The afternoon wore on. She looked for feeders, but did not see any. She looked for Daniel and did not see him either. She remembered that she had forgotten to ask Pick if he was making any progress in the search for Bennett Scott’s cat, Spook. Leaves threw dappled shadows on the ground she walked across, and she imagined faces and shapes in their patterns. She found herself wondering about her father and her mother, both such mysterious figures in her life, so removed in time, almost mythical. She thought of Gran and her stubborn refusal to speak of them in any concrete way. A cold, hard determination grew inside her. She would make Gran tell her, she promised herself. She would force her to speak.
She walked to the base of the cliffs, staying back from where the caves tunneled into the rock. Pick had told her never to go there. He had made her promise. It wasn’t safe for her, he insisted. It didn’t matter that other kids explored the caves regularly and no harm came to them. Other kids couldn’t see the feeders. Other kids didn’t have use of the magic. She was at risk, and she must keep away.
She shook her head as she turned and began to walk up the roadway that led to the bluff. There it was again, she thought. The realization that she was different. Always different.
She reached the heights and turned toward the cemetery. She thought she might visit her mother’s grave. She had a sudden need to do so, a need to connect in some small way with her lost past. She crossed the road in front of the Indian mounds and turned in to the trees. The sun burned white-hot in the afternoon sky, its glare blinding her as she walked into it. She squinted and shaded her eyes with her hand.
Ahead, someone moved in the blaze of light.
She slowed in a patch of shade and tried to see who it was. At first she thought it was Two Bears, returned early for tonight’s visit. But then she saw it was a man in forest green coveralls, a maintenance employee of the park. He was picking up trash with a metal-tipped stick and depositing it into a canvas bag. She hesitated, then continued on. As she approached, he turned and looked at her.
“Hot one, isn’t it?” His bland face was smooth and expressionless, and his blue eyes were so pale they seemed almost devoid of color.
She nodded and smiled uncertainly.
“Off for a visit to the cemetery?” he asked.
“My mother is buried there,” she told him, stopping now.
The man placed the sharp tip of the stick against the ground and rested his hands on the butt. “Hard thing to lose a mother. She been gone a long time?”
“Since I was a baby.”
“Yeah, that’s a long time, all right. You know, I hardly remember mine anymore.”
Nest thought momentarily to tell him about the big oak, but then decided there was nothing he could do in any case, that it was better off in Pick’s capable hands.
“You still got your father?” the man asked suddenly.
Nest shook her head. “I live with my grandparents.”
The man looked sad. “Not the same as having a father, is it? Old folks like that aren’t likely to be around for too much longer, so you got to start learning to depend pretty much on yourself. But then you start to wonder if you’re up to the job. Think about one of these trees. It’s old and rugged. It hasn’t really ever had to depend on anyone. But then along comes a logger and cuts it down in minutes. What can it do? You catch my drift?”
She looked at him, confused.
The man glanced at the sky. “The weather’s not going to change for a while yet. Are you coming out for the fireworks Monday?”
She nodded.
“Good. Should be something. Fourth of July is always something.” His smile was vaguely mocking. “Maybe I’ll see you there.”
She was suddenly uneasy. Something about the man upset her. She wanted to move away from him. She was thinking that it was getting close to dinnertime anyway and she should be getting home. She would visit her mother’s grave that evening instead, when it was cool and quiet.