More Than Neighbors

by Janice Kay Johnson

  Now she did. She slid her arm around his waist to hug him back. “Yep.”

  “Why don’t you visit the school?” he suggested. “Talk to the principal, to teachers.”

  “They’re out for the summer.”

  “I’m betting they’re around. This is a pretty small town. Besides, I seem to remember that by August they’re back to work getting ready for the next school year.”

  Ciara made a face at him. “As always, you’re right, o wise one.”

  Her daddy laughed, kissed her and said, “Good to know I’m appreciated.”

  “I suppose we should get back to the party.”

  “I suppose we should.”

  She heard a crash inside and winced. Soccer ball. Reluctantly, she stood. “Here goes.”

  “Give Gabe a chance,” her father said, as he, too, rose to his feet and crossed the porch with her.

  She had only a moment to nod before they went inside, where she immediately heard her son’s voice raised as he tried to explain why the soccer ball hitting the lamp had just happened.

  * * *

  GABE HAD JUST stepped out his kitchen door in the morning, a second cup of coffee in his hand, when he saw a flurry of activity up at Ciara’s that told him her family was departing. Ben was loading suitcases in the rear of the SUV as doors were opened, the three women talked and Mark and Watson circled around them all. There were hugs—even Mark submitted to one from his grandmother, and Ciara and Bridget...well, Gabe couldn’t tell. They at least said their goodbyes.

  As the SUV receded down the driveway then turned left on the road, Mark and his dog wandered around behind the house. Ciara stayed where she was. From this distance, he couldn’t see her face, but there was something forlorn about that solitary figure, watching long past the point where she’d be able to see the Toyota.

  Gabe ground his molars and forced himself into motion. The Malloy family had taken enough of his time. Today he was putting a finish on an entire set of cabinets, then this afternoon riding Hoodoo to the Beems’ place on the other side of his property to give him a workout with some cattle. Gabe had neglected him lately. Mark would have enjoyed coming with him...but he needed a break from all the Malloys.

  He ignored his phone when it rang midday, and he recognized the number. He left the phone behind when he went out to saddle Hoodoo, who was even more fractious than usual. He didn’t do his best cutting that afternoon, either. Partly the horse’s fault, partly Gabe’s. He caught himself using legs and rein in ways that only confused the animal.

  They tried and tried again, until things went a little better, and he decided to quit on a high note.

  He’d been aware that Henry Beem had come out to drape himself on the fence and watch the past hour.

  “Ran some weight off those steers, did you?” Henry remarked.

  Gabe shook his head. “They did a little more running than they should have. Hoodoo and I aren’t at our sharpest.”

  “Haven’t seen you here in a while.”

  “Been busy.” He asked politely after Verna’s health, learned that their son Gerry had been promoted to manager at Boeing and their granddaughter was expecting what would be their fourth great-grandchild. Gabe knew only one of their three children lived nearby, which meant they didn’t see all that much of those great-grandchildren, but he guessed that was the way it was for most people. There wasn’t all that much work to be had locally. He’d been lucky to be able to pursue his livelihood and stay in the family home both, he knew that. Henry was tactful enough not to regret aloud that Gabe didn’t have a family, although the pity was there in his eyes. Henry believed wholeheartedly in family.

  Gabe tipped his hat and rode home, clomping along the narrow shoulder of the road, his thoughts consuming enough that Hoodoo was halfway up his driveway before he saw Mark, wearing his new cowboy hat, waiting outside the barn.

  Gabe’s “Damn” was heartfelt. At his growled outburst, the sorrel’s skin shivered as his ears swiveled like a pair of miniature radar.

  “Where’d you go?” Mark asked as soon as he was within earshot.

  “Worked some cows over at the Beems’.” Gabe jerked his head to the north.

  “Oh. I wish I could have watched.”

  Gabe said nothing, only riding past the boy and dismounting when he reached the fence where Aurora waited, nickering a greeting.

  He loosened the girth and hauled the saddle off, slinging it over the fence.

  “You want help?” Mark asked.

  “Not today.”

  “Oh.” He shifted. “Grandma and Grandad and Aunt Bridget left today.”

  “Did they?”

  He took that as encouragement and started to chatter first about the visit, then how Mom said maybe tomorrow they could do something together, but today she had to work.

  “But she said to ask if you could come to dinner tonight,” he concluded.

  “Tell her thanks, but no. I’m going to grab a quick sandwich and work this evening.”

  “No?” Mark seemed shocked. As well he might, since Gabe didn’t recall that he’d ever before declined one of Ciara’s invitations.

  “I’ve taken enough time off today.”

  “Oh.” Apparently, that was his fallback word. “Can I come over tomorrow?”

  “No, I’m delivering some cabinets.”

  “Well, then, can I—?”

  Gabe raised his eyebrows. “I thought you and your mom were going to do something.”

  “She’d probably be happy if she didn’t have to.” For once, the boy seemed teenage sullen.

  “Don’t expect me to buy that. Your mother lives to make you happy.”

  He gave a sulky shrug.

  Gabe set aside the rubber curry comb he’d been using on Hoodoo’s sleek coat and reached for the stiff brush.

  Mark backed away. “I guess I’ll go home, then.”

  Regretting the effect his crappy mood was having on the boy, Gabe said, “Let’s plan on a session day after tomorrow. That work for you?”

  “Sure! Maybe you can come to dinner that night.”

  “We’ll see,” Gabe said noncommittally. Damn, he was going to look like a real son of a bitch if he kept saying no, but he couldn’t imagine right now how he’d sit across the table from Ciara and pretend nothing was wrong when everything was.

  A hoof shot forward, almost catching Gabe in the knee. He dodged it, smacked Hoodoo on the rump but also said, “Sorry, boy. I wasn’t paying attention to what I was doing, was I?” He’d been plying the brush with unnecessary vigor on the horse’s sensitive belly.

  He used more care as he finished grooming Hoodoo, checked his hooves and turned him out, to be greeted by Aurora.

  Gabe hadn’t lied; he’d half intended to go back to work, but if anything, his mood was worse than it had been when he saddled Hoodoo. Instead, he went into the house, poured himself a rare whiskey and soda and carried it to the living room, where he planted himself in his chair and sat looking at the row of photographs on the mantel. The ones he had begun thinking he might be ready to put away.

  And he made a discovery that wasn’t entirely welcome: however savage the pain he felt now, he couldn’t take refuge in grief too muted by the years to provide the shield he needed. That time was past.

  * * *

  “YOUR PARENTS AND sister get home okay?” Gabe asked as Ciara handed him a basket holding rolls.

  His tone was killingly polite, and he had very carefully avoided touching her when he accepted the basket. Her heart sank.

  “Yes, Mom called to let me know they’d got there.”

  “Grandad says he’ll look for someplace Aunt Bridget can ride,” Mark contributed.

  If Mark had been anyone else, Ciara might have thought he had noticed the level of discomfort between the two adults and was trying to help ease it.

  “I hope he means it,” Gabe said. “Bridget seemed to really enjoy getting up on Aurora.”

  “It was nice of you to offer,” Ciara s
aid, hating how gushy she sounded.

  He flicked a glance at her. “I’m a nice man,” he said flatly.

  Mark laughed as if that was uproariously funny. Ciara’s hand trembled so she had to set down her fork. Which hardly mattered; her appetite was nonexistent.

  “More?” She nudged the bowl of peas Gabe’s way.

  “Thank you.”

  At the end of the meal, Mark dragged Gabe to the computer to see how cool his game was. She served them pieces of pie at the desk. Neither seemed to remember she existed. Seeing how engrossed they were, she quietly cleared the table, put away the leftovers, loaded the dishwasher and started it, all the while listening to them talk.

  Some was about the game.

  “See what happens here? You’ve got to be really fast.”

  Gabe, amused: “I don’t know. I never was a whiz with arcade games. I’m kind of methodical.”

  But there were pauses, pockets of conversation that took her aback. Gabe told Mark about a new client. He’d never worked with the contractor before, either, and was therefore wary.

  “They claim to understand why it takes longer to get their cabinets, but I’m not so sure they really do.”

  “Do you ever let anyone come and look around your workshop? Or even watch you work?”

  “God, no!”

  “Well,” her son said reasonably, “they might be impressed. Like I was.”

  “And they might decide I’m a hick, one-man operation, not up to their standards.”

  “But all they have to do is look at your cabinets.” Mark sounded passionate.

  Gabe slapped him lightly on the back. “You’re right.”

  A few minutes later, Gabe suggested they ride tomorrow. Work on “reining”—whatever that was. High-speed stops and starts.

  “You’re getting there,” he said, “but I want to be sure you can stick on Aurora’s back before I let you work a herd.”

  “Okay!” Mark’s delight was obvious to Ciara, even when her back was turned.

  They exchanged opinions on some country-music stars. She hadn’t realized Mark was listening to local stations. There was passing discussion about finding the volume of spheres. Apparently, Mark had been continuing in his geometry book on his own.

  Gabe sat back in his chair and said, “Huh. Now, that one I might have to glance at the book for. It’s been a while, you know.”

  “You sound like Mom,” Mark said with dissatisfaction.

  “Bring the book with you next time you come.”

  “Okay, if I can’t figure it out.”

  Boom! Something on the screen blew up. She didn’t even want to look to see how violent the game was. Surely Mom and Dad had paid attention to ratings.

  “You weren’t fast enough,” Gabe observed, the undercurrent of amusement back in his voice. He didn’t sound horrified, so it couldn’t be too bad.

  She stood across the kitchen, looking at the backs of their heads and felt...invisible.

  Like a ghost, she drifted to the back door. Not even the sound of it opening brought either of those heads around. Only Daisy was interested. With a grunt, she struggled to her feet and accompanied her person outside.

  Ciara hugged herself and walked a few steps toward the trees that sloped toward the creek. Daisy plodded beside her, squatting once, as well as her arthritic hips allowed, to pee.

  Had both man and boy really forgotten she was there? she wondered, and doubted it. She couldn’t believe Gabe really gave a damn about a shoot-’em-up computer game.

  He was making Mark happy, and that was what counted.

  Her vision blurred as she looked straight ahead. What a fool she’d been to start something she’d known wouldn’t go anywhere! Gabe’s signals were clear. She should be grateful he wasn’t cutting Mark off, too. Maybe...maybe she’d go back to sending goodies along with Mark and quit inviting Gabe to dinner. It was too hard having him here. She didn’t have to torture herself.

  The back door opened behind her. She didn’t bother turning around.

  “I’m taking off,” Gabe said. “Thank you for dinner.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  There was a long silence. He had to still be standing there, or she’d have heard the screen door slap shut.

  But he said nothing more. The door did finally close, leaving her out there alone.

  She kept walking. Somebody, long ago, had laid a couple of boards to span the distance between two stumps, forming a bench that would, in Western Washington with the never-ending rainfall, have long since rotted. Here, the boards were dry and cracked. She was careful to sit close to one of the stump supports.

  She watched as Daisy contentedly wandered, sniffing the ground and tree trunks.

  Ciara hugged herself tight, but after a while the peace of the early evening began to sink in. And the quiet. She couldn’t imagine ever living anywhere again with the constant noise of traffic.

  The conversation she’d eavesdropped on ran again in her head.

  You sound like Mom. Useless, was what he meant. He might not have said that if he’d remembered she was in earshot...but he might just as well have.

  Except...she found herself thinking about some of the other things he’d said. Telling Gabe that anyone seeing him at work would be impressed. Like I was. That was what her son had said, so simply. Demonstrating that he understood what Gabe needed to hear. Which was—unprecedented.

  No, she thought, frowning, it really wasn’t. She’d been surprised more than once lately when he read cues he once wouldn’t have known existed. Tonight, the whole conversation had sounded so...normal.

  She winced at using a word Gabe had dismissed. And of course he’d been right, but it was also true that Mark had made huge strides lately toward...okay, not seeming so overtly different.

  Her arms loosened and she gazed, unseeing, at the rear of the house. This realization about Mark connected with the similar one she’d had about Bridget, and she thought, What Mark’s done is mature.

  And it also hit her, out of the blue, that he wasn’t much like Bridget at all. And of course that was what she’d been telling herself and any school officials who dared to try to put a label on him...but she thought now her denial had been too vehement. Gabe was right. She had been burying her fear that he was like Bridget.

  Mark, Ciara thought, was no more dependent on her than any other kid his age would have been. He was intellectually gifted enough; she couldn’t possibly give him what he needed in the way of schooling. There wasn’t a reason in the world Mark wouldn’t go to college, be successful there, have a career, a girlfriend, probably a wife and possibly children.

  She’d known all that in one way—but not in another.

  In her fear and denial, she could have crippled him, she thought with stunning clarity. There were undoubtedly good reasons to homeschool, but hers hadn’t been the right ones, nor did she love teaching for its own sake.

  She sat there feeling so much, some of it contradictory, that she doubted she could have moved even if she’d heard Mark screaming. It was all knotted up in her. Ciara had a bad feeling it was going to take her a long time to untangle this muddle of joy and grief and sense of inadequacy and stupidity and, yes, relief.

  One thing she did know—it was time she talked to Mark about what he wanted. She had a bad feeling she never really had. She’d yanked him out of school in the furious belief that, above all else, protecting him was the right thing to do.

  It was probably another twenty minutes before she stood, imagining that her bones and joints creaked when she straightened, even though of course they didn’t, and returned to the house. When she stepped into the kitchen, Mark, of course, was still utterly engrossed in his game.

  It might have been the sound of the door closing, or the click of Daisy’s claws, but he did turn. “Can I have another piece of pie?”

  “You’re already hungry?”

  He didn’t dignify that with an answer. He was always hungry.

  “Why
not? Bring it to the table, why don’t you. I want to talk to you about something, if you can take a break from your game.”

  He already had the refrigerator open. “Do you want some?”

  She almost shuddered. “No, thanks.”

  Daisy followed, settling with a heavy exhalation under the table close enough to sigh and rest her chin on Ciara’s foot. Ciara leaned down to scratch her head.

  A minute later, Mark plopped down across from her. Watson had followed, of course, probably hoping for handouts. She saw that Mark had put a scoopful of vanilla ice cream on top of his pie. Well, if anyone could afford the calories, it was a boy his age, who seemed to be stretching out before her eyes. When Watson put his paws on Mark’s lap and eased upward, Mark automatically fended him off with an elbow.

  “What I wanted to talk to you about is school,” she said. “I’ve been wondering how you’d feel about trying eighth grade at the middle school here.”

  His mouth fell open. “But you said—”

  “I know what I said. But I want to know what you think.”

  He poked at his pie with his fork. “Well...doing the worksheets and stuff has been kind of boring.”

  “I think we can improve on that, if we decide to stick with the homeschooling. With the move and trying to take on more commissions with work, I took the easy way out, knowing we only had to get through two months to finish the year. But...” She hesitated. “I’m wondering if you don’t need to be around other kids. If you were really into sports, we could sign you up for teams, but—”

  He grimaced.

  She smiled at that, even though she didn’t really feel like it. “It might help that you’ve already met some of the local kids,” she suggested tentatively. “I know Jacob and Will and even Jennifer are younger, but some of the kids you hung out with at the cutting-horse competition were your age, weren’t they?”

  “Yeah. Most of them don’t go to Goodwater schools, though.” He frowned. “I think Brandon does. And...some girl. I can’t remember her name.”

  Ciara nodded. “Well, at least you wouldn’t be a total stranger to everyone. Especially if, well, Gabe takes you to any more events like that this summer.”