Days lost,I know not how,

I shall retrieve them now;

Now i shall keep the vow,

i never kept before..

-- A.E. Housman

I was born in Mine Brook, New

Jersey, a small towm so named for the

copper mines that once sustained it,

and my story begins in one of those

mines.

By the time I was growing up, the

mines were long defunct, but my

parents warned my brother and me

not to play in certain woods where

old shafts occasionally collapsed.

Those woods had a dead, cobwebbed

look about them; nobody went there,

and in autumn the leaves piled high

above mysterious dangers.

But like most children, I suspected

my parents' warnings were idle.

They probably wanted to stop

us from crossing Main Street-

a lost cause already, since the best

rollerblading hills surrounded the

Catholic church across the road.

At the age of ten, I decided I

absolutely needed a dog and my

mother said no, so I ran away from

home. I packed a bottle of water,

a bag of Wonder Bread, my Bible,

and a flashlight, and I snuck out

at midnight. I cut across three

adjoining backyards and followed

the creek where my brother and I

liked to play. I didn't cross over Main

Street; I went under it, beneath the

stone bridge, into the woods.

I walked and walked, my childish

anger diminishing as I grew colder,

and I was beginning to think of

turning back when the ground

opened under me. Stale air and

moldering leaves whooshed up.

The fall sucked my scream into the

night and I struck a slanted, sliding

surface. My backpack padded my

landing, but it also knocked the wind

out of me.

I clutched a root and wheezed

painfully. Down there, everything

was dark and damp and loose.

Tomblike air exhaled from deep in

the earth. Tears soaked into a gash

on my cheek and my arms and legs

ached in a dozen places.

"Help!" I shouted.

I called for my mother and father,

my brother, anyone, until my voice

was ragged.

Gradually, my eyes adjusted to

the darkness and I saw that I

was perched on an earthen ledge

supported by rotting beams and

rocks. I shifted closer to the wall and

eased my Bible out of my backpack.

My parents and church had told me

that the book could save me, and

while I was too young to really take

to any faith, I knew I needed saving.

That was how he found me: Sitting

in a collapsed mineshaft and reading

the Book of Ruth by flashlight.

"Don't be afraid," he called.

Despite the injunction, I jumped.

Rocks skittered down the shaft,

clattering and echoing. I turned

my flashlight toward the voice.

The beam caught his face before he

shielded it: Stricken, pale-eyed, with

a dark sweep of hair.

"Don't move. Turn that off. I'm coming to get you."

I obeyed with shaking hands.

Darkness swarmed in as I clicked off

the light and I closed my eyes. Better

the darkness you know. Above me

came the sounds of shifting leaves

and boots scraping rock. Then his

arm was around me, pressing me

pressing me into his side.

"Thank God," he said. "Hold on to me."

I wrapped my limbs around

him the way I did when I played

bucking bronco with my brother,

and like my brother the man was

warm and solid. We left behind

the odor of decay and colder air

of the mineshaft. Hand over hand,

smoothly, he ascended, and when he

boosted himself onto the forest floor

I opened my eyes.

He carried me away from the hole and set me on my feet.

Then he crouched and hugged me,

hard, the same way he had grasped

me in the collapsed earth, and I

began to cry. The fear of death stays

away from youth, but the man was

a stranger, I knew I would be in

trouble at home, my body hurt, and

I sensed dimly that I had brushed

against something monumental.

"Stop. You're safe now. Oh, Leda,

thank God," he repeated earnestly.

He dried my tears with a soft sleeve

and pried the flashlight and Bible

from my hands. He glanced at the

items before zipping them into my

backpack. "What were you doing?

Why are you out here?"

"I ran avway.

"Why?" he demanded.

"My mom won't let me have a dog." I

sniffled one last time. My harrowing

encounter notwithstanding, I still felt

justified in running away. I even felt

a blow of disappointment because

my half-formed plan had failed and

there would be no dog.

"Tm taking you home," the man

said. He lifted me again and I clung

to him. This time, I was aware of his

wintery scent-firewood and pine

-and the way his hair touched my

fingers at the nape of his neck. I

never thought to question how he

knew my name or where I lived. He

retraced my path unerringly, past the creek

through the yards.

After a while, he laughed.

"She won't let you have a dog," he

said.

"No. She says they make the house

dirty. I want one so much, to train."

When he chuckled again, I stiffened.

"Put me down."

He obliged and slowed his pace so

that I could keep up.

"I have two dogs," he said.

What kind?" Owning two dogs

raised the man in my estimation, and

it also filled me with jealousy. "Are

they smart?"

"German Shepherds. Black ones.

They're very smart."

"Do they look like wolves?"

"A little," he allowed.

"I really want a wolf, but people can't

have them."

"Wolves are beautiful."

My house was in sight, the man who

knew my name and had carried me

to safety no longer seemed like such

a stranger, and my pain was gone. I

looked up at him. He was beautiful,

I could see that now, and I loved him

immediately, completely, the way

only a child can.

What were you reading when I

found you?" he said.

About Ruth. We're reading it in

Sunday school. We're makinga craft

with hay."

We had reached the edge of my

backyard and I wanted to run home

and I also wanted to stay with the

man who shared my views on

wolves. He knelt and began dusting

dirt off my coat. "Entreat me not

to leave you," he said, "or to turn

back from following after you, for

wherever you go, I will go, and

wherever you lodge, I will lodge.

Your people shall be my people and

your God, my God. Where you die, I

will die, and there will I be buried.

The Lord do so to me, and more also,

if anything but death parts you and

me."

I recognized the words from the

Book of Ruth and I knew he meant

them for me. I hugged him quickly.

"Thank you for helping me.

"Go home now. Go to sleep. Will you

tell your parents what happened?"

I deliberated for a while. "They'll be

mad."

"Then don't tell them. It can be a

secret."

Inever got to keep secrets from my

family-especially ones as exciting as

this-so the idea thrilled me. "Okay"

I said, and I ran home.

A stained coat, torn sweatpants,

and muddy sneakers are par for

the course in any child's room, so

nothing seemed amiss the following

day. The gash on my cheek and

bruises on my body would have been

difficult to explain, but they were

gone, just like the man, and eight

years would pass before I saw him

again.

My palette looked like a bruise, black

and blue with blotches of purple

and yellow. My painting must have

looked ike a bruise, too, because Mr.

Roy, the AP art teacher, hovered by

my table wringing his hands.

"That's very dark, Leda," he said.

"Remember, you're supposed to try

to capture your best memory in this

piece."

At the tables around the classroom

were uniform images and colors:

Family, friends, sunrise shades.

And then there was my painting, a

midnight scene of black trees and

small stars, and the silhouette of a

man walking with a little girl.

The students at my place paused to listen.

"its a dream" i said.

"Or a nightmare," one of them

muttered.

Mr. Roy frowned and they quickly

resumed painting. He turned his

frown on me. "A good dream, I

hope."

Yeah." I hunkered over the page and

waited for him to go away. Earlier

that morning, Mr. Roy had lectured

us on the personal, subjective nature

of art, yet here he was judging my

work, and so were my carbon copy

classmates. I doubted any of their

family scenes meant half as much to

them as that night had meant to mne.

It was my talisman against reality,

and the years had pearled it into a

perfect, gleaming memory.

I ate my lunch in the guidance

counselor's office, something I had

been allowed to do since arriving

at Franklin High. Fortunately,

we had moved to Massachusetts

before my senior year started.

Unfortunately, it was senior year and

all the friendships and cliques were

firmly established. I was the moody

outsider with a dead brother.

The other students couldn't have

known about my brother--not

unless some faculty member let it

slip-but sometimes, I would swear

they did. The way people looked at

me, it seemed like he was walking

right behind me, my forever shadow.

"Hey, you. How are things?" Mrs.

Callahan, the guidance counselor,

didn't look surprised to find me

sitting outside her office. She took

the chair beside me.

"Pretty good, thanks."

"How was the cafeteria yesterday?"

I dreaded these checkups, but I knew

it was her job, and it was a small

price to pay to avoid the cafeteria.

I had nobody to sit with, literally

nobody. There must have been some

table designated for outcasts, but

the prospect of roaming the large

lunchroom, searching for that table

while everybody watched me...

I shuddered.

The reason I hadn't been in the

guidance office yesterday was that I

had found an empty classroom and

eaten my lunch there.

"It was okay," I said. "I still prefer it

here."

"Tm happy to have you here, Leda,

but I can't let this go on much longer.

I'm not helping you by keeping you

away from everyone. I know it's hard

to be in a new place, but try to think

of this as a fresh start. You can make

great friends here. You can reinvent

yourself."

I liked Mrs. Callahan, honestly,

though I hated being lumped in

with the unhappy students who

frequented her office. I had seen

them al: The eating disordered,

the bullied, the ones with trouble

at home or cuts on their arms over

some infatuation gone wrong.

I didn't fall into any of those

categories, and I privately resented

the notion of "reinventing myself."

Who said I didn't like myself?

The only problem was, I didn't fall

into any of the normal categories,

either. I disliked sports and PE. I

wasn't unusually academic, though I

kept my grades in the A and B range.

I was pretty, but not wild enough to

run with the popular girls. I wasn't

punk, goth, or hipster. I wasn't ultra

funny, musical, or philosophical.

I didn't dance. I didn't play video games.

I had no interest in editing the yearbook

or literary magazine.

I was private, artistic, shy, and maybe

a little too serious for my age, but a

death in the family will do that.

You know, we have a new student

coming next week. You two might hit

it off."

Yeah?" I didn't envy anyone starting

twelfth grade almost a month into

the year.

Had one month passed so quickly?

And I had not a single friend to show

for it. No wonder Mrs. Callahan

wanted to give me the boot. I

probably had a dictionary-sized

file in her office. Leda Forester:

Disengaged, depressed, does not play

well with others. I grinned at my

thoughts and Mrs. Callahan beamed.

"Imay or may not have peeked

at his schedule. He's in art and

oceanography with you.

"Oh. Cool." I tried to sound

enthusiastic.

"His name is Calvin."

"Tl keep an eye out for him."

Instead, the boy's name slipped

from my mind immediately. I had

other things to think about, like my

eighteenth birthday tomorrow. I was

dreading it. Such a wave of sadness

followed my birthdays, no matter

how cheerful Mom and Dad and

I pretended to be, and tomorrow

I would reach an age my brother

never could.

Ihad thought turning seventeen

was difficult, but this was worse:

Surpassing David, leaving him

behind in a new way.

My nemesis, Gary Flincher, prodded

the back of my seat on the bus ride

home. I glared at him and he tried to

say hello. I knew he was maladroitly

attempting to flirt and I had shut him

down in every way possible, but he

persisted.

Gary wasn't bad looking, either, but

I wanted so much more than a cute

face. My peers confused me with

their end-over-end crushes, which

seemed exhausting and painful. I

was waiting for someone worth the

effort-someone who gave me no

choice but to fal1-and I doubted I

would find him among the offerings

at my high school.

It didn't help that my ideal was a

man who had literally saved my

life. How could the boys at school

measure up?

I daydreamed about him instead

of thinking about my birthday. I

wondered how old he would be

now, or, for that matter, how old he

was eight years ago. He had seemed

like an adult then, but so had my

seventeen-year-old brother.

And who was he? A neighbor?

Maybe the owner of the farm

beyond the creek? My brother and

I had trick-or-treated all over our

development and nearby streets and

the man had never come to the door.

I had hoped he would until I hoped

he wouldn't, because how could

he be something as ordinary as a

neighbor?

I nearly missed my stop.

"Wake up," said Gary, tapping the

top of my head. I jerked away and

glowered at him before stalking off

the bus. Gross.

"How was school1?" Mom asked as I

searched the pantry for a snack.

Fine. What are you up to?"

Just rattling around."

Rattling around sounded about

right. Our new house was too large

for a family of three, and Mom was

a homemaker whose only child was

nearly eighteen. She and Dad had

unpacked in less than two weeks.

She cleaned religiously-I could

eat off the floor in any room-and

cooked a full dinner every night.

Her latest project was stenciling the

bathrooms.

Dad got home from work around

six and we sat down to chicken,

broccoli, and rice. He asked about

school. I said it was fine and then,

guiltily, added a few details about

art class. Nothing negative, ever. I

had mastered the art of acting happy

wherever we went because I couldn't

stand to make my parents any

sadder.

"Thoughts about what you want to

eat tomorrow?" Mom said.

She meant my special birthday

dinner, which I had given zero

thought. I wouldn't have any

appetite tomorrow.

"Not really."

"I bet we can find a Red Lobster

around here," said Dad.

"Oh, yum." I stared at my plate.

The conversation was breaking my

heart. I wondered if they could hear

it. When we were a family of four,

we were a clan-the Foresters--and

David and I were young, which kept

Mom busy, and Dad didn't make as

much money but his job was less

stressful and we were all happy.

Now that we were three and I

was the only child, I felt strangely

insufficient. Add to that the

unspeakable sadness of the three

of us sitting in an overlarge house

around an overlarge meal, discussing

my birthday as if it were a good thing

and not another milestone in the

history of grief-I couldn't take it.

"Red Lobster sounds perfect,

actually." I carried my plate to the

sink. "I think I'm going to take a

walk".

"Have your phone" said Dad.

"Where?" Mom voice was tight.

"Just in the woods. I wont go far.

I'll come back before its dark".

"It's going to be dark soon."

"I know. I love the fall colors at this

time of day." I hurried out before she

could offer to go with me.

I did love the fall colors at the end of

the day, and if there was one thing I

appreciated about our big new house

it was the big piece of property that

came with it-six wooded acres

which were currently every shade of

flame.

I didn't cry until the trees closed

around me. Then I let my tears fall

for an audience of oaks, elms, and

birches. Cold wind slipped through

the woods. Bright leaves plastered

the floor and ferns whispered

around my legs.

Stupid, stupid birthday, I thought,

and stupid life like a lottery in which

we had drawn the losing numbers.

Would it be wrong to tell my parents

I didn't want to celebrate tomorrow?

I laughed and scrubbed my face. Yes.

I couldn't deprive them of their only

child's birthday.

"Running away again?"

I stopped sharply and turned, and

there he was, leaning against a tree

in the fading light.

The man looked exactly asI

remembered him, and once my

shock wore off, I began to study him

as if I had moments to memorize as

much as possible. Imight.

He remained where he stood,

slanting elegantly against a tree.

His expression was calm. The eyes

that had seemed so cold eight years

ago were in fact iceberg blue, pale

enough to appear white, and his

unruly hair was black. I struggled

to calculate his age. He was a man,

not a boy, definitely. Twenty?

Mid-twenties?

I didn't care that I was staring and

neither did he, judging by his patient

demeanor.

He wore boots and dark jeans, a

plain black sweater, and a leather

jacket. He was clean-shaven with

high cheekbones and a narrow,

almost lupine face. The angles of it

begged to be drawn-or better yet,

sculpted.

I thought you learned your lesson

about running away," he said at

last. His silk-soft voice carried to me

easily.

Tm not." I had imagined this

encounter many times, but now that

it had arrived, I truly didn't know

what to say.

Not what?"

"Running. Away." I shook my head

rapidly.

"Why are you crying?"

"Tm not."I swiped at my face.

The moment wasn't following

any version of my plans. In my

imaginings, I was coy, sweet, or

mysterious-not a girl crying in the

woods, again.

"Some things never change." He took

a step toward me and I lurched back.

I don't know why I did it, except that

he was still a stranger and his sudden

approach startled me. He stopped,

smiled, and raised his hands. "Don't

be afraid." He retreated to the tree.

"Tm not," I repeated weakly.

Evidently, those were the only

two words I knew. I'd had more

composure as a child.

I took a slow, shivering breath,

and forced myself to meet his

stare. Over the years, one question

had disturbed me more than all

the others. My embarrassment

shifted toward anger. What sort

of man made grand promises to a

ten-year-old and then disappeared

from her life?

Where have you been?" I swallowed

thickly. "You said you'd always be

with me."

"Tve been around."

You haven't. Things have been..

hard." The emotion returned,

straining my voice. Hard could not

begin to describe the eleventh year

of my life, when my older brother,

my hero, my best friend, slid into

a snowy intersection and died on

impact with another car. Only the jaws

of life could pry open his mangled vehicle.

The man turned away and I lunged at

him. "Don't leave!"

"I know things were hard," he said.

"If you think I didn't want to be

there for you, you're wrong, but it

wouldn't have been appropriate. You

were a little girl."

"Tm not anymore." I stepped in front

of him.

He looked down at me-down

because I was five foot four and he

was easily over six. His frigid eyes

roamed my face. "I can see that."

Closer, I noticed fringes of ink

around the base of his neck. He

began to walk.

"Let's get you home. You're supposed

to be back before it's dark."

My stride caught. "You heard that?"

"I told you, I've been around."

"Is that what you do? You follow mme

and appear if I fall into a hole?"

"Sure." His soft laughter returned

from the past-dry amusement

shaded with cynicism. I might as

well have been a child discussing my

desire for a pet wolf.

I stopped and hugged myself. The

sun was receding into the forest and

I wished I had worn a jacket or a hat,

anything more than a thin cotton

shirt. "Are you going to disappear for

another eight years?" Panic tinged

my voice.

"Inever disappeared."

"You haven't chnaged at all."

That's flattering." He looked at me

expectantly. "Let's go."

"No, you haven't changed. I

remember."

"Things look different through a

child's eyes."

"I had cuts and bruises after I fell.

They were gone when I got home."

"Don't go out in September without a

jacket," he replied, shrugging out of

his and holding it toward me.

History was repeating itself: My

tears, his order not to be afraid,

my fear, his severe and dismayed

attitude. All he needed to do now was

promise to be with me always and

then vanish.

His coat swallowed me and it felt

heavier than it looked, like one of

those leaden dental vests, but it was

warm and smelled delicious. Pine,

firewood...him.

I stood my ground.

"Pl fall somewhere. Pll get lost on

purpose and make you come back."

His expression darkened. "Don't

joke."

"Pm not."

"That's incredibly disturbing. Now

Come on."

Promise I'll see you again. Soon."

"I made a promise to you already.

I've kept it and I intend to keep it."

When will I see you?"

He didn't answer. We faced off in a

silent deadlock and I knew I would

sketch the scene later: This tall,

glowering stranger; petite, stubborn

me; the bars of tree trunks around

us.

"What are these?" I touched the top

of his hand, where detailed black

ink disappeared beneath his sleeve.

His skin was warm and roped with

veins. I could almost make out-

He pulled away. "Don't."

"Sorry." I flinched. "I thought it

would be okay. I mean, you carried

me-"

"Yes, thank you for reminding me.

Id forgotten how you nearly got

yourself killed when you were ten.

It wasn't one of the most terrifying

moments of my existence." He

scowled and then frowned, the anger

clearing from his eyes. He had said

more than he'd intended, I realized,

and now he couldn't take it back.

My brush with death...one of the

most terrifying moments of his

existence.

Sorry" I mumbled.

"No, I'm sorry. I lost my temper. But

I wish you would go home now, and

get warm."

Tm warming up nicely, thanks." I

waved a floppy leather sleeve. He

didn't crack a smile, so I started

walking in the direction of home.

"I was sort of running away, for a

moment."

"Why?

"It's my birthday tomorrow," I said.

No surprise registered on his face.

"But I guess you already knew that."

"Happy birthday." He tried to push a

faster pace. I dragged my feet.

"Say that to me tomorrow."

"Itll be tomorrow soon, at the rate

we're going." He didn't sound angry

anymore, only a little bemused.

Your birthday makes you sad

because of David?"

My parents and I didn't talk about

David-nobody did-and hearing his

name spoken so naturally flooded me

with relief.

Yeah." I exhaled. "David."

"He shouldn't shadow your whole

life, you know."

"But he does. He was my brother."

"He is your brother."

"He's dead," I snapped.

"I thought you were a Christian."

The man's swift rejoinder stunned

me. "No, we"-I stalled as the lights

of my house came into view-we

stopped going to church, after.."

"So? It's not going to church that

makes you believe something. It's the

other way around. But that doesn't

matter now. AIl I mean is, you

deserve to be happy. Your brother

doesn't want to be a specter in your

life. Pll be that. Ill be your shadow."

I glared at my feet. "Well, you've

made your big promise. Now you can

disappear for another decade."

"Leda, I never-"

"You did," I said. "You disappeared

in all the ways that matter." I could

see that nothing I said would change

his mind, and worse, I sounded

desperate. I would never tell him

how I had clung to the thought of

him over the years. I wouldn't cry

in front of him again, either, so I

ran toward the house just like I had

when I was ten, only this time I took

his coat with me.