'My honest opinion?'
I gritted my teeth. 'Yes.'
'You sure?'
I ground my teeth. 'Yes.'
'I think he's a decent guy.'
My teeth were starting to hurt, 'What's that supposed to mean?'
'Exactly what I said, darling. I think he's a decent guy. Not perfect, but who is? He obviously cares for you. He tries to be considerate. He's very patient. If I were him, I'd have kicked my ass out of here days ago. He's been nothing but polite. A nice guy.'
'But what?'
'But it's not going to work.' He held up a hand against my protest. 'Come on, Elena. You do know why you've picked this guy, right? I don't mean because you're looking for a home and a family and all that. You think I don't know that's what you want? I do. And I'd tell you it's right under your nose, but you wouldn't listen. The question is: why have you picked this particular guy to fulfill those fantasies? You do know, don't you, darling?'
'Because he's a good man. He's-'
'Good and patient and caring. Doesn't that remind you of someone?'
'Not you.'
Clay slid off the couch back, laughing. 'Definitely not me.' He laid my portfolio on the table and studied my face. 'You really don't get it, do you, darling? Well, when you do, you'll know why it can't work. You can care for this guy, but it'll never be what we have. It can't be. As decent as he is, you've picked him for all the wrong reasons.'
'You're wrong.'
He shrugged. 'Always a first time. How about those steaks? The barbeque should be ready. Pass them to me and you can get the veggies cooking.'
We went for a long walk after dinner. When we got back to the apartment, Philip had stopped by and left a note on the table saying the partners had invited him to a meeting in Montreal the next morning. He'd stopped by to pack an overnight bag and was already on a train to Quebec.
'So he'll be gone all night?' Clay asked, leaning over my shoulder to read the note.
'Looks that way.'
'Damn shame. Guess we'll have to find something else to do.' He walked over to the calendar. 'Let's see. Six days since you Changed. Eight for me. You know what that means.'
Time for a run.
Fireworks
We debated whether to drive or walk to the ravine. Although it was a long hike, neither of us minded walking there-it was walking back after an exhausting run that wasn't nearly so appealing. We'd almost agreed to drive when I made the mistake of mentioning that the car belonged to Philip, and Clay decided it was such a beautiful night it would be a crime not to walk. I didn't argue. Taking Philip's car was often more bother than it was worth. Finding an overnight parking spot near the ravine was tough and I was always worried I'd get ticketed or towed and would have to explain to Philip what I was doing in that part of town in the middle of the night.
It was midnight when we got to the ravine. We split up. I found a thicket and undressed. As I crouched to start my Change, I was struck by something I'd never felt before, at least not in Toronto. I was getting ready for my Change with all the mental preparation that I'd use brushing my teeth. While my brain was occupied with other thoughts, my body was moving into position as if what I was doing was the most natural thing in the world. Now after ten years the routine should've become pretty automatic and it did… when I was with the Pack or at Stonehaven. Not that it hurt any less, but mentally, the transition was smooth. One minute I was human, the next I was a wolf. No big deal-I'm a werewolf, right? Yet Changing here in Toronto was another matter. Ninety-five percent of the time I lived like any normal human. I got up, went to work, took the subway home, ate dinner, spent the evening with my boyfriend, and went to bed. A perfectly normal routine interrupted by the occasional need to change into a wolf, run through the woods, hunt down a rabbit, and bay at the moon. The juxtaposition was so jarring that I often got to the ravine, took off my clothes, and stood naked thinking I'm supposed to be doing
When I started getting into position that night, it felt perfectly natural. That probably had a lot to do with Clay being there. He was like a bridge between the worlds. If he was there, I couldn't forget what I was. Not that this was a big surprise. The shock was that I didn't mind, even that I felt good about it. For so long, I'd been trying to suppress that side of my nature, certain that I had to become someone else to fit into the human world. Now I was seeing the possibility of another option. Maybe Clay was right. Maybe I was trying too hard, making things more difficult for myself than necessary. With Clay around, it was nearly impossible to maintain the 'human' Elena persona for long. I'd been my usual self-snappish, willful, argumentative. And the earth hadn't crashed and burned around me. Maybe I didn't have to be the 'good' Elena, nice and demure and quiet. Not that I should start flying into a rage when Philip left the toilet seat up or sucker punching strangers who stepped on my feet in the subway, but maybe I didn't have to back down every time a confrontation threatened. If I let some aspects of my normal personality slip into my 'human' persona, living in the human world might be easier, might even come to feel natural. Perhaps that was the key.
The bushes rustled, snapping me back to reality. I caught a glimpse of Clay's fur passing by the thicket. He gave a low growl of impatience. I laughed and dropped back into position to start my Change, thinking how odd it was that the person who most loathed the human world might be the one who most helped me live in it. Clay growled again and poked his muzzle into the clearing.
'Hold on,' I said.
I shook my head, clearing it, then prepared for the Change.
After our run, we Changed back and lay in a grassy clearing, resting and talking. It was the darkest and quietest part of the night, long after evening had passed and still long before dawn arrived. Despite the chill in the air, neither of us had dressed. The run had pumped our blood so hot we could probably lie in a snowdrift until sunrise and not notice. I lay on my back, luxuriating in the sensation of the cool wind against my skin. Overhead, the trees blocked out the stars and moon. Only enough light filtered in to keep total darkness at bay.
'Got something for you,' Clay said after we'd rested awhile. He reached behind him into the darkness, pulled two long wire rods from his discarded jacket and flourished them over his head.
I sat up. 'You brought sparklers?'
'This is a fireworks weekend up here, isn't it? Did you think I'd forget your sparklers?'
I loved sparklers. Okay, I was probably the only thirty-year-old in the world who got giddy over sulphur-coated sticks, but I didn't care. At least, I didn't care when Clay was around. He didn't know that grown people didn't normally play with sparklers and I didn't care to enlighten him. One of my few memories of my parents was of a Canada Day party. I only knew that it was Canada Day because, in my memory, I could see a cake in the shape of the flag. I also saw fireworks, lots of fireworks. I heard music and laughter. I smelled sulfur and old camp blankets. I remembered my father handing me a sparkler, my first. I remembered my mother and me dancing barefoot on wet grass, waving the sparklers like magic wands, giggling and spinning around, watching the trail of fairy light we left behind.
Clay pulled a book of matches from his jacket and lit the first sparkler. I scrambled to my feet and took it.
