Now, neither of those things really applied.
I had so much free time that free time was meaningless. I felt like I did on school breaks. Mom had said once that I didn’t know how to have downtime and that I should be sedated when I didn’t have school. I had thought that was a little harsh of her, but now, it made sense.
I washed the six articles of clothing I had at Beck’s house, cleaned the backlog of dishes in the sink, and finally, I called Isabel because I couldn’t call anybody else and if I didn’t talk to someone, I’d start crying about Olivia and that wouldn’t do anybody any good.
“Tell me why it’s a bad idea to tell Rachel I’m alive,” I said as soon as Isabel picked up her phone.
“Because she will go crazy and then break down and make a scene and eventually her parents will find out and she won’t lie and then everyone will know,” Isabel said. “Any other questions? No.”
“Rachel can be sensible.”
“She just found out that one of her friends had her throat torn out by wolves. She won’t be sensible.”
I didn’t say anything. The only thing that kept me sane was keeping Olivia’s death abstract. If I started thinking about how it had happened, how it couldn’t have been quick, how she didn’t deserve to die — if I started thinking about what it had felt like to lie in the snow and have my skin jerked off my bones by wolves, imagining that Sam hadn’t been there to stop them — I couldn’t believe that Isabel had said it. I wanted to hang up right then. The only thing that kept me on the phone was the knowledge that if I hung up, I’d be all alone with that image of her death rolling around in my head again and again.
Isabel said, “At least that’s how I was with Jack. Sensible is not a word I would’ve used for myself.”
I swallowed.
“Grace, don’t take it so personally. It’s fact. The sooner that you get a grip on the facts, the better you’ll be. Now stop thinking about it. Why do you want to tell Rachel?”
I blinked until my eyes were clear. I was glad Cole wasn’t here. He thought that I was some sort of iron maiden and I didn’t like to convince him otherwise. Only Sam was allowed to see what a mess I really was, because Sam knowing felt like me knowing. I told Isabel, “Because she’s my friend and I don’t want her thinking I’m dead. And because I’d kind of like to talk to her! She’s not as silly as you think.”
“So sentimental,” Isabel said. Not in a mean way. “You asked me to tell you why it was a bad idea, and I did. I’m not going to change my answer.”
I sighed. It was uneven and conveyed more unhappiness than I meant for it to.
“Fine,” Isabel snapped, as if I’d yelled at her. “Talk to her. Don’t blame me if she can’t handle the truth.” She laughed then, at some joke that only she got, before going on. “I wouldn’t tell her the wolf part, only the alive part. I mean, assuming you listen to me.”
“I always listen to you. Except when I don’t.”
“There’s the old Grace. That’s better. I was starting to think you’d become completely lame.”
I smiled then, to myself, because it was the closest I’d get to emotional truth from Isabel. Then another thing occurred to me.
“Could you do something else for me?” I asked Isabel.
“It never ends.”
“Well, I don’t know how else to find out. I don’t even know if you can find this out without making people suspicious. But if anyone could, you could.”
“Keep the compliments coming, Grace. Every bit helps.”
“Your hair is also really nice,” I said, and she laughed her hard laugh. “I want to know if I could still graduate, if I did summer school.”
“Wouldn’t that require you to be human? Not that some of the mouth-breathers there this year seem to be.”
“I’m getting there,” I said. “I think I could make it work. Once I get unmissing.”
“You know what you need?” Isabel asked. “A good lawyer.”
I’d already thought about it. I wasn’t sure what Minnesota State Law said about runaways, which was what I was sure to be classified as. It seemed incredibly unfair that I might end up with a mark on my record because of this, but I’d deal with it. “I know this girl whose father is one.”
Now Isabel really laughed. “I’ll find out,” she said. “Only you would be concerned about finishing high school while you’re turning into another species in your spare time. It’s slightly refreshing to see that some things never change. Geek. Nerd. Teacher’s pet. Oh — pet — that has become funny now that you grow fur.”
“I’m glad I could amuse you,” I said, pretending to be hurt.
Isabel laughed again. “Me, too.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
SAM
This time, Koenig gestured for me to ride in the front seat of the police car. The car had gotten hot under the unmitigated attention of the sun, and Koenig combated the heat by cranking the air-conditioning on full blast. It was so cold that little drops of moisture kept hitting my face. The wolf that must still be inside me didn’t stir. Everything smelled like pine cleaner.
Koenig turned off the radio. It was playing ’70s rock.
I was thinking about Culpeper shooting my family from a helicopter.
The only sound in the car was the occasional crackle of the radio clipped on Koenig’s shoulder. My stomach growled, audibly, and Koenig leaned across me to let the glove box fall open into my knees. There was a package of crackers in there, and two candy bars.
I took the crackers.
“Thanks,” I said. They hadn’t been offered in such a way that gratitude felt uncomfortable.
Koenig didn’t look at me. “I know that Heifort was wrong,” he said. “I know what the common factor is, and it’s not you.”
I realized that he had not turned toward the bookstore. We were headed away from Mercy Falls, not toward it.
“Then what is it?” I asked. There was something like anticipation hanging in the air. He could have said Beck or Boundary Wood or anything, really. But I didn’t think he was going to.
“The wolves,” Koenig said.
I held my breath. The dispatcher’s voice, fuzzy, crackled over the radio. “Unit Seventeen?”
Koenig pressed a button on the radio and leaned his head toward his shoulder. “I’m en route with a passenger. Will call when I’m clear.”