Kristopher Reisz - The Drowned Forest

We carry the stuff to the community hall storeroom, then head outside again. Everyone’s full of chicken and starting to droop, so nobody’s going to work too hard except the kids playing tag. People lounge around, visiting. Boys tease girls.

Tyler says, “I don’t see Pastor Wesley.”

“Probably in his office. Come on.” But then manic Hannah Marie rushes up, squeezing Tyler around the middle. “Hey! You played so great today!”

Ashley, Jonathan, and Brooke come up behind her. “You’re getting sunburned,” Ashley tells me.

“Yeah.” I touch the stinging skin around my eyes. I don’t care about this, I don’t care, don’t care. But I have to smile and make-believe everything’s okay. “You are too, a little.”

“Am I?” Ashley looks up, trying to see her own forehead. That makes Jonathan laugh, and Ashley smacks him.

“So how have you been?” Jonathan asks.

“Good.” I nod. “Pretty good.”

“Good, good. That’s real good.” He nods back. “But listen, uh, we were wondering about the winter mission trip. Weren’t you sort of in charge of that before … you know.”

“Yeah. I still am.” Go! Please, God, just make them go! “It’s the first weekend in December. I haven’t sent out an email, but I will.”

“Cool. Are we building another house?”

“We’re going to try for two this time.”

“Two? Seriously?”

“Yeah, but we’re going to get some help from another youth group down from … Ardmore, I think. I’ll have more details when I send the email. I’ll get to it soon, promise.” I force a smile, looking for a chance to edge away. But now Hannah Marie is boxing with Tyler, throwing punches into his open palms and trying to get him to say he’ll go on the trip with us.

“Remember we put on that skit last year and you were the CSI guy? That was so much fun!”

“Yeah, I … I just … I don’t know.”

“Tyler, please come.” Hannah Marie stops boxing, weaves her skinny fingers into his thick ones. “I know, with Holly and all, you feel like you’re alone right now.”

“That’s not—” He tries to pull his hands free, but she clings to him.

“You have to stop running from God and let Him catch up, you know?”

“Let go!” Tyler jerks free. Hannah Marie opens her mouth, but nothing comes out. A loud crash makes everybody jump.

Yuri has knocked over one of the terra-cotta planters. He studies the smashed pieces spilling dirt and hibiscus leaves across the walk.

“Yuri! That wasn’t—”

Yuri walks away, flapping one hand and raising a shrill whine. I catch his wrist. The whine goes higher, and he tries prying my fingers loose. He’s got a stomachache or he’s tired or maybe Tyler’s shout upset him, and he doesn’t want to be touched now.

“That wasn’t nice, Yuri.” I hold him as loosely as I can. “Did you eat too much?”

He quiets himself, still plucking at my fingers. “Leggo.”

Behind us, our friends have moved in. Tyler and Jonathan gather up the pottery shards. Brooke shoos a couple little kids back, but Yuri’s whine has brought Dad and some other grown-ups trotting around the corner.

“Oh no. Guys, I’m sorry. It didn’t hit anybody, did it? Tyler, let me do that.” Dad starts into the usual apologies, worn thin from daily use.

But we’re at church, so what’s to apologize for? These people have loved Yuri since our parents brought him home from Russia. He’s their brother in Christ, just like he’s mine by adoption.

I take Yuri to the steps to sit down, and he lets me hold his hand. I squeeze it, and he squeezes mine back. I squeeze his twice, and he squeezes mine twice. I squeeze his three times, and he squeezes mine three times. We play our favorite game, all the way up to eight squeezes, then Yuri loses count. I laugh. “Ha! I win, buddy!”

Yuri gives one of his bright toddler-laughs, eyes clamped shut with pleasure. He grows quiet again, and I lean close to smooth down his hair. I whisper, “Something’s happening. Something with Holly. And I don’t know what it is, and I’m scared.”

Yuri turns, and we watch the others clean up the dirt and broken planter. We’re at church. Church is not a doctrine; it’s not a pretty building. Church is anywhere a nineteen-year-old who can’t tie his shoes brings out the best in people.

We’re at church, and I shouldn’t feel as lonely as I do. I shouldn’t be lost inside my own head all the time talking to you. I need to let these people help me, Holly. Pastor Wesley is a Godly man. He’ll see the truth in this. He’ll see the signs and know what to do.

Maybe God is trying to show me that, acting through the one sinless soul here.

I stand up to kiss Yuri’s temple, telling him, “I love you.” His serene expression doesn’t change. He studies me with those sweet brown eyes, irises so dark they blend with the pupil. He has the prettiest lashes I’ve ever seen on a boy.

As soon as Dad gets the dirt swept off the walk, I walk up to him, leading Yuri. “He’s probably just tired. If you want to take him home, I can finish helping out here, and Tyler’ll give me a ride home later. I bet Faye’s worn out too.”

“Well … ” Dad looks at Yuri, then Tyler. “You don’t mind?”

“Huh? No. No, be happy to,” Tyler stammers, caught off-guard by my surprise move.

“Well … yeah. Probably for the best.”

We round up Tim and Faye. Lifting Faye into her car seat, Mom slips me a crisp twenty. “Why don’t you and Tyler get some coffee or something afterward?”

“Sure. Thanks.” They’re glad I’m catching up with Tyler, glad I’m doing anything besides sleeping all day and eating dinner in my room. I keep my happy face on and wave goodbye as Dad pulls out of the parking lot.

Once they’re gone, we head back to the community hall, this time heading straight upstairs, passing empty offices and the Sunday school classroom. The puppet theater is still in the corner. Remember putting on goofy shows for just each other? I bet it’s the same puppets piled behind there: Mother Goose, one little pig, and the threadbare wolf.

Pastor Wesley’s door is open, but he’s on the phone. He smiles when he sees us, waves us in, then turns back to his conversation. “Absolutely, but our secretary can give you a better answer on that … uh-huh … uh-huh … ”

I flex my fingers, twist my feet into the lush blue carpet, getting anxious.

Hanging up, Pastor Wesley scribbles a note on his desk calendar. “Tyler, you were incredible today,” he says without looking up.

“Thanks … thank you, sir.”

“I meant to tell you at the park, but I got tied up. But really, you amazed me.”

I don’t know anybody besides Pastor Wesley who pronounces the period at the end of each sentence. At least I hear it in my head, like the bang of a gavel, opinion becoming fact and the end of all argument.

“Sit, guys, sit. Jane, how are you?”

“Good. Um, we actually need to talk to you about Rivercall. About that catfish.”

He lets out a two-tone whistle. “What do you think it was? Ninety pounds? A hundred?”

“Well, it was pretty big. Plus, also, it had Holly’s ring in its mouth.”

Pastor Wesley stares at us. “Holly … Alton?”

I nod. “It dropped it onto the rocks. Like it was delivering it. And it … ”

Tyler is rubbing his thumb across the ring. I nudge him, and he sets it on Pastor Wesley’s desk. “It says HELP ,” Tyler finishes for me. “See?”

Pastor Wesley picks up the ring, sets it down again. His eyes are blank; his mouth is a straight, thin line. He asks me, “You were good friends with Holly, weren’t you?”

“Uh … yes, sir. She was my best friend.”