Begrudgingly, Dennis pointed.
“You have to be quiet,” he said.
Reggie obliged. He sat down comfortably next to Dennis and leaned against his shoulder. Dennis looked down at the intruding flesh but did not move away. It actually felt nice.
The two boys sat in the woods. It was very quiet. The air was oddly warm for winter, a gentle breeze stirring in the trees. The woods were spicy with the smells of pine and fir, and the licorice scent of ferns. The birds began to chirp. A woodpecker beat against a distant tree.
Under the red bush, there was a small shaking. Dennis held his breath.
The rabbit came out of her burrow. Her little nose was wet with dew.
“Oh,look,” Reggie whispered.
The rabbit hopped a few feet, and began to eat. Her little mouth chewed the grasses, and it was just like Dennis was being fed, down in his soul. All the pained, emptied places Martha had created were being refilled. Just looking at the rabbit filled him up.
Reggie’s entire body relaxed. Dennis felt his warm shoulder, and the lean of his head. A single hand lay against the worn gray of his pants.
“I call her Bunny,” Dennis whispered.
The rabbit looked up. Her eyes were very dark, like black discs of light. She resumed nibbling.
Reggie reached for his hand. Dennis put it back. The boy leaned against him some more, hungry for human comfort. They sat like that, watching the rabbit eat.
“We should go back,” Dennis whispered.
Rising slowly, they backed out of the trees, leaving Bunny filling her belly on the fresh, sweet grass. Leaning over, the two boys ran backto the center. They ran across the lawn, to the front porch, and darted in the door.
Martha was standing there.
Dennis felt his stomach drop.
But it wasn’t Dennis she was looking at.
It was Reggie.
“Just in time for your treatment,” she said.
15
The next morning, Larry called a child protective services worker he knew from his police days. Patty had driven a Harley—Larry remembered that. She had pulled up on calls with a teddy bear tied to her back seat. The children liked the motorcycle. It made Patty relatable. But the bear was the clincher.
Often the first responder on the scene, Larry had called Patty many times. He had called from drug houses where the walls were covered with pornography. He had called from outside closets where children had been tied up and muzzled. He had called, once, because a four-year-old girl had a telltale rash around her mouth. The rash turned out to be a venereal disease, and the one who had given it to her, her father.
Patty happened to be up the road in Seaside, visiting a sick uncle. She and Larry met at a bar there, not far from the promenade, where tourist shops were just opening for the season. Seaside was nothing like Eagle Cove. You could wade in Seaside, under the right conditions. Those were not today. The wind buffeted the wide windows of the bar.
“It looks like a hot toddy day,” Patty said, tossing her leather jacket over the back of a chair. The bar was dark and homey.
“Make that two,” Larry told the barkeep, who wandered away.
The drinks soon arrived, with a heady aroma of whiskey and lemon.
“My, that’s strong,” Patty said, taking a slug. “Just what I need.”
“Surprised to find you down here.”
“Well, I wanted to check on my uncle. And scope out the coast in case I want to move here like you did. I’m almost at retirement. The way things are going, I figure I better get out now.”
“I hear ya,” Larry said.
