The Clearing (15 page)

***

"Hey! Wait up!" Jackson hailed me outside of the town library after school on Monday. "Didn't you get my texts? I was gonna see if you wanted a ride over here."

"Oh, sorry." I paused to let him catch up and fumbled in my bag for my cel . "Oh, yeah," I said. "I never turned my phone on after this morning.

I keep forgetting."

"There is technology up here in the so-cal ed sticks, Amy," Jackson said, giving me a look of doubt.

"Yeah," I said, shoving my phone back in my bag. "So, Lori's coming, too, right? I mean, if we're doing this movie theme, then we real y should check out al the options."

"Yeah, this is way better than the school library..."

"Okay, what? You're staring. Do I have something on my face?"

Jackson was looking at me, not in a disapproving way, but stil . "You doing something different with your hair?" he asked.

I reached up and touched the barrette that was holding a section of my hair back in a wide wave. "Um, I just got sick of my bangs being in my face al the time."

"It looks pretty," he said in a thoughtful tone. "Kinda retro, and I can see your eyes better."

I smiled.

"And now you look even prettier. Wait—you might even look happy if I squint my eyes a little," he said with a laugh. Jackson slid his backpack off his shoulder and leaned against the wal of the entryway. "So this place isn't sucking as bad as you thought at first?"

"It's not without its charm," I said. Out in the parking lot, the rain started pounding into the already-ful puddles. October was here in a big, wet way.

Jackson popped a stick of cinnamon gum into his mouth and held one out to me. "So, you think this dance is actual y gonna be fun."

"Yeah, I guess." I unwrapped the gum.

"I'm not going with Shel i, you know, my ex." Jackson bal ed the foil paper in his hands.

"Yeah, the one from the party, right?"

Just then, Quinn and Melanie came out of the drive-in across the street, carrying to-go bags. Quinn saw us outside of the library and gave me a wave before ducking into the passenger side of Melanie's car.

"Ugh," I muttered.

"Hmm, so it's not Quinn," Jackson said.

"It's not Quinn, what?"

"Wel , I just thought maybe you're, um, hanging with someone. You seem distracted and maybe even kinda happyish."

"I'm just plain old me. Quinn-free as always," I said, shaking my head.

"Wel , cool, 'cause I was thinking that maybe..." His blue eyes sparkled a little and his mouth quirked at the corners. "Amy, I suck at this. I'm just trying to ask you to the dance."

"Oh," I said.

"She hesitates," he said. "Not good."

I swal owed back the sudden lump in my throat while Jackson stood there anticipating my answer. I liked him, so why shouldn't I just go? I mean, it wasn't like Henry was coming over to my side to be my date. Seriously.

"We can go, you know, as friends, if you want to," Jackson said. He stuffed his hands in his jeans pockets.

"Um, who else is going? I mean, are we going as a group of friends?"

His smile flattened. "Um, yeah, we could do that. I mean, I don't think Lori's got a date, and probably her friend Mindy would want to go with us..."

"Okay. Yeah, that'd be good," I said.

"Cool." Jackson picked up his backpack. "I'l be happy to be there, even as your friend."

My heart cracked a little. "Jackson, you're sweet. Stop it, 'kay?"

He chewed his lower lip, looking at me like he was trying to figure out what I meant. At last he said, "Oh, hey, I meant to ask if you have a problem with James Bond. You know, I know he's kind of a womanizer, but he's also—"

"What?"

"Agent 007. I was thinking you could be a Bond girl, and wel , Lori and Mindy, too."

"I real y wanted to do
Pearl Harbor
" I said, touching the wave of my hair. "You know, retro?"

His smile reappeared. "Yeah! And I could be a GI and you al would be some USO girls or something."

"Or something," I said, giving him a pat on the shoulder.

"That's good," he said. "I like it. With your hair like that, I can just picture it. You'l look great, Amy."

My cheeks got al scratchy. "Um, yeah," I said. "Just don't tel everyone about our plan, 'kay? And we have to tel Lori to keep quiet, because I don't want anyone to copy us."

"Oh, don't worry—I heard Quinn and Melanie are doing monster movies—
Frankenstein
and
Bride of Frankenstein
."

"Nice."

"Yeah, but I can't imagine Melanie going al monster ugly."

"Hmm, I don't think it would be too hard." I started into the library.

"Hey," Jackson said, catching me by the hand. "Whoever he is, he's lucky, Amy. Very lucky."

"I don't know what you're talking about," I said.

He winked. "You can't lie about stuff like that. I see you."

I shrugged off his comment. "Can you give me a ride home after this?"

"I'd be honored," he said, and then let me go.

***

"If we're doing this, it has to be perfect," Lori said, flipping through another volume on World War I . She had a huge stack of books next to her on the table. The old guy at the circulation desk had been more than happy to help us research. "Look at this dress! I wonder if my mother can sew it for me in time for the dance."

Jackson groaned. "Lori, I'm al researched out. Can't we just watch
Pearl Harbor
and take notes?"

"Yeah, maybe that's a good idea. My eyes are glazing over here," I said. "They have great costumes in the movie."

"Um, hel o—that's a modern interpretation of the forties," Lori said. "This is a real y awesome idea, Amy, and I want everything to be perfect.

Can you imagine everyone's faces when we walk in and look like a mil ion bucks? Come on, let's shoot for ten more minutes."

"You said that ten minutes ago," Jackson said.

Lori glared at him. "Don't forget, we're in charge this year. If we don't rock it out, then that's not going to happen again."

"When did you turn into such a tyrant?" Jackson said, laughing. "It's like you're drunk with power."

Lori smiled, like she thought it was a compliment. "Back to work."

Jackson held up his hands in surrender. "Sure thing, boss."

I had to hand it to the girl; she was motivated. "Ten minutes," I said, shaking my head. "Slide over," I said to Jackson, who was manning the computer station near our worktable.

"There's nothing here," he said. "The
Skagit River Reporter
's archives on the forties suck."

I checked out the webpage Jackson had found, noting the paper had gone under a couple of years ago, which was probably why the site wasn't the greatest.

"And honestly, it's depressing looking at al the articles about the guys who were my age and died," Jackson said.

"There were a lot of those." I turned back to the computer and clicked on the Veterans section. I scanned down the huge list of names from World War I . And then I came to one that made me pause:
Robert Briggs.

I clicked on it and a photograph popped up. I expected it to be of a young army soldier kil ed at Normandy in 1944, but instead it was a picture of an old man.

An old man who had died
only five years ago.

I hit Print.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Henry plucked another blade of grass and stuck it between his teeth, chewing the milky sweetness from the stem and remembering that magical afternoon at the creek with Amy, an afternoon that seemed a lifetime ago. Leaning back in the grass, he looked up at the summer sky, trying to see the dragons and castles they'd found together. Nothing but big, puffy white clouds today. Giving up, he closed his eyes, letting the sun warm his face. What he wouldn't give to have Amy next to him in the grass, to touch her silky hair that smel ed of strawberries and wood smoke.

He heard a rustling sound—movement along the path from the clearing. His heart beat a little quicker as he anticipated Amy's presence.

"Henry? You out here?" His grandfather's voice sailed out through the bushes, and a second later, the old man emerged with a tackle box and a couple of fishing rods.

"Yes, sir. Over here," Henry said. He couldn't keep disappointment from his voice.

"Fishing's a fine way to spend a Saturday afternoon, but it's a mite hard to catch anything when you leave your fishing gear behind." His grandfather set down the box and leaned the poles against the wil ow's trunk. "I brought a pole for you and one for myself."

"You fol owed me?"

His grandfather nodded. "Yes, wel , I saw you headed this way."

"But you never come down to the creek," Henry said, slowly.

His grandfather raised the brim of his straw hat. "Yes, that's so—but you've been spending a lion's share of your time out here or in the foggy swamp. I figured there must be something special to it. This your secret fishing hole?"

"Not real y."

Grandfather took a seat next to Henry. "Maybe we could toss out a couple lines."

"That'd be fine." Henry got up and dug around in the tackle box so he could rig up the rods.

"You know, Henry, it's a bit odd out here," Grandpa said, watching him work. "It's queer coming through the mist, cold and lonesome. I can't say I prefer it to the farm."

"Hmm," Henry murmured, not wanting to start on that discussion.

"This fog hasn't always been here."

Henry paused, tying the leader on to the fishing line. "What do you mean?"

Grandfather gave him a hard look. "I hadn't thought about it until recently, but that fog rol ed in across the field—wel , real y around the whole farm—sometime after spring began. I'm certain of it."

"And what made you think of that?" Henry said, going back to working on the rod. He ignored the dry feeling in his mouth.

"That little gal, Amy, was the first visitor we've had on the farm in ages. I hadn't thought to walk down the road to check on any of the neighbors in quite a long time, but visiting with Amy got me thinking about the Widow Barnes and her sick calf. I remembered promising her I'd pay her a visit. I started down the road toward her piece yesterday while you were out in the garden. When I came to our fence post, the one that divides our parcel from the county road, there was nothing but this gosh darn fog there, as far as I could see."

"We don't need to leave the farm, Grandpa." Henry turned his attention to rigging the second pole. "Her calf's probably fine now."

"But why the fog, Henry? I didn't walk through it, but it gave me pause. When did that fog rol in around the whole farm?" Grandpa gestured to the creek, where the fog was like a huge white veil over the opposite bank.

The confusion in his grandfather's face scared him. Henry finished rigging the fishing lines. "Here you go," he said, holding out one of the rods.

Grandpa took it, but made no move to get up to fish. "I have vague recol ections of you trying to explain things, the fog and the like, to me. I didn't fal off the last turnip truck. You know what's going on, son."

Henry felt a strange feeling in his stomach. "I did try to tel you, sir. I did try to tel you when al this began." He didn't say that things were changing now, that probably Amy had started al this. It didn't feel right to blame her for it. Amy had only brought him happiness, but maybe that happiness had a price. Henry pushed the thoughts of her aside, as difficult as that was, and forced himself to focus on his grandfather.

He started with the truth. "I wanted things to stay the same. I wanted Mother to be wel . I wanted the three of us, al the Briggs family there is, to stay together. That's how al this happened."

"
Three
of us. There are four of us. Your brother may be out of sight, but he's not out of mind."

Henry's chest tightened.
Yes,
he wanted to say,
Robert is no longer in this family.
But instead, he said, "You're right. He's never out of my mind, sir."

"Wel , I don't see how your explanation makes a lick of sense." Shaking his head, Grandpa stood up with the fishing rod and walked to the edge of the stream. "You wanted al of these things for us? These were your boyhood desires that brought the mist. How does a change in weather concern your mother's health or our family's staying together?"

"Boyhood desires? It has nothing to do with boyhood desires," Henry said. "I prayed for something that would help our family."

"Prayed?" Henry's grandpa cast out his line. "The Lord doesn't answer prayers with fog."

"Wel , perhaps this time he did, sir." Henry took up his rod and joined his grandfather at the stream. "Perhaps there are a whole host of things happening to us because of my prayer." He cast the lure out, jigging it in slowly to entice the Dol y Varden from under the rocks.

Grandpa sighed deep and long. "Look, son, al I know is, I haven't seen another living soul in ages. Seen you and your mother and this little gal, Amy, and that's it. What happened to the town? What happened to us?"

It's what didn't happen,
Henry wanted to say. But instead, he kept fishing, and let his grandfather's question float on downstream.

***

The after-supper pipe smoke was a distant phantom floating out from the back porch to the bean patch. Henry watched the white specter join the mist coming from the clearing. And then, as he and Grandpa listened to the chorus of grasshoppers start up over the string orchestra on the radio, they got out the checkerboard.

The conversation at the stream seemed to be put to rest for the time being. Grandpa hadn't asked any more questions, and Henry had been relieved. He dreaded tel ing Grandpa what was to happen to Robert. He was half afraid that Grandpa wouldn't believe him—and half afraid he would. Then Mother would find out, and everything would come apart. Everything Henry had sought to save his family from would come to pass.

The Dol y Varden he and Grandpa had caught had been enough to get Grandpa's mind off bigger topics. Back at the house, Mother had dusted the fish in cornmeal and fried them to a golden brown. She'd seemed happy to have something fresh for supper, and had even put together a parfait from the new strawberries coming on in the garden.