The Porch Wolf

Arriving home, I changed things up. For the first time in months, I had something to do that my wolf and I were excited about doing.

Turning up the heat in the garage, I started by cleaning out the Lexus. It wasn’t easy; I’d find her sunglasses, and remember when we went skiing. I’d find a bottle of her perfume, and remember that night we went dancing in Minneapolis. The blanket that we’d picnicked on during our drive up the North Shore. It took two hours to get to the point I could vacuum and wipe down everything, with a dozen or more pauses and breakdowns along the way.

Another hour of work and the car was clean on the inside. I had called from the bar to make an appointment with a garage in town to get the oil changed and a checkup, so I’d do that after I woke up on Thursday. Looking at the pile of stuff I’d removed from the car, I got some boxes and started putting together things to donate to Hastings Family Service. Other things, like her sunglasses and the perfume, I’d bring in with the rest of my mementos.

I set them on top of the dresser, mixed with the photos and reminders of our life together. On the wall above it was a 24x36” photograph of the two of us in wolf form, running through the woods. Taken the day after our mating ceremony, it showed the promise of a long life together and the joy of finding each other. I reached out, my fingers tracing the line of her neck. “Not much longer, my love,” I whispered to her. I dropped my hand down to the urn that contained her ashes; I’d found the maker online, a local woodworker who would do custom work. The cherry box had a laser-etched photograph of her face on the top with her name above it, and “Beloved Wife” below with the dates “1972-2015.” Trees and running wolves filled the sides, the laser-etched pattern forming a continuous run.

Tears ran down my cheeks as I talked to her. “I’m sorry, my love,” I began. “I never let you go. I never moved on like you hoped I would. How can I keep going without you?”

She didn’t answer.

“I can feel my wolf fading. We both miss you so much. There’s not much time left before we die, maybe by summer?” I’d already outlived the only example I’d seen of a widowed wolf. He made it three years before putting a bullet in his brain to stop the pain. I’d made it four. “My life is empty without you. I don’t know why the Goddess hasn’t taken me yet. I wish you hadn’t made me make that promise to you to keep living. Life without you in it is tedium, broken by drunkenness. I have nothing to look forward to, only the place I eat separates the days anymore.”

I picked up the photograph of the two of us by the pool, surrounded by the Welch Pack at a summer Full Moon party. “The isolation is the worst part of it all. I’d give anything just to run with the Pack again.” Putting it down, I wiped my tears. “I decided to go through your things and give them away. I know you’re laughing at me, wondering why I still have your clothes after so long, but I couldn’t bear to lose anything with your scent. Now everything is faded. There are people out there who can use your things, charities, even friends. It’s time I cleared out things from the house, but I will never clear your memory away, my love. You will always be here for me.”

I took a shower and went to bed. Just before I fell asleep, a thought came to my mind.

For the first time in a long time, I hadn’t gotten blackout drunk. That was ONE.

The next morning, I felt better than I had in years. “Because you didn’t drink a whole bottle of whiskey,” my wolf noted for me.

There was that.

I drove the Lexus into Hastings, stopping at McDonald’s to get some breakfast before dropping it at the shop. It didn’t take long; the car was in excellent shape, with less than ten thousand miles on it despite being five years old. I had one more stop, this time to visit my lawyer. I pulled into the parking lot of the office building and climbed the stairs. “Welcome to Burnley-Loesch, Mr. Volkov,” the receptionist said with a smile as she took my coat. “Mr. Burnley will be right with you.”

I hadn’t sat down before Jacob Burnley came into the office. “Leo, good to see you again,” he said as he shook my hand.

“Likewise.” Leading me back to his small office, I sat at the chair in front of his desk as he sat down.

“What can I do for you today,” he asked.

“I need some help with estate planning,” I said.

“I would agree, you haven’t updated your will since the passing of your wife,” he said as he pulled up the last one on his computer. “It will still be valid, of course, there were contingencies built-in should she precede you in death, or you die together. but you should write a new one to ensure your estate goes where you want it.” He read through the terms. “As it exists now, your entire estate would pass to your brother Ivan.”

That wouldn’t work for me. “Including the value of my property and investments, I estimate the estate to be worth just under three million dollars,” I said. “What are the tax implications of that passing to my brother, or others I might designate?”

“It’s not a problem for that size estate,” he said. “The exemption for the federal Estate Tax is $11.4 million as of last year, so the estate itself will not be taxed. There is no Federal or State inheritance tax, so the beneficiaries of your estate will not have the amount treated as taxable income. The only tax one would worry about would be capital gains on your property. If your home appraises at a million dollars on the day of the inheritance, and it is sold six months later for $1.1 million, that extra hundred thousand would be subject to capital gains taxes.”

“So, I don’t need to set up charitable trusts or other devices?” I’d heard about people doing that to protect their children.

“For an estate of your size, it would not accomplish anything. Now, ten years ago, when the deduction was a million dollars, we might have done something. You could designate all or nothing to charity, and it will not affect the tax treatment.” He paused to let me think. “How much of your estate is in liquid assets, things like stocks, bonds, and cash?”

“Everything except my home and its contents,” I said.

“Then all you need to do is work with me to designate who you want to be beneficiaries of your estate, and in what percentages. You can choose items, too; if you want your car to go to a particular person, we list that by asset and name.” It took less than an hour of his time to create a new will, one that reflected better my treatment since Catherine’s death.

Those who abandoned me would get nothing.

I stopped at the U-haul store, picking up twenty boxes and six garment boxes, then at the grocery store to get more food from the deli. I only bought foods that I could heat and serve, the cooking gene having skipped me. The last stop was the gas station, filling the tank and purchasing some gift cards.

Returning home, I started the process of sorting Catherine’s closet. Stepping in, I took a deep sniff, but her scent was long gone. We weren’t fancy, country-club people; she had dresses and shoes, but most of the time, she dressed in jeans. I filled three boxes with shoes, then started to move the clothes on hangers into the garment boxes. By the time I had them all down in the garage, it was time to head out.

The rest of the week was productive for a change. I finished the closet, the master bath, and her office. I made a dozen trips in the truck to the Salvation Army or Hastings Family Services, boxes filled with stuff I hadn’t been able to let go of for four years.

After years of living day by day, I was looking forward to Prime Rib Night. I prepared everything I needed, driving the Lexus into the parking lot in the back lot of Wiederholt’s just after three in the afternoon. The owner, Mike, met me outside. “You’re doing a good thing here, Leo,” he said as he waved me to his truck. “She’s going to flip.”

“She’s a good kid, and I know my wife would appreciate her old car going to someone like her,” I said. He drove me back to my house so I could grab my truck. Before I got out, I handed him a manila envelope. “I wanted to do something for your employees. It’s some gift cards for the gas station. Can you make sure every one of them gets one, but don’t tell them it was from me?”

He took the envelope. “I can say it was from a customer if that’s all right. You don’t have to do this, but they will appreciate it.”

“That’s fine. I’ll see you at seven.” He waved and pulled out of my driveway, back at work before anyone would notice he was gone. I put the gift together. It was a small box containing the car’s title, registration, two keys, and $4,000 in cash. I watched the news, finally leaving the house in time to be there at my usual time.

The place was packed, but Liv and the hostess greeted me with big smiles. “Merry Christmas, Leo,” she said as she brought me to my table. I smiled; finally, she was calling me Leo.

“Merry Christmas to you, Liv. Is Vicki ready for Christmas morning?”

She laughed. “She talks about nothing except what she asked Santa for, and she’ll probably try to stay up until he comes. I’ll be right back with your food.”

With it being Christmas eve, the place was packed well into the night. I finished my meal and picked up the bill, putting my usual $60 in the folder and placing the wrapped box on top. Liv froze when she saw it. “Leo?”

“Merry Christmas, Liv. Don’t open it until just before you leave tonight.”

I stood up, and tears came into her eyes as she moved forward and hugged me around the waist. “Thank you,” she said.

She had to run off to her other tables, so I took a spot at the end of the bar. Mike came over and set a Sam Adams in front of me. “There’s a lot of happy employees tonight.”

I nodded. “It’s a hundred dollars they can spend on their families instead of gas,” I said as I raised my glass. “Merry Christmas, Mike.”

The dining hall started to wind down by ten, and the wait staff was released as the tables cleared out. Mike came back to the bar, smiling like the cat who caught the canary. “It won’t be long now,” he said.

I heard a high-pitched scream from the hallway leading to the bathrooms, soon followed by two other girlish screams. A few seconds later, Liv came running into the bar area, her uniform replaced by jeans and a sweatshirt. She spotted me and ran up, crashing into my side as I opened my arms for her. “Leo?”

“It’s a car, Liv. I wanted you to have something reliable, and it wasn’t like Catherine needed it anymore.”

“OHMYGOD OHMYGOD OHMYGOD,” she said. “And the money?”

“You’ll have to pay sales tax on it when you register, and you’ll need better insurance. You’ll also have to claim the value above twelve thousand as taxable income. I had my lawyer figure out what it would all come to, and gave you enough cash to cover it all. It’s all in the letter with the title.”

“Thank you,” she said as she squeezed me tight. Mike and some of the other employees had gathered around, and they all congratulated her like she just won the lottery. “Where is it?”

“Out in the back lot. Come on,” I said as I grabbed my coat.

She hit the OPEN button on the remote as soon as she was out the door, and the lights on the Lexus flashed in response. “OH MY GOD!” She walked towards it over the frozen ground, just a few spots down from where her old car was. Opening the door, she started it up.

I got in the passenger seat, giving her a quick orientation to where everything was. “You should get what you need out of your old car, especially the booster seat,” I said.

She didn’t grab much, and I put the booster in while she was grabbing what she needed. When done, she pulled me into another hug. “Thank you, Leo. This is the best Christmas present EVER,” she said.

“You’re welcome, Liv.”

“Leo? What are you doing tomorrow?”

I shrugged my shoulders. “I don’t know. King’s Place is closed on Christmas.”

“Come over for Christmas dinner? It’s not much, but I’m making turkey and the works. I’d like you to meet my Grandmother and Vicki.”

“It would be my honor,” I said. “Can I bring anything?”

“You’ve brought enough,” she said with a smile. “Show up by noon.” She leaned in and kissed my cheek, then slid down into the driver’s seat. She waved to everyone watching as she pulled out into the cold night.

I looked at the group that had gathered to watch. “I’ll see you next Tuesday, Mike,” I said with a grin before I walked around to my truck.

I felt good about myself for the first time in years.