When I Found You by Catherine Ryan Hyde Page B

supposed to mean something. That sentence didn’t mean anything.”
    “The fact that you don’t grasp the meaning of something doesn’t mean it has none.”
    “So what am I supposed to do with a sentence like that? That means nothing to me?”
    “Try filing it away for possible later use.”
    “All right,” Nat said. “But I’m telling you right now … that one’s going to be in there waiting for a long time.”
    •  •  •
     
    At bedtime, Nathan rapped lightly before letting himself into the boy’s room.
    “What?” Nat said as Nathan pulled a chair to his bedside.
    “I just came in to say goodnight.”
    “Oh.”
    Nathan took the photograph out of the pocket of his sweater and laid it on the edge of the boy’s bed. “That was Sadie,” he said. “She was a curly-coated retriever. She was a remarkable animal. I miss her terribly. Maggie is a good dog, too. But that doesn’t spare me from missing Sadie.”
    Nat picked up the photo, studied it briefly.
    Then he said, as if he had never registered the image on the old photograph, “Why do I have to go to bed so early? It’s barely eight o’clock. I can’t go to sleep this early. I’m not a child, you know.”
    But he looked like one. Very much so. He was small for nearly fifteen, and looked a bit helpless and lost, smothered in Flora’s old bed sheets and flowered quilt. Nathan wondered if the boy could acknowledge his own terror. Even to himself.
    “Because in the morning I’m going to wake you up very early and we’re going to go hunting.”
    “Hunting?”
    “Yes. Duck-hunting. With Maggie.”
    “I don’t hunt.”
    “Well, I’m suggesting you give it a try.”
    “What time would I have to get up?”
    “About four thirty.”
    “No way. Forget it.”
    “I’ll be in to wake you. I’d like you to try it with me this one time.”
    A medium-length, sulky silence. Then the boy’s face changed. Only slightly. But perceptibly.
    “Do you always go to that same place?”
    He didn’t have to elaborate. He didn’t have to specify what same place. They both knew what he meant.
    “Yes.”
    “Could you show me the exact spot?”
    “Yes.”
    “OK. I’ll go with you, then. This one time.”
    Nathan picked up his photograph. Patted Nat on the knee through the covers. Reached for the light switch on his way out of the room.
    Nat asked, as though not anxious to see him leave, “Aren’t you even going to ask me what I did to get thrown out of the house?”
    “No. I thought it best to start fresh with each other. You’ll have a birthday coming up next week. We’ll celebrate.”
    “Why do you remember my birthday after all this time?”
    “How can I not remember your birthday? I found you in the woods on October second, 1960. How could I forget a date like that? You were born the day before, October first. You’ll be fifteen.”
    “How am I supposed to live here? I don’t even know you.” It seemed out of context with what Nathan had just told him, which Nathan supposed was why the boy said it. “I don’t even know this place. This is all completely strange to me. How am I even supposed to live here?”
    Nathan sighed. “A few minutes at a time, I suppose, at first. I won’t pretend it’s not a problem for you.”
    “And you?” the boy asked, even more agitated. “This is not a problem for you?”
    “Not at all,” Nathan said. “I’m happy to have you here with me.”
    He turned out the light on his way out of the room.

24 September 1975   
He is Willing to Die to Make It Happen
    “I can’t believe you’re stupid enough to give me a gun,” the boy said, trying to pull the huge flowered quilt back over his head. But Nathan had a good, tight hold of it. “You certainly don’t know me very well. I don’t want to go duck-hunting. It’s four o’clock in the goddamn morning. I want to go back to sleep.”
    “There will be no swearing in this house,” Nathan said. “And it’s actually four forty-five. And I’m