***
As Henry crossed back through the clearing, darkness was gathering. Darkness that seemed as sudden to Henry as the sound of crickets starting up their serenade. He had been with Amy longer than he'd thought.
"Where in blazes have you been, boy?" Grandpa cal ed from the porch as he approached.
Henry bolted up the steps of the house to meet him. "I'm sorry. I was down at the creek and I lost track of time," he said. "Supper ready?"
His grandfather eyed him sternly. "Supper's come and gone. You're in the doghouse with your mother."
Henry's chest fel . He paused with his hand on the door handle. "I missed supper?"
His grandfather nodded and packed tobacco into his pipe.
This wasn't supposed to happen. Henry had lost track of the day, which he never let himself do. He'd forgotten that sometimes, the clearing had its own sense of time that didn't correspond to his regular day. He'd noticed it once before, when he'd fal en asleep reading near the stump, but this was much worse.
"Mother in the kitchen?" Henry asked.
" Bedroom. " His grandfather's voice was icy.
The bedroom was not a good sign. The bedroom was where Mother retreated when she felt faint, or just wanted to sleep away the time.
Normal y, she only napped there, but Henry remembered previous days of this summer when she'd cried in her room for hours. She cried over Robert and his old letters from the spring, letters tel ing of training, and then letters from England as his unit prepared for the invasion. She cried over the loss of Henry's father in a logging accident up on Deer Mountain long, long ago. Crying was something Mother did a lot of.
"You best get in there and apologize," Grandpa said.
"Yes, sir." Henry went inside and mounted the stairs to the upper floor. He knocked lightly on his mother's door but didn't wait for a reply before opening it.
As he feared, Mother lay in the bed, her bottle of pil s next to her on the night table. Henry's heart stil ed. The guilt from his selfish, selfish moments down at the creek formed a pit in his stomach. He moved toward her swiftly.
"Mother, I'm here," he said, taking her hand.
Her eyes fluttered open, and Henry felt a sense of relief.
"I made a chicken fricassee," she said weakly.
"Yes, I'm terribly sorry. I lost track of time."
Mother glanced toward the night table.
Henry fol owed her gaze to the pil s. "What's wrong, Mother? Are you feeling il ?" he said.
She sat up in bed against the pil ows. "I need my medicine, son. Wil you fetch me some more water."
"How many pil s did you take this afternoon?"
She frowned at him, her pretty face taking on a tired, older look.
"Dr. Norris said those are only for your body aches," Henry said. "Did you already take a few pil s?"
"I don't need a lecture on my health, thank you," she said, pul ing up the blankets around her. "I would like you to bring me some water, please."
Henry shook his head. "Mother, there's no reason for you to feel bad on my account. I was rude to miss supper. I'm so very sorry."
"I was worried sick," Mother said, wearily.
"Yes, ma'am."
She closed her eyes. "I couldn't bear to think of something happening to you, Henry. Just couldn't imagine my dear, sweet boy not with me."
"Yes, but I'm fine. See? Everything is fine."
His mother's voice was hushed as she continued. "I was worried when your grandfather couldn't find you. He wandered the farm for a good hour searching. He was so worried."
Henry heard her fear building. "Say, let's go downstairs now, and you'l have your tea and I'l have a big piece of the cold chicken. I'm starving."
His mother reached out to clutch his hand again, squeezing too hard. "Don't you go away on me. I can't lose al my men."
Henry sucked in a breath. Yes, to his mother, even his being missing for a few hours added to the feeling of loss she carried with her. "Shal we go downstairs now?"
Mother final y loosed her grip on Henry's hand. "Be a dear and hand me my slippers."
Henry stood up from the bed and got them, along with her housecoat. Mother swung her legs over the side of the bed and slowly slid into her slippers. Once solid on her feet, she pul ed the coat on over her nightdress.
And, Henry noticed, slid the bottle of pil s into her pocket.
CHAPTER SEVEN
The woods were inky dark, but I wasn't scared. In fact, I almost felt a little cheerful. The time at the creek with Henry had been just what I needed. I skipped up the back steps to Mae's place and went into the house through the back door.
"I'm home," I yel ed. The smel of baked chicken hung deliciously in the air. My stomach growled as I passed through the kitchen, where empty dishes sat on the table, waiting. But Mae was in the living room, watching TV from her recliner, a strange expression on her face.
"What's going on?" I said. "Not hungry?"
"I beg your pardon?" Mae said. She picked up the remote and muted the TV.
"I know I'm late for dinner. You didn't have to wait for me to eat," I said, plunking down onto the couch.
Mae gave me a look. "Amy—it's near ten o'clock."
I gaped at her. "Um, that's impossible. I was just out in the field and then down by the creek. It didn't seem that long."
"Sweetie, I was out there cal ing for you for the last two hours. I had half a mind to cal the neighbors to gather a search party."
"I was just in the field."
Mae shook her head slowly, looking at me with pure disappointment.
I considered tel ing Mae about Henry, but then thought better of it. Even if she didn't know his family, she was the type who might cal his parents and embarrass me and Henry both.
"Why on earth would you go out there to the field where no one could find you?"
"Just wanted to be alone."
"Wel , that'd do it. I never go out that way where the darn fog covers the far meadow. If you want to walk the property, there's other ways round, down the side road that runs by the creek and the old homestead. Not through that mist. You gave me a good scare."
I held up a hand. "Mae, I said I'm sorry—I get it."
"You can't do that to an old woman like me," she continued. "We're in this together, you know. If you go running off, I get nervous."
"I won't do it again," I said.
The look on Mae's face was making me feel like crap. I thought she was done, but she kept going. "Didn't your mother ever hold you accountable for anything?"
I shoved my hands in my hoodie's pockets. "I guess."
"I'l take that as a no. And maybe that's how you got here, sweetie."
I bristled. "Um, what do you mean by that?"
Mae sighed and gave me a weary look. "I only mean that if your mother had set certain limits, then maybe—"
"Then maybe I wouldn't have hooked up with a jerk like Matt? Is that what you mean?" Hot tears stung my eyes. "Mae, seriously?"
She got out of her chair and lowered herself gingerly onto the couch next to me. "Now, Amy, hold on a minute. I didn't mean to sound like an ogre. That's my tired, old, grouchy body talking. I can't hike around like I used to. I'm beat from chasing after you."
My heart was stil racing. "Mae. Wil you answer me? Is that what you seriously mean? I thought you said Mom did the best she could."
Mae smoothed the throw draped over the arm of the couch. "I just mean, if I'd been your parent, I wouldn't have let you grow up like this."
"But you're not." My voice sounded cold, even to my own ears.
"No," Mae said. "I'm just your old great-aunt. But while you're here with me, you'l live by my—no— our rules. And rule number one is pretty simple—don't run off."
"I didn't run off. I wasn't paying attention to the time."
Mae gave me a sad look. "My dear, time is the one thing you should pay attention to. One day, you'l find there's never enough of it." She got up and shuffled off to bed, leavi
ng me there on the couch.
***
The next day was a blur. It started with Mae barely talking to me over our breakfast of cold cereal, progressed through Jackson and Lori chatting like I wasn't at the lunch table, and went on to teachers looking right through me. I was beginning to feel like a ghost that no one could see.
But I almost didn't care.
I spent the hours daydreaming about the creek and Henry. Feeling the scratch of the wool blanket beneath my arms. Savoring the taste of the buttery biscuit melting in my mouth. Hearing the sound of the stream rushing over stones. When life could be as simple as that, who needed the rest of it?
On the bus, I leaned against the window, enjoying the view of green fields and farms we passed, marveling at the beautiful browns and grays of the rocky hil s around us, the deep rusts of the cattle, the blue-green water of the Skagit as we drove over the bridge and up the highway.
Somewhere after the blueberry farm, Lori slid into the seat next to me. "It's real y too bad we don't have any classes together," she said. "Are you going to try out for soccer?"
"Um, no. I'm not real y a soccer person anymore." I didn't tel her I'd been into a few different sports back at my old school. That was part of the old me.
"Oh, okay then," she said in a bored voice. She turned away and pul ed a lip gloss and a compact mirror out of her purse.
I realized I was doing that antisocial thing again. "I'l be yel ing for you on the sidelines, though," I said, giving her a smile.
"Cool," Lori said. She capped the gloss and leaned over closer to me. "Listen, I don't know if you're even interested, but I was going to have some people over tonight."
"Tonight?"
"Yeah. It's Friday, remember? My folks are headed down to visit my sister in Tacoma. I've got the place to myself."
"Oh, gotcha. Wel , um ... who's going to be there?"
"I'm trying to keep it smal ," she said. "Just a few select friends." She tilted her head at me. "I know you're just getting to know everyone. But, if you want to, just show up tonight..."
The bus lurched to a stop and I grabbed my backpack.
"See ya," Lori cal ed as I headed down the aisle to the door. She was trying to be nice to me, I guess. I didn't know if she even real y wanted me to come to her party, and real y, I didn't know if I'd be able to go. Mae was probably stil mad about yesterday.
Yesterday.
I stil didn't get how what seemed like minutes with Henry had turned into hours. It was just being in good company, I guessed. He made me feel comfortable and the time had just zipped by. I doubted a party at Lori's would be half as fun as that afternoon with Henry.
I figured I should go, though. At least put in an appearance. Maybe I could bring Henry with me to Lori's. Would that be weird—bringing a homeschooled guy with me? It sure would make things easier going with someone I knew would want to hang out and talk. I wasn't sure I could face a house party on my own.
***
Mae agreed to let me walk over to Lori's place early that night. I think she was overjoyed I actual y had made friends with the girl. I gave Mae a hug goodbye, since things seemed better between us, and headed out the door just before sunset.
But before I left for Lori's, I went to get Henry. I cal ed his name as I reached his side of the mist, and he came jogging toward me in the clearing.
"Hel o, again. What are you doing here?" He was wearing basical y the same outfit from the day before—work boots, brown pants, suspenders, a white shirt with the sleeves rol ed up over his strong forearms. Man, he was solid.
"Hey." I returned his bright smile.
His face was tan, which made his blue, blue eyes stand out and his teeth look white as milk. "Wel ," he said, clearing his throat, "you're al gussied up this evening. What's the occasion?" He brushed a hand through his sandy blond hair to smooth it. I figured al my staring must have made him self-conscious, but I couldn't help it. How had I not noticed that Henry was super cute?
I laughed and wrinkled my nose at him. "I wouldn't cal this gussied up."
"What do you mean? Look at you—you're shiny."
"It's cal ed a scarf. It's just got a few sparkles." I tugged at the ends of the accessory that was draped over my plain white tee and black zip sweatshirt.
"No, you look shiny." He pointed at my lips and then sort of blushed.
"Oh." I shrugged. "Gloss with gold flecks. It's my going-out look."
"So you're going out on the town?"
"Nah, just to Lori's down the road. That's why I came out to get you. I wondered if you might want to go."
"Oh, I see." He rubbed a hand across his jaw line.
I bit my lip, waiting for Henry's answer. I mean, not that I cared. We were just friends, but stil . "It's probably going to be lame," I said, starting to feel heat creeping into my cheeks. "You don't have to go."
"It's very kind of you to invite me," Henry said. "But, I'm sorry. I can't accompany you."
"Okay. I understand," I said quickly.
Henry took a step toward me. "Amy, I real y would like to go with you."
"It's okay, you don't have to explain," I said, just wanting to run now.
"Wait a second," he said as he reached out for my hand. "Real y. If I could, I would." His hand felt warm and dry, and feeling him touch me was strange, but not uncomfortable. I got the sudden urge to hug him.
"I just wanted to go ... as friends," I said, easing away.
He shoved his hands in his pockets. "I wasn't expecting anything else."
I looked up at him. His eyes were focused on me intently, and there was genuine warmth there. I never used to believe it when people said that someone had kind eyes, but just then it made sense, because Henry had them.
"You go on and have fun," he said. "I'l see you here again. Wil you come tomorrow?"
I nodded and walked off toward my side of the clearing.
I knew he was watching me. It felt good. And terrifying.
***
"Ohmigosh! Cute scarf!" Lori met me at her front door, pul ing me inside, where a virtual mass of kids was churning like an ocean. Loud country music blasted from a stereo somewhere, barely covering the roar of conversations and laughter.
"Just a few friends?" I reached into my bag and pul ed out a jar of strawberry preserves, which Mae had insisted I bring to Lori and her folks.
Lori shrugged and abandoned the jar on a bookshelf next to a mini-statue of a jumping trout. "It's a little bigger than I planned," she said, throwing up her hands. She steadied herself against the bookshelf and tugged at the back of her tights. She'd gone from jeans and T-shirt at school to a short black dress and wobbly high heels. And she was extra wobbly, from what I could tel .
"Yeah, it's packed. Are al these people your friends?"
Lori reached out and put her hands on my shoulders, pushing me into the mass of kids. "Booze in the kitchen," she shouted, melting into the crowd herself.
I stood there for a minute, getting jostled and feeling total y out of place. After the second elbow to my side from a wild dancer, I forced my way through the partygoers and found the kitchen. A girl I remembered seeing in my AP English class handed me a can of beer. I took it from her, but I didn't crack it open; I was too stunned by her completely chugging down the one she'd taken for herself. Laughing, she threw the empty can into the sink and then fel into the arms of a guy in a Rockvil e Roosters shirt who escorted her off toward the living room dance floor.
"Hi," I said to two girls snacking from a bowl of chips.
They mumbled greetings to me, then went back to their conversation.
I rol ed the cold can back and forth in my hands, and thinking about how in the old days, I'd have Matt to talk to. Matt to ease my way through the crowd of people I didn't know. Matt to make everything seem normal, regular.
"Not your favorite brew?" Jackson nudged me.
"Oh, hey," I said. "No, um, I'm not much of a drinker." Anymore, I added silently.
"Me neither." Jack
son saluted me with his red party cup. "Pop," he said. "I've got the car tonight and my mom would kil me if I were out drinking."
"Cool." I didn't real y know what to say next, so I stared at the col ection of state-shaped magnets on Lori's green refrigerator. Alaska and Kentucky were holding down a school lunch menu. Idaho anchored a shopping list.
Cat food
Peanut butter
Toilet paper
Cheese
"Okay, wel ..." Jackson turned to go.
"Wait," I said. "Um, so, how did you like that last essay question on the English test?"
"It was okay," he said.
"I hope I passed." I leaned back against the fridge.
Jackson took a sip from his red cup. "Just wait until the mid-quarter exam. She real y kil s on that one," he said, looking back over his shoulder.
"Are you, um, do you have to go or something?"
Just then, a brunette from our math class slid up next to him. "Hey, Jackson, I need another beer!" she whined, tugging on his sweatshirt.
He gave me a sheepish look.
"Please, help yourself," I said, stepping out of the way.
"Amy—look, I'l catch you later," Jackson said.
But I was already moving toward the back porch, which I could see was nearly deserted. I sat down on a wicker bench, next to a guy who was propped up against a post snoring. I hadn't always been a wal flower—and yet here I was mostly al alone on a stupid bench. From my perch, I could see Lori's sprawling back lawn, bordered by a woodlot of evergreens. A rusty swing set was highlighted by a motion sensor light that kept flipping on and off as kids wandered by. Click. Hum. Click. Hum.
My thumb rubbed the tab of the beer. It wasn't like the sweet drinks Matt sometimes whipped up for me at the parties we went to, but beer had sometimes done the trick then, too. Drink after drink, and then Matt would start to get different. And if I hadn't had too much to drink myself, I would see it coming. The glaze that took over his eyes. The slow smile that eased across his face.
"How are we doing over here?"
The Clearing Page 6