He'd make his father dinner. Oh, no gourmet dining to be sure-usually a chili dog with potato chips and maybe baked beans, the sort of stuff they always ate at the cabin. Then he'd take it up to the den, and he'd knock softly and his father would wake up and let him in. His father's law practice had pretty much gone to hell over the previous four months. He'd heard his father arguing bitterly with one of his partners on the phone about how his father wasn't carrying his load.
So, in the den they'd eat and watch TV shows, such as Perry Mason and Lawman and the Jack Benny and Andy Griffith programs. Both his father and he were big fans of Don Knotts. Whenever Don, as Barney, was called upon to hold down the fort while Andy was off doing something else, you just knew it was going to be a great episode.
And his father would try to explain. Ultimately he understood or thought he understood anyway. Impotence. 'Do you know what that means?' his father would ask. 'Sorta,' he'd say. 'Sorta.'
They'd been to doctors, and they'd been to psychiatrists, and they'd tried all sorts of methods and techniques, but it hadn't seemed to help. His mother started drinking then and saying that in some way it was her fault, and then things just kept getting worse and worse until now.
Sometimes his father would start drinking, too, and that was the worst, because his father was an even worse drinker than his mother. After several drinks he was like a stranger, angry and violent-his handsome face distorted in rage-smashing things up with his fists and always ending up on the couch crying, crying.
When his father got like this, all he could do was watch. His father's temper was so bad that he was afraid to go up to the man. Afraid of really getting hurt. Sometimes the booze would make his father more or less unconscious. When this happened, he'd turn off the light and stand in the doorway listening to his father snore and then he'd say, 'Good night, Dad. I love you.' Then he'd close the door and go to his own room.
He usually didn't sleep till his mother got home. Deep into the rolling black night he'd hear the T-bird's engine on the drive below and see the wash of its headlights across his window, and then he'd hear the automatic garage door go up.
She always came in and kissed him goodnight. She always smelled of hard liquor and what he would later recognize as the moist scent of sex. He always pretended to be asleep. He didn't know what to say to her. He wanted to say, 'You whore, you whore.' But he wasn't sure that was true. He didn't know if it was her fault his father was impotent… or if it was his father's fault.
Six weeks before school was to start, his father made things easy for everybody by driving his new Chrysler straight into a bridge abutment at more than ninety miles per hour. Officially the word was accident, but of course he'd been drunk, and of course he'd meant to do it.
Three weeks later the incident with Jessica took place in the woods.
He had no idea how she'd found his hiding place near the clay cliffs above the water. He was sitting in the shade of a clay overhang, trying to escape the ninety-six-degree heat, when he looked up, and there she was. Dressed in a T-shirt and cutoff Levi's and a pair of white tennis shoes. Hands on hips. Very bold.
'You probably didn't think I knew about this place, did you?'
He shrugged. 'Guess not.'
'Well, there're a lot of things I know.'
'Oh.'
He closed his eyes, willing her out of existence. The air was heavy with humidity and butterflies and mosquitoes and bluejays and wrens and robins. Close by, the air smelled of spruce and maple and redbud; of wild ginger and ginseng and bloodroot. He often wished he were a deer and could bound through the bluffs and caves and mineral springs; the lakes and gorges and forests. That was his most profound wish-even more than being like Steve McQueen or Marshall Matt Dillon-to be an animal, to appreciate nature and know nothing of the human heart.
'Is it all right if I sit down?' Jessica asked.
'Guess so.'
As she took two steps toward him, he realized again that Jessica was blooming suddenly. Small but distinct breasts played against the white cotton of her T-shirt, and her summer-tanned legs were getting long and shapely. Even her blue eyes had changed somehow-were more knowing, inscrutable. She used to be just a kid. But now she was something more than that, even if she wasn't quite a woman yet.
She brushed sand from a nearby rock and sat down. 'I haven't told you how sorry I am about your father.'
'Thanks.'
'I know how much you loved him.'
'Yeah.'
She watched him. 'You don't want to talk about it, do you?'
'Guess not.'
'Are you mad I came here?'
'Guess not.'
'I'm not trying to bug you.'
'I know.'
'You do?'
He looked at her. 'Yeah.'
After a time she said, 'My parents were wondering how your mother is.'
'She's doing all right.' Both of them were aware of the sudden anger in his voice. 'She's with that creep all the time.'
'My dad said that her boyfriend used to be a Viking. Is that true?'
'Yeah, but so what?'
'I was just asking. I didn't mean to make you mad.' He raised his eyes to hers again. 'Why don't you come over here?'
'What?'
'Come over here. Closer to me.'
'Really?' She sounded very young just then, as if she couldn't at all believe her good luck.
'Yeah.'
'How come?'
'You want to come over here or not?'
'Sure,' she said, and with not another word she raised her shapely bottom from the rock and plopped it next to him on the cool grass beneath the overhang.
But at the moment that her venerable dream was at last fulfilled, she found herself not knowing what to do.
For a long time they sat next to each other, silent. There was no more than half an inch between their bodies, but it might as well have been a yard.
Without any warning he slid his arm around her shoulder and pulled her to him. He kissed her directly on the mouth, lips closed.
He could feel her squirm like a joyous puppy against him and hear happy sounds deep down her windpipe. She was so happy, it was almost embarrassing.
'Oh, God,' she said when he took his face from hers. 'Oh, God.'
'Did you enjoy that?'
'Are you kidding? I loved that.' She hesitated, looked embarrassed. 'Did you enjoy it?'
'Guess so.'
'Couldn't you say it kinda better than that?'
'What?'
'You know, say it nice. Like, 'Boy, I really enjoyed that.' You know. Enthusiasm.'
'You know I enjoyed it.'
'Well, I'm glad.'
'You going to tell your parents?'
'Are you kidding? I'm only twelve.'
'You going to tell anybody else?'
