Mike wasn’t fine. No way could he take a walk. This was a far cry from the way Mike imagined starting the family he’d always hoped for. So what? What he’d wanted was irrelevant. He’d resolved to be a real dad to a boy who’d never seen him or heard his name. No matter what it took to make it work. Mike started visiting and got to know Jason, at least as much as the miles between them allowed.
Then one night last June, Zoe’s father called to say she’d died in a fire in their family’s cabin. Jason had survived with burns on both hands and arms. As terrible as that was, Mike soon learned those physical injuries were the least of it. The emotional fallout hadn’t faded like the scars on his son’s skin. From the time Mike saw Jason in the hospital up to this moment rowing on the lake, Jason had not spoken a single word. Mike heard his son’s voice only when he cried out during one of his nightmares. At first those awful dreams happened almost every night and continued when Mike took Jason home to his apartment in Cincinnati, but since moving to the lake in Bluestone River, they’d gradually become less frequent, until now the agonizing cries occurred only once or twice a week.
Sometimes Mike found it hard to grasp how much he’d changed—almost overnight. Not just the circumstances of his life, but what he thought about and how felt inside his own skin. He’d gone from a guy who stopped for a beer and burger with his coworkers after hours to a dad who reminded himself to put Jason’s rain jacket in the car. He taught his boy to count out the money for his weekly lunch pass and, in the most dadlike of jobs, checked Jason’s pockets for crayons or puzzle pieces before throwing his jeans in the wash.
From the time he’d started at the firm in Cincinnati, he’d made good money and added to his retirement fund every month, paid off his student loans early and built up a respectable investment account. He’d never imagined he’d end up counting on what he’d put aside to support his child while he tried to make a brand-new law practice a success in a stagnating town.
“On warm sunny days like this, I’m glad we live out in the country and not in Cincinnati,” he said to Jason, really as a way to remind himself why he’d quit his job and moved to Bluestone River. Mike had tried to make life seamless in the city, but in the end he followed his gut and left his secure job behind. Overriding his jumbled mix of feelings, he’d brought Jason to the emotional shelter that was the Abbot family home on the lake. It still stood, rambling and neglected. Not knowing why, Mike had argued with his dad about holding on to the house and the lake in the deal that turned everything else over to the sanctuary. In the end, Mike won the argument, without really understanding why it was so important to him. He understood now. Thanks again, Dad, for letting me win that one.
He watched Jason stare at more noisy ducks paddling over for a look at the boat. Seeing his son’s faint, peaceful smile gave Mike the boost of confidence he needed about his decision to reconfigure his life, challenges and all.
“We’ve always had lots of ducks at the lake. My mom used to say the ducks were ubiquitous. U-bi-qui-tous,” he repeated slowly, with a laugh. “I remember when she used that word and then told me it meant the ducks were all over the place.”
Smiling to himself, he recalled how often his mom had used unusual words, as if slipping a vocabulary lesson into their everyday small talk. When he was young he’d groan whenever she did it, but by high school he laughed with his friends about the words that he could pull out for any occasion. A panoply of words, Mike thought, one of his mom’s favorites.
Enough of this. No more mulling over the past, not with Jason sitting in front of him. Like every other day, Mike had plenty to think about in the present. Like dinner. “Hey, buddy, how about we head home? I’ll fix us some mac ’n’ cheese for dinner. Then we’ll break out the ice cream—the kind with the chocolate and peanuts.”
Jason nodded eagerly, but he kept his eyes on the ducks, who paddled alongside the rowboat all the way back to the beach. What was Jason thinking? Mike asked himself that question dozens of times a day. In moments like this, he yearned to hear Jason’s voice. But there was nothing he could do to make that happen. Except be there with him. And wait.
CHAPTER TWO
WITH PEACH AT her side, Ruby broke into a slow jog from Emma’s house to the unpaved farm road that led to the covered bridge and the park on the other side of the river. She’d been with Emma a few days now and they’d settled into a comfortable routine.
They had yet to venture beyond the house, but they didn’t have to. Not with Brenda around to take Emma’s grocery list to the store and come back with bags of food. They had everything they’d need for the coming week and beyond, right down to Emma’s favorite jelly donuts from Sweet Comforts, a new bakery in town. As if they’d never heard of calories or carbs, the owners specialized in old-fashioned doughy pastries. Emma remarked it was about the only new addition to Bluestone River worth mentioning since Ruby left.
The surgery loomed in Ruby’s mind in a somber sort of way. As much as she wanted to be like Emma, wildly optimistic about the outcome, Ruby knew her friend had been on a roller coaster of high hopes of a full recovery only to be let down and disappointed too many times. But she was careful to hide her doubts, especially because Emma was like a horse at the gate waiting to get going. Emma counted on reclaiming her confident stride. She lived for the day that walker would be history.
Too restless to sleep much last night, her friend had finally fallen into a deep slumber stretched out on the couch after lunch. Ruby took that as her chance to slip out with Peach and take the dog beyond Emma’s acres. “We both need to work our leg muscles,” Ruby said to Peach as she picked up the pace. Ruby was no marathoner, but she liked her long walks and two- or three-mile runs a couple of times a week. That’s how she kept herself—and Peach—in shape.
“Time to visit the river, and the bridge, too,” she said, breathing a little more heavily as she increased her speed. They soon passed another field of goldenrod and the last of the Queen Anne’s lace swaying in the light breeze. “Once upon a time, the old bridge was my favorite place in town.” She glanced down at the dog and grinned. “Like you care.”
On her way into town she’d seen signs on the highway for the semifamous covered bridge, a landmark meant to lure people to see one of the last of its kind in the state. In the past, most people found the bridge and Bluestone River itself when they were on their way somewhere else, like the state park to the east and a couple of historic towns on the Mississippi River to the west. By the time she and Emma were teenagers, the bridge had turned into a trendy photo-op spot.
Ruby could hear the water rushing over the rocks, the closest thing to rapids Bluestone River offered, before she made the turn on the road and the red wooden structure came into view. She stopped abruptly a safe distance away, while the air buzzed around her head and her ears pulsed a warning from her heart. Did she really want to risk the pain of reliving memories already surfacing? She could turn back and pretend there was no bridge, no river, no park.
Peach strained at the leash and Ruby forced herself to keep going, as she knew she should. She couldn’t sleep night after night in Emma’s lovely sage-green room and pretend she’d never been young and happy in this town. She couldn’t act like she hadn’t fallen in love with a boy named Mike. She’d take it a piece at a time, she decided, as she walked through the covered bridge looking straight ahead. No need to pay attention to the colorful spray-painted hearts drawn around names and initials painted and carved on the inside walls.
Mike had carved their names inside one of the smaller hearts on an almost empty spot in a lower corner. She’d drawn the heart herself and painted the borders in bold magenta. Probably faded by now. It didn’t matter. Her grown-up heart wasn’t ready to look at their names, anyway.
Emerging into the sunlight again, she stopped at the railing to watch foamy whitecaps downriver, which was wider and deeper than the rocky section where the water seemed to
rush under the bridge. “So, Peach, I spent hundreds or hours here when I was growing up. What do you think of that?” She glanced at the dog, whose nose was busy exploring the patchy grass. “Not much, huh?”
Always amused by her one-sided conversations with Peach, Ruby felt a little lighter when she wandered into the park. Clouds were forming rapidly in the west and casting shadows over the riverbank and the woods behind the playground. A few bikers were riding on the trail running adjacent to the water and a handful of kids were on the swings and climbing the ladders to the top of the two slides. Peach pulled on the leash, urging Ruby to move a little closer to the children and the woman supervising them.
“Shush,” she said when the dog let out a low bark. “No barking, no chasing kids, even though you like them.” Ruby walked around the edge of the playground and sat on a bench and stretched her legs out in front of her. Peach, her tail wagging at maximum speed, pressed her side against Ruby’s leg as she kept the kids in her sights. Ruby knew little of her dog’s history, except that she’d lived with her elderly owner in an apartment across the landing from hers. From the first day Ruby had agreed to look after Peach, the dog’s tail always picked up speed when children were around.
Emma liked to tease Ruby about finally getting a pet when she always insisted she would never have one. Early one morning the dog’s yelping and scratching from inside the apartment door signaled something was wrong. Ruby called 911, and paramedics soon discovered Peach’s owner, who’d apparently died in her sleep the previous night. Ruby agreed to watch the dog until her neighbor’s adult children arrived. Then she agreed to keep Peach for a couple of days while the funeral arrangements were made. And sure, she wouldn’t mind taking care of Peach until the apartment was emptied and closed up. And so it went. One day, her neighbor’s son came right out and asked if there was any chance she’d take the dog off their hands permanently. By that time, Peach, bewildered and quiet, had wormed her way into Ruby’s heart. She couldn’t have said no.
Ruby rubbed the fur on Peach’s neck, thinking how peaceful it was to watch the kids play. This playground had been added to the Bluestone River Park when Ruby was about the same age as these children. Her gaze settled on one little boy staring at her and Peach from one of the swings. He was moving back and forth in a lackluster way, dragging his feet across the protective rubber mat under the swing. When he got off the swing and began walking toward them, Ruby took hold of Peach’s collar and told her to sit. “Good girl,” she said when Peach settled on her haunches. “Now stay. And no barking.”
When the boy was still a few yards away, caution led Ruby to greet him. “Hi there. My dog is friendly, but she doesn’t know you.” She indicated that he should come to her left side, opposite the dog, who sat at her right. “You’re welcome to say hello.”
The boy nodded solemnly, but then a faint smile appeared. As he inched ahead, Peach’s tail swished across the ground.
“Her name is Peach. I’m Ruby.”
The boy didn’t say anything, but the smile stayed.
“Here comes somebody you know.” Ruby nodded toward a woman hurrying across the gravel with a toddler planted on her hip.
“I think your little boy likes my dog,” Ruby said. “She’s very gentle, so it’s okay if he comes a little closer.”
“Do you want to do that, Jason?” the woman asked.
That was all the encouragement the boy needed in order to come close enough for Peach to start sniffing his shoes.
“This is Jason. He’s one of the kids I watch after school.” She patted the toddler’s leg. “This is my little one, Molly.”
“Well, if it’s okay with you, Jason can pet the dog. Peach is pretty sweet.”
Jason’s big blue-gray eyes opened wide as his smile spread across his face. He moved closer and stroked Peach’s back.
“You’ve made a friend, Jason.”
The boy glanced Ruby’s way, but still didn’t speak.
“He’s kind of quiet.” The woman patted the top of the boy’s head. “That’s okay. You’ll talk when you’re ready.” She flashed Ruby a pointed look.
She was trying to communicate something, but Ruby didn’t know what. Not exactly. But the thin pale lines and telltale puckering of burn scars on the boy’s forearms might have something to do with his silence.
“How many children do you take care of?” Ruby asked, keeping her eye on Jason.
“Two all day, and three or four after school. It varies some. Plus my Molly.” She gave the toddler’s foot a little shake. “This is only Jason’s second day with me. We’re having a good time, but we better get back home. Your daddy is coming for you soon, Jason.”
Ruby got to her feet and turned to the little boy. “I need to leave, too, but I’m glad you got to meet Peach. Maybe I’ll see you another day, Jason.”
Jason gave Peach a final pat before running off. But when he looked back and waved, Ruby waved back. He might be silent, but he sure wasn’t withdrawn. Jason occupied her mind on the walk home and while she heated up beef stew for dinner. Even when she said good-night to Emma her thoughts veered back to the boy in the park. There was something about him. Not a familiarity exactly, but she found herself relating to the boy in some way she couldn’t define. Hmm...puzzling.
* * *
ON SUNDAY MORNING, Mike kept up the breakfast table patter as he put their dishes in the sink. “Lots to do today,” he said. “How about if we go to the park first and then we’ll go to the supermarket in Clayton?” He had to laugh at his tone, as if trying to make a trip to the grocery store into an exciting adventure. Who was he kidding? Twelve miles east, Clayton was a bigger town, and from what Mike could see, the businesses that once served Bluestone River had mostly either closed up altogether, or had relocated to Clayton.
When Jason nodded, Mike thought he saw his eyes lighting up a little at the mention of the park. Heather said Jason enjoyed it, and had even approached a dog and its owner cautiously. She assured him she’d kept a close eye on him. Mike was pleased Jason hadn’t been too afraid or shy to run off to have a look at the dog. It was a glimpse into the lively, independent little kid Mike had known before the fire.
Now was as good a time as any to break through his mental barriers about being in the park and seeing the bridge. Mike couldn’t live in his hometown and ignore everything that made it special. It was just too bad those places held raw memories he’d rather avoid. Get over it. He scoffed to himself. That might as well be his mantra these days.
When Jason scampered off to get dressed, Mike let himself toy with the vision of a furry puppy chasing Jason through the house or around the beach in front of the house. Maybe a dog was just what they needed. Jason would have to talk to a puppy, wouldn’t he? Maybe giggle over puppy antics? Sometimes Mike grew so sick of the sound of his own voice he turned on the TV or streamed a movie for Jason just to break the silence in the house. Only last night at dinner, it took all his self-control not to outright beg Jason to talk to him—say something, anything. Speak!
As appealing as a dog sounded for all kinds of reasons, Mike shelved the idea, at least for now. He had enough to do to settle into this complicated new life he’d created. Besides, he knew the drill. He’d once been a kid with a little cocker spaniel, and decades later he could still hear his mother asking, in her good-natured mom voice, “Why do I end up doing all the dog work around here?” He’d been a lot older than Jason before he’d remembered to fill the water bowl and take the dog out without his mom’s exasperated nagging.
Mom. There she was again showing up in his mind chatter. Since he’d been back in the lake house, his mother seemed always present in the back of his mind. Or, the front of it. He’d poked around the cabinets and the hutch in the dining room and some boxes in the pantry, and found everything from holiday china settings to an old meat grinder and a seldom-used blender. Sometimes he lived his boyhood days all over
again when he opened his eyes and looked out the window at the lake, situated so it caught the early morning light. Even as a boy, Mom’s favorite time of the day had become his, too.
The drive to the park took them through town and past the two River Street office spaces Mike had arranged to look at next week. The Realtor he’d been working with was almost too honest when she admitted people weren’t lining up to rent either space. Would he like to buy a building downtown? He could get one in a heartbeat. Dirt cheap.
Once they parked and left the car, Jason ran off to the higher of the two slides and climbed the ladder behind a couple of slightly older kids. Even Elaine Cermak had remarked that Jason’s silence had mistakenly led her to assume Jason had withdrawn into his own world. Not so. Here in the park among children he didn’t know, Jason had taken off to the slide without hesitation.
Even as he kept an eye on Jason whooshing down the slide and running back to the ladder to do it again, the red covered bridge beckoned. It was the one thing in town that hadn’t changed at all, although he supposed the old garish hearts and flowers had probably been painted over with new names. He and Ruby had playfully argued about what spot to stake out as their own. Ruby chose bright purplish-red paint for the heart, but he’d insisted they carve “Mike + Ruby,” not “M + R.”
He and Ruby had more than flimsy dreams, he’d boasted to his mom. They had plans. Ruby called them strategies. He could still hear her voice as she spoke in a tone that called up images of people dressed in navy blue suits gathered around tables in corporate conference rooms. But Ruby had been serious. She’d presented him with a spreadsheet showing her strategy for the two of them to squeeze in extra classes each semester and do independent study in the summer so they could finish college in three years instead of four. He’d collected information on law schools for himself and MBA programs for Ruby, at the same universities, or at least at schools in the same city. They’d all but set a date for their wedding—at the bridge, of course. Now, two decades later, he reminded himself to exhale. Their names were on that wall a few feet away and knowing that tore his heart one more time.
A Family for Jason Page 3