Page 40 of The Strawberry Field
“Hey,” I say.
“Hey. Everything okay?”
“I think there’s a coyote in my yard.”
A pause.“Are you all right?”
“I’m fine. He’s not close. But he’s been sitting there for a while. Watching me. He looks like he might be hungry.”
“I wouldn’t go near him. Want me to come check it out?”
“You don’t have to. I just didn’t remember them being around here.”
“They weren’t, not years ago. But lately, yeah. There’s been a lot of clear cutting in the area. They’ve lost habitat.”
“That’s sad.”
“It is. They’re incredibly adaptable. They eat everything, bugs, crops, dog food, even watermelon. They’ve survived because they’re hard to get rid of. But there aren’t sanctuaries or places that will help them. They’re considered a nuisance species.”
“That’s awful. So I should just leave him alone?”
“Yeah. That’s the best thing you can do. But I doubt you will.”
There’s silence on the line. And then, without fully knowing why, I say,“No. I won’t. I’ll put some food out for him.”
“I’d do the same.”
And I know he would. “Okay.” I hesitate, and then, “Do you want to come over for a drink?”
“I’ll be there in a few minutes.”
*
WHEN JAKE PULLS into the drive, I’ve already put some sliced turkey out for the coyote. He ate it and then melted into the woods like he was never there at all. I wonder if he’ll be back.
Jake knocks, and I open the door. We walk through the foyer and into the kitchen.
“Do you want a glass of wine?” I ask.
“Honestly? I’d rather have a beer, but—”
“I don’t have any.”
“Wine it is, then.”
I pour him a glass, and we carry it outside. He leans against the deck railing, swirling the wine before taking a sip.
“Pretty good,” he says.“Not that I know much about wine.”
“It was here. Left in a cabinet. I was surprised the cork hadn’t crumbled.”
We both watch the dark where the coyote had been.
“Gone?” Jake asks.
“Yes. He left when you pulled in.”
“Not surprising. They don’t hang around long once they know they’ve been seen.”
