Falling From Grace by Ann Eriksson

for you.”
    I switched off the computer and jammed it into its case. “My size, right, Mom? Perfect.” I stood and hoisted the bag onto my shoulder. “Lay off,” I said, then went in search of Paul to plan our next day’s work schedule.
    I found him leaning against a large boulder, having breakfast with the forest defenders. Mary sat nearby eating a plateful of scrambled tofu and eggs, Cedar on her knee, the baby barefoot, wearing a folded handkerchief for a diaper, and a tie-dyed T -shirt. He pulled at her hair and she plunked him onto his bum beside the log. His fat fingers sorted through the pebbles between his chubby legs and he picked up a fist-sized rock, stuck it in his mouth, and sucked on it with great concentration. Mary replaced the rock with a rice cracker, which he promptly threw to the ground. He rolled onto his knees, pulled himself to standing on Mary’s leg, and took four unsteady steps before falling backward onto his diapered bottom. We cheered and clapped, setting Cedar off into a startled bout of crying. The walking surprised us all, not least his mother. He had never ventured far from Mary’s arms and always stayed wherever she put him, content to watch the world go by or explore within arm’s reach, earning him the nickname Buddha Baby. Rainbow picked him up under his arms—his legs dangled below her knees—and cooed in his ear until he stopped crying.
    â€œI worried I’d still be carrying him at twenty,” Mary laughed. “Rainbow walked at nine months.”
    â€œYou’ll have no rest,” Esther said. “I’ll bet he’s running in two days.”
    â€œWait ’til the climbing starts.” Grace raised an eyebrow and gestured with her chin toward me.
    â€œBon,” Marcel said. “For a baby to learn to walk on this rough ground and in bare feet. He’ll have a first-class balance.”
    Rainbow propped Cedar up beside the log again, backed up three steps, and held out her arms.
    â€œCome on, Cedar bug,” she crooned. “Walk to sister.”
    Cedar gurgled with pleasure. A smile lit up his fat cheeks and he took both hands away from the log and clapped his palms together. He lifted his dimpled knee and set his pink foot forward into the dirt, hands in the air. He wavered, caught himself, another step, another. Rainbow backed up and he took one more step toward her, then twirled around and tottered straight to Paul.
    â€œHey, wee man.” He lifted the baby on to his lap and Cedar laughed and pulled at Paul’s beard. “We’ll climb trees together in no time.”
    â€œNo!” Rainbow stood in the centre of the circle, fists clenched, eyes blazing. “No! No! No!” She stomped her boot in the dirt, turned on her heel, and marched off into the forest. Paul and Mary exchanged glances. Neither moved.
    â€œIsn’t anyone going after her?” I asked.
    Mary moved over and sat beside Paul and Cedar. “She won’t go far.”
    I recalled Rainbow setting off down the trail alone to find her mother at the protest site. This woman did not understand her daughter.
    â€œThere’re cougars out here, non-human ones.” I directed the comment at Mary, who stared back unabashed, the other Cougar out of trouble, twenty metres up a hemlock in the upper valley. “They like juicy children. Hell, I’ll go.”
    I hunted the forest near the camp for over half an hour before I found Rainbow’s hiding spot, a large western redcedar lightning struck decades ago, a cave worn smooth and deep into the trunk and big enough to fit a dozen people standing. The sound of crying led me to the base of the tree and I peered in through the dark opening to find her huddled at the back of the hollow, sobbing into her skirt. I crawled through the crude entrance, my knees scuffing through dirt and wood chips, and leaned back against the time-smoothed wall, breathing in the damp