Running with the Demon - Terry Brooks [64]
“I’m sorry. But you have a way of bringing out the worst in me.”
“You’re weird, Nest, you know that?”
“I need some pitch, too.”
Robert gave her a look. “How about a partridge in a pear tree while we’re at it?”
“Robert.”
Robert stepped back guardedly. “Okay, let me go take a look out in the toolshed. I think there’s a couple bags of compost stored there. And there’s some salt for the conditioner in the basement. Jeez.”
They trotted out to the storage shed and found the compost, then returned to the house and went down into the basement, where they found the softener salt. The bags weighed fifty pounds, and it took both of them to haul each one out to the front porch. They were sweating freely when they finished, and Robert was still griping about his ears.
They dropped the compost on top of the softener salt, and Robert kicked at the bags angrily. “You better not grab me like that again, Nest. If you weren’t a girl, I’d have decked you.”
“Do you have any pitch, Robert?”
Robert put his hands on his narrow hips and glared at her. “What do you think this is, a general store? My dad counts all this stuff, you know. Maybe not the salt, since that doesn’t have anything to do with his precious yard, but the compost for sure. What am I supposed to tell him when he asks me why he’s missing a bag?“
“Tell him I borrowed it and I’ll replace it.” Nest glanced anxiously towards the park. “How about the pitch?”
Robert threw up his hands. “Pitch? What’s that for? You mean like for patching roads? Tar? You want tar? Where am I supposed to find that?”
“No, Robert, not tar. Pitch, the kind you use to patch trees.”
“Is that what we’re doing here? Patching up trees?” Robert looked incredulous. “Are you nuts?”
“Do you have a wagon?” she asked. “You know, an old one from when you were little?”
“No, but I think it might be a good idea to call one for you! You know, the padded kind?” Robert was apoplectic. “Look, I found the compost and the salt, and that’s all I...”
“Maybe Cass has one,” Nest interrupted. “I’ll call her. You go back out to the shed and look for the pitch.”
Without waiting for his response, she darted into the house and through the hall and living room to the kitchen phone, the screen door banging shut behind her. She felt trapped. It was hard knowing what she did of the park and of its creatures and their magic and never being able to speak of it to her friends. But what if they knew? What would happen if the maentwrog were to break free of its prison? Something that terrible would be too obvious to miss, wouldn’t it? Not like the feeders or Pick or even Wraith. What would that do to the barrier of secrecy that separated the human and forest-creature worlds?
She dialed the phone, chewing nervously on her lower lip. This was all taking too much time. Cass picked up on the second ring. Nest told her friend what she needed, and Cass said she would be right down. Good old Cass, Nest thought as she hung up the phone. No questions, no arguments — just do it. She went back outside and sat on the porch waiting for Robert. He reappeared a few moments later with a bucket of something labeled Tree Seal that he said he thought would do the trick. He’d found an old stirring stick and a worn brush to apply the contents. He dumped them on the ground and sat down beside her on the steps. Neither of them said anything, staring out into the shaded yard and the heat. Somewhere down the way, off toward Woodlawn, they could hear the music of an ice-cream truck.
“You know, I would have been all right yesterday,” Robert said finally, his voice stubborn. “I’m not afraid of Danny Abbott. I’m not afraid to fight him.” He scuffed at the porch step with his shoe. “But thanks, anyway, for doing whatever it was you did.”
“I didn’t do anything,” she told him.
“Yeah, sure.” Robert smirked.
“Well, I didn’t.”
“I was there, Nest. Remember?”
“He tripped over himself.” She smoothed the skin on her knees with the palms of her hands, looking down at her feet. “I didn