Under the Mercy Trees by Heather Newton Page A

plants along the side of the road. Afternoon sun turned his hair a dark gold. Martin studied him.
    â€œWell?” she said.
    He looked over at her, as if he’d forgotten she was there, then grinned. “Good,” he pronounced.
    *  *  *
    Now in the dusty classroom, Martin traced a finger over faint images that had been erased from the chalk board. He caught Liza looking at him. “What are you thinking about?”
    She laughed. “Betty Gaddy.”
    â€œGood old Betty.” Martin slacked his jaw in a perfect imitation of Betty.
    â€œDon’t be cruel.” Mr. Samuels never made fun. Liza appreciated that now, the temptation to single out one student to torment. She had seen her colleagues do it, choose one irritating, unpopular student to pick on, reaping the reward of having the other students laugh with you. Eye-roll about him or her in the teachers’ lounge. All the others will love you, only one will hate you. In memory of Mr. Samuels she was careful not to do that.
    She eased out of the desk and stood up.
    Martin reached up to the top of the chalkboard, where a map was rolled up like a window shade. “I bet that’s the map they had when we were here.”
    â€œProbably.”
    He grabbed the bottom of the map and pulled it down with a rip of vinyl, then screamed when something flew out of it. Liza jumped back. A small brown bat hurled itself at the water-stained ceiling, then at the chalkboard, then at Martin. Martin ducked and covered his head. “Jesus!” The bat slammed into a cracked window and dropped to the floor, stunned.
    â€œDon’t touch it! It might have rabies.” Liza made sure she stayed back several feet.
    â€œThank you, teacher. I was going to pick it up and give it CPR.” Martin grabbed a decayed cardboard box from a corner and put it over the bat. “I thought their sonar was supposed to keep them from running into things.”
    â€œWe must have panicked him. There the poor thing was, curled up between Ceylon and Basutoland, minding its own business. Look at all the bat droppings under the map. He must have lived here a while.”
    The bat came to and started thumping against the sides of the box. Martin looked at her. “What do we do now?”
    She started laughing. She couldn’t help it. “You should have seen your face when that thing flew out.”
    Martin started laughing, too. “Scared the shit out of me.”
    The bat hit the side of the box hard enough to shake it. Liza and Martin both jumped, then got even more tickled at themselves. Martin had to lean against the windowsill. It had been a long time since Liza had heard him belly laugh.
    â€œOh, Lord.” He got his breath and wiped his eyes. “I can’t leave him under the box. He’ll get bulldozed.”
    She went and picked up the desk lid that leaned against the wall. “If we slide this under the box, you can carry him outside.”
    â€œI can carry him outside?”
    â€œIt’s a man’s job,” she said sweetly.
    They maneuvered the wooden desk lid under the box without letting the bat escape, and Martin lifted it up. He carried it toward the door, like a waiter carrying a tray.
    She followed him out onto the little porch. “I’ll just stay here while you take him into the woods.”
    â€œYou’re a big help.”
    He carried the box out into the schoolyard, to the worn place at the edge of the woods where the deer path began. His body was as trim as when they were teenagers, arms wiry, back strong. Liza wished he still were that boy and would turn around and call out an invitation for her to walk with him to their clearing of twisted trees.
    *  *  *
    After school the day Mr. Samuels assigned them the yarn circles, Liza went swimming with Martin and Hodge in the creek near the clearing. It was the perfect place to swim. The creek was less than fifteen feet across, but where it