Rabbit sighed as he settled down next to the river. He didn't like coming way out here by himself. He hated leaving Tigger behind. Yet Rabbit realized that he didn't have much choice. Ever since Kanga's husband had mysteriously disappeared from the One Hundred Acre Wood, Tigger had been growing steadily closer with Roo until he'd recently started letting the little kangaroo interrupt their time together.
Rabbit hadn't minded Tigger's involvement with the fatherless joey until that involvement had started pulling Tigger away from him. When Tigger had first brought Roo along to what had been supposed to be one of their own private play dates, Rabbit had put his foot down. He had told his love then and there that whereas he didn't mind his friendship with Roo, he wanted no part of it in his house. Neighbors were a menace to one's house and garden, and baby neighbors were the worst. They had no respect for any one else's belongings and were constantly causing trouble and breaking things, and although Roo had done absolutely no damage all that night, Rabbit had not changed his mind in the least.
The night after that interrupted play date, Tigger had come home to him as he should, and they had had a splendid time together. It had been the only following night, however, that Tigger had canceled their date so that he could go spend time with Roo. They had been fighting off and on ever since then about Tigger's involvement with the joey, and although Tigger had not dared to cancel another of their dates, he had been coming increasingly later to their engagements.
Then, this morning, when Owl had stopped by to inquire as to rather or not he'd seen Roo while Rabbit had been working in his garden and he'd learned of the joey's disappearance, Rabbit had known that he would have more trouble with Tigger. Although he'd hoped that Tigger would keep their picnic date, Rabbit had known in his sinking heart of hearts that it would prove to be another canceled engagement between them. He felt bad for the little joey. Truly, he did, but not to the point that he'd let him continue to interfere with his romance with Tigger.
Tigger had to learn that Rabbit should always come first in his book of who's who, far before Roo or any one else, and so when he'd chosen to stay and look for the joey rather than accompany his mate on the date they'd been planning for days, Rabbit had left him. Now he sat alone on the bank of the river, feeling more lonely than he had in years and completely miserable. His long ears, tail, and whiskers drooped, and he looked down at the churning water and the schools of fish passing beneath him.
The day was beautiful. Blue sky and fluffy, white clouds stretched on for as far as the eye could see. It was the type of day made for lovers, and yet here Rabbit sat, utterly alone and his thoughts constantly turning to the tiger he loved and who, though Rabbit knew he loved him too, persisted in putting a baby that was neither of theirs and certainly, thereby, neither of their responsibilities in the slightest ahead of him. Rabbit's big feet dangled in the brisk, cool water. He reached into his basket, withdrew a carrot, and began to munch even as big tears slowly rolled down his face and splashed into the water.
He dabbed at his tears. He'd not let Tigger make him cry. After all, Tigger had made his decision. He'd stayed behind when Rabbit had invited him and made it clear that he wanted him to come. He'd put a rodent ahead of him! Rabbit's ears trembled as he began to cry openly, and then suddenly, from somewhere behind him, Rabbit heard a soft, quiet sob. He froze, his teeth embedded in the orange flesh of his carrot. His ears twitched and twisted around to where he could listen better to what was happening behind him, and then, with as much clearness as was in the blue, blue sky above him or the blue water in which his feet dangled, Rabbit heard a tiny voice crying.
Rabbit's entire body, except for his small, pink nose, kept still as he listened to the sobs coming from somewhere behind him. His nose twitched like mad, the only sign of the emotions warring within him. He had found Roo, and the little joey was crying his heart out! He shouldn't care, he thought. Roo wasn't his baby. He wasn't his responsibility. And yet he did care.
Carefully keeping from turning his face toward the sound, Rabbit reached over to his picnic basket and withdrew the carrot cake he'd baked fresh that morning. He sat it onto the open ground beside him and spoke loudly. "It's too bad I don't have any one with whom to share this cake. Tigger would have enjoyed it, but he's too busy looking for little Roo. I wonder where that joey's gone off to now." He shrugged, his little, bunny tail twitching. "I bet he'd like this cake too."
Watching Rabbit from his hiding place inside a big bush further up the river bank, Roo dabbed at his eyes and pushed himself slightly higher up on his tail. The cake did smell good, he thought, his nose sniffing the delicious, enticing scent, but Rabbit didn't really want to share his cake. He didn't want to share his cake or Tigger with him. He knew that that was why they'd been fighting. Outside of his mama, Tigger was his only friend in the whole, wide world, and Tigger spending time with him was causing him trouble.
All Roo did was bring trouble to those he loved. He'd caused his father to run away, and now Tigger was fighting with his own bestest friend in all the world because Rabbit thought he was spending too much time with him. Roo sniffled. He probably was. Tigger was always there for him, and it wasn't fair. He was the one taking him away from his friend. He was a bad joey. He sobbed more loudly.
Rabbit's heart broke even more at the sound. "I think I'll just go ahead and cut a few pieces," he spoke aloud, withdrawing saucers and a butter knife from his basket. "Then when Tigger finds Roo and brings him to our picnic, we'll all be able to enjoy the cake together." He shook his head as Roo sobbed again. "It's just no fun to eat a cake by oneself." He pushed the pieces aside and looked back out to the river, determined to wait however long it took for the scared, little joey to come forward.
Secretly, Rabbit kicked himself. Both he and Roo wanted Tigger, and although he loved his mate with all his heart, Roo actually did need him worse right now. It wasn't like Tigger was trying to leave Rabbit for Roo, he thought, feeling as though he'd been the most stupid bunny in all the world. He had consistently tried to involve Rabbit with everything he was doing with Roo until Rabbit had told him he wanted no part of anything to do with the little, fatherless joey. He'd hurt both Tigger and Roo by doing so, Rabbit realized at last, and he was the one being the jerk in this picture, not Tigger.
"Roo," Rabbit called softly, and the baby kangaroo frightfully jumped and then stilled like a statue. "I know you're here. Please come out. I'm sorry for being a jerk. I'd love for you to eat a piece of my cake."
"R-Really?" Roo asked from the bush, his voice trembling, and then, realizing he'd spoken aloud, the little one clamped both paws over his mouth. His wide eyes watched Rabbit as Rabbit turned to look toward his hiding place.
He smiled into the bushes. "Really," he said and reached a hand out toward where Roo's voice had come. "I'm sorry for being a jerk. Will you forgive me?"
Roo slowly inched closer. "That depends," he thought, remembering a conversation he'd heard between Rabbit and Tigger. "Can I have a cookie?"
Rabbit sniffed, and another tear rolled down his long, furry face. Tigger had used that same joke the night they'd fought after dinner because Tigger had brought Roo over uninvited. "Yes," Rabbit answered, withdrawing a cookie from his basket and offering it into the air, "you may."
Roo hesitantly bounded forward, and Rabbit felt him trembling as he took the cookie from his furry paw. He ate it quickly, and Rabbit's long ears caught the rumbling of his tummy. "That was so good!" Roo exclaimed, licking every last crumb from his lips. "Do you have any more?"
"I have plenty," Rabbit replied, smiling and aching inside at the realization and acceptance of the deeper meaning of his words, "to share." He gave Roo one of the slices of frosting-laden cake he'd cut next, and the two ate the picnic Rabbit had made for his beloved Tigger and himself in silence.
"Yum!" Roo exclaimed after a bit, his little, brown tail thumping the ground. "That was good!"
Rabbit smiled down at the little joey and watched as his tail hit the ground in enthusiasm. He knew that one day that tail would be strong enough to knock down a young tree, but for now, it was still small. Everything about this little fellow was small, and yet Rabbit had tried so hard to shut him away from him, out of his world, and away from his beloved Tigger, who also happened to be Roo's best friend. He swallowed hard as he fought down the tears that threatened to brim again in his eyes. His nose and whiskers quivered, and his ears lowered. "I'm glad you liked it," he said softly.
"It was delicious!" Roo grinned up at him, but then his smile fell away. "But . . . " he spoke hesitantly, his tail falling softly against the earth, " . . . I thought you were mad at me?"
"Mad at you?" Rabbit repeated. He forced a chuckle. "No, no," he assured, "not at all!"
"Then why . . . ?" Roo started to ask, but Rabbit cut him off with a deep and heavy sigh.
"I was a jerk," he admitted, his ears lowering all the way behind his slender shoulders and his white puff of a tail tucking underneath his furry buttocks. "I've never been good at sharing. I don't like to share."
Roo looked fearfully over at the emptied containers and picnic basket. "But I thought you wanted to share your food?" he asked, squirming.
Rabbit placed a gentle hand on his shoulder, stilling his small body. He looked forlornly down into the little joey's face. "I did," he said. "I like to share food, but I'm very stingy . . . " Roo blinked, clearly confused by his choice of words. " . . . selfish," Rabbit amended and waited for understanding to flicker in the baby kangaroo's eyes before continuing, " . . . about everything else. I don't like to share my friends, and I especially don't like to share my ma - my very best friend in all the world."
"Who's that?" Roo asked. "Tigger?"
Rabbit nodded. "Yes." His ears, nose, tail, and whiskers again twitched. That, he thought, was certainly putting it mildly. He and Tigger had been together for years. He couldn't imagine having any one else in his life, at his side, and in his bed but his beloved Tigger, and for years, though they'd spent some time with the other animals in the One Hundred Acre Wood, he and Tigger had always spent more time together than alone or with any one else.
That had stopped when Roo had lost his father as Tigger had started spending increasingly more time with the little one, and Rabbit had been infuriated by his jealousy. Now he realized how little reason he had to be angry, and he kicked himself again inwardly. Roo needed a friend, and that's all that Tigger had been trying to do for the little guy. He'd just been trying to help him keep going after losing his father.
Rabbit himself had seen Roo and Kanga talking about his father a couple of days ago, and he'd noticed how quiet Roo had gotten when Kanga had started to cry about her missing husband. The little guy didn't have anybody else in the world to really talk to, he now understood, except for Tigger, and Tigger had been caught between trying to help him survive the loss eating away at his family and spending time with Rabbit. He'd tried to do both, but Rabbit himself had not let him. He sniffed and lowered his head and ears in shame.
"He's my very bestest friend in all the world, too," Roo said, and Rabbit sighed and kicked himself again.
"I know," he said quietly.
"But if you don't want to share him," Roo offered, forcing himself to appear far more brave about the situation than he really felt, "I can find another bestest friend."
To Be Concluded. . .