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from around the drape she had not closed completely.
    “I’ll pick you up around nine,” he said, exactly the same way he had named the games they would play, their roles in the games. Numbly she nodded.
    The farm house appeared to be intact but neglected, with leaves and scraps of paper in drifts on the front and back porches,the yard unkempt and weedy, with overgrown hedges, seedling sumac and maple trees, a lot of Queen Ann’s lace in bloom. It made Ashley sadder than the funeral had done.
    She and Nathan skirted the house and found that the path to Rabbit Creek had vanished amongst brambles and more weeds. Nathan went first, stamping down what he could, holding back a few low-hanging branches for Ashley.
    The creek was unchanged, as was the cave entrance. Ashley felt a wave of nausea as they drew near the boulder. “No closer,” she said in a low voice, six feet or more from the entrance.
    Nathan nodded. He had a length of nylon rope, a thin pale life line to lead him to safety if necessary. He tied a loop in one end, slipped it over his hand, and handed her the coiled rope. Without speaking, he waved to her and walked the rest of the way to the entrance while she played out the line. He passed out of sight around the boulder.
    She turned her back on the cave, and gazed at the corn field across Rabbit Creek. Grampa once said that sometimes the creek flooded the other side where the ground was lower. She tried to see wind-whipped waves instead of corn. It was hard to imagine the friendly little creek flexing enough muscle to cover whole fields.
    Suddenly the rope in her hand twitched, and she spun around, ready to start pulling. The tension on the line relaxed, then jerked again. She yanked it hard. Then she dropped it and felt her world spinning, her vision blurring. She flung out her hand to clutch a nearby tree trunk to keep from falling.
    Joey had emerged from the cave. Close behind him Nathan was straightening up from a doubled over position.
    Joey looked exactly the same he had looked that day, wearing the same stained, smudged t-shirt, blue shorts, sneakers. The same tow head, sunburned face, dried mud on his leg. The same wiry body, knobby knees, deceptively thin arms . . .
    He stopped moving when he saw Ashley, and when Nathan touched his shoulder, he flinched away. He was so little, Ashley thought. He was so little.
    “Joey,” she whispered. “It’s me, Ashley.”
    She took a step toward him, another, and he shrank away before she could touch him. She drew back her hand and looked from him to Nathan. He was pale and strangely pinched, much older suddenly.
    “I was starting to measure, and saw something from the corner of my eye. It was Joey, sitting on the floor, just like he was before.” Nathan’s voice was unfamiliar, hoarse, and he was staring at Joey as if hypnotized by the slight boy.
    Joey turned from him to Ashley, back to Nathan. His lips were trembling, he looked ready to cry. “Where’s Nathan?” he asked. “Where’s Ashley? Who are you?”
    Nathan leaned against the boulder. “Joey, where were you? Did you see anything? Do you remember anything?”
    Joey shook his head, edging away from Nathan, keeping his distance from Ashley. “I didn’t go anywhere. I just sat down. Nathan said he had something to eat. Then you were there.”
    Suddenly he turned and bolted for the path to the house. Nathan ran after him and caught him, but not before he had gone a step or two into the brambles. Nathan lifted him and held him above the vines, crashing through brambles up the path, and set him down in the yard. He kept hold of Joey’s arm as Ashley made her way after them, trying to avoid what she could of the punishing thorns. They were all scratched by then, and Joey was bleeding on his legs and arms. He began to cry.
    “We’ll go somewhere to clean those scratches, get some bandaids,” Nathan said.
    “Nathan, look, the back door is open,” Ashley said, pointing to the house. “We can go