The World More Full of Weeping Read Free Page A

flatly. “We . . . He’s going to be moving
in with me in the summer. Starting school in Vancouver in
the fall. He didn’t want to — doesn’t want to . . .”
    Dean stared at Diane for a moment, then back at Jeff. He
pursed his lips as he made another note on the clipboard.
Jeff willed himself not to look at his ex-wife.
    â€œSo what can you tell me about the woods?” Dean asked,
breaking the awkward silence.
    â€œYou probably remember,” Jeff started, finally daring a
glance at Diane. She had turned away, and was staring at the
ground. He recognized the biting of her lower lip, the way
she tried to keep from crying. “It hasn’t changed much.”
    When they were younger, Jeff and Dean and a bunch
of the other kids used to rule the woods behind the house,
building forts out of hollow trees, waging war on one
another, and building traps for anyone who might come
looking for them.
    Dean half-smiled. “I’ve been in a lot of forests since
then,” he said. “They really do all start to look the same.”
    Jeff felt fleetingly chastised as he turned toward the
forest. The air was dimming, growing heavy and thick as
the sun touched the horizon behind them.
    â€œWe’ve got about twenty-five acres.” He gestured. “From
fence line to fence line. But the woods keep going, down
past John and Claire’s place that way, past young Tom’s
over there. There’s an old fence marking the property line
on both ends of our share. Brian’s not supposed to cross
the fence.”
    Dean looked at him dubiously.
    â€œYeah.” Jeff shook his head. “And the fence was in pretty
bad shape the last time I checked.”
    In the quiet afternoon distance he heard an engine.
Engines.
    â€œAnd how far back does it go?”
    â€œAll the way,” Diane answered, almost in a whisper.
    â€œThere’s an old logging road a ways back,” Jeff clarified.
“But after that, it meets up with the bush at the foot of the
mountain.” His voice trailed off. “Brian’s not supposed to
cross the logging road.”
    Diane looked at him.
    â€œHe knows that.”
    She shook her head.
    â€œHe wouldn’t.”
    There was a crunching of gravel under wheels as the
trucks turned into the driveway.
    â€œHere they are,” Dean said, turning away.

    â€œHi.” Brian smiled back, a little awkwardly. Not only was he
surprised to have someone else in his own private world,
he felt a bit shy talking to girls at the best of times. “I’m
Brian.”
    He didn’t know if he should try to shake her hand or what.
“What are you doing?” she asked, stepping closer to him.
“Collecting samples,” he said, as if it should have been obvious. He was a bit confused by how she was dressed: her
long, dark dress didn’t seem too suited for tramping around
in the woods. “Do you live around here?” he asked, thinking
that she reminded him of the Dutch girls from the bigger
farms he had seen walking to the Christian school from the
bus window, all of them wearing grey dresses, their heads
covered with white cloths. She didn’t have anything on her
head, but Carly had that same old-fashioned look, the same
pale skin.
    â€œNo, I’m just staying here for a while. What do you do
with your samples?”
    He remembered the long spoon in his left hand. “Here,
I’ll show you.”
    Leaning against the mossy side of a fallen tree, Brian
unzipped his backpack and pulled out the wooden case. He
set it on the log and flipped open the catches.
    â€œWhat’s that?” Carly asked, looking over his shoulder.
    â€œIt’s a microscope,” he said, setting it mostly flat on the
log. “My dad gave it to me. It’s pretty old.”
    â€œWhat do you do with it?”
    â€œI’ll show you,” he repeated. He slid a slide from the
package and prepared it with a drop of the scummy