The Clearing (2 page)

I felt my breathing change. I was getting upset al over again, and I didn't want to cry anymore. I took a deep breath, focusing on the peaceful field. This place, this new start, was my escape. I never had to see him again.

Sitting up and panting in the grass, Katie was watching me. I could almost hear her dog ESP going,
Throw the stick already!

"Okay. You win." I reached down and picked up Katie's skinny branch.

We played the game again, with me tossing the stick as hard as I could and Katie taking off. The wood cartwheeled against the white sky and then ended up on the other side of the field, just at the edge of the heavy mist. I wondered how there could stil be an early-morning fog rol ing in from somewhere. That kind of thing normal y burned off by midday. Could there be a hidden creek?

I traced Katie's run, ending at the border of the mist. The air seemed dense, like winter when the air is heavy with dew and it's about to freeze. It was strange. Katie obediently stopped in front of me and dropped the stick at my feet. But I was distracted.

"Just a minute, pup," I said, walking into the coolness a little ways. I could feel it on my skin, like tiny cold crystals—a taste of winter when it was barely even fal .

Katie hadn't fol owed me. I backed out of the fog and found her waiting there. "Come on," I said, patting my leg, but she didn't come to me.

She sat there, looking into the mist and panting. I cal ed her again, and this time she whimpered.

"Fine."

Figuring I wasn't going to throw her the stick, Katie gal oped away to chase after a bee. And I walked back into the misty clearing.

It was like the secret place of my suburban dreams. A thick cloud that swal owed up the day. That enveloped me. A perfect hiding place from the world. I breathed in the cool, cool air and walked forward a few more steps.

And then the weirdest thing happened. I heard something. Metal ic. Rhythmic. Swishing like a machine. I was pretty sure Mae had said the closest neighbor was twenty acres away. This was al Mae's land. So where was the sound coming from?

I wandered farther into the mist toward the sound. But then I couldn't even see my hand anymore. I could hear Katie barking, but I couldn't make her out. And then Katie's bark faded. The metal ic sound grew louder.
Swish. Swish.

Al at once I felt lost. The sun was blotted out by the whiteness al around. My heart beat faster as I turned in a slow circle, trying to get my bearings, and trying to see which way I had come into the fog. This was what it felt like to disappear, maybe. To lose yourself.

I ran in the opposite direction from the sound, panic forcing my pace. At last the strange noise faded and I was back in Mae's meadow, the mist behind me like a big white curtain. Katie ran up barking, sniffing me.

Walking back to the house, I stayed close to the dog, not sure what had happened in the clearing. Something was out there. Or maybe it was just me in the mist, lost forever.

I went back to the stump to split more kindling, the rhythm of my chopping and the clunk of the sticks hitting the pile on the ground comforting, familiar. Manual labor was the balm. Maybe disappearing was something I wasn't ready to do.

***

That afternoon, I rode along in Mae's truck as we drove up the main drag from the school, passing the town hal and library, the post office, and the feed store. Rockvil e wasn't exactly a sprawling metropolis—my new hometown was a retail strip and then miles of houses and farms. Maybe in Seattle I'd have been embarrassed by Mae's rusty vehicle, but jangling into a parking space at the town grocery, her truck was just another dirty pickup that needed a good hosing off and a paint job.

"Wel , that was a nice surprise, wasn't it? I'm so glad they had room for you to enrol in some of the advanced classes," Mae said, turning off the engine.

"Yeah, it's fine," I said. I didn't real y care what classes I took. My new high school was super smal , just an old-fashioned brick building with hardwood floors that creaked. It wasn't anything like the newly built school I'd attended in Seattle, but Rockvil e High had a homey, friendly feeling to it, which was a good thing.

"The secretary showed me the transcript your mother had your old school send. You made some good grades the year before last," Mae said. She adjusted her hat and checked her reflection in the truck's rearview mirror.

"I did okay. Before." I shrugged. School used to be important to me. I'd even wanted to be a doctor or something, maybe. Now I didn't know what I was going to do after it al ended. Maybe I'd start out at community col ege and transfer somewhere. Maybe study psychology or something if I could get through the classes.

"Wel , it's time for another chance at making those good grades, isn't it?" Mae said, patting me on the shoulder.

I managed a smal smile for her. "Sure, Mae."

She grinned back and then glanced down at my tank top and jeans. "I meant to ask if you needed any school clothes." she asked gently.

"There's not much here at the grocery, but we can take a trip down below this weekend."

"
Down below?
"

"That's what we cal it when we drive to the big towns farther west as the Skagit River flows. It's not exactly Seattle, but there is a mal ."

"I don't real y need anything."

"Not even a blouse or two?" Mae asked. "It might be fun to go shopping."

"I don't real y care what people think of what I wear," I said. "I'm not trying to prove anything."

"Yes, I think you favor your old Aunt Mae," she replied with a laugh. "I always wear the latest in overal s, though." She grabbed her oversize denim purse. "Al right, now let's get some school supplies and a couple of big, juicy steaks. We'l have a nice cookout to celebrate your getting into
both
calculus and Creative Living."

"Yeah,
Creative
Living. I can't wait to start whipping up recipes based around refrigerator biscuits. It's great preparation for my adult life."

Mae winked. "There's the familiar sass. You're starting to acclimate, kid. By the time you get to school on Monday, you'l be back to your old self."

I'm sure Mae meant it in a good way. She didn't know I never wanted to be my old self ever again.

We entered the store, where the air conditioner was set to please a polar bear. The scents of the meat counter, bleachy disinfectant, freshly fried donuts, and overripe tomatoes hit my nose al at once. It was almost too much to take in. To top that, the place was packed with families with shopping carts ful of groceries and dirty-faced toddlers. The cashiers did swift business while chattering over a scratchy-sounding country song piped through the PA system.

"You go pick out what you need for school, sweetie. Aisle five. I'l get the fixins for dinner."

Almost on autopilot, I moseyed away. I found the school supplies in the same aisle with Rockvil e High School T-shirts and lawn mower replacement parts. I browsed through the sweatshirts and tanks printed with a crowing rooster, and then moved on to finding what I real y needed.

"I'd avoid the sparkly ones," said a tal boy, pointing down at the notebook in my hand. "If you get Mr. Sorenson for algebra, he'l mark your assignments down because of the glare."

"Thanks for the tip, but I don't have him."

"Ah—but you are new. So, let me guess—you're in trig, right? Then you have Miss Hammond. She appreciates sparkles."

I studied the guy. He had on a Rockvil e Roosters sweatshirt and running shorts and shoes. Short dark hair with wispy bangs framed his green eyes. Cute.

"I'm taking calculus," I said.

He looked impressed. "Ah-ha. In that case, we both have Mr. Agnew. He's neutral on sparkles. I'm Quinn. Quinn Hutchins."

"They let people name kids
Quinn
in this town?"

Quinn blinked at me. "Um, yeah. Why wouldn't they?"

"No, sorry, I just thought everyone would be, like, Jack or Bil y or Bobby Ray."

"We're country, but we're not hicks," Quinn said, crossing his arms.

"So you're saying al Bobby Rays are hicks?" I replied.

"No. You're the one who—"

I held up a hand. "Kidding."

Just then a group of girls our age came giggling down aisle five. They were al dressed in Rockvil e High tees, shorts, and flip-flops. The blonde jingled keys in her hands.

"What's the deal?" she said, sidling up to Quinn. "We're supposed to grab some chips and go."

"Just saying hi to a newbie. What was your name?"

"Amy."

"Amy, nice to meet you," said the blonde in a bored voice. "I'm Melanie; this is Kristy, and Jane."

They al murmured their hel os and looked me up and down.

"I'd ask you along to the footbal team's barbecue, but my car only seats four," Melanie said with an apologetic look.

"No, it's al right. I have plans," I said with a shrug. Aunt Mae's backyard steaks sounded better than a barbecue with this girl.

"Okay. Later," Melanie said, moving away.

"Nice to meet you, Amy," Quinn said, fol owing the group of girls down the aisle. "I'l see you next week—in class."

As they rounded the corner, Melanie flashed me a smirk that seemed more of a warning than a goodbye.

As if!
I wanted to yel after her. I couldn't give two rats' butts about Quinn Hutchins, who wasn't even al that great. It almost made me laugh that even in a town as smal as this one, high school clique stuff happened. And girls protected their stupid boyfriends who didn't give a crap about them.

Mae rounded the corner. "Are you ready to go?" she asked as I placed my items in her cart.

"Yes." I thought of the cool white mist in Mae's field. I thought of dissolving myself into it. Into the mist of not knowing. Of nothingness. Maybe it'd be a little scary, but wouldn't it be easier to turn invisible and not have to deal? I mean, why even get to know kids if they were going to be just the same as the ones I'd left?

Two days. I had two days until I had to start school. I closed my eyes on the way home, letting the wind cool my face and my frustration. This would be different, I promised myself. Nobody was going to wreck that for me.

I was calm. I could keep it together. And if not, there was always the mist.

CHAPTER TWO

Fresh apple pie. The crackle of dry leaves underfoot. Snowflakes. Those were the things Henry Briggs missed when he closed his eyes.

He could feel the summer sunshine on his face and smel the warm earth beneath his toes and the ripening strawberries in the nearby garden. Every day about this time, he heard the whir of dragonflies on their mission to the creek. It was familiar, but there was so much he would never know again—at least, he was pretty sure he wouldn't.

Lounging in the hammock strung between the cherry trees, he knew he had two hours before his mother would cal him to the dinner table for Sunday supper—most likely ham and potato salad. And there was safety in that predictability. He shouldn't complain. He shouldn't tempt fate or God or whatever to take away the miracle he was living.

"Henry!" his grandfather cal ed out from the side yard.

Yes, it was time to mow the lawn. The ever-greening blades of grass were ready again. Henry left his dog-eared copy of
Huckleberry Finn
in the hammock. He tucked his shirt in as he walked over to the shed, where Grandpa Briggs was rol ing out the push mower.

"Oiled her up for you."

"Thank you, sir."

"Don't forget the path to the meadow," Grandpa said. "Won't be long before this June sunshine gives way to Old Man Winter and we're hauling in wood."

No, it won't give way.
Though Henry didn't bother saying it aloud, he couldn't help thinking it.

Grandpa turned to go, but then paused. "Your mother's got dinner in the oven. She used our sugar ration to bake you a birthday cake. She went to a world of trouble over you. Don't dawdle."

"Yes, sir."

Grandpa Briggs gave him a pat on the shoulder as he passed.

Henry had tried, when this al had first come about, to talk to the old man about what was happening, but Grandpa had dismissed it as poppycock and sent him to do extra chores as punishment. Henry's mother, too, didn't seem to understand the miracle, so he had given up trying and didn't speak of it anymore.

So this now-familiar cycle continued. It began and ended and began again. His birthday came and went, another in the sea of early-summer days they floated upon. It was a safe sea, one that kept them protected from the awful, awful news that had come in late June the first time through.

The sun was high when Henry stopped at the edge of the meadow, hearing his grandfather cal ing. He left the mower on the side of the path to the clearing and ran toward the house, the flavor of the ham so familiar in his mouth, he could already taste it, along with the oniony potato salad.

Oh, what he wouldn't give for a taste of late-fal elk roast or a Christmas cookie.

He'd realized long ago, though, that this life had its limitations, its boundaries. Keeping everyone alive meant that they couldn't simply hike into town and buy something else, or go to a neighbor's farm to trade them for something else. The mist hid them from the world in its protective folds. The mist was their end and their beginning.

Al Henry had now was everything he'd had the summer his world had been destroyed. And that was al he was ever going to have again.

***

"Good grub," Grandpa Briggs said after dinner. He patted his bel y as he sat back in his chair and let out a sigh.

"I have more," Mother said, emerging from the kitchen with a cake on a platter. In her usual blue housedress and slippers, she looked pretty but tired. It was hard to tel that his mother didn't feel wel , but Henry knew she had spent most of the morning sleeping in her chair next to the radio.

"Happy eighteenth birthday, son."

Henry did his best to put a surprised look on his face. "Thanks, Mother."

Mother eyed him as if she could tel he was faking. "Vanil a icebox was the best I could do. Don't you like that anymore?"