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 still is somehow, 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 Street Community 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 aunty and 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.
“The last lines are in my handwriting, but the words are all his.” She shrugs, leaning in to kiss my cheek. “If you have any questions later, I’ll be with the others, but I think you should read it first.”
Then, she’s gone.
I don’t know what I’m feeling, but something trickles through to my mates; waves of curiosity and concern flow over me.
I send reassurance back. Regardless of what the envelope contains, merely receiving it heals a thin wound in my heart.
Max didn’t only leave letters for Dan and Nathan—he wrote one for me.
A hint of orange and rum tickles my nose briefly before the wind whips it away. Much as I wish it was a sign of his spirit lurking near, there’s a likelier source. Holding the envelope close brings another rush of his scent, despite the passage of time.
Breaking the seal and opening it rewards me with a third whiff.
My darling Johanna,
You were right to warn me to take better care of myself.
I’m sorry for all the times I shrugged your worries off, depriving us both of more time together.
Too late now, but believe that I do not leave you willingly.
I am comforted that I do not leave you alone.
Corin, Anamaria, Bebe, and Caity will, I am sure, be with you and support you. As will I, if I can, in any way I can.
By now, you know I meddled in your life one last time.
Forgive me. I’ve always believed that the closer two people are, the better they know each other and the harder it is to keep anything secret between them.
I still believe that, but I now know that the opposite is also true: the closer two people and the better they know each other, the more they know how to keep a secret from the other.
I knew you wanted a pack when we were first together—but you chose to love and live with me anyway.
Sometimes, during the first years, I’d pick a pack or a couple of alphas to help with my heats, thinking you’d like them and might want to be with them, with or without me.
When the heat ended and things stayed just us—when you turned down any overtures at luring you away—I was relieved and, over time, convinced myself you didn’t need a pack anymore, especially once we lived with Corin and the girls and I could pride myself on having given you a pack, no matter how non-traditional.
Then, I heard you in the dark, with Nathan, both of you mourning. Him for the pack he’d lost, you for the pack you’d never had. I wanted to deny it. Both my inner omega and my outer self thought that, if we drove him away, things would go back to how they were.
They didn’t.
I couldn’t forget what I’d heard, no matter how hard I tried.
And I couldn’t ignore Nathan pushing to meet with me over and over.
He avoided you—made clear to me he was avoiding you for my sake—all the while going out of his way to show me what he could offer us.
He emphasized the ‘us’ part, but I knew he wanted you.
At first, I thought he would take me, too, mostly so that he could have you.
I learned otherwise, though; that his heart is as big as yours and as capable of loving me in the ways I need.
I only wish I’d realized it sooner.
Maybe we could have made a pack with him if I’d had more time. Maybe if I’d known earlier, let myself know years ago, how much you’d given up, I’d have managed to find the right compromises to give us both what we needed.
There’s not enough time left, and I don’t have the energy.
So I meddled and picked possible pack members for you.
Corin will be there for you, regardless, because he loves us as much as we love him.
Nathan, because he didn’t stop pestering me.
Dan because, when I had an investigator track down the various alphas we knew over the years, I was impressed by how much he’d made of himself, the self-control he’d become known for.
If there were more time, maybe I’d have done better, or at least given you more options.
But I hope that finding them in your life, for however long you choose, will help open doors you closed long ago.
I won’t know what happens. You do.
I hope you’ve found new happiness, no matter what. Always remember that I love you. I might wish I’d done better by you, but I don’t think I could love you anymore than I always do, always have, always will.
Max
The last paragraphs are in Bebe’s handwriting, but the signature—shaky though it is—is Max’s spiky scrawl.
The paper still smells of him, despite the gusts tugging at it. I hold it close, careful not to let the tears spilling from my eyes stain the pages.
My mates champ at the bit to come to me. They’re staying away because I asked. I send a surge of sadness, happiness, and relief, all mixed together, then pull out my phone to give permission for them to join me. Sometimes, words are necessary.
Corin, Dan, and Nathan rush my way, picking winding paths through the network of trees and roots.
Max may have chosen them and given me the possibility—the push—but the four of us made our own way. We did the work to succeed as the core of what could have been a pack of seven. Three will always be missing, but those of us who still live know how to hold on to our blessings.
I tuck the letter back into the envelope. Corin provides a scent-proof folder, evidently a gift from Bebe, to preserve any remaining motes of Max’s scent on the paper.
Then, Dan and Nathan’s arms enfold me, and Corin wraps his around us all as we mourn what we’ve lost and celebrate what we still have.
Life, love, and our pack.