3
On Friday night, Claire came, and her mother. They moved in.
Dad put five potatoes in their skins on the barbecue. He did some chicken, too, and he boiled sweet carrots.
Dad and Linda, Trevor and Claire sat around the table on the porch. I sat on the front steps with the plate on my lap. I didn’t talk much. I was thinking hard about my tree house, thinking about the plans, thinking about what more we needed to do.
I didn’t look at Claire, and she had left me alone, for once. Elbow room.
The next morning, I was heading out to meet Harry, to go to the tree house for our first sleepover.
“Leaving so soon, Patrick? Hey, why don’t we all come with you? Give you a hand with your things. Help you set up for the night,” Dad suggested. “I know Claire would like to see your tree house, and I certainly would, too.” He shook his head. “I can’t believe I haven’t even seen it yet!”
Dad looked at me, hopeful, and maybe a little guilty. Linda was looking at me, too. Not hopeful but more than that. Like she was sure that I would make things right.
Claire was sitting at the kitchen table, coloring. Her hair fell forward, covering her face.
“Claire?” Linda asked gently. “Do you want to go and see Patrick’s tree house?”
I was halfway out the door, almost away from here. Dad hadn’t wanted to come before now, and it was okay for him to see it, finally. But I didn’t want Claire to come. I just didn’t.
Claire lifted her face, looked at me, and I looked back.
“No,” she said quickly. She looked back down at her paper. “No, I think I want to finish this.”
I knew she didn’t mean it. I knew she wanted to see the tree house. And I thought about telling her she could come along. Maybe I was that kind of guy.
But I just couldn’t let go of this tight feeling inside. I knew it wasn’t Claire’s idea to live with us. I knew it wasn’t her fault. But here she was, crowding her way in, her and her mom. Now there’d always be less room. Less time with Dad and Trevor. Less space for memories of Mom.
I turned.
Dad followed me outside. “So, you be careful there, Patrick,” he said. He watched me strap my sleeping bag onto my bike. “Have you got your walkie-talkie? I want to hear from you boys this afternoon, and then this evening, and then first thing in the morning.” He looked worried.
I nodded, not meeting his eyes. “Okay, Dad.”
He didn’t say anything for a minute. I hoisted up my backpack.
“You know, Patrick, I love you. I’ll miss you today and tonight,” he said.
“Okay,” I said, surprised.
“Patrick, I haven’t talked to you much about my marriage to Linda, about them moving in with us. I guess I was afraid of what you might say. I thought if I waited, you’d just come around. Get to know Linda. Get to like Claire,” Dad said. “Like Trevor has.”
I got on my bike.
“I’m sorry. For not talking to you about all this a long time ago.”
“Okay, Dad,” I said quickly. I put my foot on the pedal, gave a push. “I’m going to head out now.”
He waved as I rode away.
I met Harry at the end of his road. We rode our bikes to Mr. Mutter’s land, and then began the hike into the clearing. All our visits had made a path, like we belonged here.
“Did they come?” Harry asked over his shoulder. “Linda and Claire?”
“Yeah,” I said. I banged my stick on the tree trunks as we passed, banged it hard.
Harry didn’t talk about them anymore after that.
The rest of the day was good, really good.
Being in the tree house was like being in another world. Harry and I yelled at the top of our lungs. We spotted shapes in the clouds and we squinted into the distance, imagining we saw smoke signals. We ran in the field, arms flung wide, and we watched birds, silent and still. We threw stones at targets. We did somersaults and collapsing cartwheels. We inhaled lunch and we wolfed down dinner. I walkie-talkied Dad once, and then again as evening came.
Harry and I carried soft pine branches up into the tree house. We spread out our sleeping bags on them.
We went to sleep with the smell of pine surrounding us, and the stars shining down.
The summer was almost over.
Next day, Sunday, we rode our bikes home, and then the following day was Monday, the very last day of the summer holidays.
One last summer day at the tree house.
Dad came into my room early, before I was even out of bed.
“Patrick, I know you’re trying to get used to all the changes around here. I know it’s hard for you, but Claire is only seven and it’s difficult for her, too. She said no before, but I want you to show her the tree house,” he told me. “It might cheer her up. It might help her feel more at home. She said no before. But this time, she has to go, today. You have to take her, and I think it’s best if you do it alone, you and Harry, without me along.”
I wanted my dad to come, not Claire. I didn’t want Claire anywhere near the tree house. It made me feel like crying. But my dad didn’t wait for me to say it was all right. After I ate breakfast, Dad helped Claire get her bike out of our shed. He watched while we rode away.
I rode my bike ahead fast, dust kicking up behind. Claire trailed after me, following.
Harry was waiting on the fence by his laneway, as usual. He waved as we got close.
“Hi Patrick. Hi Claire.”
He made his bike rear like a horse, neighed, and Claire smiled a little.
“Let’s go,” I grumbled, riding ahead.
We rode down the path to Mr. Mutter’s land until we got to the right place along the rail fence.
“Put your bike here,” Harry told Claire, showing her.
Soon after, Harry and I and Claire were heading down the path. For once, I was in front. I walked on, didn’t look back.
Harry called, “Wait. Wait for Claire.”
I picked up a handful of pebbles. I threw them at a squirrel. One, two, three.
Down the path, through the trees. “This way,” Harry was saying to Claire, just like she was his little sister.
I picked up a stick. I hit the bushes with it as I walked. Wap! Wap! Wap!
And when we came to the clearing, there it was. The tree house.
The sun shone down. The leaves on the tree were still green. The branches were wide and welcoming. The tree house was there, open to the sky.
Looking at it, I could breathe.
I walked toward it and put my hand on the bark. And behind me, I heard Claire speak.
“Your tree house hugs the tree,” she said softly.
And I guess she was right.
So … she saw the tree house, and I’d done what Dad had asked me to do.
Now Harry said to me softly, at my shoulder, “Aren’t we going up? Aren’t we going to take her up?”
“No,” I said.
And so we turned around again and walked back out the path to our bikes.
“Who’s that?” Claire asked Harry, pointing.
There was Mr. Mutter leaning on the rail fence, swinging his walking stick. We hadn’t seen him all summer.
“Hello, boys,” he greeted us. “Hello! How did your tree hunt go?”
“Good,” Harry replied enthusiastically. “We found just the right tree, in the clearing. Just where you said.” Mr. Mutter nodded, pleased. “And we built our tree house. It’s fantastic. You should go and have a look sometime.”
“Good, good,” Mr. Mutter said, nodding.
But now Barney was sniffing Claire’s hand, and Mr. Mutter was asking me, “Who’s your new friend? Who’s this charming little girl?”
I shrugged. I got on my bike.
Harry nudged her encouragingly. “I’m Claire,” she said.
I turned my back on them all, said, “Goodbye, Mr. Mutter,” and pedaled away.