She was too close. He could feel her breath on his face. So he sat up. I need more dip, he said, and he grabbed his plate and went for the table. They hadn’t played this game for months, and it seemed to him a strange game now. Sometimes they’d lie in front of the fireplace and whisper for hours. Inventing places and lives and telling secrets about people who didn’t exist. All his life they’d done that, but it felt creepy now. He didn’t know what it was. Maybe Jennifer calling him a mama’s boy. Or maybe seeing Jennifer up close. But something to do with Jennifer. Maybe because his mother and Jennifer were the same in some ways, separated only by age. He didn’t like to think about this. He was really creeping himself out.

Galen spooned more dip onto his plate and returned to the fireplace but this time sat on the wide stone front.

Are you enjoying your food? she asked. She was lying back on the rug, looking up at him.

Yes, he said, and he closed his eyes, focused on the chewing. The dip saltier than he had first noticed.

I’m glad, she said. I thought we’d have a nice treat since the terrible two aren’t here.

Galen tried to keep his focus on a carrot and the way it crunched in his teeth. He could feel it sever, all that solidity cracked through in an instant, a clue to how one might get the world to slip for a moment. Removal from the world. Distance. That was what he needed. It was awful how quickly he could forget that.

It was so nasty of Helen to pick a fight right before our trip. So like her. She’ll never let things just be good. She’s an unhappy person. She always has been.

What trip? Galen asked. He kept his eyes closed and tried to remain focused on his chewing.

We’re going to the cabin tomorrow.

Tomorrow?

Galen. I’ve had the trunk of the car packed for two days now. We’re leaving at eight.

Eight o’clock? Galen had his eyes open now. I hate getting up early.

It’s just one day. It won’t kill you.

But why? Why can’t we leave at noon? It’s only an hour and a half from here.

Galen.

Fine. Is Grandma coming?

Yes. Of course.

Is it true that everything goes to you in the will?

Who said that?

Helen.

Galen’s mother sat up, grabbed her plate, and walked into the kitchen. I don’t feel like talking about it, she said.

But Galen followed her in. And what about college? Is there money for college? Why was she asking for Jennifer?

His mother put her plate in the sink and ran the tap. Helen is in dreamland. She’s always been there.

But there is some way that Grandma or the trust could pay for college?

She shut off the tap and rested her hands on the sink. Look, she said. There are things written in the trust. That money can be used for medical expenses, or education, or even a house. Helen’s been trying for a house. She wants everything. But there’s not enough money for that. Mom may live another ten years, and that rest home is expensive.

How much money is there?

Galen.

I’m serious. How much money is there? Galen could feel the anger like a wave of heat. It was amazing how quickly it could come. He was standing behind his mother, looking down at the back of her neck. He was only inches away.

Stop, she said, and she walked out the back door, but Galen followed her onto the lawn. Leave me alone, she said. She looked frightened, and he felt suddenly how small she was, how frail. She was backing away from him.

I could have gone to college four years ago, he hissed. That’s what the trust is for. If it says it can be used for education, then that’s what it’s for. But you didn’t tell me. Because you want to keep it all for yourself.

Stop, Galen. You don’t understand. She was backing away toward the shed. She had her hands out, fending him off.

How much money is there? he yelled. How much fucking money?

Galen, you’re scaring me.

He growled and grabbed her by the shoulders, hard, pushed her back against the wall of the shed.

Help! she screamed. Someone help me!

Galen let go. What the fuck, he said. I’m not going to hurt you. What the fuck are you thinking? That I’d actually hurt you? I’m just trying to find out the truth. How much money are you hiding from us?

Galen couldn’t look at her. He walked back into the house and up to his room. He was shaking. He couldn’t believe she had thought he would hurt her. As if he were some kind of monster.

Chapter 7

In the morning, Galen couldn’t shake the feeling that his mother was the enemy. All his life, maybe. It was hard to tell how far back. When had she turned against him, and why?

He hadn’t been able to sleep. He’d wandered the orchard until some time past four. So getting up at seven was hell. He was a kind of ghost, but he didn’t have the energy to try to use that in some way. Packing didn’t make any sense. A mismatched bunch of clothing crammed into a duffel, and he put five new C batteries into his tape recorder, brought all his tapes. He brought the old spearfishing lance that had somehow become his, passed down from one of his mother’s men. Packed his pocketknife and binoculars and hiking compass. Hid several issues of Hustler in his clothing, and also packed Siddhartha, The Prophet, and Jonathan Livingston Seagull.

You can’t bring that, his mother said when he came downstairs with the lance.

I’m bringing it.

It won’t fit.

I’ll stick it out the window.

His mother was wearing an apron. She’d been making sandwiches, no doubt, probably up already for hours. Cabin trips were a very big deal for her. There’s nothing to spear, she said.

Trout, he said.

The trout in that creek are six inches long, Galen. If you’re lucky. And most of the water is less than a foot deep.

There are a few deeper holes.

You’re not bringing it.

Then I’m not going.

She walked away into the kitchen and came back with a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. Damn you, she said, and she threw the sandwich at him. A soft puff against his chest and it fell to the floor, separated. Peanut butter facedown, strawberry jam up.

You throw like a girl, he said, and he picked up the sandwich, put it together, and started eating.

She stood in front of him and cried. Shoulders slumped, head down, her hair curled, and wearing that apron. She just stood there and cried.

Normally he’d feel tremendously guilty and give her a hug. Normally he’d want to make things up to her. But something had changed. He didn’t like her. I don’t know who you think your audience is, he finally said, and he carried his lance out to the car.

The mafia showed up as he was packing his things away. Jennifer wearing a pink sweatshirt with the hood up, looking sleepy. Hard to believe she’d been so vicious. She looked soft and edible.

The air wasn’t too hot yet, but the sun was up and so bright Galen was squinting. He never saw this time of day. Everything pale, washed-out. No depth. A two-dimensional world, a cardboard cutout. The hedge and the walnut trees in the same vertical plane though they were a hundred feet apart. Galen reached out to try to fit his hand in the gap.

What are you doing? his aunt asked.

It looked for a second like I could touch where the hedge and trees meet.

Yeah, she said. I thought that was probably it. Maybe you should try again.

Galen put his hand down. His aunt made him feel like a stupid little boy, and he didn’t like that feeling.

What’s wrong? his aunt said. You were almost there. Go ahead and touch it.

Galen walked into the house, through the foyer and dining room into the kitchen. His mother was slumped in a kitchen chair. Can I help? he asked.

She didn’t look up but pointed at a picnic basket on the table. A wicker basket covered by a red-checked cloth, another perfect idea, the dream of a picnic basket. Galen picked it up and walked out to the car.