Stranger in the Woods

Zach stepped around Beepee where she lay on the floor, and began flicking the feather duster over the trophies on the third shelf in his father’s shrine room. The sun streamed through the two windows, and the awards sparkled like gold in the bright light.

When Zach had first come in that morning to perform his now-daily chore, Beepee had jumped on the bed and made herself at home, disturbing some of the carefully arranged ribbons and medals. It had taken Zach several tries to get the dog to understand that she didn’t belong up there. It was a sacred space.

Zach paused in his task and regarded the colorful strips of silk that lay in respectful rows across the quilt, all 47 of them. Dad sure did win a lot of stuff. Zach had never won a single award, not even runner-up in a classroom spelling bee, but his father had won them all, it seemed like, as if he were a powerful magnet that drew all honors like iron filings.

Most of them were for first place. Zach counted those, thirty in all, and read a couple that were near the edge of the bed. State science fair. Cross country regional champ. Man of the year. Zach smiled proudly at them. I bet nobody else’s dad has that many. My dad was the best at everything.

Zach’s mother was putting plates away in the kitchen cabinet, and he glanced at her to make sure she wasn’t watching him as he slipped the last bite of his peanut butter sandwich to Beepee under the table. “Do you think Grandpa’s home yet? He said he’d fix my bike.”

She checked the clock on the wall, which she had just put up that morning. “It’s after twelve. I’ll call him,” She patted her pockets. “As soon as I find my cell phone. I sure will be glad when they connect our land line.”

“We’ll get the Internet then, too, right?”

“No. They’ll do that when they connect the cable.” She vanished into the hall and came back a minute later and nodded at Zach. “I called him and he’s home already. He said to come on over and bring your bike.”

“And Beepee, too.” He smiled at the dog and she jumped to her feet, tail wagging, ready for action.

Zach pushed his bicycle the short distance to his grandfather’s house, using the sidewalk since he didn’t know the neighbors well enough to cut through their yard. He’d not even met them, yet. The only person he’d seen coming and going was the home care nurse, who came to look after Mrs. Schultz, the ailing woman who lived there.

Zach could see his grandfather’s old blue Chevy pickup truck parked in front of the wooden gate, and knew for sure that he was home. The pale yellow house was narrower than Zach’s, but taller by one story. That meant more stairs and more pain for an old man with a bad knee. Zach knew that his grandfather mostly lived on the ground floor, like Aunt Winnie had. Zach wondered briefly if all of their neighbors were like that, unable to use most of their homes because of aching joints that confined them to the easiest, most accessible levels.

Beepee sprinted ahead, dashed up the steps, and scratched on the front door. His grandfather opened it just as Zach turned onto the narrow concrete walkway that ran straight to the porch. Beepee slipped inside. “Hey, Zach. I was just getting ready for you.” He gestured toward the side yard. “Meet me over there at the fence and I’ll let you in.”

Zach rolled the bike across the grass to the driveway and waited in front of the truck for a moment, and the gate swung wide. Beepee was already there with Grandpa, wagging, bouncing, and happy to see Zach as if he’d been gone for days. Zach went into his grandfather’s backyard, which was similar to Zach’s, roughly square in shape with a high wooden fence that was covered by thick shrubs. The single-car garage was in the same spot, too, in the far right corner at the end of the driveway, and it was already open, revealing a packed collection of junk, equipment, and tools.

Grandpa eyed the bike and stroked his chin. “Just a single speed?”

“My old neighborhood was pretty flat, so it didn’t matter.”

“You’ll have to pedal hard to get up some of the hills around here. It’s easier to fix the chain on a single-speed bike, though. Won’t take but a minute.” They rolled it toward the garage and he said, “How come your dad wouldn’t fix it?”

“He said I should learn how to do it myself.”

“Didn’t he show you how?”

“How were you supposed to learn, then? From the Internet? Do they have that kind of stuff on there?”

“He said by the time he was my age, he was doing all of the maintenance on his bike, and he had a ten-speed.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothin’. Forget I said it.”

Grandpa stepped into the garage and Zach looked around at the chaos that was stored there. Boxes were piled nearly to the ceiling in places. A dusty canoe was strapped to the ceiling. Countless hand tools were on shelves and wall hooks, and there were larger pieces of equipment that were coated in sawdust. Zach knew what the table saw was. The others he couldn’t identify.

Near the front corner was something encased in a brown leather bag in the shape of a rifle, on a pair of brackets on the wall. Zach pointed to it and said, “What’s that?”

“It’s a shotgun.”

“Why do you have that?”

“My wife gave it to me for my fiftieth birthday. I take it out every year or so and clean it, but that’s about all.”

“Do you ever hunt?”

“Don’t like to get up that early.”

“No, but there are a few shells in the side pocket.”

“What’s to keep somebody from stealing it?”

“I lock the garage at night or when I’m not here, though this neighborhood is pretty safe. I don’t think anybody would take it.”

Grandpa rummaged through a pile of scrap wood and came up with three thick blocks. He knelt with a grimace, favoring his knee, and stacked them, then lifted the bike and placed it on them so that the rear wheel was off the ground. “Hold on to it, Zach.” Zach grabbed the handlebar while Grandpa went back into the garage and returned with an old newspaper. He tore a ten-inch piece from it and folded it into narrow strip.

He waved it at Zach and said, “This is a cool trick I learned from one of my buddies when I was a kid. I need you to hold onto the bike real tight for a sec.” Zach gripped the frame with both hands and Grandpa knelt again. He threaded the strip halfway under the chain, grasped the ends of the paper with one hand and lifted it. “Watch this. This is easy as sneazin’.”

He pushed down on the pedal with his other hand and the sprocket turned, and as it moved, he pulled the chain forward with the paper so that the links caught on the teeth of the big cog. He continued until the chain gradually fitted itself back in place. The whole process took less than a minute.

“Huh,” Zach said. “That was easy.”

“Try it out, if you don’t mind.”

Zach took the bike off the blocks, mounted it, and rode it in a circle in the yard. “Works, great, Grandpa.”

“If it comes off again, bring it over and I’ll move the rear wheel back a little. That’ll put more tension on the chain and keep it in place.”

Zach dismounted and dropped the kickstand with one foot. “Mom said you’re really good with tools. How’d you learn how to do everything?”

“Oh, I picked it up here and there. Some from my dad, and some from my friends.” He gave a small shrug. “Some of it I picked up on my own from books. The library had plenty of stuff like that back then. Have you been there, yet?”

“We just got here.”

“Well, I’m sure your mom will take you soon. It’s not far. You can ride your bike there in about five minutes. That’s what your mom used to do. She loved the library.”

“Mom told me she’d rather read than anything.”

“Sounds like her.”

“Was Uncle Will like that, too?”

“He was a smart boy. He’s a doctor now, way off in Seattle.”

“How come he never visits? He’s my only uncle, right?”

“Yeah, since your dad didn’t have any siblings. Your Grandma and I had two kids, him and Liz. He’s almost three years older than she is.”

“Why didn’t he come to Grandma’s funeral?”

“He was at a convention in Australia with his family. It was too far for him to come.”

“Why didn’t I come? I don’t remember, ’cause I was little.”

“You were sick. Your father stayed with you so your mom could come.”

“I don’t remember Grandma very well. What was she like?”

He tilted his head back and looked at the sky before answering. “She was a lot like your mother. Always organized, making lists. She took care of the PTA meetings and doctors’ appointments and everything, ’cause I would’ve forgotten. She looked like your mom, too, same trim figure and dark-blonde hair and hazel eyes.”

“My hair and eyes are brown,” Zach said, “like my dad’s.”

“Really?” Grandpa arched one eyebrow. “I never noticed.”

“Unh hunh.” He touched his scalp. “See?” Then he realized his grandfather was kidding. “Oh.” He dropped his hand. “Well, anyway, I look like my dad. That’s what everybody says.”

“Your face is shaped like you mother’s. In fact, you look a little bit like your Uncle Will did when he was your age. Except for the hair and eyes.”

Zach had to think about it for a moment to decide if that was a good thing. “Do you think he’ll visit anytime soon?”

“It would be nice, wouldn’t it? He’s got three kids now. The two younger ones, the boys, I’ve never met. And Emily was just a little thing, last I saw her. In fact, she’s about your age, now that I think about it.”

“I have a cousin my age?”

“Sure do. Wish you could meet her.”

“We’ll have the Internet in a few days. Does she have a Facebook page?”

“You’d know before I would. I don’t know about that stuff.”

“You need to get the Internet, Grandpa. You’d like it.”

“I think I’ll pass. I have a cell phone. That’s enough modern gizmos for me.”

Liz was standing on a stepstool, cleaning the dusty chandelier in the living room, when she heard the doorbell ring. “Zach, can you get that?” Then she realized that he was still at his grandfather’s house with his bike.

She went to open the front door, where she found a girl waiting on the porch. She looked to be younger than Zach, and she was thin, with frizzy, straw-colored hair, and she wore glasses. Her T-shirt and shorts were badly faded, and her sneakers had a hole on one side exposing a toe. “Hello,” Liz said.

The girl’s blue eyes rose to meet Liz’s for an instant before falling again like victims of gravity. “Is Zach home?” the stranger asked in a small voice.

“Who may I ask who wants to know?” Liz smiled, but the girl didn’t see, with her chin so low.

The girl shifted her weight from one foot to the other before answering. “My brothers, Jason and Justin.” She cleared her throat. “Not me.”

“No, what I meant was, who are you?”

“Oh. Uh, Shelby Ross. That’s me, uh…that’s my name.” Then she added, “Ma’am.”

“Well, it’s nice to meet you, Shelby. Zach said he met you yesterday.” She could sense the girl’s anxiety, and Liz tried to sound as friendly as possible. “I’m Mrs. Webster, Zach’s mom. What grade are you going to be in school this coming year?”

“Seventh,” she said without meeting Liz’s gaze.

Gosh, she’s Zach’s age. She doesn’t look like it. “I’m going to be working in the attendance office at your school, so if you have a problem there, you come see me. Okay?”

She nodded without looking up, and Liz felt a pang of sympathy for her. She’s really uncomfortable right now. “Did your brothers send you to get Zach?”

“Yes ma’am. Can he come out?”

“He’s not here right now, he’s at his grandfather’s, getting his bike fixed. You can go see him, if you want.” She pointed to her left. “It’s just two doors down that way. But I need to meet your brothers before Zach goes off with them.”

Shelby glanced in the direction Liz had pointed and turned her eyes back to her feet. “Okay.”

“Why don’t you run over there and say hello? Zach would like that, I’m sure. I can see the gate is open, so you can walk back to the garage. That’s probably where they’re working on the bike. Would you like to go? It’s okay if you do.”

She nodded her answer, and Liz said, “And please tell Zach not to run off without telling me where he’s going.”

The girl nodded one last time, quiet as a mouse, and edged toward the porch steps while Liz closed the door. Liz went into the library and looked out of the window and watched the girl slowly make her way down the front walk, but when she reached the end, instead of turning left toward Liz’s father’s house, she bolted in the opposite direction as if her life depended on it.

“Liz, that was excellent.” Her father looked at his plate, which had nothing left on it but a few chicken bones. “I guess you’ve gotten the hang of cooking in this kitchen now.”

She turned in her seat at the end of the table and glanced around while a list of unfinished tasks filled her mind. “Sort of. I’ve put most of my efforts into getting the kitchen ready, but there’s still so much to do.”

“Mom?” Zach said, still sitting in his spot with Beepee beside him, lying on the floor as is if she owned it. “Can we go to the library tomorrow?”

“Of course. It’s pretty close. I used to love to go there.”

“Do you think they have the Internet?”

“Is that the only reason you want to go?”

“Uh…no, but we don’t have it yet, and I want to see how my friends back home are doing, and you won’t let me use your phone.”

Liz’s father cocked his head to the side and narrowed one eye at Zach. “I thought this was your home.”

“I mean, my old home.” He squirmed in his seat and looked down at the dog. “Can I throw the ball for Beepee in the backyard now? I’m done.”

“You’re going to wear your arm out,” Liz’s father said. “That’s your third time today. You ought to be getting pretty good at it.”

“I can’t throw very good. I mean, very well. Not like my dad. He was great! He was a pitcher on his high school team and he got offered a minor league contract, but he turned it down because he wanted to go to college.”

“I know.” He rolled his eyes. “He only told me every chance he got.”

Liz shot him a tight glare and he clamped his mouth shut. Fortunately, Zach didn’t seem to notice the subtle insult to his father.

“So,” Zach said, “can I be excused…I mean, may I be excused? I’m finished with my dinner.”

Liz gestured at his plate, still half-full of food. “Doesn’t look like it.”

“I can’t eat any more. Can I give the rest to Beepee?”

“She can’t have the chicken bones. I’ll have to pick the scraps off and give them to her later.” Zach started to get up and she added, “Take your things to the counter, first.”

Zach picked up his plate and drinking glass and set them by the sink. “Come on, Beepee. Let’s go.” The dog bounced around his legs while he grabbed the green tennis ball from the narrow shelf in the far corner and opened the back door, then they both disappeared through it, slamming it behind them.

Liz winced. “I wish he wouldn’t do that.”

“He’s excited.”

“And I wish you wouldn’t criticize John like that around Zach. How many times do I have to tell you?”

“That wasn’t much, what I just said, but it was true. John was always bragging about things like that.

“Why do feel compelled to do that, anyway? Can’t you control yourself?”

He took a long breath before saying, “I feel like Zach has put his father on a pedestal that’s a little too high. Somebody needs to knock that down a notch to something reasonable.”

“That’s not your job, Dad. And besides, I seem to remember you having a bit of a hero worship thing for your brother when I was growing up. It was always Bill this and Bill that. Honestly! You’re one to talk about pedestals.”

“Bill deserved every award he got, and he got a lot of them. More than anybody that ever came from this town. More than anybody I ever met, for that matter, except for John.”

“John deserved his accolades. None of them were gifts. He was an extremely talented man. I felt lucky to be married to him.”

“There was a big difference between John and Bill. My brother was modest, almost to a fault. He gave most of his awards to the high school, all of his championship trophies and stuff. A lot of them were still there in the display case until they tore the old building down. I don’t know where they are now.” He wagged his index finger at Liz. “But you can’t say that about John. He was a glory hog. Go on, admit it!”

Liz crossed her arms and turned away for a moment.

“I thought so,” he said smugly.

“That doesn’t mean you should try to tear him down in front of Zach. Let Zach work that out for himself. Besides, for the most part, John was a positive role model for him. He was a successful man, and a good father and a good husband, up until the end.

“A good husband?” He lifted his eyebrows. “The way I saw it, it was all about John, all the time.”

“That’s not true.”

“Oh, really? You’re the one who had to give up her yoga class so John could play adult league basketball and softball and everything else. And I seem to remember that you wanted to start working on your master’s degree, but John didn’t want you to because he would’ve had to stay home every night and look after Zach.”

“We decided that we didn’t need the extra money I would get from an advanced degree.”

“Bull. You didn’t want it for the money, you wanted it because you’re motivated, because that’s the kind of person you are. Or were. I’m not sure what you are now. An apologist for your late husband, I guess.”

“That’s not fair. I gave up things for my husband, sure, but so did Mom. She gave up her career for you, so she could raise Will and me. Seems like the same situation.”

“Things were different back in those days, and it wasn’t much of a career. She was a bank teller.”

“So? She could’ve gotten promotions. She could be a vice president by now.”

“They didn’t promote women much at banks back then. And we didn’t really need the money because I was working at the mill, and I was making a good salary. That’s what your mother wanted, so that’s what we did.”

“Well, that’s what John and I wanted, too. We had things worked out, and we had a good marriage. He was a good provider, up until the last year, and a loving, faithful husband.”

“Think so? Are you sure he was going to play basketball or whatever, all those nights he stayed out ’till ten?”

“Really? That’s not what you told your mother. You might not have mentioned anything about it during your phone calls with me, but you told your mother a different story.”

She felt her face grow warm, and she was suddenly too rattled to answer.

“I thought so. Your mother and I talked. I know about your problems with that so-called perfect husband, so don’t tell me I can’t criticize—”

The back door burst open and Zach poked his head inside. “Mom, do we have any more tennis balls? I threw the other one in the bushes, and I can’t get to it.”

“In the drawer beside you. There are two more left in the pack.”

Zach pulled it open, grabbed another ball and went outside again.

Liz sighed as she watched him go. “I guess we need to cut those shrubs back soon. They’re badly overgrown.”

“I’ll need help with those, because there are a lot of them. Put it on one of your lists.” Her father stood with his plate and drinking glass in his hand and walked to the sink.

Liz picked hers up, too, grateful that the conversation was over.

Early the next morning, Liz stood on the sidewalk by the street with her hands on her hips and a frown on her face, and considered the front of her house. It still looks awful. The shrubs no longer blocked the windows, but now they were leafless, cut back so far that they resembled waist-high skeletons. Her father had assured her they would start to “green up” again, as he put it, by mid-July, but right now, they looked dead.

The whole house looks dead. I wish I could afford to have it painted, but that wouldn’t be smart, right now. In her mind, the list of projects changed, and the priorities reordered themselves. She decided to have her home pressure-washed as soon as her father could get his friend over to do it. She could do something about the porch, though, on her own.