by Too Far
Chill vapors circled as they stood, and the ridgeline disappeared. Robbie shivered and hobbled forward, feeling his way. The wind tugged the mist tightly around them.
"To the left," a wheezy voice said.
Robbie stopped, glancing back at Fristeen. Her eyes were wide.
He edged to the left, squinting through the blasts. They were descending, leaving the crest, heading straight into a white morass.
"Put your best foot forward," the invisible voice said.
Robbie recoiled and began side-stepping up the incline. As they regained the crest, the voice came again.
"Almost, almost—" A crazy titter ricocheted around them.
"Who are you?" Fristeen demanded.
"The future," came the answer from deep in the fog. The blast beat at them, shaking their parts. "Shivers, for now."
Robbie peered at the whorls, then gripped Fristeen. There were sockets for eyes and soggy cheeks below. A sagging nose. A scud curdled like a rumpled brow.
"Whatever brings you here?"
"We're exploring," Fristeen said.
"Without coats?" An O opened between Shivers' cheeks, and through it a freezing wind blasted.
Robbie flung his arm around Fristeen, fearful they would be swept from the ridge.
The cloudy presence stood between them and safety. Was that a high collar? No, a chin impossibly long, wound around his neck.
"What do you want?" Robbie shouted.
"Want?" Shivers blustered. He began to quake. The turmoil mounted in his throat, as if he was choking, then his lips sputtered, "Food!" and the blast was driven with a terrible hacking. "I'm famished." The cloudy jaws chewed. "Children are best."
An eddy reached out, gripping Fristeen like a quivering claw. She screamed. Robbie kept hold of her, shouldering into the maw of the horrid face.
"Doubts, my boy?" Shivers mouthed him. "It's doubt I taste."
Shudders raked their bodies, gums soft and slick wetting them through and spewing them out, delivering them to a frenzy of icy gusts that crossed the ridge like giant razors. Robbie stumbled forward, dragging Fristeen along, a putrid smell clinging to them, trailing back into the guts of the fog.
"Doubt and despair, and the sweet nibble of decay."
Robbie waved his arms to loosen the mist. "The stumps—" He gestured toward the gate where the ridge dipped. They struggled through the flurries while Shivers whispered in their ears.
"Can you see? A feast. In your honor it's laid. At the head of the table, that's me. I chew, I digest, I belch, I void. Romance you seek, and romance you'll find. Hear? Do you hear? All those voices lifted together— Whistling caeca. Buzzing livers. Lungs blown with mold. Glorious—and you're there. I hear you both in the swelling choir. Your tiny pipes join mankind's longed-for Esperanto. Hyphae ending! Mulch to all! Shivers' peace worldwide."
A break in the fog—the twin stumps stood clear. They raced toward them, but as they approached a shred of mist appeared, hanging between, sagging and furred. One leg was crookt, one arm was raised. And a smudge like a head lifted to face them.
"Get out of our way," Robbie cried. Fristeen was shivering behind him, clutching his waist.
"I'm a patient sort," Shivers' voice creaked with age. "But not for such as you." A tendril lifted like a finger and quivered threateningly at Fristeen.
Robbie looked up and his heart rose in his chest. A lake of fog was suspended directly above them. "Take me, not her." And he hurled Fristeen through the gate.
The hanging figure dissolved as the dam broke, and the freezing white lake came pouring down. And with it, the voice, husky with omen and creaking with scorn.
"Both, and soon. You hear? Both, and soon! It's the short way to Shivers if the heart is your guide."
Robbie dove through the gate. He collided with Fristeen and they crumpled and rolled. Then they were up together, racing down the long slope. Robbie skipped and squawked, sharp things poking through the mulch at his shoeless foot.
They reached the stream, crossed the log bridge and followed the bank. Was Shivers right behind? There—Fristeen's ribbon. They scrambled beneath the Fallen Down Trees, and when they rose, the Bendies were just as they had left them.
At the top of the Hill, the fierce wind vanished abruptly, replaced by a gentle breeze. The spell seemed to dissolve, and their panic subsided.
Far below, Robbie saw his home. The sky hadn't yet dimmed, but the windows were lit. Down they ran, Fristeen headlong, Robbie hobbling. About halfway, she shouted, "Tree to tree." So they zigged and zagged, wheeling and slapping the cool gray trunks. Then the Clearing was before them and they stumbled onto the flat, laughing and hugging and gazing back up the slope.
"We did it," Robbie said. His voice was tremulous. Fristeen's hands were still shaking. Their eyes met, sharing their relief and the narrow escape.
How much had they imagined? Robbie pictured himself recounting the adventure to Mom and Dad. Were they just lies—more elaborate ones? No. What had happened was real. He'd pierced the forbidden without help or permission. Fear had lost its tyranny over him. Fristeen was beside him now, putting her hand in his, grateful and adoring.
"He Knows was right," Robbie said, mastering his pride.
Fristeen agreed.
Robbie faced his home and sniffed. "Hungry?" He could usually tell what was for dinner, but the air was odorless.
"Starving," Fristeen said.
He wasn't. He felt full, not just in his stomach, but in his chest and his head, and his arms and legs, too. It was her, Robbie realized. He was full of Fristeen.
"Want to know something?" He took a breath.
Fristeen saw the look in his eyes.
Robbie struggled for words. "I've got a secret."
She danced in front of him, circled him with her arms and put her lips to his cheek. "No you don't."
Robbie stood speechless, watching as she stepped away from the Clearing and started through the shrubs. Just before she vanished, she turned half around.
"I live right over there," she called back to him, pointing.
2
Robbie saw a shadow in the window. Then the back door burst open and Mom came flying out. Her coat was on, and she had her keys in her hand. She crossed the deck and swept him up, hugging him tightly.
"Mom," he murmured. Her chest was heaving against his, and Robbie could feel the dampness on her cheeks. He drew her plushy scent in and a sigh escaped him. The only true fearlessness was here, in Mom's arms. Robbie was suddenly aware of the tension inside him. He was ticking like a wind-up toy. "Dad?"
His father stepped beside them.
"What are you doing home?"
"Your mom called." Dad put his arm around him.
Robbie grinned and reached out, full of his achievement. "Guess what—"
Mom lost her balance and was forced to let go.
Robbie slid to the deck. "Dad—"
"Where were you?" Mom shrieked. She fell to her knees, eyes wild, grabbing his shoulders and shaking him. Suddenly her face buckled, the accumulated worry overcame her and she was convulsed with sobs. "Where?" she shrieked again.
Robbie tried to find his voice. He could see Mom's lips trembling. "In the Clearing."
"That's a lie," she said.
"And up the Hill." Robbie met her glare.
"You disappeared," Trudy said. The day sitter stepped forward, allying with Mom.
Robbie wrinkled his nose at her.
Mom didn't notice. She'd turned her wrath on Trudy. "I'm ready to fire you."
Trudy bowed her head.
"Are you alright?" Mom asked. "Your shirt's torn. Where exactly did you go?"
Robbie saw Dad watching him. There was a hint of sympathy in Dad's eyes. But why was the corner of his mouth lifting? Dad nodded to him, acknowledging his predicament, then he turned and headed back to the house.
At the sound of his footsteps, Mom stiffened. "That's it, Robbie."
He could hear the dejection mixed with her fur
y.
"You're not leaving the house," Mom said. "Your outside time is over."
Robbie wrenched free. "I don't care," he said. Then he turned like Dad had and strode across the deck.
Dad was on the sofa, thumbing a notebook, his daypack beside him.
"Dad— I climbed the Hill."
"Congratulations." Dad put the notebook down, glancing at the back door. When Robbie reached his knee, Dad roughed his hair and kissed his temple.
"Guess what I saw."
Dad's dark eyes glinted, entering for a moment the spirit of the adventure. "What?"
"There's a stream with a voice, and a place where—"
"You've lost a shoe," Dad laughed.
Robbie looked down. The sight of his muddy sock made him giggle. "Do you have to go back?"
"I think I'm done for the day." Dad eyed the back door again.
"It was scary. This mist came and—"
"Robbie—"
The doorknob was turning.
"Why did you leave the Clearing?" Dad asked.
Mom entered with a much-chastened Trudy.
"I decided to."
"You know the rules," Dad said.
"I was exploring."
Mom leveled her gaze at him. "You don't go into the forest alone."
"I wasn't—"
Mom's eyes narrowed. "Who were you with?"
"No one."
Dad moved his daypack and Mom sat beside him.
"You broke the rules," Dad said. "What should we do?"
"Nothing," Robbie said. "The rules are stupid."
Mom bristled, but before she could speak, Dad lifted his hand to calm her.
"Robbie—" Dad laughed, leaning forward.
Robbie saw the dark eyes regarding him. What was Dad thinking? Sometimes you could tell—his thoughts were right there in front of you. But sometimes it was the other way. His thoughts were distant and his expression gave no clue. Dad's hair was black, and when stubble shadowed his face, it was that much harder.
"You promised," Dad said.
"I was a little boy then. I'm six now." Robbie smiled. "It's okay."
"We'll decide that," Mom said.
"Well—" Dad sighed.
Robbie could see shadows shifting at the back of Dad's mind.
"Maybe it is okay," Dad said softly.
Mom turned scarlet.
Robbie beamed.
Dad took a breath. "Felicia—"
Mom rose, shook her head, and stepped into the kitchen.
For a moment, Dad was lost in thought. Robbie remained silent. The only sound was Mom, cursing and banging pans.
Finally, Dad spoke. "You have to say you're sorry. That's how this works."
Robbie nodded.
"You're the most important thing in the world to her."
Again Robbie nodded.
"Go wash up. I'll come and get you," Dad told him.
They crossed the living room together. Dad motioned to Trudy. She had gathered her things and was waiting by the front door. "Don't worry," he said as Robbie started down the hall. "We'll figure it out. Everything will be fine."
From his room, Robbie heard only the swells of emotion. He couldn't make out what they were saying. They were mad at each other, of course. That didn't bother him. He found a pair of shoes and socks, shut himself in the bathroom and switched on the fan.
First he peed. Then he climbed up, put his muddy foot in the sink and turned on the tap. The cold water made him shudder, and the terrible face swam before him.
Doubts, my boy? Shivers sneered.
Robbie shook his head to banish the phantom. My boy, my boy— Shivers, or the thought of him, had followed him home.
"I'm not your boy," Robbie muttered, scrubbing his foot.
He turned off the water, climbed back down and put the fresh footwear on. Then he stood and regarded himself in the mirror.
It was the same face he'd looked at that morning. More serious, maybe. Freedom had done that. His life seemed so much larger now. He combed his hair. It was dark brown, like Fristeen's. His eyes were blue—not a luminous sky blue, like hers. Grayish blue. When would he see her again? There were freckles on his cheeks and his ears stuck out, but there was nothing to be done about that. Maybe tomorrow. The first of his baby teeth had wiggled free the week before. He smiled at the mirror and pushed his tongue into the hole. Then he put his finger on his cheek where Fristeen had kissed it.
They're done now, Robbie thought.
But when he left the bathroom, they were still arguing. So he snuck out of his room and crept along the hall.
Mom was saying something about a moose.
"How many times have we been over this?" Dad said.
"You trust his judgment?"
"He knows what to do," Dad said. "They don't stalk kids."
"Or a bear—"
"The chance of that—" Dad began.
"What if he gets lost?" Mom's voice rose. "What if he falls? What if he breaks his leg—"
"Felicia—"
Robbie pictured the disbelief on Dad's face.
"Stan's boy is six," Dad said, "and he's free as a bird. You ought to get to know Jenny—"
"Once was enough."
"Stan said she enjoyed the morning you spent—"
"Greasing her well pump?" Mom said. "Next time we'll shovel out her privy."
Silence.
"There are a lot of boys Robbie's age," Dad said, "wandering these forests. That's what this is all about." "For you, not for Robbie." "He has to take some risks," Dad said. "Please—don't tell me about Illinois." "He's got a mind of his own." Dad laughed and repeated in a squeaky voice, "'I was exploring."'
Robbie heard the admiration in Dad's voice. "I'm glad he isn't content to twiddle around in the Clearing." Dad's scorn filled their small home. More silence.
"You're turning him against me, Jack." Mom was faltering.
"The look on his face—" Mom cut herself off. She was getting sad.
"It's my fault," Mom said. "This never would have happened if I'd been here."
Dad said nothing.
"I'm gone all the time," Mom said.
"Three days a week?"
"It's too much."
"That's insane," Dad said.
Silence again.
"Oh, Jack—"
Robbie could barely hear her now.
"He's changed," Mom said.
"He's your son."
"With work— And school in September—"
Robbie turned and headed back to his room.
"I'm losing him," Mom said.
**
When dinner was ready, Dad came to get him.
"Say you're sorry. Remember."
But Robbie did better than that. He circled the table and pulled out Mom's chair for her. It made them both laugh.
"I'm sorry." And he meant it. He loved Mom.
The food wasn't special, but he ate everything on his plate. Afterward, they would talk and agree to change the rules, and there wouldn't be any more arguing.
They cleared the dishes and sat back down. Nothing remained on the table except the two waxen cylinders, white and unlit.
"We set the boundary at the Clearing," Mom said, "when you were five. You're older now. You have better judgment. You can climb the Hill—you've proven that. So we're changing the rules." She glanced at Dad. "You can go to the top of the Hill."
"But—"
Dad's expression warned him.
Robbie shook his head. The new rule didn't make any sense. "There's a place higher up—Where You Can See—"
"If you think the limits should be changed," Dad said, "we'll talk about it. Give it a little time. Alright?" He winked.
"Alright."
"You got Trudy in trouble today," Dad said. "I know."
"And Mom was really upset. They just want to know where you are."
Robbie nodded.
"The top of the Hill. No farther," Mom said. "I should be able to see you from the deck." "We won'
t."
The words slipped out before Robbie could stop them. "We?" Mom prickled with fresh alarm. "Me and—" Robbie shrugged and grabbed his milk. "Any friends of mine."
"You were with someone."
Robbie took a swallow. "Yep." He set his glass down. His indomitable air had its effect. Mom's jaw dropped. Dad tried to straighten his laugh with his hand. "Well, who was it?" Mom asked.
"Fristeen," Robbie said, pointing through the window. "She lives over there."
Mom's head bowed. "What next?"
Robbie waited for her to continue, but she just sat there. Dad leaned back from the table with a blank look on his face. What's happening? Robbie wondered. Dad's attention shifted. He reached for the mail and began to thumb through it. "She's—" Robbie searched for a word. "Amazing." "That's beside the point," Mom sighed. "It had to happen," Dad said under his breath.
"What do you mean? What's wrong?"
"I want you to stay away from her," Mom said.
"But—"
"No 'buts.'"
"You don't under—"
"We've lived next door to them for two years, Robbie. There's a reason I haven't taken you over to play." "You don't understand—"
"No," Mom said. "You have other friends." "Fristeen isn't just a—"
"No," Mom repeated sternly.
"I'm going to marry her," Robbie exclaimed. Mom was dumbstruck.
Dad looked from the mail to Mom. "Did we get an invitation?"
The humor pierced her bewilderment. She made a dazed face and rolled her eyes. "Until then," Mom laughed, "you're not to play with her. Are we clear?" "But—" "Are we clear?"
Dad nodded. "Mom's right," he said.
***
When it was bedtime, Dad came in to read him a story. Robbie was sitting with his back against the pillow and his legs beneath the sheets, sulking.
"What's wrong?" Dad said.
"You know."
Dad's hands shot out. Robbie crowded his arms together, but Dad's fingers found the gaps, playing his ribs like a toy piano.
Robbie howled and writhed till he cried.
When they had both calmed down, Dad pulled a book from the shelf.
"Right here, Doc," Robbie patted the bed.
Dad laughed and sat beside him. "It'll be awhile."
Robbie closed one eye, as if taking aim, pointing his finger in his father's face. "Your brain is a forest."
