The hours I didn’t think about Dennis turned into days, then one whole week, at the end of which, the wood abruptly stopped humming.
Because it was done.
The bear I’d freed was powerful. Standing on its hind legs and roaring toward the sky, like,“I’m a bear, goddammit. Do. Not. Fuck. With. Me.”
I loved him.
That evening, after applying the I guess not too optimistic wood sealer, I made myself my own dinner. An egg scramble with the breakfast things Boone continued to deliver on Ravik’s behalf. And I guess the guys figured it out because no one came by with a plate of food.
But when I came out to the main road, all three of them were waiting there. Boone in his usual t-shirt and cargo shorts combo. Ravik in jeans and a t-shirt that said BEAR MOUNTAIN PLANNING FESTIVAL COMMITTEE underneath a short-sleeved collared shirt. And Zion in one of the argyle polos he’d started wearing last week as the weather got hotter.
“Hi! Hi!” I called out, too excited to feel the usual “I so don’t deserve this” tummy swoop of having three insanely handsome men semi-revolving around me.
“It’s finished! It’s finished!”
“The bear?” Zion asked, his eyes widening.
Then, before I could answer, he told me, “Ravik, Boone, and I would very much like to see it.”
23/
the bear
BELL
Less than five minutes later, all three men stood on my back porch, looking at the carved bear.
The silence stretched.
And stretched.
My anxiety climbed as I realized it might be really bad.
Okay, my sculpture obviously wasn’t as bear-dacious as I thought it was when the wood stopped humming. I mean, a roaring bear? Talk about amateur hour. And these three guys werebear shifters. They were probably looking at my sculpture like, “Bitch, this is what you spent weeks working on?” I felt so childish now. I’d so completely missed the mark on?—
“Bell,” Zion said, interrupting my insecurity spiral. “This isextraordinary. Just extraordinary.”
Boone shook his head. “You being truthful about never working with wood before? Cuz this dude looks like he should be in a museum.”
“Seriously?” As it turned out, artists never got too old for compliments. My heart felt like it was about to burst out of my chest. “You like it? You think it’s good?”
“Without question, wood is your medium,” Zion declared. “Have you given any thought?—”
He cut off. Looked over to Ravik for a few beats. Then turned back to me.
“Ravik would like to purchase this work of art from you, to stand outside our totem cave. He’s asking that you name your price.”
“What?” I blinked. Then stuttered, “N-no payment. I m-mean you’ve done so much for me. Of course you can have?—”
Ravik picked up the three-foot statue like it weighed nothing before I could finish. Then walked away with it tucked under one arm.
My chest squeezed as I watched him leave. Like he’d won a prize.
“Guess he liked it most of all,” Boone rumbled beside me.
“Indeed, he did,” Zion agreed. I wasn’t looking at him, but I heard the wry smile in his voice. “Thank you, on our first maul’s behalf.”
That night, Zion and Boone walked me around the lake. And I monopolized the conversation, talking about myself.
