Page 74 of A Wolfe in the Woods

Jonathan kept stride beside me, and I noticed, really noticed, how I’d prepared this time. Sturdy shoes instead of the impractical ones I’d worn before, a small pack slung over my shoulder with water and bandages, a light jacket tied around my waist since it was cooler deeper in the forest. I felt more comfortable and oddly proud of myself for it.

“I see you packed light,” he teased.

My eyes cut his way, amused. “After our first hike, I learned a thing or two.”

He smiled to himself, and I caught the faintest flicker of warmth in his expression before he looked back to the trail.

The trail narrowed as we pressed westward, roots twisting underfoot. Birds trilled high above. The light thinned through the canopy, slanting in golden patches. We walked in comfortable silence for a while. Then I asked him quietly, “You grew up here your entire life?”

“Yeah,” he said, holding a low-hanging branch out of my way on the trail. “I know these trees better than I know people. My dad, Foley, used to bring me up here as a baby. My first steps were taken in this forest.”

The name jarred something loose in my brain that I couldn’t place. He very rarely talked about his father, but there was no denying that I was curious. I just hadn’t wanted to pry if hethought it might be a too-personal intrusion. Now, however, I found I couldn’t pass the golden opportunity up.

“And…what was he like? Your father?” I asked, trying to keep my tone nonchalant.

Jonathan made a sound in the back of his throat. “Stubborn. Rough. A man of the old world, born two centuries too late. He didn’t believe in softness or excuses. Just work and discipline. And fists, when words didn’t connect.”

I glanced at him, hearing what went unspoken, making me frown. He kept his gaze forward, stepping over some bare roots. His expression struck me ascareful.

“Your father hit you?” I asked, the question taking form before I could think better of it.

“Sometimes,” he replied, making my chest squeeze. “Depends on what I did. It wasn’t exclusive to me. My mom, at one point, finally had enough and left when I was ten.”

I stopped on the trail, a momentary pause while I digested the raw admission, feeling it weigh on my shoulders. “Jonathan…I…I’m so sorry,” I said quietly. “I didn’t know.”

“It’s okay. Don’t feel bad. Long time ago.”

He wasn’t meeting my eyes, however. I had the strange sensation that he very rarely gave a voice to what he was confiding in me. “What…what was your mother’s name?”

“Grace,” he replied.

“Did you ever see her again?”

His eyes met mine, but his gaze was unreadable. We were both stopped on the trail, Jonathan reaching out a hand to place on the trunk of a nearby tree. “Once. When I was older. She had moved overseas and gotten remarried to a gentleman who wore scarves indoors and drank licorice tea.” He shook his head faintly. “By the time we met, she felt foreign and had this entirely different life and family. So, not enough between us to keep in touch.”

I ached even more for him, though I knew he likely didn’t want my sympathy. “Was she a good mom while you had her?”

His smile was wry, “She was kind…but drank too much, truth be told. And when that happened, she was a whole different person. After she left my father, he got worse. Kind of gave up on everything. I held a grudge for a long time at both of them. Her for leaving, him for staying.”

He motioned with his head for us to continue, and I fell in step slightly behind him as he forged the path. A while passed as we walked. Then, in a lower voice, he added, “We had a fight. Years ago. A bad one. I said things I can’t take back. So did he. It got physical. I…I hit him. First and only time. Knocked him down. Told him he’d die alone. And he did.”

I felt almost…guiltythat I couldn’t relate. That I didn’t know what to say, that I couldn’t help.

He paused. “Weird how you can come to physical blows but the verbal one was final.”

His fingers curled around a small branch and snapped it off as he passed.

“May was the one who called me when he passed. Said he’d been sick for a while. I didn’t even know.”

“I’m sorry,” I said again, feeling a surprising heaviness in my chest. I didn’t know what it felt like to grow up with that type of violence…but I knew what it was like to be left behind. I had my own sad story, but not like this.

He nodded but didn’t look at me. “When I walked off this land, it felt like I dropped an anvil I’d been carrying since I was a kid. But now…sometimes I wonder if walking away made me any different than my dad.”

“You are different,” I said. “You came back.” The trail tilted upward. I adjusted my pace, climbing alongside him. “Did you ever forgive them?”

He didn’t answer right away. Then, “Eventually…yeah, I did. I was ruining my life holding on to blame. So, I let go. It wasn’t wisdom. I just got tired of being mad.”

He slowed his pace and looked at me then. And in that brief glance, I could see the man he was now mixed with the boy he used to be—angry, hurt, alone in the woods, but still reaching for something better.