allowed himself to say these things one last time, as a way of saying good-bye to Jens, the way Mattyâs baseball game was his way of saying good-bye to summer. Then Henry crossed his arms again. Now that heâd started truly being Henry, he couldnât imagine ever wanting to be anyone else. Meanwhile, Matty was looking at him in amazement. He wasnât sure heâd ever heard anyone say âI think everything is going to be just fineâ before. And Henry had sounded like heâd
meant it
, too. Was he talking somehow about Matty and Locs? Matty felt sure Henry was. He glanced at Ellen, who was now talking to Lawrence and Kurt, and then said, âHow is everything going to be fine?â Henry didnât respond to that, except with his frown, which communicated, to Matty, Oh, you know how. Matty did. Heâd known it last time, and he knew it this time, too. He just needed someone else to remind him.
Meanwhile, Lawrence had walked over and was now standing in front of Matty and Henry. Lawrence said several things in a language that Matty didnât know and that Henry didnât seem to know, either: he stood there, arms crossed, frowning. âSo youâre from Sweden!â Lawrence said, in English. âOr as you say, Sverige! Iâll never forget the fall I spent in Stavsnä! . . .â And then Lawrence said several more typically Lawrence things. None of which appeared to have any effect on Henry: he was still frowning and crossing his arms. Finally, Lawrence seemed to give up, and said simply: âIâm Lawrence Klock. I teach eleventh- and twelfth-grade history. Welcome to Broomeville.â Introducing himself! Like a real person! This new guidance counselor really was incredible. I know how, Matty thought. I know how everything is going to be just fine. And then he pulled down his mask, strode back toward the snow-covered field, and ordered everyone to play ball.
19
M atty had ended up giving Henry a tour. He couldnât help himself. After the game (the students won; the students won every year; every year, the faculty insisted that they wanted the students to win, that it was important that the students win, that it was important for the students to feel good about themselves; every year, the faculty ended up doing everything they could to win and ended up losing anyway), all Matty had intended to do was walk Henry back to the Lumber Lodge and tell him what to expect tomorrow at school and maybe ask him whether he knew where Locs was, whether she was in Broomeville or somewhere else. But here he was, giving a tour of Broomeville. This was another burden for people from small towns: they couldnât stop themselves from giving an out-of-towner a tour and then at the end of the tour saying, I know itâs not much, and then daring the out-of-towner to agree.
âAnd this was where Dietrik Broome lived,â Matty was saying. They were standing in front of the chalet. The snow was still falling, falling. There was at least a foot of it already on the ground and it was piled high on the roof and the gables, making the house look even more Swiss than usual. Although Broome himself had emigrated from Holland. âHe emigrated from Holland, in 1789,â Matty was saying. âNo one lives in the house anymore, of course. Itâs more of a museum than a house.â
âMay we go in?â Henry asked.
âItâs open only by appointment.â Matty hoped Henry wouldnât ask with whom he could make that appointment. Because honestly, Matty had no idea.
But Henry didnât ask anything. They kept walking, past the gazebo and monument, which memorialized Broomevilleâs war dead, and then they were in front of the Lumber Lodge, which was alive with drunk people. Matty could hear them from where he was standing, even though the bar windows were closed. Ellen had left the game early; she was inside now, tending bar. âSnowstorms make people
meant it
, too. Was he talking somehow about Matty and Locs? Matty felt sure Henry was. He glanced at Ellen, who was now talking to Lawrence and Kurt, and then said, âHow is everything going to be fine?â Henry didnât respond to that, except with his frown, which communicated, to Matty, Oh, you know how. Matty did. Heâd known it last time, and he knew it this time, too. He just needed someone else to remind him.
Meanwhile, Lawrence had walked over and was now standing in front of Matty and Henry. Lawrence said several things in a language that Matty didnât know and that Henry didnât seem to know, either: he stood there, arms crossed, frowning. âSo youâre from Sweden!â Lawrence said, in English. âOr as you say, Sverige! Iâll never forget the fall I spent in Stavsnä! . . .â And then Lawrence said several more typically Lawrence things. None of which appeared to have any effect on Henry: he was still frowning and crossing his arms. Finally, Lawrence seemed to give up, and said simply: âIâm Lawrence Klock. I teach eleventh- and twelfth-grade history. Welcome to Broomeville.â Introducing himself! Like a real person! This new guidance counselor really was incredible. I know how, Matty thought. I know how everything is going to be just fine. And then he pulled down his mask, strode back toward the snow-covered field, and ordered everyone to play ball.
19
M atty had ended up giving Henry a tour. He couldnât help himself. After the game (the students won; the students won every year; every year, the faculty insisted that they wanted the students to win, that it was important that the students win, that it was important for the students to feel good about themselves; every year, the faculty ended up doing everything they could to win and ended up losing anyway), all Matty had intended to do was walk Henry back to the Lumber Lodge and tell him what to expect tomorrow at school and maybe ask him whether he knew where Locs was, whether she was in Broomeville or somewhere else. But here he was, giving a tour of Broomeville. This was another burden for people from small towns: they couldnât stop themselves from giving an out-of-towner a tour and then at the end of the tour saying, I know itâs not much, and then daring the out-of-towner to agree.
âAnd this was where Dietrik Broome lived,â Matty was saying. They were standing in front of the chalet. The snow was still falling, falling. There was at least a foot of it already on the ground and it was piled high on the roof and the gables, making the house look even more Swiss than usual. Although Broome himself had emigrated from Holland. âHe emigrated from Holland, in 1789,â Matty was saying. âNo one lives in the house anymore, of course. Itâs more of a museum than a house.â
âMay we go in?â Henry asked.
âItâs open only by appointment.â Matty hoped Henry wouldnât ask with whom he could make that appointment. Because honestly, Matty had no idea.
But Henry didnât ask anything. They kept walking, past the gazebo and monument, which memorialized Broomevilleâs war dead, and then they were in front of the Lumber Lodge, which was alive with drunk people. Matty could hear them from where he was standing, even though the bar windows were closed. Ellen had left the game early; she was inside now, tending bar. âSnowstorms make people
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