Rich Shapero (22 page)

"I love you, son. I want you to
know."

"Sure. Are you—"

"I'd like to see you, but— We don't
want to upset your mom."

"She won't—"

"We're going
to have plenty of time together. Don't worry. Alright?"
"Alright."

"You're almost
a man," Dad said in a playful tone. "Yep."

"We're a lot alike,
Robbie. Freedom's important to you. Don't let anyone or anything take it
away."

"I
won't."

"Promise?"

"I
promise."

"You're not
going to forget me, are you?" Dad laughed. Robbie shook his head dumbly.
Then Mom took the receiver back.

***

That night, Robbie
felt sick. Sleep wouldn't come, and the sick feeling got worse and worse. A
half dozen times he dragged himself to the toilet, certain he was going to
throw up. But the problem wasn't in his stomach. It was in his chest. Something
had torn there. He was bleeding inside, and the more he thought about it, the
worse he bled.
Fristeen.
He really needed her.

He parted the
curtains again and again. Finally, there was a small glow in the east. Dawn,
maybe. A little mauve puddle with a splash of peach. He dressed, crept out the
back, and bolted down the path till the roofline of her house came into view.

How long had it been? It seemed like
forever. What if something had changed? But when he knocked, the door opened,
and there was Fristeen. She had a blanket around her and when she spread her
arms and wrapped him in it, the sick feeling just faded away.

"I've been lonely," she
whimpered.

"Is Grace here?"

Fristeen shook her head with a worn
expression. Shadows circled her eyes.

"Dad left," Robbie said.

They shared the bleak moment in silence.

"For good, I think." He managed
to smile, unzipped his jacket and handed her a baked potato. "It's kind of
rubbery. I had to hide it in my room."

"Have you seen the Dream Man?"

"Nope."

"I heard Dawn singing one night,"
Fristeen said. "I think she was saying goodbye." She took a bite out
of the potato and shivered.

Robbie gestured her inside.

"It's cold," Fristeen warned him.

He followed her in. The living room was
freezing. When he pointed at the window, Fristeen stared at it. Then they
laughed and found some pillows, and Robbie filled the hole with them. They did
the same thing in Fristeen's room. She finished her potato and dressed for the
forest.

"Let's go," Robbie said. "As
soon as my mom gets up, she'll come here."

Thankfully, it turned into a warm day, a
memento of summer, marred only by He Knows' oracle and the unleaving trees. The
early light was oblique. Instead of flashing against things, it seemed to enter
them. Every leaf and berry and flitch of bark seemed to glow from within. They
all spoke their hearts, as if they knew this was their last chance before the
dark winter closed in.

The Bendies had surrendered the last of
their leaves, and the shrubs beyond the Fallen Down Trees were bare. But He
Knows was waiting, and his squinting eye glinted. They needed him now to know
what was in store, and of course he did.

"What can we do?" Robbie asked.

"Two . . . You are two . . . two . . .
two . . ." The arching willow boughs seemed to have sagged, wrinkling his
brow.

"We want to be free," Robbie told
him.

"Agree
. . . agree . . ."

Robbie glanced at Fristeen.

She smiled. Whatever they did, they would
do together.

"I can't be with Fristeen. That's what
Mom said."

"End . . . It's the end . . . the end
. . . the end . . ."

From He Knows' narrowed eye, a spray of
dark branches rayed like crow's-feet, things near and far shifting within.

Fristeen shook her head. "There's some
place we can go—

"No . . . no . . ."

"The Hiding Hole—"

"Find you . . . they'll find you . .
."

"Please, please," Robbie said.
"Tell us a way."

"Away . . . away . . . You're going
away."

A breeze passed downstream, a weary sigh.
He Knows was finished.

Robbie gazed at Fristeen, and they stood there
wondering. Then they turned away from He Knows and followed the bank of the
stream without speaking. Dawn and the Dream Man were lost to them. And the
sanctuary the forest had granted them seemed about to end.

They crossed the log bridge, passed between
the stumps, and climbed Where You Can See into a clear blue sky. The vista was
different—a yellowing patchwork with red and orange streaks. But it still
inspired you: on either side, your gaze wandered the treetops, while your
thoughts grew lofty from the breathless height. Robbie squeezed Fristeen's
hand. She saw the energy in his eyes and drew close. The wind whipped her hair
around them both.

The Dot Trees were leafless, and the
Perfect Place was brown. But the Needle Patch welcomed them, eager to prick;
and the Jigglies still jiggled; and despite all the leaves that they'd cast to
the ground, the magnificent Great trees still had their crowns. They climbed
the slope to the Two-Tree, a skeleton now, and when they gazed down, the secret
land opened before them.

They descended slowly, savoring the quiet,
feeling the spell of Too Far stealing over them. At the border, they paused
where they usually disrobed. It was still chilly, so they kept their clothes
on. Then they followed the rill through the pillows.

The reeds were parched and the dragonflies
were gone. But the red Pool's magic was undiminished. They stood side by side
for a moment, hands clasped, paying homage to their reflection: Robbie and
Fristeen in the domain of sky and cloud, framed by black trees upside down.

"What's this?" Robbie muttered.
He drew something out of his pocket. It was the marble with yellow swirls, the
one that reminded him of the Dream Man's eye. Without thinking, he flung his
hand back and tossed it. The surface dimpled and rings spread out to the limits
of the Pool. It was easy to imagine some big finger had stirred it.

"Do you want to try?" Robbie eyed
the far shore.

Fristeen sighed and shook her head. It
would just make them unhappy. "She's with some other kids now."

Robbie nodded. "They've got other fish
to fry."

Fristeen scooped her hand through the
water, and took a sip. Robbie did the same. Then they skirted the Pool and
struck yet another trail through the hills—all slogs and dead ends, but a magic
labyrinth to them. They found a swale with dying plants that reached to their
knees, and the plants didn't have branches or leaves, just long pale threads
raying from the stalks. Like silver jewels, beads of dew clung to each thread,
and as they passed through, the jewels shook off. A shimmering mist grew around
them, and as Fristeen walked ahead with her arms spread, she seemed to float
through it like a fairy through a fog.

They found some low hummocks, and they
rolled down a small one with all their clothes on. A gentle roll, and slowly.
But it reminded them they were married, and that made it worth getting soaked.
Then they lay on the hummock's top and fiddled with the plants.

"Let's pick some." Fristeen
lifted a vermilion cranberry shoot.

Robbie yanked a sprig of rouged blueberry
from the soil.

"Put them in your pocket. Look—"

Maroon sphagnum tufts. Creamy lettuce
lichen. And there—a patch of foxtails with magenta-gold sheaves. Robbie drew a
pair of tassels through Fristeen's hair, and the aureole of filaments made her
the sun she longed to be.

"I love it here," Fristeen said.

Then the sun rose higher and dried them
out.

They skirted a marsh and reached an
egg-shaped pond where two grebes watched them and spoke in hushed tones. When
they pushed through the sedge, a mob of fritillaries burst from a remnant
bloom, whirling around them, celebrating their devotion in a silent tongue.
Cinquefoil seedheads, purple and brave; crossbills in the cones, going crazy,
while they danced below in the rain of scales; a runnel where spindly reflections
made ripples, inviting them into its hypnotic mesh; a bed of white cottongrass
where they cried and squeezed, and watched the soft tufts fly away on the
breeze.

In the late afternoon, they found their way
back to the Pool. When they reached it, their mood grew grave. They stood for a
while, gazing at the red water. Foolish games—was that all that was left for
them? Where were their gods? The wind hissed at the reeds through set teeth. A
hundred tongues fished from the verge and slapped the mud. The Pool was
restive, and they both knew why.

Robbie nodded at the low mound on the far
shore. Together they scanned the path to where it disappeared in the trees.

"Maybe we should," Fristeen
murmured.

Robbie swallowed. Neither of them could
bear the thought of returning home.

"Do you think they're still
there?" he wondered.

"Let's take a look."

Robbie saw the dare in her eyes. He drew a
deep breath, trying to steel himself. Then they started around the rim.

A breeze blew from behind them. Robbie felt
the goose bumps on his neck and arms. When they rose onto the mound, it seemed
like a stage, and Too Far was a giant lab, like the Dream Man had said, looming
around them. Eyes were watching, like those that had watched from the Hiding
Hole's rim. Eager, expectant eyes, full of dark rejoicing. Fristeen was looking
at him. She was really scared.

Without a word, Robbie moved through the
sedge, heading toward the path. Then their feet were on it, and they were
stepping quietly along.

A cry made them jump—a gray jay calling
from a nearby spruce. The arched rasp warned of something dire. The path
entered the dark forest just ahead. The black trees leaned on either side,
scabrous limbs bent, hung with hoary skeins.

"They're probably gone," Robbie
said. He came to a halt, staring at the next bend in the path. Fristeen drew
beside him.

"What about Hands? He could find them
for us."

Robbie closed his eyes, seeing the picture
the Dream Man had painted in his mind. He and Fristeen were twisting in agony,
burning alive. Bodies crumbling to ash. "You don't ever come back,"
he said weakly.

"We wouldn't really do it,"
Fristeen whispered. "Would we?

Robbie shook his head. "I'm too
afraid." He gazed into her eyes.

Fristeen was trembling.

"What's going to happen to us?"
She started to cry.

Robbie embraced her. "Please—" He
felt a welling in his chest. "Please, don't—" Now he was crying.

"Something really bad," Fristeen
said with despair.

"Maybe—" He drew a quavering
breath. "Maybe things will change." The hollow words shamed him. What
could he do?

Through his tears, he saw the sun was low
in the sky. He thought about Mom. She was going to kill him.

"We better go back."

They returned along the trail, circled the
Pool, and followed the rill toward the border of Too Far.

"Robbie—" Fristeen tugged his
arm. "Can we see Big Sponge?"

It seemed like some jumping might brighten
their spirits, so they took the detour through the viburnums. Big Sponge was
springy as ever, and they bounced and reached and giggled and shrieked, and
reached still higher. And it was working, they were both feeling much better.
Then Fristeen dropped through.

All of a sudden, the moss opened up, and
instead of flexing, her legs plunged straight down. Robbie fell to his knees on
the bobbing mattress and grabbed her arm, and she got hold of the edge. She was
frightened, but when she realized she wasn't sinking, she laughed, and he did
too. She tried to boost herself back onto Big Sponge, with Robbie pulling, but
as soon as she got partway out, the edge of the mattress started to sink. First
it was six inches under, and then a foot, and Robbie was going to fall in, so
Fristeen let go.

"Robbie," she gasped, sliding
back in the water.

He was still holding onto her hand. Her
head was just above the surface.

"It's warm around my chest,"
Fristeen said. "But it's cold below."

"Try again," Robbie said.

Again he pulled, and she tried to boost
herself onto the mattress. Again it sank as she put her weight on it. Again, Robbie
nearly joined her, and again she was forced to let go.

"My feet are freezing," Fristeen
moaned, clinging desperately to him, struggling to stay afloat.

"Hang onto the edge," Robbie
said. He freed her hand from his, set it on the moss, and backed across Big
Sponge.