The Truth of Me (4 page)

There is the thin sound of a place far away on the line. I know who it is.

“Robert?”

My mother's voice comes into my ear.

“Hello.”

“How are you?” she asks.

“I'm fine.”

There's a pause.

“And how's Maddy?”

“She's fine.”

Another pause.

“Well, your father and I are very busy.”

She sounds shy, as if talking on the phone is hard for her.

Another pause.

“I heard you play,” I say.

“The Schubert?” asks Mother, suddenly more interested.

“I knew it was you,” I say. “I knew the sound of your violin. I miss it,” I say softly.

My mother is not interested in that.

“How did I sound?” she asks.

I close my eyes. There is silence, except for that sad sound of no one talking.

“I mean that I'm glad you knew it was me playing,” says my mother suddenly, trying to be kind.

“I miss you,” I say very softly.

I wait for her to say she misses me.

I wait until I realize that she's not going to say it.

“Robert?” she says.

“I can't hear you,” I say. “I think the connection isn't good.”

“Robert?”

Very quietly, I hang up the phone.

I go out to where Maddy waits.

“It was my mother,” I say. “Let's go.”

Maddy looks at me for a moment, then silently, neither of us talking, we pull the wagon up through the grasses, on a path through the woods, up to the top of the hill. Ellie noses my hand once as if to remind me she's there.

It is beautiful at the top of the hill. The sun is setting, leaving a rose sky. We set up the tent together in a clearing. Maddy builds a small campfire in a stone pit, and we eat our food. There are two logs to sit on. I stare at the logs, remembering Maddy's story about eating corn bread with a bear, both of them sitting on a log. But I don't ask Maddy about it. Ellie curls up next to the fire after she eats. The air feels good. The woods have a sweet smell.

“I don't want to talk about my mother's call,” I say to Maddy.

“Neither do I,” says Maddy.

I almost smile.

When we're tired, we both go into the dome tent and go to sleep. Ellie curls up next to me, her hound body shaped to my body.

It is the next day, early morning, when the animals come.

I
wake early. Maddy is still sleeping. A slice of first light comes through the tent door, but the sun hasn't come up. I put my hand over to touch Ellie. She isn't there.

Very quietly I slide from my sleeping bag and look out of the tent.

And there is Ellie, sitting quietly. Just behind her a deer and a fawn are grazing. On the log are two raccoons eating something. A rabbit, then another, then two more come out of the woods. Chipmunks race after each other in the underbrush. Ellie sits there very silently. Once her tail wags. The animals don't seem to see her. Or if they do, they don't mind.

I slide back into the tent and touch Maddy's shoulder. She looks up right away. I don't speak, but Maddy sees me looking out of the tent. She crawls from her sleeping bag and looks, too.

“Oh, yes,” she says softly. “Look at that good dog. Just look at her.

“Good work, Robbie,” whispers Maddy.

“Good work, Maddy,” I whisper back.

We watch for a while, then quietly come out of the tent. I wait for the animals to run off.

But the animals stay.

I sit on the other end of where the raccoons sit, listening to them eat and chatter.

I hear the breathing of animals.

Ellie comes over for me to pat her.

The sun comes up, spreading light.

The deer raise their heads to see it.

But the animals stay.

“Want to camp again tonight?” asks Maddy.

Maddy has scrambled eggs in a black frying pan over the fire. Ellie has eaten her breakfast.

“Yes,” I say.

Maddy nods and I grin.

“What's funny?”

“You're beginning to nod like Henry.”

Maddy nods again.

We both laugh.

“When you spend time with people, you begin to act like them. And think like them sometimes,” says Maddy.

“I plan to act and think like you,” I say.

Maddy is silent.

She blinks her eyes, and I think she is trying not to cry.

Ellie gets up and stands between us, waiting for whatever food is left. The animals have gone with the sun—disappearing into the cool, dark woods.

We come off the mountain in the afternoon. We leave the tent up, with the sleeping bags inside. Maddy and I each take a handle of the food basket and walk down the hill.

“I can't wait to tell Henry about the animals,” I say.

“Henry won't believe it,” says Maddy. “He doesn't think it's true.”

I look at Maddy for so long that she finally looks back at me over the basket.

“The truth is, Henry doesn't care if it's true,” I tell her. “He told me he likes you the way you are.”

This time Maddy can't blink the tears away. I pretend I don't see.

But Ellie looks up, watching Maddy. When Maddy doesn't look at Ellie, she nudges her hand with her nose. Ellie does it again. And again, until finally Maddy reaches over to stroke Ellie's head.

W
hen we get to Maddy's house, Henry is sitting on the bench by the garden.

“Where have you two been?”

“Camping. We saw animals,” I tell Henry. “I sat with raccoons.”

Henry raises his eyebrows.

“Really.”

“Really.”

“The door is open,” says Maddy.

“Your door is always open, Maddy. I like the sun. Do you know you have a little rabbit eating your lettuce?”

“I do,” says Maddy. “That's Peter. He comes through a little space I made in the fence at the far end.”

“Peter?” I say. “You mean Peter Rabbit?”

Henry and I burst out laughing.

Ellie goes over to Henry for ear scratching.

“Eleanor,” says Henry.

“How's Cranky Tom?” asks Maddy.

Henry shakes his head.

“Cranky. Not good since Rufus died.”

“Why don't you take Ellie over for a visit?” says Maddy.

Henry looks at Ellie closely for a moment, then at me.

“Would you do something for me, Kiddo?”

“Sure. What?”

“I have an old patient that I call Cranky Tom. His dog, Rufus, died two weeks ago. Tom's missing him. Would you bring Ellie to visit him? I think it would help. We can walk there.”

“Sure. Ellie can make anyone feel better,” I say.

“Go ahead,” says Maddy. “I'll clean up and get things ready for tonight.”

“What's tonight?” asks Henry.

“Camping,” Maddy and I say together.

“I see.”

“Want to come?” I ask Henry.

“Of course not,” says Henry, making Maddy laugh.

Henry and Ellie and I walk down the road to Tom's house.

“Raccoons?” asks Henry.

“Raccoons,” I say.

We come to a small house set back from the road.

“Here we are,” says Henry. “Cranky Tom's house.”

We walk up the dirt driveway. Henry opens the door.

“Tom?” he calls.

“What?”

“I've come with a visitor. Two visitors.”

“I don't like visitors.”

Henry smiles at me.

“You'll like these visitors,” he says.

He beckons me into the house.

In the living room is a very old man, sitting in a very old chair.

“What?” says the man.

“This is Kiddo,” says Henry. “Meet Tom.”

“What kind of name is Kiddo?”

“It's my name for him,” says Henry.

“My name is Robert,” I say.

“I knew a Robert once. He was very bad.”

“I'm not him,” I say.

Tom laughs for a long time.

“And this is Ellie,” I say.

Tom peers at Ellie, and his face changes.

“Oh, lovely. Here, Ellie.”

Ellie walks over to Tom.

He scratches her behind an ear. He strokes her head.

“She has hound in her,” Tom says. “Look at that beautiful face.”

Tom stops patting her, and Ellie puts her head on his knees.

“Oh, nice girl,” says Tom. “My dog's name was Rufus.”

“Better name than Robert,” I say.

Tom laughs again. Then he looks up at me.

“I miss him,” he says softly.

“I would miss Ellie,” I say. “Would you like Ellie to visit you every day? We're staying at Maddy's house this summer. She's my grandmother.”

“I like Maddy. I like you. And I like Ellie. That would be nice,” says Tom.

I take a dog snack out of my pocket.

“You can give her this if you want. Be careful. Sometimes she thinks a finger is a snack.”

Tom feeds Ellie a snack.

“Rufus always bit me by mistake,” says Tom.

“We'll come again,” I tell Tom.

Tom looks closely at me.

“I'd like that.”

“So would I,” I say. “You're not cranky at all.”

Tom smiles.

“Oh, yes I am,” he says.

Henry, Ellie, and I walk back to Maddy's.

“Thanks, Kiddo.”

“You're welcome.”

“I wanted to take his blood pressure. I knew it would go down when he was petting Ellie. But I didn't want to disturb him. Remember that. Dogs are good for your blood pressure.”

I look up at Henry.

“I wish you would come camping with Maddy and me.”

“Maybe someday I will.”

We'd remember Henry's words later.

M
addy and I carry the food basket through the meadow, up the path through the woods, to the top of the hill.

Ellie jumps and twirls on the way up.

“She likes camping,” I say.

“So do I,” says Maddy.

“So do I,” I say.

It is late afternoon, and the light is flat, coming through the trees.

“What are we eating for dinner?” I ask.

“Hamburgers,” says Maddy. “I put in an ice pack. And buns and pickles and chips and sliced tomatoes and some of my baked beans with molasses. There are cookies. And corn bread,” she adds quickly.

“What?” I ask.

“Corn bread,” says Maddy.

“For breakfast?” I ask.

“Maybe,” says Maddy.

Our tent is there in the clearing.

I unzip the flap and make sure the lantern is inside with our sleeping bags.

“Maybe we'll see shooting stars tonight,” says Maddy. “I think we should sleep outside.”

“You mean here? Under the sky?”

“You'll like it. It's the only way to see shooting stars. I'll start the fire. I want it to burn down so we have some nice coals for cooking.”

Maddy starts a small fire and takes out the black frying pan.