"Early." Roy thumps his shoulder affectionately. Indicating the quilts, he says, "I’ll hide these. You go get ready for school. Okay?"

When Nathan rises, Roy brushes close to him, kisses his cheek. Then Roy busies himself getting feed for the chickens. Nathan hurries to his house, leaving the barn by the back.

A cold, clear morning greets him. Nothing much has changed inside the rooms; his mother hardly speaks to him, his father lurks out of sight. His room lies exactly as he left it. He rushes to spend as little time as possible there, washing off at the sink, throwing on clothes, gathering schoolbooks.

So his life settles into a kind of twisted routine, and for the rest of the week he hides in the graveyard and sleeps in the bam, with Roy's sanction. After school he does his homework as quickly as he can, sometimes daring to work at his desk, in his room, or sometimes studying outside in the last of daylight, in the graveyard by the pond. Mom readies his supper early, before Dad comes home, and when she calls, he enters and eats quickly. The food is set out on the table as if by chance, Mom never stays. As soon as he has eaten, he retreats outside again, to spend the early evening hours in the graveyard or near the pond. Roy keeps him company then, if his own chores are finished, if they are not going to church, and if he can get away from his parents.

Nathan becomes a visitor to his former life, moving like a stranger in his own house, gliding through the kitchen, slipping quickly through doorways and along stairs. At his appearance, Mom retreats into other rooms. It is as if, as long as she does not see him, she can pretend that everything is fine, that he is still living in the house, that he is simply out of sight. The whispered sounds of her various habits, needlepoint and Bible reading, are the only signs of her presence.

Even when he sees her, early in the morning when he slides into the kitchen, she remains somewhere out of reach. Across her face drift strange, sudden expressions: fury, heartache, confusion, fury again, then quiet despair. Her whispered good mornings fade by Wednesday to the merest nod of the head. Nathan moves cautiously when he is near her, as if they have become animals circling each other.

She never asks where he shelters himself at night. She never asks how he stays warm, where he sleeps. She pretends. Never once, during the whole week, does she neaten his bedroom, make the bed or fold the blankets in the corner. They lie as he left them, the night Dad tripped over the cord and Nathan fled. Time stopped. The room has become a haunted place.

On Thursday, when he has dressed for school and is headed out of the kitchen for the school bus, into the kitchen Dad suddenly lumbers, terrifying and large. He shambles toward the refrigerator in white underwear, his blue pocked belly overhanging the elastic, his craggy chest shivered with goose flesh. Nathan stops breathing, caught in the doorway. Dad smiles. The kitchen echoes with his cough. He ogles Nathan up and down and his eyes, red rimmed, fill with longing. He steps toward Nathan without warning and Nathan backs up, a corner catches him and all at once there is no world, there is only Dad's white belly shivering with blood and Dad's breath blowing down from above, the shadow falling over Nathan's face. Nathan's heart batters his ribs. A sound falters. Mom's voice emerges from the other room and her footsteps cause Dad to turn. "Who's in the kitchen, Nathan?"

She stands in the doorway to see. Her flesh has gone gray. She is staring at her husband as if he has stepped onto the linoleum from another world.

Nathan slips free of the corner and hurtles out of the house; breathless, he reaches the bus at a dead run. Pushing open the cold metal door, he huddles in the chilled interior till Roy finds him.

"Is anything wrong?" Roy asks, seeing his stricken face. But there are no words, no words will come. Roy, so close to his own parents and his own real life, does not even dare embrace him. He studies the light in Nathan's kitchen, a long time, before settling into the driver's seat.

Puzzled, mostly silent, Roy has remained a steady guardian. Each morning he has come to the bam early, to wake Nathan when he starts his chores. He warms the bus ahead of schedule and watches the back door of Nathan's house. He acts as if this is the most natural change of habit in the world, and they drive away. During school they keep to their usual pattern, eating lunch together, then hanging out on the smoking patio with Burke and Randy. At night they wander in the woods, along the edge of the pond and among the slanted shadows of tombstones. They never discuss what has happened. Roy never asks, and Nathan never volunteers.

They talk with their bodies. Roy says he is sorry again and again and never makes a sound. In the woods, in the shadow of the tombstone of Sarah Jane Kennicutt, on the path to the Indian mound; never in the barn, for fear someone will hear. Never near the houses. They hold each other on the borders of the farm, at the edge of wild country, they speak with their hands.

Sometimes when Roy watches, a question can be read in his eyes. Who is Nathan, why is Roy with him? Nathan can almost hear the words. Who is Nathan?

Roy goes away with his family to Wednesday night prayer meeting. Evelyn will be there. Nathan pictures her as blond and tall, with a sweet face, plump, round breasts and full, wide hips. She is waiting for Roy at the door to the sanctuary. She is holding a bouquet of flowers in her hand.

The late nights are the hardest times, after Roy says goodbye and closes the barn door. The smells, the unfamiliar shadows and sounds, trouble Nathan's sleep. The dirtiness of the mattress and the dust of the straw beside it make him cough, and at times he becomes afraid Dad will hear him. He wonders, when he will allow himself to think of it, how long he can go on hiding.

On Friday, while they are lounging on the smoking patio, Roy lets Nathan taste his bitter cigarette. He inhales sharply, the hot smoke searing his lungs. The choking and coughing that follow bring general laughter, and Burke and Randy clap Nathan on the back. There follows a moment of such sheer friendliness that Nathan loses his fear of Randy and even of Burke. When Nathan catches his breath they are talking about camping, about the trip to Handle they discussed when they were diving off the railroad trestle, Roy, Burke, and Randy. Roy is including Nathan in the plans for the trip, and Nathan realizes with relief that this could solve the problem of how to get through the weekend.

Near the end of the day, Nathan finds Roy waiting outside Advanced Math. The surprise of his appearance helps Nathan to see him fresh and vivid once again, tall and strongly made in his jeans and denim jacket, the high bones of his face darkened with a trace of beard, his lips cut in a lopsided smile. Fierce eyes shock from beneath dark thick brows. Roy falls in silently beside Nathan and they head under the canopy to another class. "You think it's a good idea to go camping this weekend? If you're worried about your mom, I can ask her for you."

Nathan remembers the sliding shadow in her housecoat, the deepening dark circles under her eyes. "It'll be okay. She'll let me go."

They have arrived at Nathan's final class. Roy has led the way, and at the last moment lays his hand on Nathan's shoulder. The almost hidden gesture passes unnoticed in the general commotion of classes changing, but for Nathan the brief nervous flare sears him. "I’ll see you after school."

Roy hurries to his own class. Nathan takes his seat in Biology, opening his text to the chapter on cell mitochondria.

The bus ride home is intimate in a way Nathan can hardly credit, as if, out of all the noisy creatures on the bus, only he and Roy truly exist. Even when Nathan looks out the window at the tattered autumn fields, Roy watches from the overhead mirror, eyes hanging in the air.

He stops the bus on the dirt road, when all the others have gone. He calls Nathan to the front of the bus. The press of his body is familiar and heady. He traps Nathan's head against his chest. They hold still against each other, breathless through silence, till the distant drone of a truck motor warns them of itself. Roy releases Nathan unhurriedly. "We won't have to worry about this kind of shit in the woods."

Still without hurry, he reclaims the driver's seat and they finish the drive home, sliding into the parking place beneath laced branches.

Nathan gathers his books. When he stands, so does Roy. They walk together to Nathan's house.

In the kitchen, Mom faces Roy with hardly a trace of surprise. Roy stands straight, brushes back his hair, asking his question in a manner that manages to be both courteous and bold. He says he wants to take Nathan camping for the weekend, till late Sunday, and he's sorry not to have asked sooner but him and his friends just thought of the trip and this is the perfect weekend for it, almost the last one, really. The weatherman says it's going to be warm and pretty, like a little taste of summer. He says he'll look after Nathan and nothing will happen to him. She laughs nervously when he finally stops talking. "Nathan doesn't even have a sleeping bag."

"I have an extra one."

He faces her with calm assurance. Something about his directness makes her shy away, as from a too bright lamp, and she turns aside. "Yes, I guess it's a good idea."

"Pardon me, ma'am?"

"I said I guess it's all right. He can go." She nods her head toward Nathan without looking at him.

Roy comes upstairs with Nathan to pack, counting what he should bring on his fingers. The fact that Nathan's dad could come home any time adds urgency, and they move quickly. Nathan owns no backpack so he gathers clothes and necessities in a bundle for packing at Roy's house.