. "May I?" she asks, uneasy.

"Why not?" My forced smile tightens my face muscles. "If you're doing that, you can't exactly run away, can you?" Tread lightly!

"No," she whispers. She clumsily takes the milk bag from me, holds the hole closed, and looks at him, clueless.

"Want help?" I sit next to her and try to suppress the uneasy feelings in me: the fear Lou might leave and the anger it triggers; but they cannot be completely expelled.

The tension between us smolders like August heat over a paved road.

Lou scoots up against the wall with the wolf on her lap and gives me an anxious look.

Still scared! Obviously, considering the way you reacted again, Bren. As if her thoughts of escaping were a crime .

I remain seated on the outer edge of the bench, still close, and point to the pup. "Put the open corner to his mouth and drip the milk on his upper lip. A few drops should be enough." At least that's how they did it in the documentary.

Lou nods. She carefully guides the bag to the cub's mouth and lets go of the bottom opening. As the milk dribbles out, I quickly grab the animal's head and turn it to the side. Drop by drop, the thick milk falls onto his lips.

The young wolf almost rolls over, frantically kicking his paws into the fleece as if he wants to stimulate the flow of milk. His whimpering has given way to restless sucking and he's far too excited, thrashing about, milk speckling his face.

I scoot closer to Lou, ignoring her tense posture. With both hands, I turn the pup onto his stomach and hold him so he doesn't fidget. "Try…holding the bag at an angle!"

Lou does as suggested and finally the wolf catches the tip of the milk bag at exactly the right angle. There are soft smacking noises as his paws clumsily push my fingers, but he is drinking. At some point, he apparently realizes he is not dreaming and closes his eyes, but continues to suck.

"His heart's racing," I say softly, feeling his heartbeat pounding in my palms. "But he's doing well."

"Yeah."

I look at Lou. Lost in thought, she gazes at the small bundle of life on her lap. A smile has crept onto her face and something inside me flutters like the wind and sky. All my fear and anger has suddenly vanished.

"You're smiling for the first time," I say softly, not knowing if she's noticing it herself.

Her smile dies.

Wrong again, Brendan!

If only I had kept my mouth shut! I watch Lou feed the pup for a while, still holding him on his stomach.

"You should give him a name," I say thoughtfully.

She shakes her head vigorously. "No." She smooths the bag with her fingers, increasing the flow of milk. "I can't name him knowing you might drown him."

"That's exactly why you should name him." I think back to the time the Bones called me Hoover . Hoover for Hoover Avenue, where Ramon found me starving behind a dump back then.

"Why?" she asks, genuinely surprised.

"You want him to die without a name?" I retort.

Lou looks at me and then at the cub, a sad look in her eyes. "Names make it harder. Names bind you to things. Names give meaning."

"If he doesn't have a name, it means he isn't important." I hear Ramon's voice in my mind: Everyone should know his name, Hoover. Names are like a fucking birthright or something like that. You may not know your mom, but you should at least know what name she called you, right?

I'm still holding the young wolf. Glancing back at Lou, it seems like she's actually thinking of a name for the little one. "Maybe not necessarily P rincess ," I say, smiling.

"So, he's a male…right?" Lou squeezes the remaining milk out of the bag with both hands.

"Yep."

I wait a moment until the pouch is completely empty, then pick up the cub and set him back on the fleece sweater. His eyes are closed. He may fall asleep now that he's finally had enough.

Lou lovingly covers him. "How do you know so much about wolves?" She looks tenderly at the bundle of fur on her lap.

I lean back and look at the cub as well. "I've spent a couple of summers in the wilderness and read up on a few things, but you also learn a lot through experience." For example, how to howl with the wolves.

"Do you think he'll make it?"

As soon as she asks, the pup retches.

"Dammit!" Cursing, I pick him up. "I hope he doesn't have roundworms." I don't have medicine for roundworms with me. The little guy vomits dryly a few times, then a whole load of warm milk spills onto my hands and drips onto the floor. I wait a moment, hoping he calms down, but he continues gagging until he's thrown up more than he could have drunk.

Lou bites her lower lip tensely.

"I think there's probably no point," I say softly, stroking the little one's head. "He's too weak to keep the milk down."

"We gave him too much," Lou replies quickly. "He should not have had that much at once."

I look at Lou and push down any feelings. I don't want her to notice that I'm wavering. "Sorry, I don't think this little guy's going to live."

"You're not giving him a chance!" Lou's eyes fill with tears in a matter of seconds. "You don't even want to try."

Again, her tears leave me completely helpless, messing everything up.

"I just don't want him to suffer," I reply more harshly than intended.

"But I'm suffering and you don't care about that. You haven't drowned me in the lake yet."

Her words catch me so off guard, I wince. "That's different!" I snap.

"No, it isn't. Give him a chance! Please ." A tear rolls down her cheek.

"Lou…" I don't even know what to say. Her reaction overwhelms me. I look from her to the pup in my arms and can't tell at the moment which of the two needs help more urgently.

"Please!" Lou's chin trembles. "Please, let's just try! I'll feed him every hour if I have to. A few drops each time. He can sleep in my bed and I'll carry him around and keep him warm."

I suppress a smile. "Maybe I should get sick one of these days too…" I try to joke and hold the pup in front of my face. "What do you think, big fella?"

He hangs there limply as if he has already given up.

"Bren, please!"

She has never begged you like this for anything. Besides, she even smiled for the first time in weeks. Don't be a monster…not again, not this time!

I sigh deeply and look from the little one to Lou and back again. I should have drowned him in the lake and not even told Lou about it. "Okay," I finally give in. "We'll try it for a day. But if he's not doing any better after that, I'm going to put him out of his misery."

"Three days," Lou protests. "One isn't enough." She reaches for the pup and I hand him to her as gently as I can.

After that, I go to the sink, turn on the water, and rinse the vomited milk off my hands. "Two," I decide finally. "And you give him a name."

"Grey," she replies like a shot from a pistol.

I turn to her in surprise. "Grey? Why Grey?" Okay, he has gray fur with a shot of cognac in between…

As she leans forward and snuggles her face into the pup fur, I smile again. I'm smiling a hell of a lot today.

"It's the name of a story my brother wrote for me," she finally says, her voice slurred by the fur on her lips.

A strange feeling of loneliness spreads through me. It's odd that she would confide in me when she fundamentally hates me. No one has ever written a story for me, and I never had siblings. For a while, Ramon was like my brother. No, he considered me a brother, but I did not allow for a friendship. I was grateful to him. That was my connection to him. I was grateful for all the things he did, but I didn't trust him. I just couldn't. There's something in me that can't break free from all my past experiences. To hurt people. That's the only lesson I learned.

I surreptitiously eye Lou, who is still snuggling her nose in the pup's fur. I, of all people, am asking her to trust me even though I am unable to do so.

This is paradoxical. And now she even shows me a bit of trust by opening up and making herself vulnerable.

An amazing girl. A peculiar girl .

At least she stopped crying.

All of a sudden, she raises her head as if she's been following my every thought and I feel caught. I should say something nice, something to let her know that I don't want to shut her brothers out of her mind.

"Jayden?" I ask because he's the only one of the Scriver brothers who writes stories.

She nods and looks at me, but it is through me as if she is seeing something from another time. I can't read the expression in her eyes, but it seems to me there is pain and happiness in a single memory. Crazy .

"Okay," I shake off the odd sensation and point to the pup. "Grey it is."

I explain to her how to prepare the milk and that she must under no circumstances use the chlorine-laced water from the taps. "I'll start keeping the propane on all the time. I've been turning it off whenever I leave you here by yourself," I state, ending my lecture.

"Why?" Lou asks, stroking Grey's head with her hand.

"In case there was a gas leak or the stove malfunctions," I tell her. "If the gas escapes, it would get dangerous in here. And around the RV, of course. I didn't want to risk you getting hurt."

"So what are you going to do now?" She looks at me carefully.

I look at Grey. He stopped whining and fell asleep. I pray Blacky, in all his agony, just fell asleep at some point and was no longer scared. "If you want to feed him every hour, you'll have to use the stove. Which means I can't turn off the gas." I point to a small white box on the base of a kitchen cabinet. "That's a propane gas detector. Gas is heavier than air, which is why it's not on the ceiling like a smoke detector. If there's a gas leak, it'll go off. And then you have to evacuate the RV immediately."

Lou puts her hand in the air like a schoolgirl and the chain rattles. "I won't get too far."

Of course, the chains pose a problem now. I don't want to do without them, but if a fire does break out, Lou would be trapped.

"I suppose I can stop putting out traps for two days, right?" I muse aloud. "If we save a little water, I won't have to fetch it as often."

"Or you could leave the chains off for two days, right?" Lou smiles at me, and even though it looks strained, I'm pleased.

Nevertheless, it is out of the question. "So you can run away again the first chance you get and put yourself in danger?" I shake my head vehemently. "No, thanks."

"You'll have to trust me. The way I trust you to not hurt me."

Ha! Like she could wrap me around her finger that easily .

"My trust is earned. I don't just give it out." I lean against the counter, cross my arms, and squint at her.

Lou tilts her head and a few hairs fall across her face. "Then give me a chance to prove myself. No chains for two days."

There's something in her eyes. She looks at me like she did back in the visitor center parking lot; her eyes sparkling as if before an imminent adventure. Like she's dying to be alone with me so I can kiss her.

No! No! No!

"How else are you going to find out if I'm trustworthy?" she replies challengingly, and gives me another smile. A genuine Lou smile that makes me vibrate like I've swallowed a hummingbird.

Rigidly, I stare at her even though everything inside me is in turmoil. "You're not playing fair—and you know it," I say, not knowing whether to be angry or happy.

"What's fair anyway?" Her voice falters a little, but she continues smiling. She's truly brave. Maybe she deserves a tiny concession. The whole time she was so apathetic, so distant. Today, she is alive again for the first time. Maybe I need to finally show her that I'm not the uncompromising creep she believes I am. While I'm reluctant to take that leap of faith, I can certainly arrange to keep an eye on her.

No, Brendan!

Yes, that could work. It'll only be for two days, after all.

Without a word, I walk to the cupboard over the sink and find the bells I've stowed on one of the top shelves. I once read an article somewhere about how to prevent domestic cats from catching young birds. The owners gave them collars with bells so that they jingled with every step. I think that's animal cruelty, but Lou isn't a cat with extremely sensitive hearing.

Just a weird, amazing, kidnapped, lonely girl.

"What are you going to do with those?" Lou asks, dumbfounded, when I show her the bells in my hands. "Tie them around my neck like a dog?"

"Something like that." I turn away again and grab some zip ties from the same closet. "The bells will tell me where you are at all times. Now you can even walk around outside without worrying about bears. I was planning on doing it this way from the beginning, but you were more difficult than I expected…" I can't help it, but her indignant expression makes me smile again.

"So, you're going to put the bells on me and then I don't have to wear the chain?" she asks, stunned. It appears she wants to stuff the bells down my throat.

I nod curtly. "We'll try it this way for the next two days. Not at night, obviously."

Lou pets the pup's head. "What if I have to feed Grey at night?" she asks with an innocent angelic look.

I eye her skeptically. Her expression does not give me a clue if she's been lying to me or if she's going to abandon Grey if an opportunity to escape presents itself.

"While I'm awake, it's not a problem. For when I'm not, I can chain you to the kitchen."

"Good idea," she whispers, a little too sweetly to be believable.

I snort in disgust, but I'm glad she's not so depressed anymore.