Before Familiar Woods

by Ian Pisarcik

  Polly nodded and dropped her cigarette on the gravel and put it out with her sneaker.

  Ruth turned to the boys. “What do you say? You boys ready to get your hands dirty?”

  The boys shouted something unintelligible and took off for the small shed nearly hidden behind the copse of birches.

  MILK RAYMOND

  In the afternoon there was a knock on the door. Milk sat at the kitchen table with his boot on the spindle of the chair smoking a cigarette and looking through a stack of discharge papers.

  Daniel sat on the couch wearing his goggles and trying to draw on a damp piece of birch bark he had found on the ground outside. He turned to Milk. “Who is it?”

  “I don’t know.” Milk stood and went to the door. The blinds were drawn. He held his cigarette by his side and looked out the peephole. “Turn that television down.”

  Milk opened the door, and a woman holding a yellow legal pad smiled and pulled the pad to her chest. “Milk—Milk Raymond?”

  Milk didn’t say anything. The woman was his age—maybe a little older. She had a round face and dark cropped hair with a streak of it dyed blue and she wore purple cat-eye glasses.

  “My name is Jett Oakley,” the woman said. “I’m with the Family Services Division.”

  Milk held her eyes, and then he glanced at his boy, who was leaning over the arm of the couch, watching.

  The woman pulled a business card from her pocket and handed it to Milk. The card was yellow with green text. It read: JETT OAKLEY: DEPARTMENT FOR CHILDREN AND FAMILIES, FAMILY SERVICES DISTRICT OFFICE—BENNINGTON.

  “Is it all right if I come in?”

  Milk handed her the card. He stood there a moment and then took a step backward and pulled open the door.

  “Thank you.” The woman smiled and stepped into the house. Milk looked out at the empty road and the flurries that had begun to fall.

  “Is this Daniel?”

  “It is.”

  The boy remained seated on the couch. He had gotten into his pajamas when they returned from the gas station. Dark-blue ones with green flying saucers scattered around the arms, chest, and legs like polka dots.

  “Hello, Daniel,” the woman said.

  The boy nodded.

  “I like your goggles.”

  The boy was quiet.

  “What’s this about?” Milk asked.

  “Can we talk in private? Maybe Daniel can play in his bedroom for a little while.”

  Milk took a drag from his cigarette and studied the woman. She wore an open knitted vest over a checkered shirt and several bracelets on both wrists. He turned to Daniel. “Why don’t you go to your room.”

  The boy sat still.

  “Go on. I’ll come get you in a few minutes.”

  Milk watched Daniel get up slowly from the couch and start down the carpeted hallway. He looked back when he reached the end of the hallway, and when he saw they weren’t going to start talking until he was gone, he went into his bedroom and closed the door.

  “No school today?”

  Milk shook his head. “Professional development day. I guess they couldn’t fit it in during the three months they got off in the summer.”

  “That’s always hard on parents. Is he in second grade?”

  Milk nodded. “He’s small for his age.” He motioned to the kitchen table. “Go ahead and have a seat if you want.”

  The woman made her way to the table and sat down and placed the yellow legal pad in front of her. Milk took the discharge papers that were on the table and set them on the counter.

  “Well, like I said before, I’m with the Department for Children and Families. I tried calling, but your phone is disconnected.”

  “I’ve been having trouble with it lately.”

  “I’m glad I caught you then.” The woman shifted in her seat. “I’m here because our department got a call a couple days ago about an argument that took place at Two Twenty-Two Prospect Street. Apparently a window was broken. The police were called. My understanding is that the boy—Daniel—was at the house?”

  “That’s his grandmother’s place.”

  The woman pulled a pen from her coat pocket. “Now, you understand, when we get a call like that, we’ve got to come out and make a determination as to whether the child is in any sort of danger. That’s according to Vermont law.”

  “He’s not in any danger.”

  “That’s good. I’m glad to hear that.”

  “Might’ve been.”

  “What’s that?”

  “He might’ve been in some danger.”

  “At Martha’s?”

  “Martha?”

  The woman looked down at her notepad. “Martha Gladstone. The boy’s grandmother.”

  “I only ever known her as Marcy.”

  “I thought she told me Martha—but I could have misheard.”

  “You talked to her?”

  “This morning.”

  Milk took another drag from his cigarette. “Well—there’s your danger right there.”

  “What kind of danger might that be?”

  Milk thought a moment. “I suppose neglect is what you’d call it.”

  The woman uncapped her pen. “Why don’t you start by telling me about your relationship with her?”

  “With Marcy?”

  “Yes. Has she always been in Daniel’s life?”

  Milk scratched at his ear. “I figure she told you at least that much.”

  “I want to hear it from you.”

  Milk tilted his head back—trying to figure out how to begin. Trying to figure out just how much he wanted to tell. “Marcy is Jessica’s grandmother. Jessica, as you probably gathered, is Daniel’s mother—by blood at least.”

  “She doesn’t live here?”

  “No. I don’t know where she lives.”

  “And what about Jessica’s parents?”

  “They died when she was little. She was living with Marcy when we had Daniel.”

  “And she continued to live there?”

  “I got us a place as soon as I graduated. That’s when I was working at the Jiffy Lube, but it ain’t here anymore.”

  Jett continued to write on her legal pad.

  “It was after a couple years working at the Jiffy Lube that we decided I should enlist. Daniel would have been about five then.”

  “And Jessica and Daniel stayed here in North Falls?”

  “We decided Jessica and Daniel would move back in with Marcy while I was in basic and after that they’d come out to Fort Hood.” Milk took another drag from his cigarette. “This was about May 2001, and I bet you can guess what happened next.”

  Jett looked up from her pad.

  “I thought they were joking when they told me.”

  “How long were you gone for?”

  “I deployed in April 2003.” Milk looked out the window at a tangled chokeberry dripping rain from its branches. “Jess got restless, though. I don’t think she liked sitting around with the other wives. Too goddamn hot over there, too.” He shook his head. “A couple months after deployment—maybe June or July—she moved back home with Marcy. It was sometime after that when I got the letter. I don’t know exactly when it was, because they don’t give you letters until they get a whole stack of ’em. So you didn’t always know when they were from. Sometimes you got them out of order and you had to sort of piece things together.”

  The woman nodded.

  “Anyway, it was from Marcy, and she told me that Jess had gone and found herself a new boyfriend and a new habit to go along with him.”

  “What habit might that be?”

  “Same habit everyone else has got around here.” Milk took another drag from his cigarette. “I’ll give Marcy credit for this much, though—she had the sense about her to tell Jess to leave Daniel. I don’t know how she convinced her to do it, but she did.” Milk tapped the ash from his cigarette into a cup.

  “Sounds to me like you and Daniel were lucky to have Marcy.”

 
; “She took care of him until I could get my boots back in the States.”

  “When was this?”

  “Five days ago.”

  “Five days?”

  Milk nodded.

  “And you came to see Marcy when you got back?”

  “I came to see my son—but yeah, I saw Marcy. We agreed it would be best if she watched Daniel for a couple weeks to give me some time to get set up in my own place and to give Daniel some time to get used to the idea.” Milk picked at his teeth. “Problem is—I didn’t understand how Marcy was getting. I didn’t understand the shape she was in.”

  “How do you mean?”

  “After a couple days back, I went over there to check on Daniel. The three of us were sitting at the dinner table, and she started talking to people who weren’t there.”

  “She was hearing things?”

  Milk nodded. “Thought people were stealing from her, too.”

  “How long did this go on?”

  “One night was long enough. I moved him into this place the next day. It ain’t much, but it was available.”

  “This was two nights ago?”

  “That’s right.”

  “And you picked up Daniel then?”

  Milk nodded. “I went over there and she starts yelling at me, accusing me of stealing her jewelry—and get this, her cat. But she don’t have no cat. Got a name for it, though. You want to know the name of the made-up cat?”

  The woman was quiet.

  “Jesus. She named the cat Jesus. As in our lord and fucking savior.”

  The woman looked at her legal pad. “How’d the window break?”

  “That was me. I won’t run from it. I was pissed off and looking for an argument, and she gave it to me.”

  “Where was Daniel?”

  “He was in the truck already.” Milk tapped his cigarette on the cup. “The neighbors must have heard. That’s how I’m guessing the trooper got called—except I wasn’t there when he showed. I was gone by then.”

  Jett scribbled something else down on the legal pad. “I got the impression while I was over there that Marcy is maybe suffering from some early dementia.”

  “That’d be a word for it.”

  The woman turned over the pad and set the pen on top. “I’d like to see Daniel’s bedroom. If you don’t mind.”

  Milk looked toward the hallway. “It ain’t much.”

  “It doesn’t have to be.”

  Milk stood from the table. “The man that rented me this place said he’d clean the carpets before I moved in—he said he’d get the walls repainted too. But I told him I didn’t have time for any of that.”

  “Maybe he could come back once you’re settled.”

  “Maybe. I’m just glad the place had furniture. And the television. That was here too.”

  Milk reached the bedroom and pulled open the door. The blinds were still drawn, and Daniel was sitting on his bed holding the piece of birch bark.

  “Hello, Daniel.”

  The boy nodded.

  “I asked your father if I could see your bedroom.”

  The boy nodded again.

  “Is this your bedroom?”

  “Yes.”

  “Do you sleep in here alone?”

  “Yes.”

  “I sleep on the couch,” Milk said. “It’s a pullout.”

  “That’s good that he’s got his own room. He’s old enough to where he should have his own room.”

  Milk took another drag from his cigarette and wiped his brow.

  The woman walked over to the closet. “Do you have a favorite toy, Daniel?”

  The boy was quiet.

  “A stuffed animal or something?”

  “I haven’t been able to get all his things from his grandmother’s yet,” Milk said.

  “Well—I can help with that. He should have his things.” The woman looked at the white fiberglass dresser that was chipped at the corners. “Does he have enough clothes?”

  “He’s got plenty of clothes. He’s got clothes in the drawer there and his coat in the closet.” Milk walked over to the dresser and opened the drawer for the woman to see.

  “Good. That’s good. I’m glad he has those things.” The woman looked around the room again. “I always like to talk to the children alone for a few minutes,” she said. “If you don’t mind. Do you mind that?”

  Milk rubbed his brow again with the hand that held the cigarette. “All right,” he said. He stood there a moment looking at his boy. Just a little thing with one sock pulled half off his left foot. “I’ll just be in the kitchen, Daniel, okay?”

  The boy nodded.

  Milk looked to the woman, who was smiling, and then left the bedroom. The door closed quietly behind him.

  * * *

  HE COULD HEAR their voices from the kitchen table, but he couldn’t make out what they were saying. He heard Daniel laugh a few times, and every time he did it put Milk a little at ease.

  After ten or fifteen minutes the woman came out of the bedroom alone. “May I sit?” she asked.

  Milk motioned to the empty chair across from him. The woman sat down. She set the legal pad on the table. Several pages had been bent back and the page that sat open was blank. She looked toward the bedroom. “He’s a good boy,” she said.

  “I know it.”

  “He seems to be doing well.”

  Milk was quiet.

  “I know this is a strange situation,” the woman said. “To come back and along with everything else to have to deal with this.”

  “It’s not how I planned it.”

  “Are you on inactive duty right now? I mean, I don’t know exactly how it works. I guess I’m wondering if they can call you back.”

  “I got a medical discharge.”

  “What was it for? The discharge—if you don’t mind me asking.”

  “TBI. They give it to everyone now. It don’t mean much.”

  The woman nodded. “Well, I’d like to come back. I’d like to see about getting Daniel some things from Marcy’s—we might have some things at the office too. Anyway, I’d like to see you both again.”

  Milk looked toward the hall. “You want to check on him.”

  “That’s part of it, but only a small part. Our office can help families—especially families in transition like yours.”

  Milk tapped his cigarette in the cup. “Transition,” he said.

  “That’s right. Have you had any luck finding a job?”

  “I haven’t had much time to look since I been back—with Daniel and now this professional development day.”

  “Have you seen anybody? Anybody who can help, I mean?”

  “Not since discharge. But that didn’t help much.”

  The woman nodded. She studied her notepad and then leaned forward. “I’m going to give you two addresses that are hopefully going to make your life easier.” She tore a piece of paper from her notepad and started writing. “The first is for the Veterans Outreach Center. The office is in North Bennington, and it’s a good group of people—all veterans such as yourself. They can help you find a job that might work with your schedule, and they can help you with your disability claim if you got one or even help you get in touch with other veterans, if that’s something you want. The second address I’m going to give you is for a woman named Ruth Fenn. She teaches art lessons at her house up the road from here, and she can help you if you get yourself a job interview or if you just find yourself in a jam and need someone to watch Daniel for a couple hours. She’s been doing it a few years now and she only works with children I refer to her. She doesn’t charge anything.”

  Milk stubbed his cigarette in the cup and took the piece of paper from the woman. He studied the name on it and tried to place where he’d heard it before.

  RUTH FENN

  The light had gone and a steady rain pounded the storm windows. “Coming Back to Me” by Jefferson Airplane played over the radio. Ruth poured a small glass of bourbon and studied her reflection in t
he window above the sink and listened to the song. Her mother was asleep in the guest room with the door partially open. The dogs were fed and had fallen asleep in front of the woodstove.

  Ruth tried to remember the last conversation she’d had with Elam. She remembered that he couldn’t find his keys. He had called to her from the other room, and she’d told him she had seen them on the bench in the mudroom. She wondered whether his face would have conveyed something had she taken the time to go over to him rather than shouting. She went to her bedroom and sifted through Elam’s closet and his dresser drawers, and then she stood in the middle of the room looking for a sign or a note or something else she might have missed. Elam’s nightstand looked the same as it always had, with the iron lamp and the broken watch with the thick leather strap she had given him when he got his first raise from AAA Northern New England all those years ago. She studied his nightstand and then went over to it and pulled open the single drawer. A dog-eared drawing of a tree and a house with a big moon above it that Mathew had drawn and signed when he was seven was the only thing in the drawer. She put her hand on it. Felt the old paper and the smooth wax of the colored pencil and then shut the drawer and went to the telephone and picked up the receiver and dialed the Whistler.

  “Hello?”

  “Buddy?

  “This is Buddy. Who is this?”

  “Buddy. It’s Ruth. Ruth Fenn.”

  “Ruth?”

  “Listen—I’m wondering if you’ve seen Elam.”

  “Hold on a minute.” Ruth heard a click, and then Buddy started coughing and heaving on the other line. “Christ,” he said. He sniffled and then coughed once more. “Sorry about that, Ruth. I got this bug moving through me.” He coughed again. “Della called last night. Said Horace and Elam never came home. I don’t know where they are. I haven’t seen ’em.”

  “Any idea what they’d be doing together?”

  “Beats the hell out of me. I’ll tell ’em you’re looking if I see ’em.”

  “Just Elam.”

  “What’s that?”

  “I’m only looking for Elam. And you don’t need to go asking around.”

  “All right—but word travels fast around here. You know that.”