Rich Shapero

by Too Far

  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.

  5

  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."

  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.