iv.
He had gone outside to warm up the Jeep in the driveway, leaving the motor idling in the bitter cold. In the clutter of the mudroom, Tim stomped his feet and clapped his gloved hands to get the blood flowing. The cross-country skis in the corner rattled, his breath exploded in white clouds, and the windows were laced with frost. He made a mental note to go round in the next few days to the rest of the summer houses to make sure the heat had been turned on low for the season. Nothing worse than frozen pipes bursting in the thaw. Winter was a-coming. Hell, it was already here. A single step separated the mudroom from the kitchen, and out of habit, he kicked the riser to knock the sand and dirt from the treads of his shoes before entering the house proper. The boy was already waiting for him, mittens and hat and boots, wrapped like a mummy in his overcoat and scarf.
“All bundled up and ready to go? All we need do is put a few stamps on your forehead, and we could mail you home.”
Nick waddled forward a few paces and was nearly to the door when he was stopped by a tug on his sleeve. “Will you be back?” Jip asked.
“Of course. I’ll come by one day after school same as always, and then we’ll have the whole week after Christmas. I’ll stay over.”
“How many nights?”
“From the day after Christmas to New Year’s Day.”
“Would you stay, Nick? Would you stay if your parents shipwrecked?”
Mrs. Keenan stepped between the boys. “That’s a terrible thing to say, Jack.” She turned her back on her son. “Now, don’t you go worrying about that. Your parents will be fine.”
“They can swim,” said Jack. “But not in the cold. Don’t go swimming in the cold water, Nick.”
The flat order seemed to bother him, and Nick hesitated before answering. “I won’t. It’s too cold. Feel the window.”
Laying the flat of his palm against a windowpane, Jip smiled at the sensation. Tim put his hand next to his son’s. “What do you think, Jip? Below freezing?”
“Cold enough to snow. Cold enough to ice. Be careful driving, Daddy.” He studied their translucent reflections in the glass and traced the shape of Nick’s face with one fingertip. “Okay, you can go now.”
In the old days when he went about outdoors, Jip often walked the path along Shore Road and up and over the granite rocks at Mercy Point to Nick Weller’s house on the other side. They would gambol like billy goats on the rocks and while away many empty summer days. It was not more than a mile by foot, though the boys were only allowed to make the trip during daylight and in fair weather. By car, one had to dogleg inland to drive around the headlands and the cliffs, and the roundabout way turned it into a three-mile drive. Not that Tim minded the ten or fifteen minutes spent bringing Nick home. He was grateful that the boy still came over after all these years, putting up with Jip’s strangeness, providing a connection to the outside world, a semblance of normalcy.
As if things were ever normal. Maybe, once upon a time, when he was a brand-new baby and would return a smile. That was the first sign, surely, that something was wrong when his reaction to every cootchy-coo was listless. He wasn’t as closed off as some of the other boys Holly and Tim had met in those damned support groups. He talked where others were lost in silence or trapped in a handful of words or sounds. He could bear, with warning, to be touched, although this morning’s incident gave Tim some doubts. It’s a spectrum, the shrinks had said, and Jip was on the high-functioning end, but even so, it was far from normal to refuse to set foot outdoors, far from normal to live so deeply inside the mind. But Nick didn’t seem to care, or perhaps his sense of loyalty trumped his aversions. Tim clamped a hand on his shoulder and led him into the cold.
The boy climbed into the Jeep and buckled his seat belt. A wave of longing flowed through Tim as he watched the boy ready for travel. Polite, obedient, a bit on the shy side, but mostly just an ordinary boy. Tim checked his emotions and shifted into reverse. “On the road again,” he sang as the Jeep rolled down the driveway to Shore Road. The winter sky was filled with stars and a half-moon pulling the tides. They glided as quiet and alone as a ship on the sea.
“Sorry about that scene with the picture,” Tim said. “You know Jip. Sometimes he can’t find the words.”
“Don’t worry, Mr. Keenan.”
“Do they still teach art in school? Do they still teach you kids how to draw?”