Have fun out there, he said at last, still smiling. And don’t play in the road.
He turned and came back up the path and when he looked down toward the gate again the four of them were drifting about the small clearing in front of the enclosure, sniffing the ground, their ears twitching.
When he returned to the office he dialed Grace’s number at the veterinary clinic, expecting to leave a message at the desk, but then she came on the line and he leaned back in his chair, a sense of relief flooding through him all at once.
Boy, it’s good to hear your voice, he said.
That’s nice to hear, she said.
I thought I’d have to leave a message.
You caught me in between, she said. How are you doing?
He told her about the fawns, about the small knobby antlers of the two bucks and that all four looked healthy and well. And then about his encounter with the wolf in the night, how the animal had marked its territory.
Wow, she said. Old Zeke’s getting used to you after all.
At least at night.
It’s a start.
Definitely, he said. It felt great to see him like that. I’ve been worried about him.
And he’s gonna be fine, she said. They don’t all have to come right up to the fence, you know.
Two years is a long time to be pissed off, Bill said.
You’d be pissed off too if you lost a limb.
True, he said. It’s just nice to see him feeling comfortable. Or at least less skittish. It was silent on the line for a moment and then Bill said, Hey, that guy Steve Colman from Fish and Game came by today.
Crap, she said. He still barking about the permits?
That and the moose, he said.
He told her what the warden had said, both about the moose and about the permitting, his anger rising and falling as he recounted the details.
What a dick, Grace said.
He laughed then. Yeah, for sure, he said. I’m not gonna lie: I’m worried about it.
I’m sure he’s just trying to get you to pay a fine or something.
Didn’t sound like it. Sounded more like he wanted to shut us down.
No one would want that.
I don’t know, he said.
Was Bess there?
Yeah.
What does she think?
Pretty much same as you.
See, she said, you’re outnumbered. Reason and logic win.
He was pretty serious about it.
Then take it seriously, she said. Just don’t obsess about it.
I’m not obsessing about anything.
Really?
Really, he said. When do I obsess?
All the time.
When? He had been running his finger along the edge of his coffee cup but he stopped now.
Seriously? Any time an animal’s poop looks weird you talk about it for a month.
I learned that from you.
I’m sure, she said. You want me there tomorrow?
I want you here now.
Baby, I wish I could, she said.
Can’t you tell everyone you got parvo or something?
They probably won’t believe me.
Dang, he said. What if I have a sick dog?
You are a sick dog.
Exactly, he said, and I need a house call.
Tomorrow, unless you want to come over tonight.
I can probably come tonight.
Works for me. I’ll let Jude know.
All right. How about I bring something to eat?
Perfect, she said. Oh, Jude has a thing next Monday night if you want to come with. It’s a recital. Fall Festival or something like that.
Yeah, for sure I’ll come.
It’s at seven or something. I’ll let you know tonight. I have a flyer somewhere.
All right.
Gotta get back to dogtown, she said.
He was smiling now, faintly, the thread of panic that the warden had brought upon him already unraveling. I love you, he said into the phone.
I love you too, she told him.
He hung up the phone and sat looking at the stacks of paper on the desk. Debts paid. Debts waiting to be paid. Delivery manifests. He wondered about Fish and Game, wondered what the end result of their interest would be, hoping that Grace was right, that they would lever some fine and that they would find a way to pay it and then the rescue would be left alone. But he knew the odds were not nearly that good.
When the phone rang again he thought it would be Grace once more, even though there was no reason for her to redial the number.
North Idaho Wildlife Rescue. This is Bill.
Bill? the voice said. The voice of a man.
Bill Reed. Can I help you?
The voice hissed, a kind of sharp exhale. Bill Reed? That’s rich.
There was something now, something in the voice, a texture or timbre or quality that came back to him all at once. Can I help you with something? he said again.
Shit, the man said, you don’t recognize my voice? He added, hissing: Bill Reed.
I don’t know. Should I? But already he was lying. Of course he recognized it. Of course he did.
I didn’t think you’d forget.
Rick, he said.
Bingo.
You’re out?
Yeah, twelve years later.
He was standing now, although he did not recall rising to his feet. I’m glad to hear it, he said, his hand gripping the receiver, the room around him sharp and bright and small.
Are you?
Sure I am. Why wouldn’t I be?
The voice on the other side of the phone hissed again, that sharp exhale of breath. I tell you what you should be, he said. You should be pissing your pants. That’s what you should be.
Why’s that?
You know why.
A sharp tingling was radiating through his chest. What do you want? he said softly.
What do I want? To start with, I want my share.
Your share of what?
What the fuck? Rick said. You think I’m stupid? I want my fucking share.
He glanced around the room, the vinyl-paneled walls, the box of light streaming in through the dirty window. All right, he said at last. Give me your address.
It was silent for a moment, the line clicking and popping and hissing as if aflame. Then Rick said, I got a better idea. I’ll come get it.
It’s a long way. I’ll just mail it.
There was a long moment of silence on the phone. Then Rick said, Your brother’s name, Nat? That’s what you picked?
Bill could think of nothing to say. His throat felt dry and his teeth were clenched tight together.