The World More Full of Weeping by Robert J. Wiersema Page A

dinnertime the next Sunday, so you’ll have a full
week.”
    Brian nodded and looked down at his bowl, unable to
even think of having another bite.
    â€œI know it’s a lot, Brian. But I think — ”
    â€œCan I be excused?”
    His father seemed to deflate. “Yeah. Clear your dishes.”
    For a moment, just before Brian turned away, a look of
sadness flashed across his father’s face, an expression he
tried to hide.
    He doesn’t want me to go. He thinks I don’t want to go
because I’ll miss him.
    The thought cut through Brian, forcing him to look
again at his father, to see the deep sadness just under his
skin, the dark behind his eyes.
    He didn’t like seeing that sadness, that weakness, in his
father. He didn’t like knowing that he had done something
to put it there, that the mere thought of his absence was
enough to hurt him.
    Missing him.
    He didn’t like admitting to himself that he hadn’t even
considered his father when he thought of having to move
to the city.
    All he had thought about was Carly.
    Missing her.

    The lights were still off in Brian’s room. Jeff could hardly see
Diane in the spill of the work lights through the curtains.
She was curled on her side on Brian’s bed, her knees pulled
in tight to her chest. She faced away from the door, toward
the window.
    Her breathing was deep and regular.
    Jeff crept into the room, silent, trying not to disturb
her.
    He stood behind the bed. Through the window he could
see the wall of the shop, the slow, gentle spread of the field,
and the wall of darkness that was the forest behind.
    He sat down carefully at the foot of the bed.
    There is no lonelier sound than the deep, calm, in and
out of another’s breath beside you, nothing that can make
you feel quite so distant, quite so removed.
    He had once taken comfort in Diane’s breathing next
to him, the calm regularity of it providing solace and
reassurance in the darkest hours of the night.
    When had that changed? When had that sound started
to make him feel so crushingly alone?
    â€œHe’s not coming back, is he?” she asked quietly, in a
voice that was strong and clear but still bore the echo of
tears.
    The sound startled him. “I thought you were asleep.”
    â€œNo.”
    The silence, the space between them, was deep and
wide. He wanted to cross it, to reach out to touch her, but
he no longer knew her. And he couldn’t bear to have her pull
away from him.
    â€œI’ve been lying here, listening to them outside. I hear
their voices, but I can’t make out what they’re saying.
They’re not going to find him.”
    â€œDon’t say that.”
    In another time, she would have rolled on her back, or to
face him. They would have looked into one another’s eyes,
found a way to comfort each other.
    But she remained on her side, facing away.
    â€œThey’ll find him,” Jeff said, but as he spoke, he realized
that he didn’t believe the words himself.

    The sun was bright and warm, but the air was cool and
smelled of the sea. Was Brian imagining it, or did he hear
the faint sound of waves in the distance?
    He followed Carly down the steep slope, his pack
bouncing occasionally off moss-covered rocks and damp
tree trunks. He kept one eye on the terrain around him
and one eye on Carly. She was a fair ways ahead, moving
over the rough ground with a light ease and grace, a natural
comfort Brian envied. This was her world: she fit into it as
naturally as the birdsong in the air, as the spongy, mossy
ground under his feet.
    Could he ever be as comfortable here? Would he get to
a point where he could seem to float between obstacles, to
step gracefully between worlds?
    Every so often she would stop and look back at him,
smiling broadly, encouragingly. There was no impatience,
no sense that he was holding her back or that she was
waiting for him. Looking at her, someone would think she
had all the time