KATIE AMERSHEK

Shewolf 

Emma’s eyes flutter open at six o’clock. She wasn’t sleeping, not really. The anticipation trapped her in a fragment between sleep and wakefulness. Robert is coming over this evening. How fortunate Emma was to find Robert in such close proximity. It can be rather challenging to meet suitable men among rural mountain towns. Single women, living alone, tend to inhabit less isolated environments. Not Emma. Emma needs the mountains. She covets the forests of firs, spruces, and pines, and their flora and fauna that they hide, protect, and equalize.  

The coffee machine starts to whirr as Emma opens the kitchen window, inhaling deeply. The air is crisp and smells of green. Her side of the mountain is still cast in a dull blue layer of dawn. The sun climbs lazily higher as a doe and two fawns traipse silently across the driveway. Her stomach growls. She pours herself a steaming cup of coffee, adds a drizzle of cream, and watches the luscious white liquid bleed into the blackness. She gives it a stir and savors the first sip. Robert will be here just before sunset. Emma lists off her to do’s. Bread, flowers, chicken, run into Debbie. 

Emma’s cabin is perched upon a steep slope of mountain. Not a neighbor for miles. Two hanging baskets of million bells suspend from the porch. Delphiniums and marigolds flood the flower beds on the deck. She waters them lovingly, carefully pruning any dead bits that threaten their buds. She sweeps the porch then returns inside to remove the bread from the oven before heading into town.  

Robert’s wife’s name is Debbie. They have a son named Logan who is 14. It’s disturbing when children are involved, but also quite pleasurable. Debbie’s car is parked outside Evergreen Grocer’s. Emma takes a shopping basket and heads to the produce section, basketing random items along the way. Emma finds Debbie next to the herbs wearing a hat and a long sleeve t-shirt. She makes a beeline for Debbie. Pretending not to notice her, Emma reaches for a carrot.  

“Emma?” 

“Hey Debbie! How are you?”  

“I’m fine. Hey, how is your mom doing?”  

“She seems better. Headed up to visit her tonight.”  

“Awe, good girl. Be careful, okay?” 

“I will. Tell Logan I said ‘hi.’” Debbie doesn’t respond. She looks down, then back at the cilantro.  

“Bye, Debbie,” Emma mutters before turning away. 

That evening Robert showers, combs his hair, and applies cologne in front of the bathroom mirror, smugly studying his reflection. He dresses and checks himself once again before exiting the house. “Where are you headed?” Debbie gently asks after him. He doesn’t look back. 

The honey, molten sunlight steadily disappears behind the trees as Robert climbs the steep drive. Emma opens the door. She is ethereal. Her skin is as radiant as the moon, her smile reveals straight white teeth, and her eyes are amber colored and wild. Aromas of roast chicken, fresh bread, and something sweet waft through the door. She shows Robert in, offers him a glass of wine. He takes a sip moving closer to her, so sure of himself. He puts his hand on her waist, his eyes locked on her. Charming and confident, they think. They believe it too. But hubris can be fatal. Like lights dimming in a theater, darkness descends. Emma checks the chicken. She opens the oven, her nails like claws. She excuses herself to the bathroom.  

Left alone, Robert scans the room. His gaze lands on the glow of Emma’s laptop. Robert’s pictures on the screen. He crosses the room to look closer. His own criminal record. He knows what it says. Three counts of domestic violence and one count child abuse. Sadly there’s always more. In a red hot fury he starts for Emma’s room. The full moon, a buttery yellow, looms above the tips of the pines.  

Robert’s stewing rage is interrupted by a cacophony of snapping and cracking, fabric shredding, a woman’s cry, a snarl, a sniff, another sniff. A guttural growl vibrates through the house. Robert stops suddenly, bewildered. Click, clack, click, clack. Like a lion, the wolf’s sinewy shoulders seesaw up and down with each sauntering step. Head lowered. Hackles sharp. Yellow eyes fixed.   

A cool breeze drifts through Debbie’s window while she reads her Bible. Then, she hears something high pitched and distant. Like a siren luring a sailor. A howl echoes through the valley. She looks outside transfixed and unafraid. How magical, the moon, she thinks.

Katie is an international number one traveler. She was born and raised in Northern New Mexico but has been living in the Middle East for the last six years working as a flight attendant. She lives in the Middle East with her husband.