Beneath the Trees

by Laurel Saville

  Colden knew what was just ahead. She looked forward to seeing Drew’s face when he saw what was already so familiar to her. She stepped through a break in the trees onto a flat boulder about ten feet across, at the edge of a rock cliff, with a view of the green, undulating valley and the lake they’d passed far below them. Drew came to her side. She watched his eyes widen and his face relax as he took in the scene.

  “Wow,” he said. Then, “Thank you.”

  Colden lowered her pack and herself to the ground. She unlaced her boots and removed them, along with her socks, which she then spread out on the rock to dry. Possessed by some mischievous spark, she surprised herself by pulling her shirt off, as well—this was something she often did when alone, but not with others around. Then she laid back in her sports bra and shorts, her head against her pack, closed her eyes, extended her arms, and sighed in the sunshine.

  “Need to soak this up while we can,” she said.

  Drew followed her lead, freeing his feet from the confines of boots and socks and pulling his sweat-soaked shirt over his head. Colden felt him lie down beside her. She listened to the slowing of their breaths. She wanted to ask him what he had to tell her, what had happened out there that caused Brayden, who she hoped was still asleep in their guest room, to come in from the woods. But even more, she didn’t want to ask him. She wanted him to tell her on his own. She waited. He waited. She felt the sweat dry on her skin, leaving behind a sticky, salty residue. A breeze flitted by. Goose bumps rose and subsided on her arms. Her stomach growled loudly. Drew giggled at the sound and sat up. Colden did as well. He handed her a water bottle. She took several long swallows and handed it back. Drew took a swig, then drew up his knees, wrapped them in his arms, and looked out over the sea of trees that spread all the way to the horizon.

  “You’re probably wondering what the hell happened out there with Brayden,” he said.

  “Little bit,” Colden replied.

  “It’s complicated.”

  “Is it?”

  “Well, no, not complicated. Actually, far too fucking common.”

  Colden felt her stomach tighten. She’d never heard this tone from him before.

  “It’s just really hard to talk about,” he went on, more quietly.

  The feeling of airy happiness that had surrounded Colden all day darkened, a cloud foretelling storms. She wondered what was coming. She wondered if she should touch him. Instead, she just mirrored his posture. They were like two gargoyles sitting sentinel on the rock.

  “When you guys started talking about Brayden,” Drew finally said, taking up his story, “I had some suspicions about what might have driven him out there. I know Sally and Dix; they don’t like to speculate. They don’t want to condemn anyone without evidence. But I think they, well, Sally at least, given the work she does, had similar thoughts to mine. There had to be abuse in that family. Not just physical abuse. That, that manifests—well, there are no rules, of course, in any of this—but there was something about his retreat, his running away, that made me think he’d been sexually abused.”

  Colden breathed shallowly. This was not the conversation she expected to have. In fact, this was no conversation because she had nothing to contribute. Drew clearly didn’t need or want her to say anything; he wanted to tell her something, not just about Brayden, but about himself.

  “Do you remember, I said that I thought I could help him?” Drew asked. “That I wanted him to know that I could help him?”

  Colden nodded.

  “It’s not just because I’m a lawyer,” he said. “It’s because I’ve done a lot of work with sexual abuse victims.”

  “You mentioned that,” Colden said cautiously. “Your pro bono work.”

  “Right,” Drew said. “It’s not something I talk about much. I should, more, well maybe, but anyway, I don’t.”

  “It sounds like work you should be proud of.”

  “I am,” Drew said unconvincingly. He swallowed. “Colden, I work specifically with people who survived abuse by priests.”

  “OK.”

  “We’ve brought lawsuits against the abusers but also against the church for the cover-ups. As bad as the abuse itself is, well, the deceit is a whole new injury.”

  “I can’t imagine,” she whispered.

  Drew lifted his face and looked at her.

  “I used to think of you as someone who had the perfect, comfy little life,” he said. “I’m sorry about that.”

  Colden flinched. This thing again. She wondered why he had changed the subject. Perhaps just not ready to continue with his own story.

  “It wasn’t fair of me to do that to you. To make those assumptions,” he said.

  “I have had it pretty good,” Colden said.

  “Your dad told me a little bit about your mom.”

  That surprised Colden, this sudden introduction of Miranda into the conversation. That her father would discuss Miranda with Drew. Maybe Drew asked him. He was like that, questioning things, always questioning.

  “That can’t be easy,” Drew said.

  Colden thought for a moment.

  “Honestly, Drew, and this is difficult to say, but it’s true. I don’t really know if it’s hard. I never knew her. I don’t know what I’m missing.”

  “You must feel some gap somewhere, some curiosity.”

  “I guess I do. I feel things and notice things about myself and wonder where they came from. There’s a certain restlessness. Maybe frustration or dissatisfaction. I don’t like it in myself very much, honestly. I guess I’m just starting to realize that I have three parents. Three very different parents.”

  Colden didn’t want to talk about Miranda. But Drew seemed ready to make himself vulnerable. She would do the same.

  “So yeah, there are moments where I wonder what if, what might have been. Especially as I get older. It’s so hard to know, to imagine who we might be if we’d had different experiences.”

  “If we’d had different experiences,” Drew echoed her words wistfully. “Don’t I know that feeling.”

  A crow riding a fitful thermal up the cliff face appeared in front of them. It bounced a few times on the warm air, then flapped and flew off.

  “How did you get involved in the work?” Colden asked. “Representing the abuse victims?”

  “Survivors,” he corrected her.

  “Sorry. Survivors.”

  “Damaged. All damaged. But all survivors,” he added.

  Colden bobbed her head in agreement.

  “I’m Italian, Colden.”

  She nodded once, unsure what he was driving at.

  “I was raised Catholic. My mother went to mass every day, every damn day, and my family every Sunday,” he went on.

  Colden waited for him to connect the dots he was laying out for her. She could not.

  “I went to Catholic school, Catholic camp, Catholic everything. I was a choir boy.”

  Colden looked at Drew and saw that his eyes were full of held-back feeling. He was waiting for her to figure out what he was driving at. She wasn’t getting it. Maybe she didn’t want to. Finally, he gave in.

  “I represented them because I was one of them, Colden,” Drew said.

  Colden inhaled sharply and brought her hand to her mouth. Flashes of imagined scenes flitted at high speed through her mind: a young Drew, a gothic church, the scared face of a child, weighted down by a wizened, doughy old man in a white robe.

  “I’m sorry, Colden,” Drew said sadly.

  “Sorry? No, no, no. Don’t you be sorry,” she insisted. “There’s nothing for you to be sorry about.

  “It’s just that every time you share this with another person, you feel like you are bringing the pollution of your experience to their world. I don’t want to do that. Especially since you inhabit such an amazing, pristine, beautiful place.”

  Colden was awed that he could be so generous in this moment. Here he was sharing the very worst moments of his life, and he was concerned about how it was
impacting her.

  “I can’t begin to imagine how hard, how horrible . . .”

  Drew gave her a pained smile.

  “And now, you’ve not only recovered, but you are helping others do the same,” she added.

  Drew pressed his lips together.

  “Honestly, Colden, I’m not recovered. Kinda like what they say about addiction; it’s really more about being in recovery. For the rest of your life. You find ways to live with it. You can’t get over it.”

  Colden wondered how one would learn to live with something so horrific. Then hurting, and yet helping. She thought about asking how he did it. Not now. Not yet. Leave the man alone. He’d done enough for one day.

  “Thank you for telling me,” Colden said. “I’m very touched that you shared all this with me. That you trusted me.”

  “It is hard,” Drew said. “Sharing does make you reexperience it, to a degree. But it also seemed unfair to keep it from you. We’re friends. Not telling you was getting in the way of being better friends.”

  Colden reached out to him, ran her fingers over his forearm, squeezed his hand. He did not respond.

  “And then there’s Brayden,” Drew said.

  “Did you tell him?” Colden asked. “Is that why he came in?”

  “I made some suggestions. Talked around it a bit. I didn’t want to make any presumptions. Especially on first meeting. I just wanted to open the door and see if he walked through. He did. He was ready. He didn’t exactly say what had or had not happened to him. That wasn’t necessary or expected. I could tell. The way he looked at me. He got it. He knew I got it.”

  “That was kind and generous and wise and amazing of you,” Colden said.

  “Not really. Those of us who’ve been through this kind of thing often recognize each other. Like dogs of the same breed. There’s just something there.”

  Just like him to deflect a compliment, Colden thought. She used to be annoyed by what she saw as an irritating flippancy on his part; now, she recognized it as a touching self-effacement. Colden sensed Drew had relaxed a bit. The secret was out. He was unburdened before her. He had even unwrapped his arms from his knees and was leaning back on his hands, his legs outstretched in front of him. He seemed to be back in the present.

  “So, what happens next?” Colden asked, thinking about Brayden.

  “Next?” Drew asked, grinning, his expression restored to his other, less wounded self. “How about some lunch?”

  They ate and talked of other, less consequential things. Colden told him about the habits and life cycles of beaver and moose. They compared notes on music and movies they liked. They sat quietly and looked at the view. They laid back on the sun-warmed rocks and let the breezes tickle their skin. After a couple of hours of resting, it was time to hike out. Drew had to return to Albany that evening. She drove back to the house, and they parted in the driveway with a new lightness and ease between them. A hug, a wave, and a smile.

  The house was strangely quiet. She found Sally sitting in the living room, staring out the window. Colden sat next to her. Their hands found each other’s. They stayed like that, not moving, each occupied with her own thoughts, as the sun dropped out of sight. Then Sally turned to Colden and told her about Brayden.

  He’d slept in very late. Not unexpected, given the circumstances, Sally noted. When he arose, he’d seemed sheepish, confused, unsure of himself. Also not unexpected. Dix made him a big breakfast—eggs, bacon, fried potatoes. He dug in enthusiastically but only ate a portion of it. Of course, his body was not used to such rich food; his mouth craved what his stomach couldn’t handle. Sally hadn’t expected him to say much, but he did start talking. He seemed to want not only to unburden himself but also to explain himself to them. Like telling them his story was some sort of compensation for the food and shelter they were offering.

  Brayden told them his father was “doing things he shouldn’t have.” He thought it would stop when he got older, when he grew bigger and taller than his dad. And it had. Then he realized that his father had started abusing his sister instead. He had moved from one kid to the other. Maybe he’d been abusing her all along. Brayden took his own abuse, but he couldn’t accept that he’d not been able to stop what his father had done to his sister. He was mad that he hadn’t even suspected it. Then, his sister ran away. His parents didn’t do anything. Brayden, who had bottled up so much, got more mad. He argued with his father. His mother did nothing, as was usual for her. His father told him to shut up, that it was none of his business. Then he called his sister a “bad name.” That’s when Brayden lost it. He hit his father with a chair and fled.

  He didn’t think he’d killed the old man, but he was sure the old man would try to kill him if he found him. He stayed with friends after the fight, but no one wanted him in their house for long because they were afraid of his father. So, he ran to the only place he could. The woods.

  “Do you know anything about his father?” Colden asked. “How he is now?”

  “The reason I knew about Brayden, recognized him, is that after the father came out of the hospital, they did file missing-person reports for both kids. They met with police and social workers. The father came out of the hospital sort of a changed guy. Contrite. Apologetic. Didn’t admit anything specific but said he’d been a bad father and wanted to make amends.”

  “Do you think the dad will bring assault charges? Or will Brayden want to prosecute for the abuse?”

  “I don’t think his dad will do that. He’s a shrunken, diminished man these days. As for Brayden, who knows. He’s still pretty shut down by it all.”

  “Do we have to tell anyone he’s here?” Colden asked.

  “Who’s here?” Sally asked in mock stealth. “We don’t have any house guests, do we?”

  Colden smiled.

  “Our only job right now is to keep Brayden feeling safe enough that he won’t run again. And help him find his sister.”

  “All in a day’s work for you,” Colden said quietly, appreciatively.

  “Unfortunately, yes,” Sally concurred. “I keep hoping that someday I’ll be fired for lack of clients, but sadly, that doesn’t seem likely.”

  “How will you find out where his sister is?”

  “Talk to cops, hospital admins, runaway outreach folks, other kids who have been in and out of the system. The usual.”

  “Oh, Sally. How do you keep this up day after day, year after year?” Colden whined.

  As if in answer, the door opened, and Dix walked in. Colden watched a smile spread over Sally’s face, saw her shoulders relax.

  “You look like you’ve been rode hard and put up wet,” Sally said as Dix lowered himself to a chair.

  Sally disentangled herself from Colden, leaving her marooned on the sofa, and went to her husband. She set her petite form onto his lap, and he wrapped his long arms around her. They bent their foreheads together. Colden flushed at the intimacy that blossomed around them. She looked away.

  “Hey, where’s Brayden?” Sally asked Dix.

  “He wanted to stay there. Seemed like a good idea.”

  “That is a great idea!” Sally replied enthusiastically.

  “Stay where?” Colden asked.

  Dix explained that he’d taken Brayden with him over to the farm. Brayden loved animals, especially dogs, but had never been allowed to have one. Or any pets at all. Dix said he’d been a natural with all the animals and clearly hadn’t wanted to leave. He discussed it with the caretaker, Janet. She was a middle-aged woman who had had sons. One was in jail. Another had died of a drug overdose. Her ex-husband was who knows where. She was happy to have a gentle, polite, wounded young man around.

  “Did he meet Daisy?” Colden asked.

  Dix nodded.

  “And?”

  “It was love at first sight,” Dix said. “She wouldn’t leave his side.”

  29.

  It took Sally two and a half weeks. In the meantime, she didn’t share anything she might have been d
iscovering, and neither Colden nor Dix asked her questions. They knew she was not one to dribble information. She would wait until she had all relevant information collected and consolidated. In the meantime, everyone stayed busy and subdued. Brayden was at the farm. Janet told Dix that he was quiet, rarely talked or smiled, but was a hard, diligent worker. He cooked for himself, cleaned up, watched dog-training videos on the computer, was reading all the animal care books on the shelves, and had started teaching Daisy tricks. He’d asked if Daisy could stay with him in his room. Janet had, of course, said yes.

  Two broken creatures, she’d called them, healing each other.

  Finally, Sally called a meeting. Everyone, including Drew, gathered on the well-worn and fur-covered sofas in the room that had once been a den. The wood floors were covered in scratches from dog nails. Half-chewed rawhides, gnawed bones, and rope toys littered the floor. A couple of cats perched on the backs of chairs, leisurely grooming themselves. Dix and Janet stood, conferring about various animals and their health and behavior issues. Daisy was asleep at Brayden’s side with her chin on his thigh. She lifted her head and thumped her tail when Colden entered the room.

  What a joy it must be, Colden thought, to be a creature uninterested in assigning blame or holding grudges.

  The animal-care discussion died down, and all eyes turned to Sally. She cleared her throat.

  “OK,” she said, looking at Brayden and only at Brayden. “Are you ready?”

  He nodded.

  “First off, I have not told anyone where you are. I have not spoken to your father or mother. I have gathered information that I believe to be reliable from other people who are familiar with what’s going on. Of course, things can change. But this seems to be where the situation stands right now.”