I squinted at her and smiled.
“You are the one I saw in the woods that night. On the road? With the deer?” She started to raise her voice. “Don’t you remember? I saw you on the road with those other boys. It must have been eight or nine years ago by now. You’re all grown up and everything, but you’re that little boy, no doubt. I was worried about you.”
“I don’t know what you are talking about, ma’am.” I turned to go, but she grabbed my arm.
“It is you. I cracked my head on the dashboard when I hit the deer, and I thought you were a dream at first. You came out of the forest—”
I yelped a sound that hushed the room, a pure raw cry that startled everyone, myself included. I did not realize my capacity for such an inhuman noise still existed. My mother intervened.
“Let go of my son,” she told her. “You’re hurting his arm.”
“Look, lady,” I said, “I don’t know you.”
My father stepped into the middle of the triangle. “What is this all about?”
The woman’s eyes flashed in anger. “I saw your boy. One night I was driving home from the country, and this deer jumped right onto the road in front of my car. I swerved to miss her, but I clipped her with my bumper. I didn’t know what to do, so I got out of the car to see if I could help.”
She shifted her attention from my father and began addressing me. “From the woods comes this boy, about seven or eight years old. Your son. And he startled me more than the deer did. Out of nowhere, walks right up to the deer like the most natural thing in the world; then he bent down to its mouth or nose or whatever you call it. Hard to believe, but he cupped his hand over her muzzle, and breathed. It was magic. The deer rolled off her side, unfolded her legs, stood, and sprang off. The most incredible thing that’s ever happened to me.”
I realized then that she had experienced an encounter. But I knew I had not seen her before, and while some changelings are willing to inspire wild animals, I never engaged in such foolishness.
“I got a real good look at the boy in my headlights,” she said, “although not so good at his friends in the forest. It was you. Who are you really?”
“I don’t know her.”
My mother, riveted by her story, came up with an alibi. “It can’t be Henry. Listen, he ran away from home when he was seven years old, and I didn’t let him out of my sight for the next few years. He was never out by himself at night.”
The intensity melted from the woman’s voice, and her eyes searched for a sign of faith. “He looked at me, and when I asked him his name, he ran away. Since that night I’ve wondered . . .”
My father spoke in a gentle tone he seldom used. “I’m sorry, but you must be mistaken. Everybody has a double in the world. Maybe you saw someone who looked a bit like my son. I’m sorry for your troubles.” She looked into his eyes, searching for affirmation, but he offered only the solace of his calm demeanor. He took the red coat from her arm and held it open for her. She slipped inside it, then left the room without a word, without looking back. In her wake trailed the remnants of anger and anxiety.
“Did you ever?” my mother asked. “What a story. And to think that she’d actually have the nerve to say it.”
From the corner of my eye, I could see my father watching me, and the sensation unnerved me. “Can we go now? Can we get out of here?”
When we were all in the car and out of the city, I announced my decision. “I’m not going back there. No more recitals, no more lessons, no more strangers coming up to me with their wild stories. I quit.”
For a moment, I thought my father would drive off the road. He lit a cigarette and let Mom take over the conversation.
“Henry, you know how I feel about quitting. . . .”
“Did you hear what that lady said?” Mary chimed in. “She thought you lived in the woods.”
“You don’t even like to stand next to a tree.” Elizabeth laughed.
“This isn’t about your feelings, Mom, but mine.”
My father stared at the white line in the middle of the road.
“You are a sensitive boy,” my mother continued. “But you can’t let one woman with one story ruin your life. You don’t mean to tell me you’re going to quit eight years of work on the basis of a fairy tale.”
“It isn’t the woman in the red coat. I’ve had enough. Gone as far as I can go.”
“Bill, why don’t you say something?”