Some of the searchers called Ben over to view what they’d found. The camera zoomed in on paw prints (they were bears’), giant scat (bears again), and a bloody scene of bones and fur that looked like a wolf kill. With every find, Ben offered breathless commentary that suggested they were on the brink of tracking down the Ursulina’s lair. He was a showman at heart.
I finished off one reel and switched to another. Then another. I emptied my coffee and went downstairs to get another cup. I tried one of the cat-hair muffins. When you woke up and cried, I changed you. At one point, because I was exhausted, my eyes drifted shut while the film was playing, and I had to rewind and watch it again. The whole morning passed that way, reel after reel. I knew I was looking for a needle in a haystack, without even knowing whether the needle was there at all. And yet I kept going.
Along the way, I spotted a few people I recognized. High school friends. Mine workers. A lot of beer got drunk; a lot of practical jokes got pulled. You could see the Ursulina myth taking on a life of its own the longer the search went on. The stories got more lurid; the claims got wilder and harder to believe.
During what was probably the ninth or tenth reel, I saw myself. It was just for a few seconds. We weren’t far from Norm’s Airstream, because I could see its silver frame through the trees. Ben was interviewing an old man who said his grandfather had told him of seeing the Ursulina come down to the beach under a monster’s moon, while he was in a fishing boat in the middle of the inlet. According to the man’s grandfather, he and the beast had stared at each other for almost an entire minute before the Ursulina turned around and stomped back into the woods and vanished.
In the midst of this story, I passed behind the old man. I didn’t look at the camera, but it was me, with my scraggly black hair and pale face. I was dressed in jeans and a long-sleeved flannel shirt that I’d left untucked. My eyes were glued to the ground as I used a cross-country ski pole to push through the undergrowth and find whatever might be hidden there. I went across the screen from left to right in a few seconds, and then I was gone. I’d been on the search the first day, and I’d come back on the second and third days, too. Like everybody else, I’d found nothing.
Sometime after noon, Ben came upstairs to check on me. He carried a whiff of his pipe smell with him.
“Are you hungry?” he asked. “Mom’s got leftover hotdish in the oven. It’s better on the second day.”
“I’m fine. Thanks.”
“Are you warm enough? I can get you a blanket.”
“No, I’m okay.”
Ben glanced at the screen. This was a nighttime reel, black trees dotted by lanterns, the camera whipping around at every sound. The interviews were conducted in hushed voices.
“You know, if you gave me a clue of what you were looking for, I might be able to help you find it,” Ben told me. “I’ve been through these reels dozens of times over the years. I always think maybe I missed something important. By now, I think I’ve memorized most of them.”
“I appreciate the offer, but I need to do this myself.”
“Well, whatever you say. Anyway, I came up here to say I need to leave. I’m going to drop by the 126 and make sure everything’s ready for the party tomorrow. Are you okay to stay here on your own? Mom will leave you alone.”
“Yes — thanks.”
“Okay then. Bye for now.”
He returned to the doorway, but then he stopped. “Rebecca, you don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to, but I’m still convinced you’ve seen the Ursulina.”
I didn’t answer.
He gave me a curious smile, and then he disappeared again. I stopped the playback, and I went to one of the windows that looked down on the street, and pushed aside the curtain. Not long after, I saw Ben go outside. He went to his Cadillac, but before he opened the door, he glanced up at the turret, as if he knew I’d be watching him. He put his finger to his forehead in a little salute. I put up a hand. No smile, just a wave.
I sat down in the recliner again. You’d begun to get restless, so I picked you up and rocked you in my arms. I turned on the projector again, and I finished the nighttime reel and went on to the next one. The stack of canisters in the box shrank as the day wore on, and I was beginning to believe that I wouldn’t find what I was looking for. I knew it was a shot in the dark anyway.
But with only four reels left, there he was.
I found him at the beginning of a reel from the first day. Ben was giving his introduction about the date and time of the hunt, and a man passed behind him, grinning over Ben’s shoulder. He was there and gone in a blink. If you didn’t look fast, you’d miss it.
Ricky.
I had to rewind the film to make sure what I’d seen. Then I rewound again. And then again. I must have watched that scene two dozen times before I turned off the projector, and each time felt like a lightning bolt searing my brain.
I wanted to see if he was carrying it, and he was.
Of course he was.
Ricky held a leather strap, swinging it as he walked. At the end of the strap was a camera.
Chapter Thirty-Eight
That was my darkest day, Shelby.
When I saw the camera in Ricky’s hands, I knew he was the one who’d put the photograph on Ruby’s door. I knew he wasn’t lying about the Ursulina. Or about what he’d done to Ajax. I realized at that moment that there was no safe place for us in Black Wolf County. You were in mortal danger from him, and you always would be. That was when I made my decision. The thought of it suffocated me with grief, but I was a mother, and I did what a mother had to do.
I sacrificed myself to save you.
That afternoon, I drove to Sunflower Lake. I sat in the parking lot where I’d found Tom Ginn in January and thought back to that night. I remembered what it was like to be in his arms. I thought about hearing his voice on the phone again when Darrell called him. I felt a surge of emotion about what might have been. In my life I’ve known very few good men, but Tom was one. He is yours, and you are his, Shelby. I don’t care what genetics may or may not say.
You have only one father.
I spent hours by the lake that afternoon with you. I prayed for time to stand still, because I didn’t want it to end. I didn’t want to let go. I talked to you and sang to you. I pointed out the birds when I saw them and the rabbits and squirrels when they crept onto the beach. I plucked the colored leaves from the autumn trees and tickled your face with them. I told you how much I loved you, how much I would always love you, how every single moment of every single day, you would still be in my life, even if I wasn’t in yours.
The whole time, I held you, and I sobbed. I cried for everything I was going to miss, and I cried for the things I couldn’t give you. I cursed all the events that had led me to that moment and wished I could change them, but finally, I realized I was wrong to think that way. If fate had gone differently, you wouldn’t be in my life at all, and I wouldn’t have traded you for anything. So I had to make peace with how I’d gotten there. I had to tell myself that the end, the point of it all, the meaning behind the suffering, was you.
You made it worthwhile.