The World More Full of Weeping (6 page)

Carly was waiting for Brian when he got to their meeting
place early the next morning. She smiled when she saw him.
“You came,” she said.

He nodded, trying not to show how thrilled he was to
see her. “Sorry if I made you wait.”

“No, I don't mind. I was just hoping you hadn't forgotten
about me.”

The thought shocked Brian. It had never occurred to
him that she might be looking forward to seeing him as
much as he had been looking forward to seeing her.

“I made some sandwiches,” he said, tugging off his
backpack. “Did you want one? Peanut butter and jam.”

She shook her head. “No, thank you.” She patted the log
next to her. “Why don't you sit here while you eat?”

He was shaking a little as he sat down next to her. When
he tried to unwrap his sandwiches, even his hands were
shaking.

He hoped she wouldn't notice.

The day passed in what felt to Brian like mere moments.
They wandered trails he had never seen, pointed things out
to one another they hadn't previously noticed. Carly showed
him a thrush nest, high in a tree, and Brian climbed the
tree and showed her how the feathers connected to their
shafts under his microscope. They talked and laughed and
walked in easy silence, holding hands.

It was an endless series of perfect moments.

As the shadows thickened, she stopped him and held
both of his hands. “You have to go?” she asked.

It hadn't even occurred to him to look at the time: it
was already almost 4:30. “I can stay a little longer,” he said,
thinking of the way his father hadn't even noticed he was
gone the day before. Then he corrected himself. “No, no.
I should go. If I'm late my dad might not let me come out
after school tomorrow.”

The look of sadness that had crossed her face lifted,
broke into a smile. “You'll come back?” she asked, as if she
couldn't believe her ears.

“Of course I will,” he said.

She squeezed his hands, leaned in quickly and kissed his
cheek, turning away immediately, as if embarrassed.

His face started to warm.

“Here,” she said, dropping one of his hands to sweep aside
a dense, hanging branch. Stepping through, Brian found
himself back in the clearing at the edge of the forest.

“Tomorrow?” she asked again.

He smiled, “Tomorrow.”

She squeezed his hand.

The hours seemed to crawl by, with nothing for Jeff to do
but wait. He wandered through the yard, slowly, keeping
one eye on the dark smudge of forest, alert to the occasional
flash of lights from its edge. His heart jumped every time
someone came out, every time there was a crackle from
Charlie's radio truck, thinking that maybe this was when
it would happen, maybe this was when Brian would come
back.

There were people everywhere, the driveway so full of
cars that anyone arriving had to park on the shoulder of
the road and walk in, but he felt completely alone.

Around midnight, when he noticed Jeff pacing up the
driveway, Dean Owens disengaged himself from the group
he was talking with and met him halfway. Dean was wearing
a heavy coat with a reflective vest over top. The sight of
him, and his misty breath in the night air, made Jeff think
of Brian in the woods, in the dark, scared, shivering —

He tried to block out the image.

“Any news?” he asked Dean.

“Not what you're wanting to hear. The teams met mid-point in the woods about an hour ago. There's no sign of
your son.”

Jeff flinched despite himself.

Dean shook his head. “That's not necessarily a bad thing.
If he'd been swept into one of the creeks or attacked by an
animal, we would have found something. His pack, maybe.”
He paused, shook his head and touched Jeff's shoulder.
“I'm tellin' you this straight, because you're a friend: the
fact that we haven't found his pack or anything is a good
sign. It means he's holding onto it. It means he's probably
all together. See what I'm telling you?”

Jeff nodded, barely able to conceal his sudden need to
vomit.

The true magnitude of the situation washed over him like
a chilling storm. He had spent that evening downplaying
everything in his mind, expecting the Search and Rescue
to find Brian easily, if he wasn't going to walk out of the
woods on his own.

But neither of those things had happened. And now he
couldn't shake the image of his son floating down one of
the swollen creeks, his backpack soaked and heavy, keeping
him just under the surface.

“What — ” His voice came out broken and soft. Jeff
coughed to clear his throat. “What do we do next?”

Dean took a deep breath. “We've split up the team that
started from this side. They're going to move out from your
fence lines through John and Claire's place that way, and
over young Tom's place that way. The team that started at
the logging road is going back in, but in the other direction.
Toward the mountain.”

“But he's not — he knows to keep to this side of the
logging road. He wouldn't — ”

Dean smiled and shook his head. “I seem to recall you
and me taking a few liberties with
your
father's rules, too.
Right?”

Jeff hesitated, then nodded.

“You remember what it's like when you get out there. A
lot of the rules don't seem to apply so much. Doesn't make
him a bad kid. Just a kid.”

“Right.” Jeff nodded again. “But” — he glanced at his
watch — “it's almost one in the morning. When do you — ”

“Call off the search for the night?”

“Yeah.”

“We don't. If this was an alpine search, we probably
would have called it off at sundown. Mountain terrain is
too treacherous to mess around with after dark. But this is
pretty flat, pretty straightforward. We can search through
the night if we need to.”

“That's good.”

Dean nodded. “The crews have been spelling off for the
last while. Fresh eyes so the first crew can get some rest.”

“What about you?”

“John Sears came on about an hour ago. I was just
waiting to let you know what was going on.”

Jeff felt suddenly as if he wanted to cry: the small
kindness was overwhelming. “Thanks, Dean,” he said.

Dean shook his head and clapped him on the shoulder.
“You should get inside. Your wife'll be starting to worry
about you.”

Ex-wife
, Jeff was about to say, but Dean had already
turned away.

By the time the school bus brought him home and he had
changed into his scrubbies from his good clothes, Brian
had little more than an hour with Carly. Spring might have
come early, but night still came on fast. Too fast. Especially
on school nights.

They made the most of their time together. Carly was
always waiting for him, and every day brought new wonders.
Baby animals were being born everywhere — a blue jay's
nest one day, a rabbit den another — and the forest itself
was changing, greening and thickening. The creeks were
rising with the spring run-off, and the swamps burst into
sudden colour: yellows and purples and oranges of flowers
half-hidden in the shadows.

And everyday it was harder to say goodbye. When it
came time, Brian would leave it as long as he could, reluctant
to let go of her, of their time together, even as the house
started to disappear in the falling dark.

He took solace in the knowledge that there was always
tomorrow, that he would be back in the woods with her in
only a matter of hours.

But then the rains came, black sheets of March rain that
soaked one to the bone in an instant, that chilled one to
the core.

It rained for days, the creeks rising and rising and
almost slipping their beds, the animals slinking through
the low brush only when absolutely necessary, and all Brian
could do was look out at the woods as the rain streaked his
bedroom window.

Carly was waiting for him in their usual spot three days
later. From the bulging grey look of the sky the rains hadn't
finished, but they had stopped for the moment, and Brian
had hurried across the field as soon as he got changed from
school.

“Carly,” he called as he stepped under the forest's canopy,
stopping short as he saw her.

A tight frown was fixed on her face.

“You didn't come,” she said, not meeting his eyes.

“I'm sorry.”

“You said you'd come every day.”

“It was raining,” he said, as if that was reason enough.

“I waited for you.” She finally looked up at him, long
enough for him to see the hurt in her eyes, then back down
to the ground again.

“I'm sorry,” he repeated. “My dad . . .” His father hadn't
actually said anything about it: it hadn't even occurred to
Brian to spend the dark, rainy afternoons in the forest. He
hadn't thought for a moment she would be there.

At the mention of his father, she looked up again, and her
eyes seemed a little clearer, more understanding. “I
waited
,”
she said again, but sounding sad this time, not angry.

“I'm sorry. I'm here now.”

Her smile broke through her frown and he felt a weight
lift from him. “You are. You came back.” All around them,
the leaves and boughs dripped as if the rain was still coming
down. “Come on.” She started toward the forest.

“Wait.”

She stopped.

“Are you — ” He gestured toward her. “You don't have a
coat or anything.” He had bundled himself into a slicker
over his jacket but already felt the damp and the cold; she
wore the same dress as always, her face pink and rosy.

She smiled at his concern. “I'll be fine,” she said. “I love
the rain.”

As they walked he tried, as he always did, to impose
their route on his mental map of the forest he thought he
had come to know. They walked past the reading place —
the lightning-struck tree with the cave in its trunk where
he used to sit and read his guidebook — and the brokendown section of fence grown over with blackberries, the
young canes thin and bright green. They crossed one of the
creeks, the water rough and almost covering the tops of the
stepping stones.

By Brian's reckoning, the next turn should have brought
them to a clearing full of huckleberries and salmonberries
that would be ripe in the early summer.

Instead, she led him into a bright grove, rich with a
heady blur of unfamiliar scents. The sky was bright blue
and warm overhead.
The storm must have burned off while
they were under the trees
, Brian thought, suddenly too warm
in his heavy coat.

“What is this place?” he asked, mostly to himself.

Carly smiled, looking pleased with herself. “I thought
you'd like it.”

Brian stepped into the clearing, brushed his hands
along the trunk of one of the flowering trees. “I don't think
I've ever seen this plant.”

“It's a magnolia.”

“Do they usually grow around here?” He wanted to open
his knapsack, pull out his guidebook, but he couldn't look
away from the grove. The clearing had the sharp brilliance,
the bright detail, of a dream, and Brian was sure it would
vanish if he looked away.

“And those are cypresses,” Carly said, leading him farther
in. “Touch them. They feel warm. And their bark — ”

“ — feels like skin,” he finished, lightly caressing the
smooth, red-brown trunk.

He didn't want to look away, but he turned to Carly.
“How . . . where are we? I've never — ”

She smiled, as if she had a secret. “We're in the forest,”
she explained. “Your house is just over there.” She gestured
vaguely.

“But . . . how can that be? There's nothing like this in the
woods. How far have we gone?”