“What trap am I in?” Max wants to know.

  “Even Coyote won’t tell you that directly, Max. He just puts the truth into our faces and won’t let us pretend we don’t see it.”

  I have a possible answer to Max’s question, but it’s not a trap I’m ready to push my own way out of, so I don’t say anything. The trap? Lying. Hiding. Not being true to ourselves, so not being true to others. Letting stupidity and narrow-mindedness keep us in the closet. This makes even more sense to me when I remember that Max had said it was only male juncos following him. That would have to be part of the message. I ask, “So it was just Coyote you saw, no juncos?”

  Max scowls a little, thinking. “Actually, I haven’t seen any juncos at all lately.”

  On the drive home, though, in the Modine Sequoia, I make a silent pact with myself to take one more step toward escaping from that trap. I decide to tell Kyle. I’m sure this is going to cause a problem, given Kyle’s take on this subject, but he’s going to find out soon, anyway. He’s supposed to come downstairs for dinner tonight, the first time since he’s been home after his surgery, and we won’t be able to fool him into thinking everything’s peachy keen in the family.

  I’m deep into contemplation of the possible ways this plan could backfire when Max pulls off the road into the parking lot of a closed-for-the-season tourmaline-and-geode store. He pulls behind the dark building, leaves the engine on, and says, “I think I know what you need.”

  I’m sure he means sex, and I’m not sure he’s right, but we get into the back, anyway.

  He just holds me. He holds me and strokes my hair and caresses my shoulder and my fingers. I almost feel like crying. There’s a blanket here today, and he’s pulled it over us.

  At some point he kisses my forehead, and then my nose, and then my mouth. But it’s a sweet, sweet kiss. He lies back again, and I don’t know about him but the warm feeling around my heart is moving down to my crotch. Then there’s another one of those sweet kisses. And then not so sweet. And then he reaches for something else he’s hidden back there, which turns out to be a bag with condoms and real lube.

  I do need sex. I do. Because I’m sixteen, and because I’m a boy, and because I’m with my lover. It’s like we’re saying, We’re real. We’re true. We’re alive and kicking, fucking, kissing, loving, and we aren’t going to stop until we’re dead.

  Afterward Max parks a little distance away from my house to let me out, saying something about not giving my father any ammunition—and so we can kiss for another few minutes, which we do until we know if we go on any longer it will be a while before I get out and walk the few hundred feet home.

  Dad’s upstairs when I get into the house, and Mom’s in the kitchen working on dinner. I go in there and ask if I can help, maybe trying to put off what I’ve sworn I’ll do. She just says to set the table, that dinner will be another hour or so.

  My chore done, I sit down at the table. “Mom? I have to do something, and I don’t really want to but I’m thinking I have to.”

  She turns to look at me. “And that would be—?”

  “I have to tell Kyle.”

  She turns back to the counter. “No, you don’t.” I’m about to protest when she adds, “I already told him.”

  “You did? When?”

  “About half an hour before you got home.”

  Okay, this is news. “And?”

  “I think you should go talk to him.”

  “But—is he pissed, or what?” I’m tempted to ask if he and Dad are moving together into some convalescent center to get away from all the immorality at home.

  “I think you’ll find your brother has benefited in many ways from the loss of his hand.” She shakes her head. “I hate to say that, and I know he’ll have a hell of a time going through life with only one hand, but without that one at least he has a life.” She puts down what she’s working on and comes to sit at the table across from me. “You know, I don’t like to admit this, but I wasn’t completely right about that church of his. You know they brought him a laptop to use?”

  “Yeah. I saw it.”

  “They also didn’t agree with his delusion about a demon in his hand.” She rubs her face. “You were right, Ethan. You suggested he should talk to them, and I nixed it.”

  “Actually it was Jorja’s idea. She said they should be helping him to love himself.”

  Mom gets up, squeezes my shoulder once, and goes back to the counter. “Go talk to him.”

  Upstairs, Dad’s door is shut. I knock lightly on Kyle’s door frame, and Kyle, fully dressed and lounging on top of his bedspread, looks up from his church laptop.

  “Did Mom send you up?” he asks.

  “Yes and no. I was gonna come talk to you, and she said . . . she said—”

  “She told me.” I can’t tell whether the news came as a surprise to him or not.

  We stare at each other a minute before I get up the guts to move into the room and pull out his desk chair to sit on. Up is knowing I’m right. Up is truth. “Are we okay?”

  He half grins. “I’ll tell you what I told her. I think it’s wrong. I know you believe you don’t have a choice, and she showed me all this research that makes her agree with you, but I think there’s always a choice with Jesus. And I think it’s likely we’ll have some . . . uh, interesting conversations about this. Just not right now. Because right now all I want is to be home again, to feel sane again, and get back to some semblance of life. And—well, you’re my brother, Ethan. You’re part of my life. I don’t want to change that.” He shrugs. “Maybe at some point I’ll actually get you to come to church with me. But I also don’t want to add to Mom’s troubles right now. I think what you and I should focus on is getting Dad to calm down so we can keep our family together. So I’m not gonna do anything to make that harder. How do you feel about that?”

  Wow. How do I feel? How much truth is too much? No amount of conversation will change who I am. No amount of prayer. And, I’m convinced, no amount of prayer should.

  I say, “You’re right about one thing. If we talk about this, the conversations will be interesting. Because I know that I’m gay, and I know that it’s not going to change, with or without Jesus. So I guess he’s gonna have to get used to it, because it’s how his own father made me. But you’re also right that we have a more pressing problem. I want Dad to stay, but I also want him to accept me. And you want Dad to stay, and I’m pretty sure Mom would too if he’d just chill about this. So whatever we can do toward that end, I’m on board.”

  We’re back to staring, but it’s not a bad stare. It’s more like we’re in cahoots, we’ve got the same goal, and we’ll overlook this little rough spot between us for the greater good. At least for now. Because, really, now is what we’ve got; it’s where we are. We should make the most of it.

  Chapter 18

  At lunch on Monday, I see I have a voice mail from Etta, asking me if it’s okay for her to pick me up after school and introduce me to someone really special. I check with Mom, who just wants to know who it is, but I haven’t a clue. So we both just have to trust Etta.

  She lets me drive the Forester back to her house, and we’re about halfway up that long driveway of hers when I hear howling. At first I’m thinking the coyotes are back, but when I glance at Etta she’s grinning at me. And something warm and exciting moves up through my body, nearly taking the top of my head off. Etta has a dog again.

  “Pull the car over here,” she says before we get close to the dog, which isn’t a breed I recognize. Is it a mutt? “I’m going to ask you to stay in the car until I call to you. Okay?”

  Well, this is ominous. Before I turn off the engine, I lower my window so I can at least hear what’s going on. The dog is a large animal with fur that’s part light gray and part brownish black, more peppered than spotted. It has kind of a long head, not at all like Two, and its ears are more like a German shepherd. And boy, does this one know how to howl. It’s on a lead that’s tied to a heavy metal stake I don’t remember.

  Etta approaches it directly, heading right toward it, not hurrying but totally sure of herself. It stops the noise, looks at her, head down, and bares its teeth. Despite my experience with Two, I don’t think I would have had the guts to approach this thing without a weapon.

  Etta doesn’t stop. When she’s close enough, she grabs the dog’s collar with both hands and lifts the front end of the animal off the ground as she stares into its eyes. I hear growling, and at first I think it’s the dog, but with a start I realize it’s Etta. Then she lets go of the collar, makes a kind of “SHHHT” sound, and the dog slowly lies down on the ground, obviously subdued.

  Etta unclips the lead from the stake and folds up most of it so the distance between her hand and the dog is pretty short, and she turns toward me, waving me out of the car.

  “Ethan, keep your head up. Don’t look at her. Approach calmly but not quickly, and pretend she’s not even there. Stop a few feet away with your side toward us.”

  I have to concentrate really hard or I’d be watching that animal for the slightest sign of ferocity. Etta keeps talking, her voice low and calm, encouraging me forward with reminders about not looking, and I’m sure this is for the dog’s benefit. White noise, in a way. I stop when I hear her say to.

  “Ethan, this is Halfwild. I call her Half. You can look at me now, and at her, but don’t stare.”

  I laugh. I can’t help it. Etta’s still One, I suppose, and Two will always be Two. But this creature should be called Four, or at least Three, she’s so much bigger than Two was, and apparently more ferocious. Etta went from Two to Half but got a bigger dog. When I laugh, Half looks up at me for just a second and smiles, head bobbing a little like any dog relaxing in good company.

  “Half, is it?” I ask. “I’m sure you’re going to tell me why.”

  She grins. “She’s half wolf, half black Labrador. Our mutual friend and dog breeder, Ed Baker, got in touch with me a few days ago about taking her. I didn’t say anything to you before, because I hadn’t decided. I didn’t know how you’d react, and I wanted to make my own decision. This morning I decided.” She looks down at Half.

  “Will she always be vicious? I mean, I couldn’t even get out of the car, and she was tied.”

  Etta smiles. “It’s easier to manage a dog if aggressive behavior doesn’t get a good start. She’s still getting used to me, and if you’d come toward her before I made sure she was calm, her fear reaction would have sent her into a fury. But we’re making progress.”

  “She bared her teeth, even at you!”

  “Wolves do that when they’re unsure about something. It’s not so much a threat as a way of saying, ‘I don’t understand what’s happening, and until I do I’m on alert.’ It doesn’t mean she’s going to bite, necessarily.” She takes one long breath. “I have to make sure I stay calm and relaxed with her, at least until we trust each other. The general consensus about half wolves is that they’re less predictable than wolves or dogs, which means they’re harder to manage.”

  “You had a lot of practice with a pit bull,” I remind her.

  “Yes, and without that, I couldn’t hope to work with Half. But Ed told me he was going to have to destroy the animal. Someone who evidently thought it would be a great thing to have a half wolf got into trouble with this one. They’re not good pets, as you can imagine. And the man just dumped Half at Ed’s property, tied up to a tree near the end of his driveway. Ed saw the guy and caught him before he could leave, which is how he knows about the breed and the age; Half is not quite two years old. Ed has done what he could to manage her, get her to be more dog than wolf. Spent a few weeks on her, in fact, and managed to get pretty far along, but he can’t spend enough one-on-one time with her. So he was going to have to put her to sleep, because he didn’t know anyone he thought could handle this mix.” She grins, and I can see pride on her face. “But then he thought of me.”

  “Wow.” I risk a glance at Half, and she’s still just lying there, relaxed. “Will I ever be able to pet her?”

  “Someday. I’ll let you know.”

  “I’ll bet those coyotes will keep their distance.”

  Etta laughs out loud. “Yes, I expect they will. They might not have known what they were getting into with Two until he charged them, but I expect a wolf will keep coyotes at bay.”

  “And someday will I be able to play ball with her, like I did with Two?”

  “I think so, yes. I’m sure she’d love that. The Lab in her will want to fetch.” She gives the lead a slight jerk, and Half gets to her feet. I think if she stood on her hind legs, she’d be taller than Etta. I wonder if she’ll get much bigger.

  We go into the house, where Etta ties her to a huge eye hook that’s been drilled into the door frame leading into the living room. She can get to her bed in the kitchen—a new one, not the one Two used—and she could get partway into the living room. But she can’t get to the kitchen table or the stove or the sink. Etta has her plan all worked out.

  There are cookies, and we sit at the table and talk for a while. Once or twice I forget to be careful, and I raise my voice. Which makes Half bare her teeth and growl. And each time, Etta looks at her immediately, says that “SHHHT” sound, and points to the floor. And each time Half relaxes again.

  I can’t help thinking this is totally cool. I mean, I saw how Etta handled Two, but he was so well behaved that she didn’t have to do much, or do it very often. But the way she works with Half makes me want to try it. So I ask her, and she says she was hoping I’d ask, that she’d appreciate help from anyone who can help Half understand that she’s not the alpha. She says it doesn’t matter that Half is a she in terms of dominance, and from this animal it can’t be tolerated for even a second or there will be trouble.

  By the time I need to leave for home, I’ve learned a lot about handling dogs. And wolves. And while I still have a healthy respect for Half’s ability to tear me to shreds, I’m not really afraid of her anymore.

  I drive the Forester home with Etta just in time for dinner, so Dad and I don’t have to dance around each other for long. But over dinner, I can’t help talking about Half. And I can’t help letting on how great it was to work with her, to get what it means to think like a dog and to have her obey me. Only as I’m helping with the dishes does it occur to me that talking about Half got me all excited, but working with her had made me totally calm—probably because it was be calm or be eaten. But also because calm worked. Calm helped Half as much as it helped me.

  I’m upstairs doing homework when I hear the house phone ring. I ignore it, but maybe half an hour later Mom calls up to me to come down “for a minute.” I think she adds that so I won’t think this is going to be something dark and awful, but I don’t know whether I trust that. I glance into Kyle’s room as I pass it, and he’s looking at me. I can’t read his expression, but I’m pretty sure he’s been up here and won’t know any more than I do.

  Mom pats the couch beside her for me to sit. She’s smiling. Dad’s in his chair, and he opens. “I just had a call from a man I didn’t know. Ed Baker.”

  I blink at him; why would Ed call here? And why would that make Mom smile?

  Dad goes on. “He told me about that incident in October, when you were driving Etta’s car. Says you probably saved Etta’s life, and maybe the other driver’s, too. And then she saved his.” He levels a gaze at me. “Is that how you remember it?”

  I almost say, I guess. But that sounds like when I’d responded to Shane about getting a tattoo. And driving is one thing Dad and I both understand. So I say, “Yes. It is.”

  “Seems he gave Etta a pretty nasty animal to improve on, from what you’ve said. And Ed just told me that Etta called him to say you were going to help her with that. So he’s pretty impressed with you, what with everything.”

  I can’t think of a good response to this, so I just concentrate on hoping Ed hasn’t revealed how we met. That I was hitchhiking.

  Dad clears his throat, like he’s said more than he intended to, or maybe just nicer things than he would like to have said. I can’t tell. And then he says, “Ed asked me if it would be all right with us if he gave you a puppy.”

  I nearly jump off the couch. A dog! And, like the iPhone, I never even asked for it! I have to clear my throat, too. “What did you say?”

  “I told him we’d talk about it. First, you need to understand this is a very generous thing he’s doing. He gets a lot of money for these puppies, and this is a gift. Next, there are two things we have to be clear about. The first is that if we get this dog, you’re responsible for it as long as you’re living here. Your mother is not going to end up being the one to feed it, or walk it, or discipline it, or paper train it, or any of those things. Neither am I. If it misbehaves, it’s your job to fix that. Any problem so far?”

  I just shake my head; I’m not sure I trust my voice. Neither am I implies that he’ll be here.

  “The other thing is this. Now, I don’t mean any disrespect to Etta, or to any woman. God knows your mother is a force to be reckoned with. And from what I know of Etta, I have no doubt she will handle that wolf. But I see this job of putting your dog in his place and keeping him there as something that takes a man, or at least a man’s attitude. You have to be firm, and in control, and dominant. And these are qualities I want in both my sons. Whatever else they are.”

  This last phrase would be a reference to my sexual orientation, no doubt. But I don’t react. I just let him talk.

  “So I expect you to be a man to this dog, and I also expect you to teach your brother, and me, and your mother what you’re learning from Etta. Because I expect that you’ll go to college someplace, and you’re not likely to be able to take the dog. That means we’ll have to keep it, and I will not have you leave us with a willful, disobedient animal.” He heaves a quick breath. “Are we in agreement?”