Rich Shapero (7 page)

"You can't do that—"

He hissed again and pointed excitedly. The
sun was blinding, the wind up there steady—the high tips of the Jigglies were
going wild.

"They're not—" Fristeen began.

"Look," Robbie cried.

She gasped in amazement—he was right. The
branches grew longer as she watched. Leaves were shooting out like water from a
hose.

A cloud covered the sun one afternoon, and
Robbie feared Shivers might be stalking them. But Fristeen knew better. She raised
her arms, touched the hot gold with both hands, and gave a great push. And the
sun rose from its nest into clear sky.

"Have you ever had a secret
friend?" Fristeen wondered.

"Just you," Robbie said.

"I'm not really secret." She gave
him a mysterious smile.

There was one place that sobered them, no
matter how cheery they were. When they faced the Needle Patch, they knew the
price they would pay to pass. Flowers sprang from the Perfect Place as if to
prepare them, green stalks bearing up little white crowns; and as you stepped
through them, a sweet resin filled the air. The Patch was waiting, in a
deceptive guise. It had bright leaves now, and among them, chalice-shaped
blooms—pink with lemon centers—but the needles were still there. They were just
harder to see.

When they found the tunnel, they would
kneel down. There was no need for words—it was a trial they would share. Robbie
went first, making himself as small as he could, and they shirked and cringed as
the tunnel kinked. But before they emerged, the Patch had done what it wanted,
and one—often both—had blood-colored scrawls penned on their skin.

One morning, there was something in the
tunnel with them. It was right in front of him, but Robbie didn't see it till
it sprang from the leaves. A blur of speckled feathers, brown and brick,
whirred through the hedge—the shock pricked them both. They clutched their
wounds, hearing its trailing whimper as the grouse beat away through the trees.

They only returned once to the Hiding Hole,
and they didn't go down. There wasn't any reason to hide. They held hands
whenever they felt like it, and sometimes they'd hug and kiss when the animals
weren't around. There weren't bathrooms in the forest, and that embarrassed them
at first. "I have to go. Don't peek—" But the frequent calls of
nature put an end to giggles, and when a private moment was needed, it was
taken without fuss.

Old places or new, Robbie marked the way.
Socks, his and Dad's, and some of Mom's dust rags. As the forest leafed out,
they were harder to find. He'd move them, and he'd have to move them again.
Look back, look forward, check the way between.

Mom never suspected. She would return from
work and ask what he'd done, and he would say something stupid like, "I
collected leaves," or "Nothing," and she was happy as can be.
Aunt Verna sent him a present, and they called to thank her.

"He's nearly four feet tall," Mom
said. "They'd fit Uncle Abe," Aunt Verna laughed. When Mom hung up,
she put the gift back in the box. Robbie stopped her.

"You've never liked red socks."

"Oh no, Mom." He grabbed them.
"These are great."

***

One day, Mom came home in an especially
good mood.

"I've got the next two weeks
off," she told Robbie. "No Trudy," she hugged him. "Just you
and me."

That meant trouble. Whenever he opened the
door, Mom would go out with him. He could play in the Clearing or walk up the
Hill. But she was at the window or on the deck constantly, watching. He didn't
dare venture beyond the Hill's top, or through the shrubs in the direction of
Fristeen's house.

When Mom was in the kitchen, he'd shuffle
into the living room and stare at the phone. Robbie had made calls before, but
he'd always had help. He thought he could do it, but he needed Fristeen's
number and hadn't a clue how to get it. The weather was fine. She must have
been wondering. He hoped she wouldn't come looking. But that's what she did.

It was early in the morning. Robbie was at
the table, eating cereal with Mom. Dad had finished and was gathering his books
in the den. There was a knock at the back door. Mom turned her head, puzzled.
Then she stood, crossed the living room, and peered through the window. Robbie
sat perfectly still.

Mom opened the door. "Yes?"

"Is Robbie here?" Fristeen asked.

Behind Mom's dark outline, Robbie saw a
turquoise skirt shift. Fristeen peeked in, saw him and waved.

Then Mom stepped outside and pulled the
door shut.

Robbie listened. He couldn't hear anything
but the thumping in his chest. Dad was returning from the den with his daypack, ready to leave for the University. He knelt, put an arm around Robbie and
kissed his temple.

"Where's Mom?"

The back door opened.

"Jack—"

Robbie's heart sank.

"We had a visitor." Mom gestured
at the door. "Take a guess."

Dad gave her a mystified look.

"Her name is Fristeen." Mom
glared at Robbie.

Dad shook his head and stood. He turned to
leave.

"Jack? Goddammit— We have to talk
about this."

Robbie slid out of his chair. He was headed
for his room, but as Dad faced Mom, he ran and stood beside him. Dad cupped his
shoulder.

"Is she still out there?" Dad
asked.

"No. I sent her home."

"Well?"

"They're pals. They've been playing
together." Mom stared at Robbie. "He goes to her house all the
time."

Dad took a breath and put his pack down.
Robbie gazed up at him. Dad stroked his hair. "So fucking what," Dad
said.

Mom's ire shattered. "There's no
telling what goes on in that house. That biker's done time. I saw her at the
grocery last week. She was lost—pupils big as quarters. They had to drive her
home."

Dad looked out the window. Had something
caught his eye? He slid one hand into his pocket, his brow twitching
imperceptibly. Sometimes Robbie imagined he could hear what Dad was thinking.
But not now.

"I've seen that little girl," Mom
said, "wandering around by herself a mile from here. The woman isn't
responsible enough to have a child."

Dad nodded. "Well—fine." He
looked at Robbie. "Your mom's—" The corner of his mouth hooked.
"You know the rules."

"Dad—" Robbie heard himself
sniveling. The sound shamed him. Was he going to cry?

"Don't hide behind your father,"
Mom warned him. "There's going to be a punishment for all of this."

"Felicia—"

"Robbie, go to your room." Mom
jerked him free of Dad.

"It's not as bad as—"

"It's worse," Mom said.

Robbie shuffled away, entered his room and
closed the door behind him. Then he put his ear to it.

"He's been lying to us. He's been
wandering all over these woods with that little girl."

"Happy to hear it."

Robbie's spirit soared. Dad wasn't giving
in.

"He's going too far," Mom said.

"What? Doing things he's never
done?"

"He doesn't have the judgment—"

"And he won't need any with you off
work. You can choose his friends for him, decide where he should go and what he
should do—" Dad was angry. Really angry. "I don't blame him for
lying. I'd act the same—"

"I can't do this alone, Jack. I can't
do it!"

"You're losing it."

"We should never have had a child
together," Mom said.

Robbie had a sick feeling in his center.
What made her say that? He listened for Dad's response, but the silence
stretched out.

"Maybe not," Dad said.

"You're not ready to be a
father."

"And you're every boy's nightmare.
Can't you understand—he wants some freedom."

"He's six
years old,"
Mom screamed. Then she began to sob.

The little house's warmth shrank into the
corners. Robbie shivered. Why did this have to happen? They hadn't been arguing
as much. Things were getting better.

"Do you know how hard it is for me to
be the bad guy?" Mom said through her tears. She was giving in.

Robbie hoped Dad was hugging her.

"What's happened to you?" Dad
said. "Is this the same woman who walked the Pinnacles with me at
midnight? He needs to wander. When I was his age—"

"—in Illinois—"

"Yes, Illinois." Dad's voice
deepened. "The girl from the Upper West Side thought having a forest for
your backyard was pretty cool. 'Daniel Boone.'"

"Please, Jack—"

"Daniel got lost. He fell and cut his
head open. The river ice gave way beneath him and he nearly drowned. But he
survived. I'm sorry if I keep replaying all of this for you, but it defined me—
I learned to trust my instincts, to take risks and face danger. I fell in love
with wild things—"

"The perfect childhood," Mom said
acidly.

"It was rotten," Dad replied.
"But on this point, they were wise."

"They were oblivious," Mom
sighed. "They were gambling with your life. And there weren't any bears.
Daniel's friends killed them all." She sniffed back her tears. "You
didn't mean it, did you? You're not sorry we—"

"Of course not."

"So much has changed. We were so naive
about this Ph.D. program."

"Stop worrying."

"I can't. I see the account shrinking
every month. I don't mind working, but Robbie—"

"You need to get out of the house, and
stay out of his way. I'm not going through another winter like the last
one."

Robbie held his breath. This was a bad
subject.

"The storms drove me crazy," Mom
flared.

"You wouldn't get out of bed."

"That's what you do when it's dark!
And it's dark
all the time.
Maybe we should face up to it. Alaska, the whole
thing—"

"Can this wait?"

Dad was finished. He was going to leave.

"What are we going to do about—"

"Nothing," Dad said.
"Robbie's fine. Let him roam to his heart's content."

"And the girl?"

"Come on, Felicia. You think Robbie's
getting high with her?"

"No, but—"

"But what?"

"Talk to him about honesty. Please. Do
that for him, will you? He needs to be honest with us. I want to trust
him."

The conversation faded and Robbie retreated
to his toy box. When Dad walked through the door, he was sitting on the floor,
spinning a top.

When he glanced up, he was surprised at
Dad's expression. Dad looked glum, not like he usually did after he'd won an
argument.

Dad sat down on the bed.

Robbie waited for him to speak, but he just
stared at the brain poster with an absent look.

"Dad?" "Mmm?"

"Are you okay?"

Dad traced a line on his palm with his
forefinger.

"Should we talk? Robbie asked.

"I guess so."

Robbie waited, but Dad remained mute.

"What should we talk about?"
Robbie said, sitting beside him.

Dad took a breath.

"Should we talk about honesty?"
Robbie wondered.

Dad was motionless for a long moment. Then
he lifted his face, regarded him knowingly and shook his head.
"Goodbye." He kissed Robbie on the temple, rose, and walked out.

After Dad left, Robbie ventured out of his
room. Mom was in the kitchen, cleaning up. "Is everything okay?"

She nodded and smiled. "What would you
like to do today?" She acted as if nothing had happened.

"Play out back."

"Your dad and I agree—you can go
beyond the top of the Hill."

"What about—"

"That's alright, too." Mom turned
away from him to put some dishes in the cupboard. "You can play with
Fristeen. But I would be happier if you were here or in the forest. Let's not
be spending a lot of time at her house." She faced him.

Robbie hugged her. "You're a great
mom."

She knelt and kissed him, seeing the
anxiety in his eyes.

"There's a beacon inside you,"
Mom whispered. "Your best guide through life." She held him tightly.
"Don't worry about a thing." After a long moment, she drew back,
wiped the corner of his mouth and kissed his cheek. "You haven't had any
trouble finding your way? No moose or bears?"

Robbie shook his head.

"You've met Fristeen's mother?"

Robbie nodded.

Mom seemed about to say something. But she
decided not to. "Alright then. Be careful."