Pete’s brother stood some ways off, showing Jeremiah Pearl the teepee that he and the boy would live in. Pearl walked around the structure, looking off into the trees, the area around, warily. Luke beckoned him into the tent and he smiled back at Pete and the boy, and took Pearl inside.
“My brother’s a pretty nice guy,” Pete said.
Ben sat on the back porch next to him. The sky was heavy with dark clouds and it rained a lot here, but things could be gotten used to.
“Will you visit?”
“Of course.”
“When?”
“Sometimes. I’ll just come out.”
He put a piece of grass in his teeth.
“Papa looks weird.”
“You’ll get used to it.”
“I want him to grow it back.”
“Maybe he will. Think you’ll like it here?”
“I dunno.”
“I think you will.”
“Do you have to go right away?”
“Later. I got a long drive back to Montana.”
“Can we play checkers?”
“I think the board is still in the car,” Pete said.
The kid scampered around the house. Pete was alone a moment, the heel of his palm against his eye. The other heel, the other eye. Pete removed his hands and the gray sky shuddered in his vision, a dread pulsing of his blood, his ichor. He turned and there was the boy inside the back door, profoundly alive, saying the board was on the table. To come inside and play.