The distilled thread of television reaches them from one or the other of the houses. At the moment Roy and Nathan each seem alien to those clusters of rooms. But still there is some mistrust in Roy, some hidden resistance. They glance about. Nathan begins a step past the older boy. He can already feel the ground beneath his feet.
"Maybe you ought to come to my house tonight," Roy says.
Nathan hesitates, a split second. Too long to pretend he did not hear. "I don't think I can."
Because Roy is watching, Nathan has no choice but to head into the kitchen. He can feel Roy's eyes on his back the whole walk across the yard.
Mom freezes at the sink. Nathan softly closes the door. He says hello. After a moment she answers.
There is stillness. There is the monotone buzz of the Frigidaire. There is Mom's narrow back, the neat bow of her apron. There is the smell, antiseptic, of a freshly cleaned house. There is the neat kitchen, which lays itself out neatly in perpendiculars, squares, rectangles, diamonds. There is her voice, hardly audible, saying his supper will be ready soon. There is, pervasive, her fear, and its orbital chill permeates Nathan. There is also, suddenly, a past surrounding them both, resonant with the memories Nathan normally resists, the white spaces of time in which his Dad falls on him like snow. While Mother, adjacent, allows.
Now they cannot face each other, the mother and son. The rupture between them blossoms. Nathan heads upstairs, changes his clothes for the night. He is trembling for no reason.
He sits down to early supper in the kitchen, long before Dad comes home. She sets a plate before him, leaves the room. Her soft weight settles into a chair in the living room, followed by the whisper of Bible pages sliding across one another.
After supper he carries his plate to the sink. The sound alerts her to the end of his meal, but she remains out of sight, in that room where Nathan rarely ventures. For a moment, he wishes she would come and offer him something. Vague but comforting. He wishes she would come but she remains there. He eases out the back door into the night.
The house recedes. One by one his connections are falling away.
Tonight he does not even think about staying indoors. He carries his quilts out the back door brazenly. He wanders along the pond and by sunset he arrives in the Kennicutt graveyard with his coat and blankets. He sits at the base of the obelisk, the place where Roy first brought him, in sight of the stone angel with its chubby thighs. Listening to the wind, he warms himself under the quilts.
Tonight seems a little warmer than before. He sits quietly, the quilts heavy around his shoulders. He is more tired than he realizes and dozes suddenly, a burst of unconsciousness almost like an enchantment; and when he wakens, footsteps are crashing through the leaves and a shadow crosses his face.
In a panic, thinking Dad has found him, he rises, clutching the quilts. But the hands that take his shoulders are Roy's. Roy emerges out of darkness, they are facing each other. Uncomprehending, Roy. Looking Nathan up and down, astonished and then afraid. "How long have you been sitting out here?"
The decision to answer requires a moment of focus. "Since after supper."
Tree frogs are singing. The tenor of the birds has changed a little, the cries seem harsher tonight. The occasional cricket resounds. A mild October has yet to finish summer off. The two boys stand together in the sound of night. Warmth spreads through Nathan, and he can feel Roy's body yielding toward him.
They sit close on the blanket, without speaking. Their quiet draws them closer.
"You were out here last night too, weren't you?"
The memory is distant. "I got on the bus after a while."
They each reflect on the landscape. Roy asks no more questions. For a long time he cannot bring himself to look at Nathan at all, but Nathan waits.
Dad has been home a long time now. Nathan spots the dark shape of his car at its usual mooring. The cloud of his presence hangs over the house. But the fact of Roy makes the fact of Dad less fearsome, suddenly; Nathan contemplates the change with grave curiosity. He leans against Roy, who allows him closer.
They sit quietly for a long time. Finally Roy moves his mouth close to Nathan's ear. "I got to go inside pretty soon. My parents will be wondering where I am."
"It's okay. I'll be fine."
"You can't stay out here."
"Yes, I can."
Hesitation. Roy considers one question, refuses it, something helpless in his expression. "You should come to my house."
Nathan shakes his head. "Your parents will send me home."
Silence. Roy is wondering whether to ask what's wrong, Nathan can tell. But he rejects the notion, he is afraid to know. They stick to the practical.
"You can sleep in the barn tonight, I'll show you a place."
