They found her in the middle of the room, her legs splayed to hold her up. Portia was just an old wolf now, covered with white fur that had a worn yellow luster. Her eyes were blue, stark against black lids, and her bony frame seemed fragile as it heaved breath, making Red want to go forward and hold her up. But caution held her back. And Lydia’s hand.
“We can take her outside now, Miss Lydia. She’s through changing for good,” said Matilda.
They bore Portia into the radiant night, collared and cross-tied, and the ancient wolf turned her muzzle to the moon, drinking in its luminosity. Red thought about the trenches in Vicksburg where this werewolf had savaged Confederates, her eyes glowing as they glowed now, full of moon-magic and bloodlust. She could hear the wolves at the zoo, howling like demons.
They led her to a grassy spot by the hedges and she stood silhouetted against the moonlight.
“She killed Earl when your mother was very young,” said Lydia. “He got careless on the night of a full moon. That’s why I kept her alive all these years, she killed my husband.”
They listened to the wolves howl frantically against the counterpoint of deep lion roars.
Portia’s breath came out in wheezes.
“She’s dying, at last,” said Lydia, and Red could hear sorrow in her voice. Portia drew herself up, her coat bristling with bright needles of light. She threw her head to the moon and gave one last howl, harrowing and rich, then she fell. It took Red a moment to realize that the wolves at the zoo had become silent. Then, they started again, taking up the dirge; farewell to a fearful and mighty one.
Lydia was in the breakfast nook, the gloves she used for heavy digging laid on the counter. She was going at The Commercial Appeal with the kitchen scissors. “Article in the paper says people all over Overton Park were calling in to complain about the wolves and lions. Not doubt the Press Scimitar will run something this afternoon.” She put the short article inside a leather-bound book.
Red slid into the chair opposite her grandmother.
“My whole life revolved around taking care of her, stretching her miserable life out as long as I could,” said Lydia, her eyes distant. “I should have let her go years ago. I was so angry when she killed Earl. He was a good man, Yvette, but I don’t think he ever really believed, and he got careless. And now, I don’t feel angry, just… sad. Maybe I’ll take a little vacation, visit you all in New York.”
Daddy will love every minute of that, thought Red.
Lydia leaned forward to get up, then sat down again. “Yvette. Portia left a diary. She kept it faithfully up until the end.” Lydia’s hand was resting on the little leather-bound book.
A hunger swept through Red.
“When you’re older, it’s yours,” said Lydia. “You’ve learned a lot already, but you’ve got some growing to do before most of this will make sense to you. Goodness, it seems like a long time ago that we sat talking at the diningroom table… right now, I think you should go say good-bye to Virginia.”
How old was older?
Virginia was waiting at the bench.
“Portia had a diary!”
Virginia’s eyes were wide. “A diary? Did Miss Lydia give it to you?”
“No… she said I had to get older.”
They sat back, frustrated.
“I’ll have to go to college up there,” said Virginia finally, “so that when Miss Lydia gives it to you, we can read it together.”
“Yes! And we can go to the same school and walk around knowing we have this big secret. And we won’t tell anyone. Not even our boyfriends.”
“Deal?”
“Deal!”
They never said good-bye.