They’re really flexing their muscles, I guess.
That’s not the way I’d put it but yeah, the sheriff said. He looked over at Cinder. The lion had come up to the front of the enclosure and stood looking at them, one eye permanently closed, the other a yellow disc.
Well, so look, the real reason I’m here is that the Connor boys were the ones who butchered that moose and they thought maybe you might want the bones and stuff. For the animals, I mean.
He pulled the door open at last to reveal a series of plastic bags packed with ice and the red of moose meat, long bent legs and bits of bone and ribs. The frozen carcass after the steaks had been cut away.
Jack Connor? Bill said.
Yeah, Jack and his brother. Frank or whatever his name is.
They’ve been here a couple of times with their kids, Bess said. She stood next to Bill now, looking down into the open trunk. The red meat. Some wet and partially frozen tufts of brown fur.
That’s what they said. They knew it was you who dispatched her.
Him, Bill said.
OK then, the sheriff said. Him. Anyway, they wanted you to have it.
We can use it, Bess said.
Yeah, he said. He stood there in a kind of exhausted silence, breathing out a long slow hiss of steam. Dang right we can, he said.
I wasn’t really sure you’d want it, the sheriff said. I mean, you didn’t look too happy about what happened with that. How it turned out, I mean.
Who would be? he said.
True. Anyway, I told them I might better bring it up myself, in case there were any hard feelings or anything.
I’m always glad to get meat, Bill said. A smile spread across his face despite himself because he realized at last what was in the trunk and what was not. From one tragedy to another.
I’ll go get the cart, Bess said, turning to walk back up the path.
Thank them for me, would you? he said.
The sheriff nodded.
How’s the guy that ran into him? Bill asked.
He’ll be fine. Broke some ribs and banged up his face some against the steering wheel.
Well, that’s good I guess. That he’ll heal up, I mean.
You said Grace’s up there?
In the office, Bill said. She’ll get mad if I let you leave without saying hello.
Let’s not let that happen, then.
The hum of the golf cart now, coming down the path through the enclosures, all of which he could see from the parking lot: boxes of wire fronted by wooden platforms for viewing, wooden buildings, the portable rectangle of his office trailer and the equipment shed where he stored food and medical supplies and fuel. Midway up the hill, he could see Majer’s dark shape moving slowly across his own loop of wire. From where he stood he could not help but feel that it looked more like a concentration camp than a rescue.
THEY TRANSFERRED the remains of the carcass from the sheriff’s SUV to a box on the cart and then to the freezers at the top of the trail loop. The sheriff had disappeared inside the office to visit with Grace, an event Majer watched with apparent anticipation, nose pressed to the fencing and milky eyes staring out at the closed office door. When at last the two of them emerged from the office, Grace spoke to the bear and he waggled his head in apparent joy and followed the sound of her voice down the fence line.
He’s looking like an old man, the sheriff said.
He’s only thirty-eight but that’s pretty old for a griz, Grace said.
The sheriff nodded and they talked a bit more about bears and then about his horses until the radio at the sheriff’s belt crackled and he turned and answered it and then told them that he had to go.
Come bring the grandkids some time, Bill said.
We’re due for that, the sheriff said. So look, Bill, Grace told me a little about what you’re up against with the IFG. I know a couple of people. Maybe we can work out a way to help you out some.
Really? he said.
No guarantees but Judge Holcomb is my duck-hunting buddy. Maybe he can slow this process down. At least give you time.
I’d appreciate that, Bill said. Anything you can do.
They shook hands and then the sheriff walked down the trail toward the parking lot, talking into his radio all the while.
I told you we’d figure out a way, Grace said.
You’re amazing.
Yes, she said. Yes, I am.
The bear huffed twice, a loud exhalation.
All right, you, Grace said, turning to him. I’m going to get your medicine and then I’ll meet you in the den.
Majer’s mouth curled in a grin.
He’s got a crush on you, Bill said to her.
Well, I’ve got a crush on him too, Grace said.
The words of the sheriff had confused him. He had been anxious for the man to leave, only because part of him still believed that the past would flood back over him like the river’s current and that the sheriff would suddenly reveal the true purpose of his visit. But maybe that was all over now. Maybe his past had been over all the while and he had worked himself up for no reason at all, the forest its own separate world broken off from everywhere he had come from and from everything he had done.
They mixed up a slurry of ice cream and fruit with a blender in the barn and she returned to the access door in Majer’s enclosure, holding the glass pitcher in her gloved hand.
A way to a man’s heart is through his stomach.
True, Bill said.
Then Bess’s voice from down the path: Hey, Bill, telephone.
Who is it?
He didn’t say.
He was going to call after her, tell her to take a message or at least find out who was on the phone, but she had already ambled away from the office door, toward the enclosures nearer the parking lot. Cinder and Baker. Elsie and Tommy. Mountain lion and badger. Owl and eagle. Well, crap, he said.
Get my folder, Grace said as he stepped forward out of the barn.
He crossed down the path and to the office, the room not much warmer than it had been outside despite running the heater all morning. Grace was right that he needed to get the kerosene heater working and brought in from the equipment shed. If he failed to fix it he would need to buy a replacement. Another expense. Coffeepot nearly empty. He picked up the phone. This is Bill, he said.
You son of a bitch, Rick said. And there came the sinking again. The fucking thing is empty.
He stood with the phone in his hand, staring to where the heater glowed orange in front of its silver dish, staring at the cold empty air between himself and the burning wire filaments. Empty? he said.
You fucking knew it was. You fucker.
I didn’t open it. I told you I didn’t open it.
You fucking liar. You sent me to fucking prison and you killed my mom and now you fucking steal from me too?
Listen, he said.
No, you listen, you son of a bitch. Twelve years. I’m going to fuck you up for this.
I’m not a fucking locksmith. I swear to god I never opened that safe. It’s just been sitting on the floor in the closet all this time. I swear to god.
But the line had already clicked to silence. The conversation so fast that it hardly seemed real. A blur of words and then the click and he stood staring at the heater with the phone clutched in one hand and a file folder he did not remember picking up in the other. Jesus Christ. Jesus fucking Christ. What have you done? What the hell have you done now?
He stood there until the phone began its rhythmic alarm and then he laid it back in its cradle and moved outside again. The day bright and clear. Frost in the shadows. The faint drip of moisture inside the angle of winter sun. He turned up the path to where Grace stood talking to Majer. You’re my boyfriend, she said. You’re my new boyfriend.