Climbing over the gate at the end of their lane, Corvan spied his dad’s rusty pickup slouched on its broken springs in front of the house. His heart dropped. Now his mom would want to know why he was late.

There was nothing worse than getting in trouble at school and then again at home when his mom found out. If she grounded him, he wouldn’t get a chance to meet Kate and ask her to help him search for the lizard. It would be best to sneak around to the back porch, climb the maple tree to his room, and pretend he had been napping.

As he veered to the left side of the house, the front screen door squeaked open, and his mother stepped out. Here was living proof that opposites attract: unlike his father, she was tall, and her skin remained pale no matter how much time she spent outdoors.

“About time you got home,” she said wearily. “You can help me carry the cider jars back to the pantry. I only sold three and traded a few more for some baking supplies.” She opened the tailgate and slung a half empty crate of jars at him with an ease that denied its weight. Grasping the wooden box, Corvan barely managed to stumble his way through the front door. If he had his mother’s strength, he could knock Billy Fry clean across the school yard.

Entering the kitchen, he found his father staring out over the field at the sink. A pair of sunglasses stuck out from his hand. As his deeply lined eyes scanned the horizon, there was a deep furrow across his brow.

As Corvan scraped the crate onto the table, his father jammed his sunglasses onto his head and went out the back door without saying a word.

Corvan desperately wanted to stop him and ask what was going on, but he knew it was no use. His father had become increasingly reclusive the past year. He missed his job at the mine and detested farming. The summer heat sapped his energy even though he covered up, wore a wide brimmed hat, and kept his sunglasses on whenever he was outside.

Corvan gazed helplessly at the hunched figure walking across the yard. He missed happier days when his dad would come home from the mine and play games with him after supper. With the mine closed, his dad spent most of his days and nights down in the cellar, pounding away on his metalwork projects. He was glad his father didn’t get drunk like Billy Fry’s dad, but withdrawing to the cellar didn’t seem like a great way to deal with problems either.

His mother entered and slid two more full crates onto the kitchen table. She stared at her husband as he disappeared around the rock and shook her head. “I’ve no time to make supper tonight. Grab yourself some jerky and a piece of bread. I’ll dig you a few carrots before I start weeding the garden.”

His mother’s response to problems was to spend more time in her garden, but Corvan didn’t mind. He liked eating the fruit of her labors, and her obsession with gardening usually meant he would be left alone to pursue his own interests.

After stuffing three long strips of dried meat from the stoneware crock into his pocket, he sauntered outside, where he found his mother on her knees in the dirt, the dilapidated scarecrow watching silently over her. Picking up the bunch of carrots by the water pump, he began working the long iron handle.

The pump squeaked as he washed the dirt off, and his mother stretched her back and admired her handiwork. He avoided eye contact, hoping she wouldn’t ask him to help weed. He hated that chore, and right now he needed to get out to the rock to meet Kate.

The water ebbed to a trickle, and his mother went back to her weeding. Creeping from the yard, he headed out to the Castle Rock.

It was a steeper climb behind the outhouse and up the southeast side of the rock, but Corvan knew every small foothold like the stairs to his bedroom. Reaching the top, he stepped into the widest gap between two stone crenelations and leaned onto one of the boulders, like a king surveying his domain.

Their home was one of two farms that lay just outside the main streets of their small town. Corvan’s home was directly north of town at the end of a long, tree-lined lane that thrust the house far out into an open field of grain. His father liked being separated from the town and always kept his gate closed and latched. A larger farm to the east side of town belonged to Mr. Fry.

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Their yard and garden were bounded by twin rows of trees, a line of tall aspens and a shorter screen of spruce. In the center of this living wall of green was their home—the Guard Tower, as his grandfather had named it. It was a fitting name, for it was a small square structure, two stories high, and it was the only home in town made of heavy stone blocks. The structure had been built long before the surrounding area was settled. A history professor from the college in the city asked to see it, but his dad wouldn’t let him past the front gate.

The rest of the homes were clustered along three wide gravel roads that ran parallel to the railway tracks. All in all, their dusty town had one grain elevator, one corner gas station, two vacant lots, and 76 houses of various sizes. The total population was 257 residents, but worked in the city of Fenwood, fifteen miles past the railway crossing, or in the river valley at the coal mine.

Crunching the last bite of carrot, he tossed the green top over the side of the hill. He should be helping his mother in the garden instead of imagining himself as the king of the world, but Kate was coming. He eased the feelings of guilt by walking around to the north side of the ring of rocks and looked out over the fields.

His father, now a stick figure in the distance, disappeared into the tangle of brush-filled coulees that marked the edge of their property. Beyond that boundary, the land dropped off steeply to the river and caves that laced the sides of the river valley. His father loved to explore the caverns and could be underground for days at a time.

Corvan turned away and stepped into the depression in the midst of the ring of rocks that crowned the hill. The large rock that used to be in the gap facing his house was in the very center circle. At some point in the distant past, it had been broken off and relocated. He had learned not to ask why.

On the eastern side of the Castle Rock, he and Kate had built a fort from old lumber they had pillaged around town. It wasn’t much to look at, but it provided a bit of shade and protection from the prevailing winds. From here, they had explored the surrounding area all the way out to the caves at the river’s edge.

The area in front of the fort was normally a muddy pond. Rainwater would gather and then overflow into a channel cut into the western slope and rush out into the field. The past summer, however, had been far too hot and dry. The pond water had long since evaporated and left salt-crusted shards of mud behind.

Corvan continued past the central boulder to the western side. The slope was gentler here, and the dry water channel was a comfortable resting spot. From here, he would have a clear view of Kate coming from her house.

A smile spread across his face. It had been a relief to find out it wasn’t Kate’s idea to stop hanging out with him. Her mother was not well accepted in town, and Billy’s father was a mean-tempered man known for pushing people around to get his way. Most likely, he was embarrassed that his son had been put in his place by a younger girl.

The sun was setting and Corvan’s hopes faltered. Kate usually followed through on her plans, but at times Kate’s mother returned from work in a bad mood and would refuse to let Kate come over after supper. After a week of not seeing her and exciting news about the lizard, this would be the worst time for her to be grounded.

The cradle of rock beneath him radiated its stored heat into his body. He lay back and closed his eyes to block out the setting sun.

The bell on the back porch was ringing! He sat up to find the last sliver of sunlight behind a thin band of cloud on the horizon.

Walking down the channel, he stopped in at the outhouse before going into the kitchen. His mother was drying the dishes and stacking them on the cupboard. A bowl with a few strawberries was waiting for him on the table.

“There’s not many left, and they likely aren’t the sweetest, but I thought you might enjoy them.” She stepped off to one side of the sink. “You need to wash your hands first. I saw you come out of the outhouse.”

Corvan stepped beside her, dipped his hands in the warm water, and looked out the window past the Castle Rock.

“Is dad coming back tonight?” He dropped his head. His mother had enough worries.

She looked down at him. “Your father needs some time to think things through, but don’t let all this worry you.” She put a hand on his shoulder. “We’ve been through tough times before ,and we’ll make it through this one too.”

Corvan wiped his hands on the towel that hung next to the sink, sat at the table, and finished off the berries.

His mother picked up his empty bowl and pushed it into the soapy water. “It’s been a long day, and I’ll be going to bed soon. You should do the same and get some rest.” She smiled at him over her shoulder, but the lines about her eyes remained sad and drawn. “Hopefully you have better dreams and don’t wake me up in the night.”

He gave her a quick hug. “Goodnight mom.”

As he climbed the stairs, he muttered to himself, “I sure won’t have a good night if that stupid nightmare comes back.”