A frown darts across his forehead. For a second, I think he’s going to say something. Instead, he gets up and walks over to the fireplace. On the hearth is an old wooden box; from which he produces two action figures. Gandalf in white with his staff and Samwise in full Orc regalia. “You wanna play?”
I can see how afraid he is to talk about his feelings for his father. How could I not understand that—me, who is on the run from real life?
I crane my neck, try to see into the box. “You have a Frodo in there?”
Bobby giggles. “Yeah. We’ll pretend he’s wearing the ring. ”
Bobby and I spend the morning on the living room floor, battling our way through Mordor and up the steep brick sides of Mount Doom. Honestly, I can’t remember when I’ve had so much fun. We talk about things that don’t matter and laugh about them. Sometime around noon, Daniel comes downstairs. Splattered with paint, carrying two brushes and a bucket, he walks past us. “Come on, Bobby. It’s time for youth group. ”
“I don’t wanna go. ”
“Too bad. Move it. ” Daniel opens the front door and sets his supplies on the deck. “Let’s go, boyo. We’ll have lunch at the diner first. ”
“C’n Joy . . . ”
“No. ”
Bobby throws me a “see?” look and climbs to his feet. “I’m coming, Emperor. ”
It’s all I can do not to smile at the tender defiance.
I would have called my dad a hell of a lot worse than emperor at his age. “Bye, you guys,” I say from my place on the floor.
Bobby looks back at me longingly. “You can keep playing if you want. You can even be Frodo. ”
“I’ll wait for you. ”
Daniel herds his son out the door. A few minutes later, I hear a car start up and drive away.
Then it’s quiet again.
I try to figure out what to do next. I could walk to town for clothes and film and food, or take a walk in the woods, or borrow a canoe and go out on the lake, or sleep. Last night was hard: nightmares plagued me.
I close my eyes. It feels so great here, lying on the soft woolen carpet, feeling the heat from a fading fire, listening to the quiet.
In my dreams, I’m lying on an air mattress, floating on Lake Curran. The sun overhead is hot and bright; when I try to open my eyes, it hurts. I can feel people around me, splashing in the water. My sister’s voice is the most constant: I’m sorry. The apology is repeated over and over. I know she wants me to open my eyes, take her hand, and tell her it’s okay, but it’s not okay. She’s broken my heart. I hear my mother in my dreams, too, telling me to wake up. I’m sure that she wants me to forgive Stacey also. I want to tell them I can’t do it, but then I’m floating away on the tide. I’m on the ocean now, alone . . . then I’m in a child’s bed, then in a white room.
“Are you KIDDING me?”
The sentence shakes me, jars me. With great effort, I open my eyes. At first, I expect to see water, blue and lit by the sun.
I see green carpet and wooden planks and the lower half of a plaid sofa.
I’m in the lodge, asleep on the living room floor. I blink, trying to focus, and push up to my knees.
Daniel is in the registration area, pacing, talking on the phone. “What do you mean, a fight?”
I frown, sit back on my heels.
“He’s eight years old,” Daniel says, then curses under his breath. “Sorry, Father. And do you think I’ve not tried? God’s the enemy now. And me. ”
I get slowly to my feet and stand there by the fireplace. He hasn’t seen me yet, but when he does, I know he won’t be happy. He doesn’t want me in the lodge, let alone eavesdropping on personal conversations. But I can’t seem to move. He looks so . . . the right word escapes me. Not angry, not upset.
Wounded.
“Aye,” he says after a pause. Then, “I’ll be right down. ” He slams the phone down on the table, then curses loudly and runs a hand through his hair. Slowly, he turns toward the living room.
I’m standing there, frozen, staring at him. “I’m sorry,” I say, lifting my hands.