The Birthday Room by Kevin Henkes Page B

with unrelenting drive, like a machine, whenever she was either extremely happy, extremely sad, or extremely angry. It was easy to eliminate happiness from the day’s list of emotions.
    â€œI’m going to walk over to the Deeters’,” Ben had said. “Is that okay?”
    â€œSure.” Ben’s mother dropped a spoonful of dough onto a cookie sheet, then stood the spoon straight up in the bowl of dough. “Listen, I’m sorry about last night. . . .”
    Ben shrugged. He could tell by her tight voice and grim expression that she was still upset. But he was, too. He couldn’t escape the grip of anger; it kept him from directly addressing the issue of the trip to the ocean. “I left my radio tracking collar at home in Wisconsin, but don’t worry. I’m not going very far.”
    Ben’s mother didn’t respond.
    Cookies were stacked on the counter and heaped on cooling racks.
    â€œAre you baking for the entire Northwest, or just the state?” Ben asked.
    â€œI’ll freeze most of them. I’m sure Ian and Nina can use them after the baby’s born.” She blew at her bangs. “Want a couple for your walk?”
    â€œNo.” He did.
    â€œHow about a bag of them for the Deeters?”
    â€œI’ll skip it. I don’t want to feel weighted down.”
    â€œSuit yourself.”
    He wanted to ask his mother why she would allow him to go to town with Nina, but not to the ocean with Ian. He could imagine her reply: “Driving to town and driving to the ocean are two entirely different things.” And her tone would convey the underlying message: Come on, Ben, you’re smarter than that.
    â€œBen?”
    â€œHuh?”
    â€œNothing,” she said, shaking her head.
    She went back to her cookies, and after looking at her with a deliberately blank expression, he went out the door.
    He had decided to look for the Deeters, just as a way to kill time, but then suddenly, fifteen minutes into his hike, he realized he truly wanted to see Lynnie. He walked with a purpose. The rows of identical trees revealed nothing, and after a while, the grassy corridors between the trees seemed mazelike. Row after row after row. Nothing. Nothing. Nothing. No Lynnie. Aware of his plunging disappointment, Ben grabbed a windfall apple from the ground and threw it with all his might. The apple arced high above the trees and disappeared into the vast expanse of green. He heard it drop through the branches and leaves and land with a thud.
    â€œHey! Who’s there?”
    â€œSomeone’s coming!”
    Ben recognized Kale and Elka’s voices and rushed toward them, ducking under low boughs and turning sideways to squeeze between branches. He could see them beyond the edge of the orchard, standing under a dead, gnarled tree that was taller than the others and set apart. Lynnie was lying on a beach towel in the spotty shade of the tree, reading. She picked up her head and acknowledged him with a smile and a wave. She pressed a long blade of grass into her book to mark her place.
    â€œHi!” Ben shouted, running, closing the gap between him and the Deeters.
    Kale and Elka moved toward Ben with their arms outstretched, as if they were guarding something. They stopped, firmly planted in protective stances. “Don’t look at the tree,” said Kale. His bony eyebrow ridges came to attention.
    Impulsively Ben glanced up.
    â€œI said not to look. Now you know our secret,” Kale whined. His arms collapsed in defeat; his face crumpled.
    â€œI don’t know anything,” said Ben.
    â€œYou have to promise not to tell,” said Elka. A colorful paper chain was draped over her shoulders. Her fingers were wrapped around a red plastic stapler.
    â€œYou have to swear it,” said Kale.
    Ben had no idea what they were talking about.
    Kale and Elka tugged on his shirt. “Promise! Promise!” they chanted.
    â€œOkay, okay,