On Thursday, when he has dressed for school and is headed out of the kitchen for the school bus, into the kitchen Dad suddenly lumbers, terrifying and large. He shambles toward the refrigerator in white underwear, his blue pocked belly overhanging the elastic, his craggy chest shivered with goose flesh. Nathan stops breathing, caught in the doorway. Dad smiles. The kitchen echoes with his cough. He ogles Nathan up and down and his eyes, red rimmed, fill with longing. He steps toward Nathan without warning and Nathan backs up, a corner catches him and all at once there is no world, there is only Dad's white belly shivering with blood and Dad's breath blowing down from above, the shadow falling over Nathan's face. Nathan's heart batters his ribs. A sound falters. Mom's voice emerges from the other room and her footsteps cause Dad to turn. "Who's in the kitchen, Nathan?"

She stands in the doorway to see. Her flesh has gone gray. She is staring at her husband as if he has stepped onto the linoleum from another world.

Nathan slips free of the corner and hurtles out of the house; breathless, he reaches the bus at a dead run. Pushing open the cold metal door, he huddles in the chilled interior till Roy finds him.

"Is anything wrong?" Roy asks, seeing his stricken face. But there are no words, no words will come. Roy, so close to his own parents and his own real life, does not even dare embrace him. He studies the light in Nathan's kitchen, a long time, before settling into the driver's seat.

Puzzled, mostly silent, Roy has remained a steady guardian. Each morning he has come to the bam early, to wake Nathan when he starts his chores. He warms the bus ahead of schedule and watches the back door of Nathan's house. He acts as if this is the most natural change of habit in the world, and they drive away. During school they keep to their usual pattern, eating lunch together, then hanging out on the smoking patio with Burke and Randy. At night they wander in the woods, along the edge of the pond and among the slanted shadows of tombstones. They never discuss what has happened. Roy never asks, and Nathan never volunteers.

They talk with their bodies. Roy says he is sorry again and again and never makes a sound. In the woods, in the shadow of the tombstone of Sarah Jane Kennicutt, on the path to the Indian mound; never in the barn, for fear someone will hear. Never near the houses. They hold each other on the borders of the farm, at the edge of wild country, they speak with their hands.

Sometimes when Roy watches, a question can be read in his eyes. Who is Nathan, why is Roy with him? Nathan can almost hear the words. Who is Nathan?

Roy goes away with his family to Wednesday night prayer meeting. Evelyn will be there. Nathan pictures her as blond and tall, with a sweet face, plump, round breasts and full, wide hips. She is waiting for Roy at the door to the sanctuary. She is holding a bouquet of flowers in her hand.

The late nights are the hardest times, after Roy says goodbye and closes the barn door. The smells, the unfamiliar shadows and sounds, trouble Nathan's sleep. The dirtiness of the mattress and the dust of the straw beside it make him cough, and at times he becomes afraid Dad will hear him. He wonders, when he will allow himself to think of it, how long he can go on hiding.

On Friday, while they are lounging on the smoking patio, Roy lets Nathan taste his bitter cigarette. He inhales sharply, the hot smoke searing his lungs. The choking and coughing that follow bring general laughter, and Burke and Randy clap Nathan on the back. There follows a moment of such sheer friendliness that Nathan loses his fear of Randy and even of Burke. When Nathan catches his breath they are talking about camping, about the trip to Handle they discussed when they were diving off the railroad trestle, Roy, Burke, and Randy. Roy is including Nathan in the plans for the trip, and Nathan realizes with relief that this could solve the problem of how to get through the weekend.

Near the end of the day, Nathan finds Roy waiting outside Advanced Math. The surprise of his appearance helps Nathan to see him fresh and vivid once again, tall and strongly made in his jeans and denim jacket, the high bones of his face darkened with a trace of beard, his lips cut in a lopsided smile. Fierce eyes shock from beneath dark thick brows. Roy falls in silently beside Nathan and they head under the canopy to another class. "You think it's a good idea to go camping this weekend? If you're worried about your mom, I can ask her for you."

Nathan remembers the sliding shadow in her housecoat, the deepening dark circles under her eyes. "It'll be okay. She'll let me go."

They have arrived at Nathan's final class. Roy has led the way, and at the last moment lays his hand on Nathan's shoulder. The almost hidden gesture passes unnoticed in the general commotion of classes changing, but for Nathan the brief nervous flare sears him. "I’ll see you after school."

Roy hurries to his own class. Nathan takes his seat in Biology, opening his text to the chapter on cell mitochondria.

The bus ride home is intimate in a way Nathan can hardly credit, as if, out of all the noisy creatures on the bus, only he and Roy truly exist. Even when Nathan looks out the window at the tattered autumn fields, Roy watches from the overhead mirror, eyes hanging in the air.

He stops the bus on the dirt road, when all the others have gone. He calls Nathan to the front of the bus. The press of his body is familiar and heady. He traps Nathan's head against his chest. They hold still against each other, breathless through silence, till the distant drone of a truck motor warns them of itself. Roy releases Nathan unhurriedly. "We won't have to worry about this kind of shit in the woods."

Still without hurry, he reclaims the driver's seat and they finish the drive home, sliding into the parking place beneath laced branches.

Nathan gathers his books. When he stands, so does Roy. They walk together to Nathan's house.

In the kitchen, Mom faces Roy with hardly a trace of surprise. Roy stands straight, brushes back his hair, asking his question in a manner that manages to be both courteous and bold. He says he wants to take Nathan camping for the weekend, till late Sunday, and he's sorry not to have asked sooner but him and his friends just thought of the trip and this is the perfect weekend for it, almost the last one, really. The weatherman says it's going to be warm and pretty, like a little taste of summer. He says he'll look after Nathan and nothing will happen to him. She laughs nervously when he finally stops talking. "Nathan doesn't even have a sleeping bag."

"I have an extra one."

He faces her with calm assurance. Something about his directness makes her shy away, as from a too bright lamp, and she turns aside. "Yes, I guess it's a good idea."

"Pardon me, ma'am?"

"I said I guess it's all right. He can go." She nods her head toward Nathan without looking at him.

Roy comes upstairs with Nathan to pack, counting what he should bring on his fingers. The fact that Nathan's dad could come home any time adds urgency, and they move quickly. Nathan owns no backpack so he gathers clothes and necessities in a bundle for packing at Roy's house.

Roy explains the camping trip to his mother with an air of presumption. Nathan and he are to meet Burke and Randy at the Indian mound as soon as possible so maybe they can hike farther into the woods before sunset. This means you need to hurry, Roy says, moving deliberately from one task to the next. He sets his mother to packing provisions, and she slices bacon and cheese and wraps slices of bread in plastic. Roy gives Nathan clear, concise instructions on counting tent pegs, bundling them properly, tightening their shared canteen so it does not leak, fastening the snap over the head of the knife to keep it sheathed. He checks everything and finally divides the bundle into two packs. Nathan's is lighter but the weight is still substantial, and the fact pleases Nathan in an odd way. He walks easily even with the weight on his back. He feels suddenly sturdy, as if he could carry the pack forever, and walk forever, into the woods.

Roy's mother stands in the yard to wave them off. Nathan's mother is nowhere to be seen.

Chapter Nine

It is easy for Nathan to refuse to look back. He has been granted two days of safety, and the woodland enfolds him in green gold. By now the pond and cemetery are familiar landmarks, and Nathan knows by certain signs—the particular twist of a branch, the bend of the creek that runs through the woods here—that they are following the path to the Indian mound. Roy's long strides set an easy pace and his silence engulfs Nathan so that both move with attention to quiet. The country thereabouts is haunted with memories of the courtship between the boys, and near the creek bed they look at each other. "Don't say anything about that," Roy warns, but he is laughing when he says it.

On the Indian mound they see two figures waiting. Burke and Randy hoist their backpacks, moving in tandem. Burke hollers, "About time you lazy assholes got here," and Roy answers, "I get where I'm going exactly when I please," as he and Nathan climb the mound.

A shyness overtakes Nathan during the climb, and he is almost speechless when Randy claps him on the back. "I see you got your ma to let you come with us. That's good, I'm glad."

Burke spits into a patch of golden leaves, saliva stretching to a thread. "Nathan ain't no baby."

Wind sends a shower of maple leaves around them. The sharp chill of approaching dusk wakens Nathan to his freedom. Randy asks where they're going, and Roy answers, with an air of mystery that restores his swagger, that it's a secret place his uncle showed him, a good long walk into the woods, pretty far from everything. Up toward Handle, a direction the others seem to know. Burke and Randy ask more questions but Roy refuses answers. They will have to wait and see.

So Roy sets out walking east and everyone follows. The sun hangs high enough that the forest is full of light; and the peaceful afternoon expands. For Nathan it is as if he has walked out of Friday into some ceaseless stillness, a timelessness of superior quality. The shadow of Dad vanishes. They march through bright colored splendors, high leafy vaults, waves of vine and frond. The red and silver maples have turned colors, but the oaks and pines are still retaining their green. The images of the other boys shimmer against the fervid backdrop. Burke's bronze arms slide among the leaves, his dense body careens through the dusk, heavier than its surroundings; Randy's rounder figure follows in Burke's wake, his golden hair sometimes disappearing behind Burke's back. Nathan occasionally turns back to study the two, but mostly watches Roy's smooth gait, the movement of his shoulders beneath the backpack, the gloss of dusk in his jet hair. Nathan trails him like a lesser moon.

It is a kind of church, requiring reverence. This revelation comes to Nathan as he is gazing from side to side, guarding the delight and freedom of the moment as if they must be protected carefully in order to preserve them. He refuses to allow happiness to show in his expression, cultivating the careful indifference of Roy, the swagger of his hips, the practiced ease through and under branches. They are swimming through golden light, traveling through a green and gold leafed choir.

Down a drastic slope of hillside strewn with uprooted trees flows a creek through a dark cut of land, the creek swathed in Joey and cinnamon fern, overhung with shreds of Spanish moss. Along the flow of creek Roy leads them, where the moss is lush and the ground soft for walking. Nathan is careful of his silence here, where fallen branches threaten to break with a snap, where dry leaves crackle like bones. He has lost any sense of time, they might have walked for leagues. Only birdcalls and the caucusing of insects can be heard. Sunset threatens before they halt for the night, and Roy has really pushed them too far, as if to put distance between them and the farm. They scramble to set up camp before dark.

Roy builds a cook fire, digging a shallow pit and ringing it with stones. The fire burns like a golden shrub. A thin thread of smoke wraps round and round itself and climbs. Warmth creeps up Nathan's arm. Roy grins. "You look happy"

Nathan nods in a small motion. "I like the fire."

"Me too."

Burke and Randy have set their own tent near a shower of red maple, a splayed branch like an overhanging mist; they move awkwardly with bent elbows, scowling as they unpack for the evening. The dark creek flows past, and blood colored leaves corkscrew slowly toward the sea.