Not now, not yet, but I suspect it won’t take very long—a month or two, maybe three—before I’ll have to push through my distaste for biting two more times.
“Don’t worry.” Corin kisses my temple as he spoons behind me. “We have now. Tomorrow will take care of itself.”
He’s right, but so am I—it’s just a matter of time.
The void left by Max’s death remains. He was so much a part of my life that nothing can fill it. Yet with the bonds to Corin, Dan, and Nathan, I’m enlarged and can hold more than before. I’m ready to change the world to fit the new, remade me.
The remade us.
I sleep with my pack and am at ease.
Chapter 43
My Pack
JOHANNA
Ivisit the nearby memorial grove early in the morning on the anniversary of Max’s death. Crowds rarely overflow the stand of mixed trees. All manner of trees grow here, tended by the city park system: pines, oaks, elms, maples—from young saplings to wide old-growth trunks that have withstood centuries. Half the trees have lost their leaves, but ample reds, golds, and browns still flutter in the autumn breeze.
A warm wool coat, jeans, and a long-sleeved shirt keep me warm, along with a pink knitted hat on my head. Thick-ridged boots on my feet leave crisscrossed impressions in the mud where I pass. The changing wind blows away the trace scents of my pack that infuse everything I wear these days. The only smell the wind doesn’t carry away is that of decaying leaves in loose piles against trunks and in hollows where the wind can’t stir them.
It's autumn again, the season of harvest and preparing for winter, for cold, for loss.
Max isn’t here in spirit. Who knows where the spirits go until we join them? Not I, though I hold hard to hope that this life is not all, that somewhere, Max stillissomehow, someway.
Likewise, his body lies elsewhere—earth returning to earth in the capable hands of boneyard keepers.
But for a donation—any kind of donation, money, time, or whatever one can spare—the park system allows people to decorate a tree in biodegradable ribbons and string and other impermanent markers as a living memorial.
I chose a youngish oak deep in the grove. Pink and red ribbons flutter from the lower branches—the same colors as the roses Max so often bought me, although the oldest have started to fade or even tear—for I’ve visited once a month, tying one of each on every occasion. Other colors fly too, mostly various shades of red added by Corin, Anamaria, Bebe, and Caity, some white from Nathan, and a few green from Dan. Made of natural cotton, the ribbons will wear and tear over the days, months, and years, but some survive.
I’m alone as I pull two more ribbons from my pocket to add to the rest. I asked my pack to let me go ahead, giving me time with the tree that is Max’s for now.
Permanent bonds now bind me to all three. Two months after the first round of bites, Nathan and Dan bit me again, and I bit back—I didn’t like that part any more than before, but at least I’ll never have to do it again. Additionally, Corin exchanged bites with both, and they bit each other. I can feel all of them lurking at the edge of the grove, waiting for an invitation to join me. Their love and care offers a foundation for me to stand on as I face each new day, determined to wrest whatever joy I can because it’s one more day we’re alive and together.
Corin and I have arranged to sell the remainder of our shares in the firm to our employees, slowly stepping away as we take on new responsibilities overseeing an expansion of the Sage StreetCommunity and other omega-oriented initiatives. Dan donates time to supervise accounts, and Nathan has started a legal advice clinic there, which gives us more opportunities to be together while giving back and forwarding Max’s goal of giving people, especially omegas, tools to live their lives as they want.
I’m not empty, as after Max’s death. Purpose and laughter and love fill my life, both the same and different as when he was alive. Invisible bands, stronger than the ribbons, tie me to others living.
“I miss you.” The red ribbon slides between my fingers easily as I wrap it three times around a branch before tying it tightly. “I’m still angry at you for not taking better care of yourself, but it’s too late for that. Too late for so many things. So much has changed in the past year, but some things haven’t. I still love you. Always will. At least I’m sure that you knew that, and wherever you are, you take that surety with you.”
Footsteps on leaves and a deliberate cough alert me to someone’s approach. I turn, pink ribbon still fluttering from my cooling fingers.
Bebe navigates a tangle of roots, ducking under a low-hanging branch to stand a few feet away. The slim beige envelope in her hands stands out against her bright blue coat.
“Hi Aunty Jo. Don’t be mad, but Dad told me when you were coming today.” She tilts her head to the side, watching me closely.
“I’m not angry. I didn’t realize you wanted to come.” A wind gust tugs at the ribbon, almost snatching it from my hand, so I tuck fist, ribbon and all, back in a nice, toasty pocket. “Are Anamaria and Caity here too?”
“They’re back with Dad and the uncles.”
Technically Dan, Nathan, and I are Bebe’s parents now by virtue of bonding with Corin, but all of the younger generation has fallen into calling those of us they didn’t know before auntyand uncles—Corin’s three, Nathan’s three—plus grandkids—and Dan’s six.
Dan misses living next door to Gloria and Paul, so we have them—and various combinations of their children—over to dinner regularly and are looking at moving closer to them. We’re building a wonderfully complicated family tree.
“Max asked me to wait a year before giving this to you,” Bebe says, stepping closer, holding out the envelope, “unless I thought you needed it sooner.”
“What?” Leaving the ribbon in my pocket, I take the envelope with shaking hands. It’s not heavy at all, containing a few pieces of paper at the most.
