Welcome to Bluestone 1 - Bluestone homecoming

by Fredrick, MJ

  “Maybe I can join you this Saturday?”

  Max made a face. “Grandpa said you don’t like it.”

  “Maybe if I tried it now I’d like it better.”

  Max frowned doubtfully.

  “There’s no time now anyway,” his mother said, stripping off her rubber gloves. Funny, in their whole marriage, Livvie had never used rubber gloves. Her hands had still been silky smooth the day she died. “Max’s favorite show is on in a few minutes.”

  “His favorite show?” Leo repeated, looking out the big kitchen window at the gorgeous day. His parents had never been TV watchers when he was growing up. Most of the time after dinner he was damn near shoved out the door. Of course he had a lot more energy than Max. “Nah, come on, Max, let’s go for a walk down to the lake. You can show me Grandpa’s boat.”

  “I want to watch my show.”

  Leo opened his mouth to push his idea, but a shake of his mother’s head had him closing it again. He didn’t want to fight with his kid his first night here. So he followed him into the living room, where the curtains had been drawn against the bright evening, and sat on the couch with his mother while Max hunkered on the floor in front of the TV and watched a hideously-drawn cartoon with glazed eyes.

  Leo scrubbed his hand over his mouth, feeling impotent. His kid, yes, but he’d delivered him to his parents hoping the sense of family would pull the boy through his grief. Clearly that wasn’t happening. And now Leo felt like an interloper with his own son.

  “Time for bed,” his mother announced when the program ended, rising from her end of the couch.

  Sunlight still streamed around the edges of the closed curtains, and Leo braced himself for Max’s protests, but none came.

  “I’ll get him to bed,” Leo said, holding a hand out to stop his mother.

  She cast a questioning glance at Max, and Leo figured he’d have another argument, but Max just headed toward the stairs. Leo thought about saying something to his mother, but instead followed his son.

  Max stepped into the bathroom and closed the door in Leo’s face. Uncertain what to do, Leo wandered into his old room, which his mother had redone after he left and which Max now occupied, and looked around.

  Max had lived here two months and the room showed very little evidence of it. Granted, Liv had decorated his room at home, but there had been little boy stuff scattered around—action figures, a bicycle helmet, Legos, discarded clothes. He’d had a corkboard with drawings he’d made of superheroes and Godzilla, all pretty good for an eight-year-old.

  But here, there were no toys, and only a few books. His school backpack sat by the door on one side, and the suitcase he’d used to bring his clothes up here sat by the door on the other side.

  Like he was ready to leave at the first moment’s notice. Leo closed his fingers into a fist. He had to talk to the kid—Max was staying in Bluestone. Leo was here to help him settle in, not to move him back to Excelsior.

  Max appeared in the doorway, dressed in dark pajamas, his expression solemn. Leo realized he was between his son and the bed and stepped back. He remembered then that Livvie would always read to Max at bedtime, but he didn’t see any books in the room.

  “Do you, ah, want a bedtime story?”

  “Dad.” Max’s tone was exasperated. “I’m too old for that.”

  “Well, yeah, for picture books and stuff like that. I mean, you can read to yourself, right?” Did Max like to read? Leo had no idea. “But I can tell you a story.”

  Max angled his head, then moved past his father to the bed. “About Afghanistan?”

  Leo tried to think of a story that wouldn’t give the boy nightmares. Hell, Leo had nightmares about the constant shelling and danger there. “Sure. I’m stationed with some funny guys there.” He tucked the sheet and bedspread over his son and sat at the edge of the bed. “We stay in a bunker most of the time, and it can get pretty boring, so they’ve rigged up some games.”

  “Like video games?”

  “Nah, that’s too tame for these guys. One time the sergeant was sleeping, and his men rearranged the whole bunker into an obstacle course, so that when the man got out of bed, he had to climb over their stacked bunks, belly crawl under a tent made of sheets and wiggle through boxes, just to get to the can.”

  Max’s eyes widened. “Did he do it?”

  Leo shrugged. “He didn’t have a choice if he had to go, you know?”

  “What else do they do?”

  Leo shared a couple more of their innovations born of boredom, his heart feeling lighter at bringing his son into his world, even if only to the safe part. Then he glanced toward the window, saw the sun had set, and patted the boy’s leg. “Better get to sleep. I’ll take you to school tomorrow, okay?”

  For some reason, those words shut Max down. “Okay,” the boy muttered, dragging the blankets up to his ear and turning toward the window.

  What had Leo said wrong?

  Chapter Two

  Leo had forgotten how early it got bright this far north. He grunted and turned onto his stomach, shoving his face deeper into the pillow to block out the light. He drifted off for a few moments before he remembered school. As in, getting Max there. He swung his legs off the edge of the bed and fumbled through the clothes on the floor, searching for his phone in his pocket, which acted as his alarm. He tapped the screen and swore at the time displayed. Tossing the phone on the bed, he stumbled to the door of his brother’s old room and out into the hall. He heard his mother moving around in the kitchen, and he headed straight toward her.

  “Why didn’t you wake me?” he demanded without a greeting.

  She looked up from loading breakfast dishes into the dishwasher. “I thought you probably needed your sleep.”

  He frowned. “I wanted to take Max to school.”

  She straightened, closing the dishwasher in the same movement and waved her hand. “We have a routine. Don’t worry about it.”

  “I’m not worried about it. I want to be a father to my son. I want to do what fathers do. I want to tuck my kid in and take him to school, and I don’t want to feel like I’m intruding when I do it.”

  Her mouth turned down and her eyes widened. He knew that expression—hurt. He braced himself for the guilt to follow.

  “I’m not meaning to exclude you, but Max has had a rough time of it. He manages best when he has security, and that’s what our routines do. You asked us to do this, Leo. Don’t get angry when we do as you ask.”

  “I did ask you.” He sagged against the counter, unsure of how to proceed. There was the guilt, but from a completely different angle. “And I appreciate all you’ve done for both of us since Liv died. But I’m here and he’s my son and I want to spend time with him.”

  “Before you go again?”

  He fisted his hands on the granite. “I don’t know what I’m going to do yet. Whatever’s best for Max, but I have to make a living.” And he had a reputation he’d worked hard to build. He didn’t know what the answer was. Resentment bubbled again at the reckless driver who’d plowed into his wife’s car when she was sitting on the side of the road, waiting for a tow truck, taking her from his life in one second’s miscalculation.

  “I know you do and I love looking after Max.”

  “What I’m asking is that you make room for me here.”

  She drew her shoulders up. “We have.”

  “In Max’s life. Give us some flexibility. We may make some mistakes, but we need to figure out how to deal with each other. I may not be the best father—”

  “You’re a great father,” she said loyally.

  He shook his head. “You know that’s not true. But I want to work on it.”

  “Just don’t make him count on you too much, and then leave.”

  Ouch. He straightened and rubbed his hand over his chest. “I’m going to do what’s best for Max.” If only he could figure out what that was.

  ***

  After Leo picked up Max—on time, because this time h
e walked instead of worrying about parking—he led the boy down to the lake instead of back up the hill to the house.

  “Where are we going?” Max asked suspiciously.

  “Down to the lake.”

  “Why?”

  “Because it’s a beautiful day. And I want to see the town.”

  “You could have done that when I was at school.”

  “Why? You got another favorite show you want to see?” Leo realized as soon as he said it that he sounded judgmental.

  Max didn’t answer, and hung back a little bit as they walked down the path to the lake. For a minute, Leo wondered if the boy was afraid of the water, but no. He went fishing with the old man. So it must be Leo he didn’t want anything to do with.

  All day he’d tried to think of topics of conversation but they all seemed flat now.

  “I used to come down here a lot when I was a kid.”

  “Grandpa said you hated it here.”

  “Yeah, well, I—” Was transplanted in this tiny town against my will. Angry that I left my friends behind. Pissed that my life had changed. Oh, hell. “I was a pissed-off teenager. Gave my parents a bad time.” Then he was inspired. “I started playing baseball and it helped me make friends and feel more a part of the place.”

  “I hate sports.”

  Leo’s step faltered. “All sports?”

  Max shrugged. “I’m not good at any of them.”

  “Sure you are. You just have to find the right fit. I tried track and football and basketball before I learned baseball was the right one for me. Man, I sucked at basketball.” He gave a little chuckle at how terrible he’d been at the fast-paced game. He’d liked baseball because it gave him time to consider his next move.

  He preferred stories like that, too, which is why he wrote features most of the time now. He could let things percolate.

  “Grandma said that’s a bad word,” Max reminded him.

  For a moment, Leo was lost, replaying what he’d said to prompt that comment. Right. Sucked. “Forgot. Sorry.”

  They’d reached the edge of the lake, where the water lapped against the dark rocky beach. Leo had forgotten how beautiful the place was, blue water stretched as far as the eye could see, the lake rimmed with tall trees, some lake houses peeking through the foliage. Boats dotted the lake even at this time of day. To their right was a low wooden building, Prater’s Landing. Behind that, rows of fishing and pleasure boats were moored, occasionally knocking against the dock when waves from a passing boat stirred them. Leo could see his dad’s boat from here.

  “Let’s go look at Grandpa’s boat.” He urged his son in that direction. Maybe if he let the kid talk about something he was interested in, the boy would be more willing to listen to Leo.

  But when they reached the motor boat, which was in pretty good shape after fifteen years, Max didn’t offer anything.

  “So what do you fish for?” Leo asked. Finding topics of conversation was becoming exhausting, but he was a reporter, damn it. He could get anyone to talk.

  “I don’t know. Grandpa said it’s not really good fishing weather yet, but we go out anyway.”

  “Man time, huh?”

  Max’s eyes widened. “That’s what he calls it.”

  “That’s what he called it when I was a kid.”

  “I feel sorry for Grandma, though. We leave her alone all day.”

  “I’m sure she doesn’t mind too much. She used to read a book when we’d go. Does she still do that?”

  Max shrugged, dragging his toe along a beam of the dock.

  Leo looked from his son to the water. Maybe playing around would loosen the boy up. “Hey, I may have found your sport.”

  Max scowled up at him. “What’s that?”

  Leo scooped the boy up in his arms—damn, the kid was heavier than he expected—and swung him out over the water. “Swimming!”

  Max twisted in Leo’s arms, clutching at his shirt, and terrified screams carried over the water. Startled, Leo looked into his son’s frightened face. Instinctively, he tightened his arms around the boy, holding him against his chest, feeling his heart hammering. Jesus.

  “I’m sorry, Max. I was just playing around,” he said into the boy’s ear.

  Max clutched him a moment longer—and it was wrong for Leo to savor that dependence—before he wriggled free. Once Leo set him on his feet, Max stomped toward shore.

  ***

  Dinner was a tense affair. His mother had looked questioningly from Max to Leo when Max had marched in, frown set. He’d gone to the kitchen counter and pulled out his homework, but when Leo tried to approach, Max shot him a look that had Leo stepping back.

  Dinner was tense, Max barely saying a word, answering his grandparents’ questions monosyllabically.

  Finally the ordeal was over and his mother rose from the table.

  “Max, you’re staying here with Grandpa this evening. Leo, you’re taking me to the town hall meeting.”

  Leo snapped his head up. “Me? Why me?” He hadn’t been to one since he was a cub reporter and required to report on them.

  “Because your father hates these things, and what’s the point in having a strapping son if I can’t show him off at the town hall meeting?” She offered the first smile he’d seen since he’d returned home. So she was stressed, too.

  “But—” He looked from his mother to Max.

  “You’ll be home in time to tuck him in. Give me a moment to fix my hair and put on my face and we’ll go.”

  Leo looked helplessly at Max, who didn’t return his gaze. Maybe it would be good to get away, to think about something other than what a failure he was as a father.

  ***

  “So what happened between you today?” his mother asked as they walked down the street into town.

  Leo told her of his poor choice of horseplay as an icebreaker. “Is he afraid of the water? I didn’t think he was since he goes out on the boat with Dad.”

  She sighed. “Leo, he’s afraid of everything right now. That’s why we keep him home in the evenings, make him feel secure with the routine. He’ll come out of it.”

  “But what if he doesn’t?” Perhaps he could talk to the counselor at school about where he could take Max for therapy. That wasn’t his first wish, but Max’s screams still ran along Leo’s nerves. The boy needed help getting past his mother’s death. Leo had been wrong thinking Max could pull through on his own.

  Wrong again, that was.

  Leo hadn’t been in the town hall before, but hadn’t had a need when he was a teen. He’d never thought a meeting would be so well-attended. He and his mother followed other citizens to the building, pausing in the logjam at the door. His mother took his arm and guided him out of the crush toward a man who stood in the yard, surrounded by several older women.

  “Reverend David, I want you to meet my son Leo.”

  The man wasn’t much older than Leo, tall, thin, blond. He greeted Leo with a polite smile that made Leo wonder if he was judging Leo’s parenting decisions as well. If he wasn’t, he was the only one.

  “How long are you in town?” the reverend asked.

  Bingo. “Undetermined.”

  “Your son is a remarkable child. Energetic, but a pleasure to be around.”

  Leo faltered. What kid was the reverend talking about? He hadn’t seen any sign of energy or a pleasant child. But if the reverend could lie, so could he. “I’m very proud of him.”

  Past Reverend David’s shoulder, he saw the blonde counselor from the school, Trinity Madison, approach and felt his face heat. He hadn’t allowed himself to think too much about her earlier—his head had been filled with worry about Max. And he wasn’t accustomed to thinking about women lately. Her wholesome face—she even had freckles across the bridge of her nose—was pink with pleasure, her white teeth even, her golden blonde hair floating about her shoulders. She wore jeans and a sweater that showed off a nice figure, one that if he was thinking about women, would have him thinking twice about her. />
  Her steps slowed when she met his gaze, and a furrow of uncertainty appeared between her brows. Huh. She was heading for David. Leo looked from one to the other, and the resemblance struck him. Trinity seemed to shake off her indecision and came forward. She placed a hand on the reverend’s shoulder and used it as leverage to pull herself up to kiss his cheek.

  “My sister, Trinity,” Reverend David introduced, an affectionate hand looped around her waist. “This is Nora’s son Leo.”

  “Max’s dad,” she said with a warm smile that surprised him, based on their first meeting.

  “You’ve met,” David said, arching his head to look at his sister.

  “At school,” Leo said.

  Trinity gave him a canted, curious smile. Wondering what he was doing here, no doubt. He wondered, too.

  “Leo!”

  He turned to see a woman running toward him, long hair streaming behind her, a familiar grin on her face as she launched herself into his arms. He grabbed onto her hips in self-defense, bracing his feet before they both tumbled backwards. Once he’d steadied them, he tightened his embrace, turning his face into her hair that had always smelled of the wind.

  “I didn’t know you were coming home.” Lily Prater eased back to look at him, her hands still on his shoulders, her gaze darting over his face. “You look good. God, Leo, how long has it been?”

  “You look good, too.” Still holding onto her hips, he took in her smooth complexion, tinted with sun already, though it was only March. Her body beneath his hands was firm and trim. And her brown eyes sparked with something he thought he recognized but couldn’t name. “How are you? What are you up to these days?”

  “Oh, you know. Family business.” She waved a hand in the direction of the lake, where her family owned the landing where his father kept his boat. “Running it now that Dad’s retired.”