There was no certainty. She had learned that at last. The needs could be denied and ignored, but they were there. When she suppressed them, they came out on paper to sabotage her best efforts to conform ridiculous arches like the sweep of tree branches, patterns and color of rough bark and wolf’s fur, great open spaces that echoed a brilliant mountain sky. All wrong. All part of another world.
And she had never said good-bye.
“Ms Randall” Robinson tapped her shoulder, not gently. “I didn’t want it to come to this, frankly, you have a great deal of talent. But you’re still on probation, and if you can’t bring this up to snuff by Monday, I’m afraid we’ll have to reconsider your employment with the company.”
Paper bunched under Joey’s fingers. She could feel the hair rising along the nape of her neck, Robinson’s hand dropped away the instant before she lost her rigid control. The words were on her lips, the inevitable words that would end it, when there was a firm knock at the office door.
“I’m sorry to disturb you, sir, Ms Randall—but a package just arrived for you”—she nodded at Joey—”by Special Delivery. I need your signature on this.” Robinson’s secretary sniffed disapprovingly as Joey snatched the clipboard and scrawled her name. A moment later she accepted the small, neat package, hardly noticing when the secretary disappeared.
Robinson growled something under his breath. Joey ignored him, turning the package in her hands. No return address. A plain brown wrapper, something vaguely familiar about it. Inexplicably her heart lurched as she tore at the wrapping and tossed it on her desk, then pulled open the lid of the cardboard box.
The wooden wolf gazed up at her, its head flung back in a silent howl. For a moment she had to brace herself against the desk as the ground pitched and rolled under her feet. With shaking fingers she lifted the sculpture from its nest, cupping it in her hands and feeling the rough texture of it, smelling the forest from which it had come.
Her body began to tremble. She looked up and stared at the door, unable to move. The bars of the prison gave way. The void in her soul was suddenly filling, a flood of warmth and emotion washing through all the empty places he had left.
Perhaps—perhaps it was not too late. Not too late for endings. Or beginnings.
All at once it was as clear as mountain air. She turned to Mr Robinson, whose mouth hung open on the first word of yet another lecture.
“You’re right, Mr Robinson,” she said with a radiant smile. “I’m not good at practical little boxes any more. I quit.”
The day was beautiful, as she had known it would be. All the world was brilliant with new life. Spring came late to the mountains, winter lingered long here and gave way grudgingly to the sun for a few brief months.
Joey drew in deep breaths of clean air, her feet guiding her effortlessly among the trees. She might never have been gone at all. The harmony she felt with this wild land, all she had learned of it and herself, brought a strange, abiding peace. In time—in time she might become as much a part of it as he was.
She walked along the edge of the lake and turned away to follow the course of one of the many streams swollen with snowmelt, the music of flowing water was everywhere, creeks and brooks and rivulets cutting eager new paths down from the mountainsides. She came to a halt at the edge of a small clear space among the trees, where the bond had led her.
They were gathered about the low slope of a hillside, five or six adult wolves sprawled on a bed of earth and old needles. And there were the pups; Joey felt a deep, spreading warmth at the sight of them where they tumbled and played just beyond the mouth of the den. A big dark gray she-wolf watched over them, her pricked ears attuned to every tiny growl and squeak.
He was among them, as she had known he would be.