SUNDAY, 11:27 A.M.
Two hours later, they had seen three properties that were for sale.
It was clear to Xander his parents were looking for something completely different from the suburban house they had left.
The lots were large and thick with trees, the houses more like the hunting cabins he had seen in movies—cabins where college kids seek shelter from ax-wielding madmen or ticked-off ghosts. In those movies, the cabins were never shelter enough.
One house he and David liked was situated down a slope from the road, nearly invisible through the trees. A river— Dad said it was Weaver Creek—cut so close to the house, Xander thought they could fish from the back deck. The water rushed over boulders, making a surflike sound. All Mom could see was a deathtrap and refused to discuss the possibility of buying it.
Xander didn’t mind the secluded settings. He figured that since there wasn’t a multiplex or mall within two hundred miles, and given the choice of forested isolation or depressing little cafés and retail shops, he’d rather live near Mother Nature. He started to view the properties from an outdoors-man’s perspective: hiking alone in the woods; dirt biking over the rugged terrain; campfires and pup tents within sight of a refrigerator and bathroom.
Each property took them farther from the school but never so far that he couldn’t bike it when he had to. If he got a car, he wouldn’t care if they found a place in the next county. In fact, he was starting to get into the tight, winding roads that snaked away from Pinedale in four directions. He could easily see himself behind the wheel of a ’68 Corvette convertible—327-cubic-inch engine, tuned exhaust, four-on-the-floor—nudging the speedometer on each turn until the tires squealed in fear.
Dad consulted a stack of property listings, which he had printed from a local Realtor’s Web site. He put the car in gear and backed out of the gravel driveway.
Mom turned in the seat. “So what do you think so far?”
“I liked the one with the river,” David said quickly.
“Will I get my own room?” Toria asked.
“You will,” Mom said, and the way she said it made Xander ask, “What about us?” He and David had shared a bedroom for twelve years, and he’d thought if anything good came out of the move, it might be finally getting his own room.
“It depends,” she said. “These houses really aren’t that big.” “I noticed, but there’s lots of land. Could we add on?”
“Hey!” David said, clearly liking the idea.
“Whoa,” Dad said, “additions are expensive.”
Xander rolled his eyes. Everything was expensive. When Dad started talking costs, it meant it wasn’t going to happen.
Dad switched on the blinker to turn left, waited for an oncoming car to pass, then pulled the 4Runner onto a narrow, paved road. The forest here was especially dense. They crowded the road and in spots formed leafy tunnels through which Dad drove.
“What if we do it ourselves?” David asked.
Dad glanced back. “Do what?”
“Build our own bedrooms.” His big grin told Xander he had all sorts of ideas for a room. Xander shook his head at David and mouthed the words no way.
“I don’t think so,” Dad said. After a moment, he said, “You know, maybe.” He smiled back at David. “That’s not such a bad idea.”
David made wide eyes at Xander, whose face was slack in disbelief. Dad hadn’t even said he’d think about it. “Not such a bad idea” in Dad-talk was yes.
The 4Runner pulled onto a dirt road. While David rambled on about skylights and secret rooms behind hidden panels, Xander studied the forest on his side of the car. Foliage and shadows limited visibility to twenty or thirty feet from the edge of the road. He would be the first to admit that he knew as much about trees and the woods as he did about Thailand, but he couldn’t help but think that there was something different about this forest. The leaves of different trees seemed to sway in opposing directions, more like they were controlled by the trees themselves than by the wind. Shadows shifted oddly. The darkness rushed at the car, stopping just feet from the forest’s edge, then it pulled way back, exposing gnarled trunks and spindly branches deep within the forest. It reminded him of the surf, flowing in and out, but much quicker and without a discernible pattern. He knew the swaying leaves and branches, as well as the clouds, could cause the weird shifting of shadows, but still something about it left him uneasy.
City boy, he thought. Freaking out over the trees’ shadows. Man, I gotta get over this.