Rich Shapero (8 page)

Robbie nodded and hugged her one last time.
Then he headed for the back door.

***

When he knocked, Fristeen's face appeared
in the gap. She looked surprised, then her eyes beamed gratitude and the door
swung open.

"You came." She stepped forward
to embrace him, and the sun spilled over them.

"I'm sorry," Robbie said,
thinking of the days he'd missed her.

"Your mom doesn't like me."

Robbie saw how fearful she was.
"Something's wrong with my mom," he said. "Dad wants her to see
the doctor." "Is she sick?"

"Sort of," Robbie nodded. He
turned toward the forest.

"Let's
go."

"Wait." Fristeen ducked inside.
She returned with something wrapped in a hanky. "What's that?"

"A snack. Put it in your pocket."

"Thanks, Grace," Robbie shouted.

Fristeen shook her head. "She isn't
here."

Robbie grabbed her hand and they headed for
the path.

***

It was a glorious day, like He Knows
predicted. All the leaves had grown larger and the crowns were thick. They
raced up Where You Can See, stopped at the high point, joined hands and whirled
around. The forest tilted and pivoted, and they flung their heads back and
stretched their arms, whirling faster and faster, until it seemed that
everything in sight was flying away from them, disappearing over the rim of the
world. Then they lowered themselves through the Dot Trees, and ran out onto the
Perfect Place.

"Robbie— Look." Fristeen fell to
her knees beside a plant with purple bell flowers hanging in clusters from a
leafy top. They were everywhere, woven among the white crowns, and when she
turned the bells up, there were little suns inside.

"Smell," Robbie said. Balsam rose
from the meadow like smoke from a lamp.

Fristeen shut her eyes. "One,
two," she counted as she sniffed, "three, four. Smell four
times."

Robbie followed her example. When he opened
his eyes, hers were very close.

"I love Grace," Fristeen said.
"But I love you more."

Robbie thought about his parents. He loved
them both, but only Dad understood— Fristeen drew him back with a fervent look.

"I'm going to leave Grace," she
said, "and be with you."

"That would be great. But Mom wouldn't
let you."

Fristeen shook her head. "Here, in the
forest. With the trees and the sun." She tipped her face up.

Could they do that?
Robbie wondered.

Her eyes narrowed to slits, feeling the
sun's caress. "She misses us when we're gone," Fristeen said softly.
"She pretends we're with her."

She raised one brow at him. "No more
brushing teeth."

Robbie laughed.

"Let's have our treat." Fristeen
pointed, and Robbie drew the surprise from his pocket. There was a brownie
inside and she broke it in half.

Robbie looked around as he chewed.
"This would be a good spot—" He put his finger in his mouth.
"There are crunchy things."

Fristeen giggled. "Those are seeds,
silly. A good spot for what?"

"To have our home."

The idea welled up between them and flooded
the Perfect Place. For a long moment, their minds bobbed on it, and all of the
blooms were floating.

Robbie brought them back. "Are you
ready?"

Fristeen pursed her lips.

They stood together and stepped toward the
Needle Patch. At the entrance to the tunnel, he knelt and they squirmed inside.

They emerged, nursed their wounds, and
passed beneath the Jigglies lost in their separate thoughts. But when they
reached Trickle, they shared them. As so often happened, they had been thinking
the same thing: today was the day to strike a new path.

"Want to see what's
there
?"
Robbie pointed.

Just beyond Trickle, the ground rose.
Fristeen nodded and approached the slope. It was covered with thick scrub.
Nothing could be seen through the looming tangle.

Robbie pulled a rag from his pocket and
found a place to tie it. Then they started up.

The boughs were rubbery and reluctant. You
had to talk firmly to them and hold them apart. They didn't want you to see
what was ahead. And when the last of them gave in and put their arms down,
Robbie and Fristeen understood why. A grove of giant trees rose before
them—taller, much taller than you thought trees could be.

"They're the tallest ones in the
world," Fristeen said.

"Sh-sh-sh." Robbie put his finger
to his lips.

They approached them slowly, and then they were
among them, gazing up. The crowns were so high, they were like green clouds.
There were leaves and they were moving—you could see them way up there, winking
shadows and light. No small trees grew between the giants, just little ferns.
Their shoes went
crunch-crunch
on the dead leaves.

"What's that?" Fristeen
whispered.

Robbie heard it too. Something was rustling
beneath the carpet. But you couldn't tell where. It was like a story Dad was reading—you
were lost in it, but you could hear his fingers turning the pages.

Right at their feet, two little birds
sprang free.

Fristeen jumped and clutched Robbie, and
then they were laughing. But not loudly, just to each other.

"I feel tiny," Fristeen said as
they continued. Most of the giants were white, but here was a silver one, and
there was a copper one. And through the columns ahead, one was pink. Gradually
their confidence mounted. They drew deeper breaths and stood a little straighter.
They were walking in step.

"They're great," Robbie said,
feeling the solemnity of the grove inside him.

"Great," Fristeen murmured.

They were the Great trees, and this was the
Great Place.

At the rear of the grove was a tree unlike
the rest. It was short and huddled, and its bark was dark. Its branches hung
down, some to the ground. You could crawl inside, and that's what they did.

"A rent," Robbie said, looking
around.

"Let's
sit."

They sat with their backs against the thick
trunk.

"It's the Safe Tree," Fristeen
said. "You can't worry about anything here. The Safe Tree won't let
you."

Robbie gave it a try. He thought about what
they might encounter beyond the Great Place—a moose, or Shivers. And Fristeen
was right—the thoughts just flew away. They were under the Safe Tree and
everything was okay. He felt for her hand and they shared the safe silence.

"Want to know a secret?" Fristeen
asked.

"Sure."

"I talk to you before I go to sleep.
Every night."

"Wow."

"I'm just laying there . . . feeling
that special way . . ." She squeezed his hand. "I pretend there's
nobody in the whole world but you and me, and . . . my other friend."

"Your other friend?"

"My stuffed bear," she said.
"I tell you how happy I am— And then I don't say anything at all. That's
the strange part. You
know.
You hear what I'm thinking, and you know just how I feel .
. ." Her voice trailed off.

Safety filtered through the shade.

"I've got a secret, too," Robbie
said.

"What?"

"I wasn't brave before."

"Oh—" She gave a dismissing huff.

"No, really. Things always scared
me." He thought about that. "They still scare me, I guess. But I do
them anyway. I'm brave because of you."

She saw the deep feeling in his eyes and
kissed his lips.

"Let's do it now," Robbie said.

Fristeen made a confused face.

"You know—" Robbie touched her
hand. "What we talked about."

Fristeen looked down.

He didn't want to embarrass her, so he
whispered in her ear.

"You—" She shoved his shoulder.

"I'm not afraid," he said.

"Yes you are."

"I'm not," he laughed. He stood on
his knees and fumbled for his zipper.

Fristeen shrieked.

Robbie couldn't get his pants undone. His
hands were trembling.

"Don't," Fristeen cried.

The cloth parted.

"Stop, stop—" She was hiding her
face.

Robbie closed his eyes and pulled his pants
down. "Can you see?"

"Take your hand away, silly."

Robbie held his breath. "Well?"
He let a little light between his lids.

Fristeen was staring, stunned.

He felt instantly self-conscious.
"What's wrong?" he said, pulling his pants up.

She was still staring. "He moved."

Robbie shrugged and knelt before her.

Fristeen shook her head. "Does he do
what you say?"

"Sure," Robbie said. "He's
not like us."

That made her laugh. Robbie laughed too.
They laughed until they calmed down.

"Now you," he said.

Fristeen stared at him for a long moment.
Then she reached under her dress.

Robbie stooped. It was hard to see in the
dim tent. "A little pocket," he whispered.

Fristeen nodded. Then she drew her panties
up and looked away.

Robbie waited. Her breathing was long and
deep.

"I want to leave," she said.

They crawled out of the Safe Tree and stood
in the sun at the edge of the Great Place.

Robbie faced her, but neither spoke.

"Can we hug?" he asked.

She didn't reply. He could see the anguish
in her eyes.

Robbie swallowed. "What's wrong? Did
I—" It was like a stroke of bright watercolor on a wet page. Doubt bled in
all directions.

Fristeen made an angry face. "We
aren't married."

Robbie's heart rose. "I love
you," he said, reaching out.

Her distress burst like a bubble and she
fell forward, limp and gasping.

Robbie held her close. "Nothing's
changed."

Fristeen clung to him, unable to speak.

He stood there, rocking her gently.
It was
brave to have said that,
he thought. I love you— A vast unknown
had opened between them, and he'd crossed it with a single breath.

After a while, Fristeen's self-possession
returned. When she was ready, they turned their backs on the Great grove and
started through the high brush, climbing. She didn't say anything, but Robbie
had never felt so close to her. Maybe the revelations beneath the Safe Tree
had
changed them. They moved with a new fluency, holding the boughs back for each
other, one in the lead and then the other, as if testing a deeper trust.

The web loosened. The litter shimmied,
fooling their feet. Then the way leveled, and they stepped through jade-leaved
willows bursting with wool. They came upon a log that was rotting. Its thick
trunk lay intact on the soil, but its arms were gone and its bark was blanketed
with dogwood crosses. "It's not a tree," Robbie said. "But it
used to be." So that's what they called it.

They headed to the left, and as Used-to-Be
disappeared behind and below them, a ridge rose up. On the crest, a pair of
aspens were silhouetted against the sky. As they approached, Robbie could see
that the aspens were wrapped around each other. He glanced back. The view
spread out: a choppy descent, a line of hills lifting up, and a river of leaves
flowing between—trees beyond counting, every shade of green.

When they reached the top, there were a
couple of surprises. The two aspens had sprung from the same mass of roots.

"Like us," Fristeen said.

"The Two-Tree." Robbie put his
fingers in the crevice between the boles. And then he froze. A ghostly
landscape met their eyes—shot with bright colors, but ravaged and gloomy— No
crowns or green canopies. The trees were all black—spindly and pointed, as far
as you could see. Robbie remembered the islands they'd glimpsed from the Hiding
Hole's rim.

"Where are we?" Fristeen drew closer.

He gave her a mystified look. He scanned
the decline and pointed. The border of the dark domain was just below. Should
they go see?

A silent "dare you" passed
between them. They nodded to each other, linked hands, and started down.

The way descended through thick viburnum, a
puzzle of leaves that obscured the way forward at every step. A sudden
break—the black trees were closer—then they vanished again behind the shifting
green.

"Look," Fristeen cried out.

Ahead, the ground was splashed with color—emerald,
russet, maroon and rose. She ran and knelt down in it. Robbie followed, amazed
by the swells on either side. It was moss, but not like any he'd ever seen. It
spread out like a giant quilt, covering everything. When you put your foot
down, you sank way in.