second was a silver frame for the picture of his father. He proudly put it on top of the bookshelf as the centerpiece of his room. She stared at the photograph. A moment frozen in black and white. Christopher’s father smiling next to the Christmas tree. That was one of the good days.
Kate lay there for twenty minutes, listening to her son read his book, his voice as soft as the rain outside. When they were done, she kissed his cheek and tucked him into bed for sleep.
“Christopher…you bought your mother a house. Do you know who does that?”
“No.”
“Winners do that.”
And with that, she turned off his light with a “One two three…ah-choo!” Then, she went down to the kitchen. After a couple of swigs of beer on the rocks, she started to tackle her bedroom. Her very own bedroom. Other than a few years with her husband, she’d never known a safe home in her entire life.
And now she was giving one to her son.
When she finally unpacked the last of her clothes, she realized that they only filled up one-third of her walk-in closet. Normally, Kate Reese would wait for the other shoe to drop. But this was heaven. Sheer heaven. She retraced every decision, every moment that led to her standing in her very own house listening to the clouds drop rain on her roof.
She felt like it couldn’t have worked out any better if someone had planned it.
Chapter 19
Christopher was curled up in his Bad Cat sleeping bag. He listened to the pitter-pat rain, and he felt warm and toasty. The moonlight winked through the streaks of rain on the bay window, casting little shadows on his new bookshelf and picture of his dad. His mom said he could paint his walls any color he wanted because they never had to worry about getting a security deposit back ever again. He told her he wanted blue with clouds. Like the sky. Or Mr. Ambrose’s eyes.
Without a sound, Christopher got out of his sleeping bag.
He walked to the bay window and climbed up. He sat there, cross-legged, looking out over his backyard. With the tire swing. And the big field perfect for baseball with the guys.
And the Mission Street Woods.
A streak of lightning broke across the sky. The rain leaving impressions of itself on the glass like tears down a windshield. In CCD, someone said that rain is God’s tears. He wondered if Noah’s Ark was from anger.
Or God’s sobbing.
Christopher opened the bay window. He looked up and saw the clouds. Little drops of rain fell on the ledge. They were cold on his cheeks, rosy and red. He sat there for half an hour just looking and listening, feeling special and happy. There was something familiar about the clouds. He just couldn’t remember what. But they felt like they were smiling. And Christopher smiled back.
It wasn’t a voice. It was the wind. It was a whisper. Not like a voice. Like an impression of a voice. Christopher didn’t hear it so much as remember someone saying it to him. But it was there. It was coming from the woods.
Asking him to come.
Christopher grabbed his boots and red hoodie off the floor. He quickly glanced at his father framed in silver. Then, he opened his bedroom door. He looked down the hallway. His mother’s room was dark. He tiptoed down the staircase and walked through the kitchen. There was no cookie smell anymore.
Christopher opened the sliding glass door to the backyard. The fog was thicker now, but he could still make out the trees swaying in the breeze. It was soothing to him. Like a lullaby or the nice side of the pillow.
His feet hit the wet, cold grass. He walked through the fog, past the tire swing, to the very edge of his backyard. He looked back at his house. He saw the log cabin across the street. Every window was dark. Then, he turned back to the trees. And there it was. One foot away.
The Mission Street Woods.
Christopher watched them. The trees swaying all pretty and bare and still. Like arms waving in church. Back and forth. Back and forth. He couldn’t see anyone, but he could feel them there. And he could smell the baseball-glove smell even though his baseball glove was packed in the living room in a box.
“Are you there?” Christopher finally whispered.
The trees rustled. He heard the sounds of twigs crackling. Christopher’s ears turned red. He knew he should have been