Summer of the Wolves Read Free

water, they heard the distant hum of its motor. Randall slowly walked to the very end of the dock, his eyes fixed on the plane.
    Ms. Nordstrom moved closer to Nika. “Imagine the children who never get an opportunity like this. You are so lucky. Oh, I know how hard this has been, at your age, such
incredible
loss . . .” Her words were like picking at a scab that was almost healed. Always, always, there was that picture in her head of her mom climbing into her friend Barb’s car, her mom smiling and waving.
    Nika jerked in a breath and looked away from the woman. An awkward silence spread around them like rings in a pool. Then the low mosquito buzz swelled to a small roar as the plane approached.
    Ms. Nordstrom leaned toward Nika, shot her gaze at Randall, and shout-whispered over the noise of the plane, “Well. Even if you don’t want to be here, think about Randall.” She crossed her arms.
    Nika bit back a rude response. What she didn’t need was some strange social worker telling her about Randall’s feelings. During the days preparing for this visit, she’d watched Randall’s excitement mushroom as he gathered his fishing gear and looked at maps.
    She was relieved when the wall of noise and wind from the plane stopped further conversation. Then the engine cut to sudden silence, and a bright yellow floatplane drifted in to thump against the rubber tire bumpers on the dock. A man hopped out onto the float, then onto the dock. His face was framed by dark curling hair, his eyes crinkled above a smiley opening in his beard. “Hi. I’m Reino Makinen,” he said. “Ian McNeill’s pilot.” He effortlessly looped ropes around posts to tie the plane. “Good old Finnish name. Everyone calls me Maki.”
    Why hadn’t their uncle come along to pick them up? Nika looked at the plane—it seemed so small.
Some uncle,
she thought,
asking us to risk our lives, flying in this thing.
    Looking at their lumpy duffel bags and backpacks on the dock, Maki said, “This everything?”
    â€œYeah,” Nika answered, looking over their pathetic pile. “Pretty much.”
    Nothing could have been truer. Except for some stuff they’d left in storage back at Meg’s, everything important they owned was inside those sad heaps of nylon. Socks, CD players, CDs, a copy of
Just So Stories,
and report cards. Some photographs, Meg’s address, old jeans, friends’ school pictures, toothbrushes, and Band-Aids. Randall’s superhero cards, Nika’s old brown bear, sweatshirts with their school motto, records of vaccinations, Nika’s journal. There was the stuff her uncle had had them buy at a camping store—bug repellent, new hiking boots that laced up above the ankle, hats, pants, and hooded jackets called anoraks, the clothes still bearing tags.
    Nika pulled her worn orange backpack from the heap.
    Maki smoothly loaded the rest into the back of the plane, then said, “Well then, let’s fly. How about it?”
    They said a quick goodbye to Ms. Nordstrom, unsuccessful at dodging the stiff hugs she gave them.
    With the hug, Ms. Nordstrom couldn’t resist a few last words to Nika, very close to her ear: “It’s up to the oldest to set the proper tone. I hope you’re going to do your best to make this placement work!”
    Placement. As if she and Randall were merchandise about to be positioned on a newly dusted shelf.
    They settled into the back seat, and the plane began to pull slowly away from the dock. Nika looked into the empty front seat, to the right of Maki. There was a second pretzel-shaped control that moved when Maki turned his steering wheel. As if a ghost were flying in the right seat. As the plane tugged against the water, she remembered one important question she’d forgotten to ask. She’d meant to ask Ms. Nordstrom what excuse this Wonder Uncle had given her for his being so completely gone