Page 4 of True North
The bear somehow looked even more sheepish.
“Oh, get out of here,” JT said, disgusted, and went into the house to get cleanup supplies. By the time he went back out, the bear was gone, and so was some of the mess, probably dragged off into the woods to serve as a midnight snack. JT heaved a sigh and got to work.
He didn’t see the bear for a few days after that. To his aggravation, he felt a little guilty about the bear’s absence, like he had been too harsh and scared the bear away. Well, good! Let the guy eat someone else’s trash. JT’s wasn’t the only house on this part of the lake or even at this end of the road. The bear had plenty of options. It wasn’t JT’s responsibility, and he ruthlessly ignored the tiny internal voice that sounded like his mother, telling him to be compassionate to those in need.
Still, he felt a faint surge of relief when he came downstairs one morning to make breakfast and spotted the bear out on the dock, not fishing or eating garbage or helping himself to JT’s hot tub or doing anything destructive, just sprawled there looking out at the water as the sun crept above the trees.
Like most hockey players, JT was a creature of habit, even during the offseason. He wasn’t as crazy superstitious as some guys, but he liked his routines, and he wasn’t going to disrupt his breakfast plans to go see what the bear was doing. He turned on the radio so he could listen to the news as he got out the eggs and bread and put water in the kettle for coffee. Then he glanced out the window again, at the bear sitting so quietly in the early morning light, and added some more water to the kettle. There was no reason he couldn’t change his routine a little.
He made twice as much food as he usually did and dished it out onto two plates: scrambled eggs and whole wheat toast, strawberries from the farmer’s market, homemade turkey sausage patties. He loaded it all onto a tray and took it outside to the picnic table on the deck. It was a beautiful morning, still cool enough that JT was glad he’d put on a sweatshirt. Loons called across the lake, eerie and wavering. Sun filtered through the trees and cast long shadows across the yard.
The bear’s ears flicked as the sliding door opened, but otherwise it didn’t move as JT laid out the plates and cutlery. JT went back inside to get the coffee mugs—there hadn’t been room on the tray—and by the time he came back out, the bear had sat up and turned around to face him.
“Hey,” JT called, raising one mug in greeting. “Want to come eat with me?”
The bear stared at him. Its nose twitched.
“I made eggs,” JT said. “And there’s coffee.”
The bear still didn’t move.
Well, fine. Worst-case scenario, JT had wasted some food. He put the mugs on the picnic table and sat down with his back to the bear and picked up his fork, making a show of his disinterest. The guy could come eat with him or not: no skin off JT’s nose.
Still, he was intensely aware of the bear behind him as he loaded eggs onto his toast. He fought the urge to turn and look when he heard the dock creaking followed by the sound of blunt claws tapping against the planks, and then silence. He kept eating and tried to exude an air of total indifference.
Several minutes passed before a flicker of movement in JT’s peripheral vision caught his attention. He held his breath and forced himself not to react.
Slowly, a naked man shuffled into view, hunched over with his arms folded at his waist.
JT took a long sip of his coffee and looked the guy over as discreetly as he could. He looked young-ish, maybe early twenties. He was skinny and average height, around JT’s height or a little shorter, with shaggy, shoulder-length brown hair that looked like it probably had more than one twig caught in it. JT could easily believe that this guy had been out in the woods for a long, long time. It could have been years since he’d last showered or worn clothes.
The guy stopped at the end of the picnic table and met JT’s gaze. His face was expressionless, like it had been as a bear. JT had no clue what he was thinking.
“Coffee’s getting cold,” JT said, nudging the mug toward the guy.
The guy just stared at him. Then, in one swift motion, he snatched the plate from the table and backed up several steps. Keeping both eyes on JT, as if he thought JT might lunge for him without warning, he began to shovel eggs into his mouth with his fingers.
“There’s a fork here for you,” JT said, aware that it was probably futile. This guy was feral for real.
Sure enough, the guy didn’t acknowledge JT’s words. He ate so quickly that JT worried he might choke: the eggs, then the sausage patties, the berries in messy handfuls. He grabbed both slices of toast in one hand and then looked between the plate and JT.
Shit. JT didn’t want him to drop the plate or run off with it into the woods. He’d bought his plates from a potter in town and would have to special-order replacements. “You can give it back to me,” he said, cautiously extending one hand.
The guy looked down at the plate again, then sidled closer. He had a soft, full mouth and a crooked nose, and sleepy brown eyes. He would have been cute if he weren’t so painfully underfed. JT could see his ribs stacked up beneath his skin like a ladder. A shift of the wind brought JT a pungent whiff of body odor. The guy smelled about the same way he looked.
“I won’t hurt you,” JT said, hoping he sounded gentle and unthreatening. He pushed the coffee mug closer to the edge of the table. “Come on. Sit down with me.” He gestured at the opposite bench. The wood might not be too comfortable on the guy’s bare ass, but maybe he would sit down anyway.
This was already way more progress than JT had expected. He had hoped the guy would shift for him, hence the human food and the silverware, but he’d thought it was a long shot and unlikely to work. But here he was, dealing with a human instead of a bear. He might as well keep pushing his luck as long as it lasted.
“The coffee’s good,” he coaxed. “Ground the beans myself.”
The guy took another step closer, then another, watching JT the whole while. He stretched his arm out as far as it would go and leaned in to set the plate on the very edge of the picnic table, then immediately leaped back out of range.
He didn’t shift forms or retreat to the woods, though. JT watched his gaze flicker between the coffee mug and JT’s face. He probably hadn’t had a cup of coffee in—who knew how long. Weeks, months. JT took a deliberately noisy slurp of his own coffee and said, “It’s still hot. Won’t be for much longer, though.”
The guy shifted his weight from one foot to the other. He scowled and took a step forward, and then scowled even more deeply. JT watched his face, fascinated by these indications of whatever thought process the guy was going through. He was trying to think of something else encouraging to say when the guy sighed loudly, a noise like a bear huffing, and sat down on the bench across the table from JT.
Success. JT grinned at him. “Couldn’t resist the smell of that coffee, eh?”