It didn’t ease the worry on his face. I handed him the bow. Erasing his fears in a couple of sessions wouldn’t happen. Hopefully, with enough time, he’d realize we needed scary things to challenge us.
“Bravery doesn’t mean you’re not scared. It’s knowing when to be scared.” He took the bow, gripping the handle. “Being scared will keep you alive.” I put a hand on his shoulder andpointed at the gremlins wrestling in the grass. “That’s why I’m worried about them.”
“They’re going to get eaten by bears.”
“Facts.”
No revelations. No certainties. Not that it was out there, we could work on it.
His fearsandmine.
“You haven’t hit a target yet,” Jeff mocked.
Ronnie might imagine himself as an elf, dodging about the forest, wielding a bow, but he’d starve to death with that aim. The embarrassment was only amplified as people sat on the edge of the green, watching him lose arrows into the river.
I gave Seamus and his friend a wave. I owed them for supplying the bales of hay for our targets. To my surprise, his buddy brought dozens of paper targets, donating them for the gremlins. I had intended to make the gremlins set up our makeshift archery range, but they had done it for us.
Seamus offered a nod of the chin.
On the other side of our range, far enough away to avoid accidental arrows to the chest, Harvey and Walter had taken up seats on the grass. Even a few of the gardeners set out their camp chairs, turning it into an afternoon activity. When Jeff and Matt hit their targets, the onlookers clapped with appreciation. Ronnie, on the other hand, hadn’t earned his cheers.
Notching another arrow, he raised it like I had shown him. He held still, waiting for approval. I tapped his draw-hand, reminding him to hold it to his cheek. His arms quivered as he fixed his posture. Moving behind him, I looked down the arrow. He’d lose all the arrows at this rate.
“Lower.”
He moved it lower.
“Lower.”
At least he listened.
“Now.”
The arrow let loose with a twang. I half-expected him to lose another into the river. We all froze when it hit the target. The top right cover of the paper had less than an inch to spare. Walter and Harvey whooped and hollered. Even Seamus and his companion offered a slow clap.
“I did it!” Ronnie jumped up and down as if he had won the competition. “I’m going to take out a bear.” Big aspirations for a kid who lost six arrows and hit the ground more than the target. “I’m unstoppable.” He howled like a madman.
“Calm down.”
“Think you can do better?” He offered me the bow.
Could I bottle this child’s confidence and sell it to Matt? Hell, I’d take a little myself. I shook my head in disbelief. Fine, if he wanted to play this game, I could use it to my advantage.
“What do I get if I win?”
“My respect?”
“Try again.” Pulling an arrow from my quiver, I waited for his offer. I didn’t need to be an expert marksman, just better than a twelve-year-old. If I failed at this, I’d never live it down. Fireflyandthe gremlins would be talking about it for weeks to come.
“I’ll collect all the firewood.”
Notching the arrow, I pulled it back. My old bow had been tiresome to draw as a kid. Pops had promised once I built up enough muscle, he’d get me a compound bow like his. We had never gotten to that point before I wormed my way out of adventures.
The string touched my cheek as I stared down the shaft. “Deal.” Release. We all held our breath as the arrow soaredacross the green. It pierced the target on the right, just as it had decades ago. The onlookers applauded while I shot Ronnie a smug look.
“Hope you like collecting firewood.”
“Whoa.” All three said in unison. I followed their eyes to the target, and the arrow firmly wedged in the middle of the bullseye. I glanced back at the gremlins, confused about how?—
