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crotch of sturdy branches. Together they had pounded two-by-four rungs all the way up the tree. The underside of the base made a flat void against the sky. She could hear no sound coming from it. In fact, she could hear no sounds at all anymore. Not even the cicadas. It was as if somebody had suddenly switched off the nightwood audio. Maybe it was her presence. |
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Suddenly she could hear breathing. A raspy scraping. As she looked up the tree into the black, she said a silent prayer that at the end of this penny-dreadful nightmare she would not find her son dying of brain hemorrhage from whatever hideous condition had taken him over. |
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"Matty? Matty? It's me. Mom." |
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Her hand found a rung, she pulled herself onto it. Matty could climb to the top in less than ten seconds. They would stand at the bottom with his stop watch and laugh until her sides ached as Matty played monkey and shimmied up the tree. "Zero to TopTree in nine-point-four seconds," he would announce. "Another Guinness World Book record for Matthew Adam Hazzard." |
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She struggled to the top. |
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Matty was there, and he was not dead. |
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The sound of rough breathing came from the far corner. She pulled herself onto the platform. A shaft of moonlight fell onto a dark form on the floor opposite her. Because of the canopy she could only sense the lower part of his body. He appeared to be squatting in the corner facing her. |
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A momentary ruffle in his breathing. |
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She crawled to the left on hands and knees. Although she had not been up here for weeks, she knew the layout. Her old rattan clothes trunk was against the side rail beside a waterproof futon that Matty would sprawl out on and read. She opened the trunk and felt around and pulled out the battery-operated lantern they had given him last Christmas. (She could still smell the kerosene lamp he had picked |
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