Rich Shapero (3 page)

He wasn't. He felt full, not just in his
stomach, but in his chest and his head, and his arms and legs, too. It was her,
Robbie realized. He was full of Fristeen.

"Want to know something?" He took
a breath.

Fristeen saw the look in his eyes.

Robbie struggled for words. "I've got
a secret."

She danced in front of him, circled him
with her arms and put her lips to his cheek. "No you don't."

Robbie stood speechless, watching as she
stepped away from the Clearing and started through the shrubs. Just before she
vanished, she turned half around.

"I live right over there," she
called back to him, pointing.

Robbie saw a shadow in the window. Then the
back door burst open and Mom came flying out. Her coat was on, and she had her keys
in her hand. She crossed the deck and swept him up, hugging him tightly.

"Mom," he murmured. Her chest was
heaving against his, and Robbie could feel the dampness on her cheeks. He drew
her plushy scent in and a sigh escaped him. The only true fearlessness was
here, in Mom's arms. Robbie was suddenly aware of the tension inside him. He
was ticking like a wind-up toy. "Dad?"

His father stepped beside them.

"What are you doing home?"

"Your mom called." Dad put his
arm around him.

Robbie grinned and reached out, full of his
achievement. "Guess what—"

Mom lost her balance and was forced to let
go.

Robbie slid to the deck. "Dad—"

"Where were you?" Mom shrieked.
She fell to her knees, eyes wild, grabbing his shoulders and shaking him.
Suddenly her face buckled, the accumulated worry overcame her and she was
convulsed with sobs. "Where?" she shrieked again.

Robbie tried to find his voice. He could
see Mom's lips trembling. "In the Clearing."

"That's a lie," she said.

"And up the Hill." Robbie met her
glare.

"You disappeared," Trudy said.
The day sitter stepped forward, allying with Mom.

Robbie wrinkled his nose at her.

Mom didn't notice. She'd turned her wrath
on Trudy. "I'm ready to fire you."

Trudy bowed her head.

"Are you alright?" Mom asked.
"Your shirt's torn. Where
exactly
did you
go?"

Robbie saw Dad watching him. There was a
hint of sympathy in Dad's eyes. But why was the corner of his mouth lifting?
Dad nodded to him, acknowledging his predicament, then he turned and headed
back to the house.

At the sound of his footsteps, Mom
stiffened. "That's it, Robbie."

He could hear the dejection mixed with her
fury.

"You're not leaving the house,"
Mom said. "Your outside time is over."

Robbie wrenched free. "I don't
care," he said. Then he turned like Dad had and strode across the deck.

Dad was on the sofa, thumbing a notebook,
his daypack beside him.

"Dad— I climbed the Hill."

"Congratulations." Dad put the
notebook down, glancing at the back door. When Robbie reached his knee, Dad
roughed his hair and kissed his temple.

"Guess what I saw."

Dad's dark eyes glinted, entering for a
moment the spirit of the adventure. "What?"

"There's a stream with a voice, and a
place where—"

"You've lost a shoe," Dad
laughed.

Robbie looked down. The sight of his muddy
sock made him giggle. "Do you have to go back?"

"I think I'm done for the day."
Dad eyed the back door again.

"It was scary. This mist came
and—"

"Robbie—"

The doorknob was turning.

"Why did you leave the Clearing?"
Dad asked.

Mom entered with a much-chastened Trudy.

"I decided to."

"You know the rules," Dad said.

"I was exploring."

Mom leveled her gaze at him. "You
don't
go into the forest alone."

"I wasn't—"

Mom's eyes narrowed. "Who were you
with?"

"No one."

Dad moved his daypack and Mom sat beside
him.

"You broke the rules," Dad said.
"What should we do?"

"Nothing," Robbie said. "The
rules are stupid."

Mom bristled, but before she could speak,
Dad lifted his hand to calm her.

"Robbie—" Dad laughed, leaning
forward.

Robbie saw the dark eyes regarding him.
What was Dad thinking? Sometimes you could tell—his thoughts were right there
in front of you. But sometimes it was the other way. His thoughts were distant
and his expression gave no clue. Dad's hair was black, and when stubble
shadowed his face, it was that much harder.

"You promised," Dad said.

"I was a little boy then. I'm six
now." Robbie smiled. "It's okay."

"We'll decide that," Mom said.

"Well—" Dad sighed.

Robbie could see shadows shifting at the
back of Dad's mind.

"Maybe it
is
okay," Dad
said softly.

Mom turned scarlet.

Robbie beamed.

Dad took a breath. "Felicia—"

Mom rose, shook her head, and stepped into
the kitchen.

For a moment, Dad was lost in thought.
Robbie remained silent. The only sound was Mom, cursing and banging pans.

Finally, Dad spoke. "You have to say
you're sorry. That's how this works."

Robbie nodded.

"You're the most important thing in
the world to her."

Again Robbie nodded.

"Go wash up. I'll come and get
you," Dad told him.

They crossed the living room together. Dad
motioned to Trudy. She had gathered her things and was waiting by the front
door. "Don't worry," he said as Robbie started down the hall.
"We'll figure it out. Everything will be fine."

From his room, Robbie heard only the swells
of emotion. He couldn't make out what they were saying. They were mad at each
other, of course. That didn't bother him. He found a pair of shoes and socks,
shut himself in the bathroom and switched on the fan.

First he peed. Then he climbed up, put his
muddy foot in the sink and turned on the tap. The cold water made him shudder,
and the terrible face swam before him.

Doubts, my boy?
Shivers sneered.

Robbie shook his head to banish the
phantom.
My boy, my boy
— Shivers, or the thought of him, had followed him
home.

"I'm not your boy," Robbie
muttered, scrubbing his foot.

He turned off the water, climbed back down
and put the fresh footwear on. Then he stood and regarded himself in the
mirror.

It was the same face he'd looked at that
morning. More serious, maybe. Freedom had done that. His life seemed so much
larger now. He combed his hair. It was dark brown, like Fristeen's. His eyes
were blue—not a luminous sky blue, like hers. Grayish blue. When would he see
her again? There were freckles on his cheeks and his ears stuck out, but there
was nothing to be done about that. Maybe tomorrow. The first of his baby teeth
had wiggled free the week before. He smiled at the mirror and pushed his tongue
into the hole. Then he put his finger on his cheek where Fristeen had kissed
it.

They're done now, Robbie thought.

But when he left the bathroom, they were
still arguing. So he snuck out of his room and crept along the hall.

Mom was saying something about a moose.

"How many times have we been over
this?" Dad said.

"You trust his judgment?"

"He knows what to do," Dad said.
"They don't stalk kids."

"Or a bear—"

"The chance of that—" Dad began.

"What if he gets lost?" Mom's
voice rose. "What if he falls? What if he breaks his leg—"

"Felicia—"

Robbie pictured the disbelief on Dad's
face.

"Stan's boy is six," Dad said,
"and he's free as a bird. You ought to get to know Jenny—"

"Once was enough."

"Stan said she enjoyed the morning you
spent—"

"Greasing her well pump?" Mom
said. "Next time we'll shovel out her privy."

Silence.

"There are a lot of boys Robbie's
age," Dad said, "wandering these forests. That's what this is all
about." "For you, not for Robbie." "He has to take some
risks," Dad said. "Please—don't tell me about Illinois."
"He's got a mind of his own." Dad laughed and repeated in a squeaky
voice, "'I was
exploring."'

Robbie heard the admiration in Dad's voice.
"I'm glad he isn't content to twiddle around in the Clearing." Dad's
scorn filled their small home. More silence.

"You're turning him against me,
Jack." Mom was faltering.

"The look on his face—" Mom cut
herself off. She was getting sad.

"It's my fault," Mom said.
"This never would have happened if I'd been here."

Dad said nothing.

"I'm gone all the time," Mom
said.

"Three days a week?"

"It's too much."

"That's insane," Dad said.

Silence again.

"Oh, Jack—"

Robbie could barely hear her now.

"He's changed," Mom said.

"He's your son."

"With work— And school in
September—"

Robbie turned and headed back to his room.

"I'm losing him," Mom said.

**

When dinner was ready, Dad came to get him.

"Say you're sorry. Remember."

But Robbie did better than that. He circled
the table and pulled out Mom's chair for her. It made them both laugh.

"I'm sorry." And he meant it. He
loved Mom.

The food wasn't special, but he ate
everything on his plate. Afterward, they would talk and agree to change the
rules, and there wouldn't be any more arguing.

They cleared the dishes and sat back down.
Nothing remained on the table except the two waxen cylinders, white and unlit.

"We set the boundary at the
Clearing," Mom said, "when you were five. You're older now. You have
better judgment. You can climb the Hill—you've proven that. So we're changing
the rules." She glanced at Dad. "You can go to the top of the
Hill."

"But—"

Dad's expression warned him.

Robbie shook his head. The new rule didn't
make any sense. "There's a place higher up—Where You Can See—"

"If you think the limits should be
changed," Dad said, "we'll talk about it. Give it a little time. Alright?"
He winked.

"Alright."

"You got Trudy in trouble today,"
Dad said. "I know."

"And Mom was really upset. They just
want to know where you are."

Robbie nodded.

"The top of the Hill. No
farther," Mom said. "I should be able to see you from the deck."
"We won't."

The words slipped out before Robbie could
stop them. "We?" Mom prickled with fresh alarm. "Me and—"
Robbie shrugged and grabbed his milk. "Any friends of mine."

"You were with someone."

Robbie took a swallow. "Yep." He
set his glass down. His indomitable air had its effect. Mom's jaw dropped. Dad
tried to straighten his laugh with his hand. "Well, who was it?" Mom
asked.

"Fristeen," Robbie said, pointing
through the window. "She lives over there."

Mom's head bowed. "What next?"

Robbie waited for her to continue, but she
just sat there. Dad leaned back from the table with a blank look on his face.
What's
happening?
Robbie wondered. Dad's attention shifted. He reached
for the mail and began to thumb through it. "She's—" Robbie searched
for a word. "Amazing." "That's beside the point," Mom
sighed. "It had to happen," Dad said under his breath.

"What do you mean? What's wrong?"

"I want you to stay away from
her," Mom said.

"But—"

"No 'buts.'"

"You don't under—"

"We've lived next door to them for two
years, Robbie. There's a reason I haven't taken you over to play."
"You don't understand—"

"No,"
Mom said.
"You have other friends." "Fristeen isn't just a—"

"No,"
Mom repeated
sternly.

"I'm going to marry her," Robbie
exclaimed. Mom was dumbstruck.

Dad looked from the mail to Mom. "Did
we get an invitation?"