I stopped with the teasing. I was glad for her light mood, but now I was feeling the nerves starting again. “Are you cold?” I asked.
“A little. Do you mind?”
“No.”
She was warm against me, and I could smell the clean smell of her hair as she leaned motionless except for the light pushing of her breathing.
“You’re so warm,” she said after some time.
“Am I?”
“You really don’t mind, do you?”
“I don’t mind,” I said, and I moved and put my left arm around her. She leaned over closer and nestled her head under my chin. My breath came harder from her small weight on me. It was strange and wonderful and uncomfortable to have her there, and I did not want her to move.
“What else do you like to do? Seriously.”
“I don’t know. Lots of stuff.”
“Like what?”
“Fishing. You know I love fishing and being out in the boat.”
“Uh-huh.”
“I like working with my dad.”
“We’re too young to think about that. I mean fun stuff.”
“I like talking with the guys at work.”
“Boring.”
“I like reading.”
“Better.”
“My favorite book is Nick Adams. I read it over and over.”
“What’s it about?”
“This guy. Well, it starts out when he’s a little kid way back about a hundred years ago, and it tells all about him growing up and what it was like back then.”
“Uh-huh.”
“Well, when you read it, it makes you feel like you’re there with him, going all these places and doing all these things. Outdoors-type stuff. Nick loves fishing, like me. That’s what got me started on him. He’s always fishing, or thinking about it, or at least near a lake or a river or something. There’s one story called ‘Big Two-Hearted River,’ and after you read it you could swear you went on that trip.”
“Interesting,” Sara said. “That’s what I was looking for.”
“There’s more to it than fishing, though. I just don’t know how to say it.”
“It’s okay. I think I get it.”
“Try to picture this. In one story, Nick’s around my age, and he’s walking way out in the middle of nowhere under these huge old hemlock trees and it’s beautiful out there. The ground is soft and it’s shady and cool under the trees and he loves it out there, but at the same time being there gives him this really weird, eerie feeling. But he’s not scared, just serious and kind of thoughtful. He explains it as the feeling he should get from being in church. And that’s the great part, to me, because that’s exactly what it’s like for me sometimes out here. Like when I’m in the boat or something or off by myself or even just sitting here on the dock. But it’s only sometimes. I don’t know. Nobody gets it unless they read it or if they feel it somehow. You know?”
“I think.”
“Even Nick says that you can’t really tell people about things.”
“What else makes you happy like that?”
“This right here. I like being out at night in the summer. Lots of the Nick stories take place at night.”
“So you’re obsessed?”
“Hey, don’t knock it. Have you ever gone for a walk at night?”
“You mean out in the woods like this? I would never.”
“C’mon,” I said. “You have to try it.”
“You’re serious?”
“Yes.”
“Where are we gonna walk to?”
“Just around. You asked what I do around here.”
“But I’m warm here.” She pressed closer.
“You’ll be warm enough while we walk.”
“Isn’t it too dark?”
“No.”
“It seems dark.”
“I’ll get a light.”
“You are obsessed.” She shook lightly from laughing.
“C’mon,” I said. “It’ll be fun.”
I felt her head finally lift from my chest. I slid back from the edge of the dock, leaned over on one arm, and stood up, breathing easier. Although I hadn’t really been cold that night, I missed the warmth of her once it was gone. I would have liked to have it without the nerves somehow, if that were possible.
Sara got up slowly and followed me. I got the big Maglite from the shop and clicked it on. Judging by her face in the glow, it wasn’t quite the spotlight she was hoping for. “C’mon,” I said, motioning her to follow, and we went on past the dock, up by the porch and around the far corner of the house, to the side of the yard bordering the tree line. Part way up the lawn there was a path through the woods leading to a clearing on a point.
“You’re kidding me,” she said quietly, her hands in her sleeves and her arms crossed over her chest.
“You’re the one that wants to marry me,” I said. “C’mon, it’s fine.”
“What if we meet a bear or something?”
“We won’t.”
“Do they keep you informed?”
“They’re sleeping, dreaming about breakfast.”
“Jake …”
“Seriously, nothing will happen.”
Just into the darkness between the pine trunks, I pointed the light onto a lone beech tree that had grown with the pines. Cut into the soft beech bark there was an old scar of carved initials within a heart.
“That’s so cute,” Sara said, stepping up for a closer look.
“Can you imagine my old man carving that?”
“Actually, yeah, the big mush. What’s the J stand for?”
“Jamie.”
“Georgie and Jamie. Don’t you love names that go together like that?”
“Sure.” I motioned for her to follow again, pointing the light back to the path. She came along a step or so behind me as we entered the darker path, out of sight from the house now. The evergreens gave way to interspersed hardwood trees, and overhead the dense canopy of leaves and branches blocked out the moon and stars so that, below in the dark, it was like walking through a dark tunnel with a grassy bottom. And among the other heightened senses from walking in the woods at night, I became quite suddenly aware of another feeling, one as light as air and as chillingly new as winter’s first snows, a tingly coolness when first brushing the tips of my fingers that went up my arm and then through all of me. Her hand had come softly in the dark, in place of a question, searching unsurely, and at first it startled me. I looked at her in the shadows and saw her eyes on me. They were open wide, reflecting, but in those shadows I saw no clear expression. I looked ahead again and let my hand close around hers. It fit small in my hand, smooth with thin fingers lightly squeezing. Neither made a sound. When I looked back again, she was watching me still. I could only guess how it was for her then, and we went on up the path to the clearing.
At the point there was an open area of wispy grass with two stones at the center. Through the bushes and small trees bordering the shore, the dull glow of the lake lighted the small clearing. The moon was coming up over the trees.
“Who are they?” Sara asked.
“My grandparents. Dad’s folks.” My voice was unnatural with nerves.
She let go of me and knelt down to read the stones. Etched into them were various animals in a lakeside setting.
“They’re beautiful,” she said.
“Dad had them made.”
“Just the two of them. Your mom isn’t here?”
“No, she’s in Maine.”
“Why Maine?”
“That’s where she came from, so that’s where she had to go.”
Sara stood up again, facing me.
“We don’t visit her much,” I explained. “My other grandparents, sort of, get weird when we’re around.”
“That’s sad.”
“I can barely remember Gram,” I rambled, motioning to the stones. “Gramps lived a few years longer. All this and then some was their land. They were good people. My old man s
ure misses them.”
I fell silent once I rambled myself out. The wind was barely moving in the tops of the trees, and small waves lapped against the rough shore.
“People shouldn’t die,” Sara said.
“No,” I said. “But they sure do.”
“It’s just wrong. Don’t you think?”
“Yeah.”
“Does it help you to come and visit them?”
I shrugged and wished I hadn’t brought it up.
“Maybe visiting feels easier when you say it’s Nick’s idea.”
“Maybe,” I said.
We were quiet again. From nearby we heard an owl start hoot-hooting high up in a tree. Sara came over beside me and took my hand again. I was glad to have it back.
“Can we go back now, Jake?”
“It is morbid,” I said, moving the light from the stones. “Sorry.”
“It’s not morbid to miss people.”
I said nothing as we started back down the path to the house, Sara walking closer to me now than before so that our sweatshirts were brushing together.
“My feet are getting cold,” she said, very near-sounding under the foliage in the quiet dark, like being under a tent together.
“We shouldn’t have worn sandals,” I said, looking down a moment. “Do you need to go in?”
“No.”
When we reached the yard, I shut off the light. There was a faint glow from the house from the one light in the living room Dad always left on for me when he moved from the recliner to his room. “Wanna go back to the dock? Or we can sit on the porch,” I offered as we rounded the corner of the house, “if we’re quiet.”
“You don’t mind?”
“No. That’s why I offered.”
“Is there a blanket I can cover up with?”
“I can look.”
“I can run home and get one.”
“I can find one,” I said, reaching up and opening the screen door quietly. Sara went in, letting go of me as she passed. I followed and closed the door again easily while she went ahead through the open kitchen door, walking lightly on her toes after stepping out of her wet sandals. In the kitchen she paused. I noticed her eyeing the cake pan that was nearly empty before she moved quietly into the living room, looking all around her in the dim light. She returned a minute later and sat in one of the wicker chairs on the porch. Leaning back, she drew her legs up to her chest and wrapped her arms around all of her.
“You wanted a blanket,” I remembered aloud.
“Yeah,” she nodded. “Sorry to be a pain.”
I went inside quietly to the big closet. There were no throw blankets or anything, but there were rolled-up sleeping bags on the top shelf. I took one down and undid the ties as I walked. I closed the big kitchen door behind me, and opening the flannel sleeping bag on the porch with a shake, I spread it over Sara. She thanked me softly and smoothed it into place as I took a chair.
“Better?”
“Much better,” she smiled.
“Good.” I settled back in my chair and looked through the screen at the lake. Beside me, from the corner of my eye, Sara looked lost under the ruffled sleeping bag with only her head visible. Her eyes too were on the lake. Then, after a few minutes of silence, I felt them move over to me. I kept looking straight ahead.
“Do you think your dad will ever get married again?” she asked out of nowhere.
“What?” I looked over.
“It’s been a long time.”
“Yeah, but, no. No, he won’t.”
“Maybe—”
“He wouldn’t.”
“But maybe he—”
“He wouldn’t, Sara. Trust me.”
She stopped and I looked on at the lake and blocked it out, refusing to let it take root and grow into any sort of an image. I crossed my arms and let my eyes rest. The small annoyance of it left me quickly. After a few minutes of sitting back comfortably, quiet, I could feel how late it was getting.
“Do you want me to go?” Sara said after a while. Her tone was even softer now.
“No,” I said, opening my eyes. It was strange, but I was getting used to having her there, even while we were quiet. “Only if you want to.”
“I don’t,” she said.
“Aren’t you tired?”
“I am.”
“Go to bed if you have to. I’m tired too.”
“No,” she said lower.
“We can talk more tomorrow.”
“No.”
“Okay. I can wait a little while longer. It’s a nice night.”
She said nothing then. I waited, sensing the trouble, before looking over at her again. She was staring straight out, like she could see something that I couldn’t.
“Please, no,” she said.
“What’s wrong?”
“I’m afraid,” she said so quietly that I could barely hear her.
“You don’t have to be afraid here. You’re completely safe.”
“It’s not that.”
“What then?”
“It’s being alone that I can’t stand.”
“Well,” I tried to reason, “I’ll walk over with you, when you’re ready, and then your mom will—”
“She’s asleep.”
“But she’s right there.”
“It’s not the same. She can sleep; I can’t.”
I looked away for a moment, thinking. “You can’t sleep, or you’re afraid to sleep?”
“I’m afraid to sleep.” Her voice was starting to shake, and I could see her tensing and curling up into herself under the sleeping bag.
I moved my chair over closer. “Everything’s okay,” I said, without a clue of what I was getting into.
“I’d hoped you,” she started, but then stopped.
I watched quietly while she held very still, concentrated, wrestling with something.
“I shouldn’t talk about this, Jake. Can’t we just sit here? It’s so nice just to sit with someone.”
“Sure we can.” I waited. “But for how long?”
“I don’t know.”
“All night?”
She shook her head and started to sniff. “If I sleep, it’ll happen.”
“What will?”
“The bad stuff.”
I dropped my head and rubbed my tired eyes. I was at a total loss.
“I’ll dream it all,” she went on slowly, “and it’ll be so real that …”
When I looked up again, it was like she was changing before my eyes, almost wilting. Whatever control she’d had slipped away from her fast, and she came forward from under the sleeping bag and clung to me hard. I closed my arms lightly around her, not knowing what else to do. Her head was beside mine, and I could feel the jittery pushing of her panicked breathing. She was shaking all over.
“They’re only dreams,” I said.
“Bad ones,” she said, her voice cracking high and low, but barely louder than a whisper.
“They can’t hurt you.”
“They do hurt. They hurt every time.”
“They’re not real, Sara.”
“No,” she choked. “They are real. I have them every night if I sleep, and I hate waking up alone. I can’t wake Mom up anymore, so she can’t help me. Even if I shake her, she doesn’t wake up.”
“Okay,” I said, trying to hold her still. “We’re done talking about this. You have to calm down now.”
“Don’t leave. I’m not crazy.”
“Calm down, Sara.”
“No. You don’t understand. Please stay with me,” she pleaded, clinging harder.
“Sara—”
“Just stay. All I want is for you to stay.”
“Stop thinking about it,” I told her. “Everything is fine and it’s a beautiful night out here.”
“No,” she cried louder. “You’re leaving. I know it.”
“I’m not leaving. Keep your voice down.”
“If you leave, it’ll happen. I don’t want it to happen anymore
, Jake. I hate it so much.”
“Nothing will happen,” I said calmly, and all I could do was keep repeating that I wasn’t leaving and that everything was okay, with her getting more upset, crying, gasping, holding on to me so tightly that it was getting hard for me to breathe. She’d come apart so fast that I was a little stunned myself, so I just held on to her as she was holding on to me, speaking as gently as I could to her, and I stroked her soft hair very lightly with the rough and callused hand I’d never before been so conscious of. I couldn’t imagine how bad it must have been that she feared even the memory of it would catch her in a nightmare.
12
What seemed like a lot of time passed. Gradually, Sara began to settle. The crying had calmed to sniffs and her breathing relaxed once she’d given up trying to speak. I was getting cramped from sitting forward in my chair that way, so when I figured she was all right I tried to move. The moment she felt me shift, she grabbed at me hard and started with the “no, no, no’s” again, but by then it wasn’t her saying it anymore. Her voice was gone, and the sound that replaced it was about the worst sound I’d ever heard anyone make—a scratchy rasp that was at once low and high and sick.
“It’s okay,” I told her. “I’m not leaving.”
“Promise?”
“I’m not leaving,” I repeated.
Either she was low on energy or she finally believed me, and reluctantly, she released her hold of me.
From the closet I got another sleeping bag and untied it as I walked. I found Sara huddled back under her sleeping bag when I returned, curled into herself again like a ball in the chair. She was sniffing, and in the dim light I saw her face puffy and wet. I put my sleeping bag over the chair and went inside for two pillows from the living room and a paper towel from the kitchen. I held the towel in front of her when I returned again, but she would not take it. I set the pillows on the chair and tried again to get her to take the towel. Nothing. She wouldn’t move. She barely blinked. I kneeled down, folded the towel, and softly wiped her cheeks, her chin, and close under her eyes. They were such sweet, light eyes, unfocused now, unblinking, looking on past me, and on and on to places I could neither understand nor follow. I threw the towel aside and placed a pillow by her head. Then I turned, spread my sleeping bag out on the floor, dropped my pillow at the top, and kicked my wet sandals aside.
All Things Different Page 7