Something Like Family

by Heather Burch

  But he wasn’t, and what he did shocked Rave. Tuck, with outstretched arms, rushed toward the door. He grabbed her in an embrace, and Rave could hear both Tuck’s and Sharon’s voices tripping over emotion-filled words.

  When spots appeared before his eyes, Rave released the breath he’d been holding.

  Sharon was sobbing when Tuck leaned back and cupped his hands around her cheeks. “You’re alive. You’re really alive.”

  “Dad, I—” But each word caught in her throat. “I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry about everything. Especially about Mom. Oh, God, I’m sorry about Mom and that I wasn’t here for you.”

  He held her at arm’s length and studied her face. “You’re not using?”

  She shook her head. “No. Clean for three years.”

  Rave took a protective step toward Tuck. “Three years, but you didn’t bother to try to find either of us?”

  Her eyes were pleading when she said, “I couldn’t, Rave. I was in prison.”

  Rave swallowed. That wasn’t what he’d expected to hear. “And that fact is supposed to excuse five years with no word from you?”

  She shook her head. “No, Rave. Nothing excuses that. When I left, I believed I was doing the right thing. That’s the thing about addiction. It rules you. It convinces you. I believed the Dawsons would make sure you were all right. I was wrong about everything.” Her glances were split between father and son. “But how did you end up here? I figured I’d find you in Tampa.”

  “I don’t owe you anything. Least of all an explanation,” Rave spat.

  Tuck hooked his arm around Sharon’s waist and ushered her to the couch. “I had a private investigator search for him. Your momma came to me in a dream and told me he was alive. Then I dreamed about him. He was holding a cross, and I knew it had once belonged to you, Sharon. That cross helped me find him. You helped me find him.”

  Rave remained standing.

  His mother and grandfather sank onto the sofa. Sharon touched Tuck’s cheek. “I’m also the reason he grew up not knowing you. I can never restore what I’ve taken.”

  Tuck took her hands in both of his and cupped them like they were a priceless treasure. “You’re here. You’re clean. That’s what matters now. And you’re really OK?”

  Rave crossed his arms over his chest. It hurt to see Tuck’s face, so filled with hope—hope that would be obliterated in a matter of time—so he turned away. Rave knew his mother. She’d many times over the years said she was done with the drugs. She’d made promises in the past, and every single one had been broken.

  Sharon nodded. “I’m really good, Dad. I’m going to work for a couple who do missionary work for half the year in the jungles of Peru. I leave in about a month.”

  “Until then?”

  She glanced over her shoulder at Rave. “I was hoping to spend some time here. With you. I can’t believe Rave is here. It’s like a dream.”

  “We’ll get a room ready for you, Sharon. Your mother would be so happy.”

  What? No. There was no way she’d stay here, take advantage of Tuck, insinuate herself into their lives only to let them down. Rave had lived this too many times. And so had Tuck. Had he forgotten? What was wrong with Tuck to be so willing to invite her into their world? Rave stepped toward them, his face hot. “She’s not staying here.”

  Tuck stood, his brows dipping into a deep frown. “She’s my daughter.”

  “And she’s done nothing but hurt you. If she stays, I go.”

  Sharon stood and stretched a surrendering hand toward both of them. “Please don’t do this.” She turned to her father. “Dad, I’ve got a motel room in town. Just let me stay there. This has to be difficult for Rave. I won’t make matters worse.”

  Rave moved around the edge of the couch to stand at her feet. “You made matters worse by showing up.”

  Her eyes pressed shut. He’d hurt her. Good. She needed to feel what they’d felt for all those months, for all those years.

  Sharon’s reaction fueled Rave. “You were dead, Mom. That was the best thing you could have done for us. But you couldn’t even get that right.”

  Tuck raised his voice. “That’s enough!” The tone was sharp, final. So severe it sent Bullet scurrying under the edge of the end table in the corner.

  Sharon’s lip quivered. Her hand came to rest on her father’s arm. “He’s right, Dad. About everything. And I don’t deserve the forgiveness you’re offering. If it’s selfish to be here, I’m sorry. But now that I’m well, I had to come.”

  “Here?” Rave interrupted them. He pointed to the floor. “You had to come here? Where there was someone who could take care of you instead of trying to find your son in Tampa. You’ll never change.”

  Sharon drew a breath. “I was going to Tampa next. I was hoping to—”

  Rave snapped his fingers. “Think fast, Mom.”

  “I was hoping Dad would come with me. It was time the two of you met.”

  Rave inched closer to her. His voice dropped. He knew that she knew how to say all the right things, the things people wanted to hear, needed to hear. Rave had started to build a real life in Barton, a life far from drug addicts and all the pain that went along with that world. For the first time in his life he felt as if he had a future, for the first time he felt like he belonged. And now she was here, and bit by bit, he’d lose each of the things he’d been fighting to have. Because when you were part of a drug addict’s world, you eventually were consumed by it. Addiction was a monster with teeth. And it was never satisfied until it ate everything. “You’re what you always were. A liar. And I’ll never trust you again. And I will never forgive you for what you’ve done.”

  Rave stormed to the front door, whipped it open, and left. The door slammed closed behind him, its echo vibrating into the yard. Where Sharon Wayne was concerned, his heart was as closed as the door. He’d made it to his car when he realized he couldn’t leave. He had responsibilities. Daniel was asleep upstairs. So Rave sat in his dark car—something he’d done many times over the years—something he was used to. Many hours had found him alone in a hot vehicle, waiting for his mother. He’d sit outside a crack house waiting for her to stumble out so he could drive her home. That had started when he was fourteen. When most kids were just learning how to drive, he’d been practicing evading the cops on the way back to their place. He’d have to practically carry her inside, then deposit her on the bed before making his bed on the fold-out couch. He’d leave a glass of water on her nightstand. He’d smooth her matted hair and cover her if she felt chilly.

  But here in Barton, Rave had gotten to feel what normal was like. Tuck and Becca, fishing, learning a trade, and a life that held promise. A home and Daniel. Now Sharon Wayne was here. How much of his life would suffer the consequences of being connected to a drug addict? Sharon had a way of ruining everything she touched. And for the first time, Rave had things to fight for.

  An hour later, the front light came on, and Rave could see the silhouette of Tuck and Sharon on the porch. They hugged, and she made her way to her car—a newer-model Toyota with Texas plates. Where’d she get the money for the car? Was it a rental? Had she flown or drove, and why did it matter to him? It didn’t. That was the thing. It couldn’t matter because if details about her mattered, then that meant she mattered, and Rave couldn’t face a realization like that after all she’d done.

  After her taillights disappeared down Tuck’s dusty road, Rave opened his car door. Tuck stood waiting for him on the front porch, his hand resting on the banister. “Figured you were close by,” he yelled to him when Rave stepped out.

  Rave slid his hands deep into his pockets. “How’d you know?”

  Tuck hooked a thumb over his shoulder and gestured to the house. “Daniel’s here. It’s not in your nature to run away, boy.”

  A humorless laugh slipped from Rave’s lips. “Then you don’t know me as well as you think.”

  Before Rave could rise to the top of the steps, Tuck stopped him by placing
a hand on his shoulder. Rave looked up to the deeply lined face of his grandfather. He looked tired, worn out, but at the same time, there was a light in his eyes Rave had never seen before. “Tuck, what is it?”

  Tuck’s mouth pressed into a straight line. “Have you ever heard about the empty chair?”

  Rave frowned, the weight of Tuck’s touch coupled with the desperation in his voice causing a bead of panic to trickle over him. “No.”

  He squeezed his grandson’s shoulder. “I first heard it from your grandma Millie. It was springtime, and the flowers were just starting to bloom. She’d gone to Gatlinburg to an antique shop where she’d found two rocking chairs. Come on.”

  Rave frowned but followed his grandfather to the barn. They wound their way around an almost impossible array of metal parts and boxes that had been overloaded with junk. There was a narrow path to the back corner and there, a green tarp hid a chest-high bundle.

  Slowly, Tuck folded the tarp back, its old plastic cracking as he went and bits of dust floating in the air then settling on the ground. Beneath the sea of green sat two rocking chairs. “It’s time we put these back on the porch.” Tuck lifted one, and Rave followed his lead, carrying the remaining chair. They were works of art, with their long, narrow spindles and perfect wood. But as Rave wound around the path from the back corner of the barn, he knew these chairs were much more than that.

  Tuck placed the chairs beneath the lantern-shaped porch light so its illumination held them. Rather than sit, Tuck went into the house and returned with a hand towel. He approached the rocker he’d carried and used the towel to wipe down each spindle, the long slender arms, the narrow legs, even the rockers.

  Without a word, Rave took the towel from him and wiped down the second chair. It was just as he ended that the towel scraped against something on the underneath side of the seat. “Go on,” Tuck encouraged him. “See what it is.”

  With careful hands, Rave turned the chair until he could see the bottom. There, taped to the seat was an envelope. The tape had yellowed, but its grip was firm.

  “Open the envelope, slide out the page.”

  Rave did as instructed, his fingertips careful because the paper was old and brittle, rough with age, and felt as though it could disintegrate in his hands. It was a single folded piece of paper.

  “Read it,” Tuck said.

  The ancient page popped as Rave unfolded it to reveal faded script of what looked to be a poem. At the top, handwritten in beautiful script, was a date, 1918.

  “Near the end of World War One,” Tuck added.

  Rave read,

  Off in the distance, burning bright

  One flickering candle lights the night.

  Its flame is small but ever true

  It points the way for me and you.

  For we were warriors in our day

  Until the fight took us away.

  A whisper on the quiet air

  Says leave behind your empty chair.

  Let the fallen not be forgotten

  For no greater gift has man to give.

  Our sacrifice has been for nothing

  If those beside us do not live.

  So, brothers, when you go back home,

  We pray you live the life we won’t.

  Love the woman of your dreams.

  Find your hope. Find your peace.

  And never forget our hearts are there

  Even though we left an empty chair.

  “Is that what war is like?” Rave gently folded the paper. For all the memorials he’d shared with Tuck, he’d not heard sentiment like this before. Perhaps it was because it was a message from a fallen soldier to the ones who survived.

  Tuck nodded, his watery eyes far away. “I remember thinking that if I didn’t make it home, the ones who did had better live a life worth living. In a way, they’d be living for all of us.”

  “So, when you were the one to come home—”

  “I knew I needed to live. Just didn’t quite know how. My family didn’t make it any easier. But then one day I saw Millie.” He ran a hand through his springy hair. “Ah, she was a beauty. Kicking that tire like a wild thing. Beating her fists on the hood.”

  Rave stayed quiet, letting his grandfather’s memories soak into the air around them.

  “I made mistakes, Rave. Oh, too many to count. Where Sharon was concerned. I didn’t give her much choice but to run. In the twisted mind of an addict, she felt she was doing the right thing. For everyone.”

  Something about this story didn’t sit well with Rave. There was a crack in his grandfather’s voice, a clip to his words. “Tuck, is there something you’re not telling me?”

  Tuck shook his head, little jerks back and forth. He busied his fingers by taking the towel from Rave and brushing the dust off. “I’m saying that a man has to make a choice whether he can forgive or not. If he doesn’t, then that pain grows and sprouts roots, and one day it’ll take over, choking the life from him. Forgiveness is like fresh mountain rain. It erodes away the sorrow and cleanses the land. Forgiving those we love is easy when we don’t base that decision on what they will or won’t do.”

  But how was that even possible? When a child burns his hand on a stove, he knows not to touch the stove again. Rave shrugged. “I guess I don’t know what you mean.”

  “Rave, you don’t have to believe that your momma has changed in order to forgive her. Forgiving and forgetting aren’t the same. Forgiving her doesn’t mean that it all disappears. Fact is, you’ll still be angry with her, you’ll still be unwilling to trust. And that’s OK. Forgiveness is the first step. It’s not the whole thing.”

  When Tuck motioned for him to, Rave sat down. The chair cradled him, a perfect fit.

  Tuck drew a deep breath and slowly sat down, too. “I remember the day Millie told me she’d be leaving behind an empty chair. She’d had a dream. In the dream, she was gone, and I was alone. She saw me standing over her grave and crying.”

  It was hard for Rave to breathe. As much as he loved reminiscing with Tuck, hearing him speak of Grandma Millie always caused his heart to close off. Rave reached over and placed a hand on his grandfather’s forearm where age spots and wiry hairs mingled.

  “Millie made me promise never to do that.” Tuck used his free hand to swipe at his eyes. “And I never have. But when I got home from her memorial service and saw these two chairs sitting on the porch, I broke down. Cried harder than I ever have. Yelled at God. Told him he was unfair to take her and leave me. Went inside the house planning to find her Bible and throw it out.”

  Rave’s brows rose. He wasn’t much of a spiritual man, but throwing away a Bible?

  “It was open to a page Millie had marked with a little crimson ribbon. That thin, narrow strip reminded me of the ribbon she used to tie wildflowers with. I started reading and didn’t stop until the next morning. Read that whole thing over the next three days. Still wasn’t keen on going to church, but those words gave me strength. Helped me understand forgiving.” Tuck pushed his rocker into motion.

  Rave did, too, and the two of them sat on the porch with the crickets and the frogs accompanying the gentle sighing of their rocking chairs. “Thanks for sharing that, Tuck.” But Rave wasn’t sure he could open his heart enough to forgive. Maybe not ever. He’d like to, for Tuck’s sake, but where his mother was concerned, a part of his heart had died.

  “One day, Rave, I’ll leave an empty chair. But don’t do what I did and hide it in the barn. Sit here with Becca or Daniel or maybe even with your mother. There’s nothing sadder than a chair with no one to sit in it. I spent too many years in solitude. Learn from my mistakes. Be a better man than I was.”

  Rave squeezed Tuck’s arm. “You’re the best man I’ve ever known. If I’m half the man you are, I’d count that as a success.”

  Sharon Wayne brushed at the tears as she drove toward the motel. Happy tears for her father, who was glad to see her. Tears of pain for Rave, who had cut her over and over with his words. She dese
rved it, that and worse. But it still hurt. And yet, through his pain-filled comments, there was something in his eyes—some tiny spark that let her know he was glad—if even the tiniest bit—to know she was alive and not using.

  It was still hard to fathom that Rave was here. They’d found each another, even though she’d worked to keep them apart. It was a miracle.

  The air in the car was cool, but she put the windows down and let the July breeze comfort her. Once she reached town, she drove to the high school. Memories flooded her as she took in the brick and concrete building. It was here that it had all began. Her addiction. Her life as a user and a liar. The only good thing that had come from it was Rave. He’d been her angel. And so much more than she deserved.

  The school had been updated but still looked as it had twenty-three years ago. She’d been a star basketball player back in those days—something Rave had never known about her. She’d planned to study engineering. But a knee injury in a championship game sent her first to the hospital, then down the road to addiction. But she could only blame herself. As the knee healed, she found that the pain meds made life easier. Took the edge off. There had been so much stress, much of it self-inflicted, but still, so much pressure to perform. Basketball was out. She was a senior, and all her plans were now in the toilet. Until she met Jorge.

  He’d graduated a couple of years before her and still hung out at the school. Wherever kids were, Jorge was. He’d eventually overdosed at age twenty-five. But by then, she was an addict. Not that Jorge was to blame. Sharon had been looking for an escape. She’d always been such a perfectionist. And once her body was broken, perfection was no longer an option.

  Now that she thought about it, it seemed stupid. She’d had everything going for her. Everything. So what if she could no longer play basketball? There were plenty of dreams she could still achieve. Sharon propped her elbow on the windowsill and wiped the remnants of tears from her face. That was all behind her. She was clean, and though the memories were hers, she felt strangely disconnected from them. Like they’d happened to someone else. Or to her, but in another life. She scrounged around in her bag and found her cell. Moments later, she was talking. “Maria, how are you and Don?” The two had a prison ministry, and that’s where Sharon had met them. Maria had taken her under her wing. Long counseling sessions turned into plans for the future. It had always been Sharon’s hope to return home. In her most vivid dreams, she’d reunited with Rave, and the two had moved here to be with Tuck. But Maria had warned her not to put all of her trust in people she’d not spoken to in years. Sharon needed a plan for the possible future that didn’t include the people she’d hurt in the past.