Something Like Family

by Heather Burch

  There, on the page in front of him, he read the words on Daniel’s birth certificate. Mother—Ashley Lynn Walters, father—Rave Matthew Wayne.

  Kristin interrupted them. “So, I take it Daniel lived with his mother—she had custody?”

  Rave had no words. His mind raced to understand what he was looking at. His name. His name on Daniel’s birth certificate. The silence stretched. Finally, Pastor Keith stood and took the paper from Rave. Accustomed not to reacting in delicate situations, he cleared his throat. “Rave and Ashley had a good relationship, even though they were no longer a couple.”

  “That’s good,” Kristin said. “Stability is of the essence. It certainly looks like Daniel has a solid family unit around him. Rave and Ashley were never married?”

  Pastor Keith nudged Rave’s shoulder, forcing him to answer. “No, we never married. And yes, ma’am. He does have a stable family here.”

  “I’m not certain why the anonymous caller suggested we check in. But it’s my duty to offer whatever help we have.” But she wasn’t buying it. At least not all of it. Kristin’s sharp eyes behind those red glasses darted around the room, landing on faces that didn’t seem able to hold eye contact with her. “Would you like some counseling for Daniel, Rave? A sudden missing parent can take a toll on a child.”

  He mumbled a simple, “Yes, ma’am.”

  She jotted something on her clipboard and held it against her chest. “What more can I do for you today?”

  All eyes went to Rave. He took the birth certificate from Pastor Keith and consulted it again. Yes, right there in bold, black letters, it said he was Daniel’s father.

  Kristin gauged the reactions around her, then squared her shoulders. “Before Daniel’s mother left, had there been a custody hearing of any kind?”

  Cold shot down his back. “What? No.”

  “No court order? Am I to understand that Daniel’s mother and you had always been on good terms where Daniel was concerned?”

  “We were always on the same page. Daniel came first, always. For both of us.”

  Kristin’s chin tipped back. “Mr. Wayne, may I be frank with you?”

  Her smile was gone, and that scared Rave. “Yes.” It was a tentative agreement at best.

  She used her pen to point at the paper. “That’s Daniel’s birth certificate, am I correct?”

  “Yes.” He didn’t dare say more.

  “And your name is on it?”

  He had to give it another glance before answering. “Yes, ma’am.”

  She clicked her pen. “Then you are responsible for this child, Mr. Wayne. Food, shelter, love, clothing, education. All on you. I realize Daniel lived with his mother much of his life, but that’s not an option if she’s gone. If you don’t step up and take over complete care of this boy, he’s going to go into the system. Is that something you’re prepared to do? Give up your son?”

  He blanched. “No. No, of course not.”

  “Then I’m not entirely sure what the problem is here. This boy is your responsibility now. Yours and yours alone. Raising a child well is a selfless act. Are you ready for that?”

  “Yes, I am.” He looked at his mother. “In fact, my mom taught me that the true beauty of a person lies in their willingness to be selfless. Selflessness may require sacrifice, but it always produces the kinds of stars that shine the brightest.”

  Kristin smiled and gave those words time to sink in. “Then I think we’re done here.” She stood. “I’ll send you a schedule for some possible times for counseling for Daniel. And, Rave, I’m not supposed to tell you this, but keep him in church. Being there will be paramount to his healing. Plus, Pastor Keith is an amazing influence.” At that, she looked over at Keith and winked.

  Once she was gone, and Rave had watched her pull out of the driveway, he turned to the others in the room. But he still couldn’t find his words. They bounced around, jumbled, in his head, colliding with the very real and legal fact that Daniel was his.

  Sharon launched into the topic, waiting on Rave only a moment before she began. “I woke up in the middle of the night thinking about how important it would be for Rave to be able to answer all of the social worker’s questions. How would it look if he didn’t know when Daniel was due for his next set of shots or where those records even were? I broke into Ashley’s important paper box, and there inside was the birth certificate listing Rave as Daniel’s father.”

  Becca sucked a breath. “Rave, you didn’t know?”

  He shook his head. “No. I never—I never knew.”

  “How did this happen?” Becca held the corner of the page. “Is that your signature?”

  An explosion of joy shot through the confusion that still held his thoughts captive. “It’s close enough. I didn’t sign this.”

  “Ashley forged your signature?” Tuck said.

  “I guess.” His mind took him back four, now five, years ago, when Daniel was born. “At the hospital, we told them we were a couple. She didn’t want to be alone, and I was her best friend, so we pretended.”

  “But the hospital wouldn’t take it upon itself to just put you on the birth certificate.” Pastor Keith had been quiet since Kristin left.

  “No. But Ashley—Ashley always had a backup plan. I guess she told them I was the father. If she ever needed to disprove it, all it would take is a paternity test. But if things didn’t work out, she’d have me as a backup. I guess I was always Ashley’s backup. I guess this is the one time I can be thankful for that.”

  Tuck nodded. “Still, why not tell you? You’ve only wanted what was best for Daniel.”

  Rave shrugged. “I don’t know. She was hoping Barry was the father because he comes from money, but the paternity test determined he wasn’t. If he’d been the biological father, I guess she’d have taken legal action to get this changed. Maybe she figured it would be easier if I didn’t know.”

  Tuck stood slowly and put a hand on Rave’s arm. “Well, that boy’s yours now. If not by blood, by contract. You reckon this is the end of it?”

  For the first time since he’d gotten the news about Ash, Rave’s shoulders weren’t aching under the weight of uncertainty. “Yes. Even if Ashley returns. This is the end of it. Now that I know, she won’t deny me any rights to him.”

  Sharon stepped closer. “He’s not only Rave’s.” A broad smile appeared. “He’s ours. All of us. And together, we’ll raise him. You’re not in this alone, Rave. Not that you couldn’t handle it. Lord knows you practically raised your own mother. But you have us. And we won’t let you down.”

  Rave looked out over the crowd of people gathered for the ribbon-cutting ceremony. It had been five days since the social worker left the house, and the weight of losing Daniel had been removed from his shoulders, allowing him to concentrate on today. His throat tightened. Over three hundred people had arrived, half of them filling the chairs and the rest standing like guards behind them. Three hundred people. Tuck would be so proud. At the thought of his grandfather, the tightness in his throat became painful.

  Becca reached over and took his hand. “Thinking about Tuck, aren’t you?”

  Rave didn’t trust his voice, but even if it broke, it didn’t matter. This was the woman he loved slipping her hand into his. “He’d have loved seeing this.”

  She smiled. “I know. I wish things were different.” It had all happened so quickly. Tuck was fine. He’d had a good day on Friday after the social worker left and was just turning in for the night when he’d collapsed. They’d rushed him to the hospital, and there they’d watched and waited while his body began to reject the new liver.

  Rave had wanted to cancel the ribbon cutting but knew he couldn’t. After all, this wasn’t only for Tuck. It was for Tuck’s men and all those who’d served. His gaze wandered to the front row, where Daniel, dressed in a suit, sat in a chair swinging his legs.

  “You ready to speak?” Becca smiled up at him, and if a man could look into a face like that and not feel bulletproof, well, the
re was something wrong with that man.

  Rave had been in front of microphones plenty of times, but never for this purpose. Never to address an audience of hundreds that included a congressman and a senator.

  He stood and walked to the podium. Rave cleared his throat. “I was asked to open the ceremony today. When the committee first asked me to do that, I declined. I said, ‘This is a day about our veterans. What could I possibly have to say that would honor them? I’ve never served. I’ve never fought on foreign soil and watched my best friends die. How do I have any right to address this group of men and women?’

  “The Firstborn Veterans Committee is made up of a dozen men and women from Barton. We also have a twenty-member advisory board consisting of combat veterans. It was the advisory board that asked me respectfully to reconsider. When I asked them why, the head of the board, Mr. John Kidd, told me simply, ‘Because you understand REST.’

  “That’s an acronym for Remember Every Soldier Today. That’s what my grandfather, Tuck Wayne, taught me. That’s why we’re here today. And that’s why this memorial was built.”

  The mention of Tuck made his throat tighten again. Rave removed his gaze from the crowd and focused on the long, straight road beyond the parking area. Far away, flashing lights caught his attention, their blue glow drifting through the trees, probably headed to the highway.

  “Tuck’s not here today. I wish he was. He’d tell you all how important it is for a soldier to be remembered. His words would be more eloquent than mine.” Rave placed his hands flat on the podium. “Last week, Tuck was rushed to the hospital. He’d so been looking forward to this day. He hadn’t seen the memorial park yet, but in the hospital I described it to him. When I told him about the wrought iron rocking chairs at each monument, well, Tuck cried. He said those seats meant the men and women who died would always be in our hearts, in our lives, and sitting right there in the empty chair beside us. Tuck told me that when a soldier dies, he doesn’t leave an empty chair. He just leaves a spot for another to come and rest. My grandmother used to leave a bouquet of flowers tied with a crimson ribbon on the rocking chair for Tuck. To him, it meant that things were still beautiful even though they were dead.”

  People in the audience were wiping tears. Becca smiled. But beyond it all, past the rows of seats and the people standing, past the park and the tall fence, a set of blue lights stopped. When the vehicle came into view, Rave could see it was the sheriff’s car—lights still swirling—stopping just beyond the gate of the memorial park. He watched Sheriff Cogdill step out, go around his car, and help someone from the passenger’s seat. When a white head of springy hairs appeared over the top of the patrol car, Rave’s heart leaped. Still dressed in his hospital pajamas and with the sheriff’s coat over his shoulders, Tuck made his way into the park.

  Rave drew a breath and continued. “As I said, Tuck was rushed to the hospital last week after a complication from surgery. But those of you who know Tuck, know he is one tough soldier. And it takes an awful lot to keep him from honoring the soldiers he lost.”

  The doctors hadn’t warned them that signs of transplant rejection were fairly common. They hadn’t told them that antirejection meds could be adjusted. An increase in those antirejection drugs saved Tuck’s life. At first, Tuck’s body had warred against the new liver. But the doctors began to modify the medications, and once Tuck’s mind understood what the real enemy was, he forced his body to cooperate. He fought like the soldier he was. Maybe not the way he’d fought in Vietnam, but with all the passion of a man who had a lot to live for.

  Phil Ratzlaff, standing on the back row, rushed to Tuck’s other side, and he and Sheriff Cogdill helped him make his way forward. Even from the podium, Rave could see Tuck’s amazement at the park.

  Rave found it nearly impossible to continue speaking, but he wanted to give Tuck a few moments—his first moments experiencing the park—to take it all in without the prying eyes that would soon be aware of the pajama-clad soldier making his way forward. Some of the men and women standing had looked back when they noticed the lights, but most kept their eyes on Rave. “I was told once by another committee member that this whole thing started with me. But that’s wrong. This whole thing started with my grandfather, a man who has held a memorial twice a month since the time he left Vietnam.”

  Rave lifted a hand and gestured to the back of the park where Tuck had finally paused in the sea of people. “Ladies and gentlemen, my grandfather, my hero, Tuck Wayne.” Rave motioned to the back of the crowd, where Tuck stood, Phil on one side and Sheriff Cogdill on the other. The applause of the crowd drowned out any more words. Then those seated began to stand. A standing ovation for the soldier who’d returned home to feel not only abandoned by his country but by his family. The soldier who never abandoned his men.

  EPILOGUE

  Eleven years later

  There were certain moments in a boy’s life when he knew without a doubt he was a man. Rave’s first came at age fourteen, when he had to drag his mother out of a crack house. Then again, when she’d left him in Tampa, and he’d become homeless. He’d worked hard and found a suitable if imperfect place to live.

  Both of those times, he’d had to shed a certain amount of innocence to step into the shoes—ill-fitting as they were—of a man. And in retrospect, he could be proud of that. But never had he been more proud than today. Even over the years and all the times he’d addressed a crowd standing here at the podium of the memorial park.

  Today was different. Today was the memorial for Tuck. As he stood in the early-winter sun with the tiny bits of snow sprinkled across the ground of the park, Rave thought of all the moments that had brought him here.

  In the front row, Becca sat with her arm around Millie, their six-year-old daughter. His baby girl was the spitting image of her auburn-headed mother and sat with skinned knees dusting her winter dress, bony legs hidden to midcalf by her favorite pair of dress cowboy boots. Her feet swung forward and back, the rhinestones on her toes catching the light of the sun. Beside her, their son, Daniel, now sixteen, produced a colorful sucker for his little sister. Though Ashley had eventually returned to Barton, her stays were for short spurts only. The wife of a world-traveling entrepreneur, she allowed Daniel to continue to live with Rave—just as it was supposed to be—while she and her husband traveled the globe. Sharon sat beside Daniel with Sheriff Cogdill on her other side. His mother and the sheriff had rekindled a long-ago romance that had them both smiling and happy. His mother had never gone back to using drugs.

  “Over the last several years, Tuck has given me five letters. Each one marking the important days of my life. The day I married Becca; the day we moved into Tuck’s house and he moved into Trini’s after the two of them ran off to Vegas to get married. The day my son, Daniel, graduated from middle school; the day our daughter, Millie Elisabeth, was born; and the last one was left for me to read today. He made me promise to read it here.”

  Rave drew a shaky breath and opened the envelope. He began.

  “Dear Rave,

  I guess to tell you I’m proud of you would seem silly since I make a point to tell you every time I see you. It’s hard to imagine not spending long fishing days with you and discussing your next electrical job. But I guess I’ve kept Millie waiting long enough. She never was the most patient woman.

  When you first came into my life, I was being swallowed by my grief. Grief for your grandma, grief for the men I served with. But you came along and stood beside me, took my burden, carried my yoke. Because of your dedication, the memorial grew into something everyone could be part of. You made that happen, Rave.

  But there’s something that’s been bothering me. Something we need to clear up. Right about now, I’m sure you’re looking out at a crowd of our friends, at the monuments you helped erect and that have stood the test of time for these past years, at the rocking chairs, because no one should grieve alone. I’m so proud of what you’ve done here. But Rave, this place, these stone table
ts, they aren’t the memorial.”

  A chilling wind stole the warmth from his body, and Rave had to take several breaths before continuing, because the next three words blurred. He blinked and let the tears fall as he tried to concentrate on the page.

  “You’re the memorial.”

  His hand trembled, and he squeezed the paper in an attempt to get control of his emotions.

  “You’re the legacy I leave behind. For the worth of a man doesn’t lie in stone monuments. It doesn’t lie in bank accounts or assets. It lies in the lives he’s touched, the people he’s helped shape, the change he’s created. You’re my legacy, Rave. And it’s a beautiful one. I don’t know why God granted me such a gift.”

  A hush came over the crowd. Even the wind seemed to stop.

  “Make me a promise, Rave. Live life to the fullest. Love in the fiercest way you can, and REST. If you do those things, then I’ve succeeded at life. Because life’s true value lies in souls, not in things. And the best memorial a man can leave behind is one of flesh and blood. It’s been an honor to be your grandfather.”

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Photo © 2016 Melinda Hanks

  Heather Burch is the bestselling author of the novels One Lavender Ribbon, Along the Broken Road, Down the Hidden Path, and In the Light of the Garden, as well as several acclaimed young adult novels. One Lavender Ribbon was in the top 100 bestselling books of 2014 on Amazon. Her books have garnered praise from USA Today, Booklist, Romantic Times, and Publishers Weekly. Heather’s deeply emotional novels explore family, love, hope, and the challenges of life. She tells unforgettable stories of love and loss—stories that make your heart sigh. Heather lives in southern Florida with her husband and has two grown sons who are the light of her life.