by Carol Ross
Aidan gestured at the letters. “He doesn’t know you have these, so I would go in there and see if he will tell you what he hid. If he tells you that, then maybe he’ll want to talk about what he was doing and why.”
That made sense. “Okay, do you...? Is there any way you could...?”
“I’m staying, Janie. I know Gareth doesn’t trust me one hundred percent yet, but I think he might be starting to like me—or at least respect me a little. I won’t get in the middle, but I will be here for you—for both of you—however I can. We will figure this out.”
There was that word again. Janie blinked back tears even as she allowed herself to take comfort in the idea of being a we. Then she went to talk to her son—all the way down the hall, which suddenly seemed to have expanded to a length of at least three miles. She inhaled a deep breath and tapped softly on Gareth’s bedroom door. She waited a moment, turned the knob and for some reason felt a flash of relief that the door wasn’t locked.
“Hey.” She crossed the room to sit on the edge of his bed. Crosby stood and meowed, pacing back and forth in front of Gareth, like a feline sentry on guard duty.
“Hey.”
He shifted his body until he was sitting up and leaning against a stack of pillows. It reminded Janie of the times he’d been sick as a little boy and she’d bring him soup, or medicine, or a glass of juice, and he’d manage to sit up so she could take his temperature. How she wished this situation could be as simple as the flu...
“So, do you want to explain?”
“Mom, I’m so sorry. It’s not what it looks like.”
“Maybe you could help me out by explaining what it is then? So I can quit speculating. What were you hiding, Gareth?”
Gareth didn’t answer, just stroked Crosby’s fluffy coat. The cat’s purr seemed as loud as a helicopter in the silence of the room.
“Principal Dundee thinks you may have been smoking? Apparently, your friend Anthony got caught smoking a few months back? I can’t believe you’d be dumb enough to smoke at school, but—”
“Mom, I don’t smoke. I haven’t been smoking.”
Janie felt another rush of relief, even though no evidence of smoking had been found. He did have matches and Anthony was a friend of Gareth’s and today was the first she’d heard about this smoking incident.
“That’s good. So, what did you take out of your locker?”
“Letters.”
She was grateful for this piece of honesty. She hoped Aidan was right and this meant he wanted to talk—or at least would talk.
“What kind of letters?”
Gareth looked at her but his face was unreadable. She hated it that she didn’t know her own son well enough to have an idea of what he might be thinking.
“Gareth, you’re going to have to tell me. The police are going to be here to talk to you in a couple hours and I think things will go easier if I understand what’s going on.”
“The police?” He squeaked out the words in a high-pitched tone of anxiety.
Now she had his attention. “Yes, Gareth, in light of the drug situation at the school last year, Principal Dundee can’t ignore this. You taking off like that might be probable cause for the police to question you, and me, to search our house, my car.” She shrugged. “I don’t know what all they can do—”
His brown eyes were filled with terror. “Mom, I swear. They’re just letters. I write letters to Dad.”
“Oh.” A tsunami of relief hit her, but was immediately followed by another concern. “What kinds of letters? Are you angry with him for dying and leaving us?”
Gareth rolled his eyes. “Mom, I’ve been over that part of it for a long time. It wasn’t his fault. He didn’t leave us on purpose. I was never really angry with him anyway. I was angry at the circumstances.”
“Okay, so...?”
“Remember that first counselor we saw in Glacier City? But she had a baby and had to quit so we started seeing Dr. Quartz?”
Janie nodded. “Yes, of course—Dr. Tibbets.” They had all loved Dr. Tibbets. Dr. Quartz, on the other hand, she had some doubts about. Dr. Quartz had advised her to sit back and let the grieving process run its course. She suspected that she should have found some middle ground between the two doctors as the process truly seemed to be different for everyone.
“Yeah, well, she suggested that I write to Dad because I told her how I wished I would have said certain things to him before he died. But she said I could still tell him those things and it might make me feel better, so a while back I decided to try it. I’ve been writing letters to Dad.”
Gareth scratched Crosby’s ears—the cat had resettled on his lap and seemed to be casting dirty looks in Janie’s direction presumably for upsetting Gareth and/or his naptime. Probably a combination of both.
“I’ve written him to tell him all of the things I loved about him, all of the things I miss, the things I wish I would have said and done—even some things I don’t miss. Dr. Tibbets said I could do that, too.”
So many emotions were crowding inside of her—sadness, relief, love, guilt, despair—she felt weak. And she was so tired. She wanted to lie down and close her eyes and sleep and hope that tomorrow would be a better day. Unfortunately, she’d done enough of that over the last few years, along with plenty of “hoping” things would get better on their own and “accepting” whatever that might mean. She needed to get a grip. She needed to face this—they needed to face this.
She took a deep breath.
“That sounds wonderful, honey. Do you want to tell me anything you wrote?”
He shook his head. “No, I already told Dad.”
“Okay.” Janie debated about whether to ask, but knew she had to because the police would. “Gareth, why did you leave the school with the letters?”
Gareth squeezed his eyes shut. “Locker check.”
“Locker check?” What was she missing here? “But why—”
“I took the letters and a picture of me and Dad to school. I planned on burning the letters after school when I went over to Uncle Bering’s.”
That explained the matches. So, good, more evidence for the not smoking.
“But, I had to do something with them so they didn’t get discovered during the locker check.” He explained about how he’d left his gym shoes in his locker and went to retrieve them before class. On his way he’d spotted Marv Vetcher and known that locker checks were imminent.
“Why didn’t you put the letters in your backpack?”
“For one thing I had my gym clothes on and my backpack was in the locker room. I had no place to put them and I knew if I headed to gym with all those papers, Mr. Lott would ask me what was so important that I was late for gym class and make me hand them over. He would read them to the class—he seems to like embarrassing students.”
Janie agreed this last part was likely true. Mr. Lott was a self-important, overly muscled, former small-town jock who seemed personally offended by anyone who didn’t take physical education as seriously as he did.
“There isn’t anyplace you could have hidden them in your locker? Inside a book? Anything?”
“Mom, they were checking for drugs. Don’t you think that they know all the places to look? And besides, Marv Vetcher was the one doing the checks. What do you think would happen if he found those letters?”
That explained a lot. Janie knew very well that Marv Vetcher wouldn’t hesitate to somehow leak the information to Harmon and Riley.
She felt a burning rage that things had reached this point with Harmon and Riley. Aidan was right. Something needed to be done. She was done feeling guilty and beating herself up because her sons had problems. From now on she was going to start solving these problems—and letting the boys solve them, too.
Janie nodded and took a minute to absorb everythi
ng he’d said. This all seemed plausible. Even more important, she believed him. Was she being naive? She needed to run the scenario by someone more objective than herself. Normally that would be Bering or Shay or her mom, but Aidan was already here. The mere thought of him waiting for her in the kitchen made her feel better, stronger. We, she thought, even as she told herself she shouldn’t get used to the word—to the feeling. But she was going to go ahead and relish it right now.
One thing was still bothering her, though.
“So, you said you were going to burn the letters anyway at Uncle Bering’s today after school? Why would you do that?”
Gareth looked down at his lap for a few long seconds, his fingers entwined in Crosby’s thick fur. Then he looked back at Janie. “I wrote my last letter to Dad. I’ve said everything I need to say. And I think I can’t just keep saying the same things over and over again because it makes me feel stuck. Obviously I can’t send them anywhere, so I decided to burn them—you know, like in one final farewell? Say goodbye to Dad and just...let him go, I guess. I mean not all of him, but...”
“I understand, Gareth, and I think it was a good plan.” It made sense to her. “What about the photo? Were you going to burn that?”
Something flickered across his face—it was there and gone so quickly that she might have missed it, except... She may not know her son as well as she’d like these days, but she knew a flash of fear when she saw one.
“How do you know about the picture?”
“Aidan saw you coming out of his place, Gareth. He found the letters.”
Gareth stared at her with big eyes.
“He didn’t read them.”
“I’m not worried about that, Mom. Aidan’s dad died when he was little, too. He understands. What I’m worried about is the police. If Harmon’s dad sees them, then Harmon will know...”
Janie felt another stab of anger directed at Marv Vetcher and the monster child he had sired. “We’re going to wait and see what the police have to say, but I have no intention of handing them over unless it’s absolutely necessary. And I promise you, Gareth—they won’t go to Marv Vetcher.”
Gareth exhaled a huge sigh of relief. “I wasn’t going to burn the photo, Mom. It was just to look at. Sometimes I can’t remember Dad’s face as well as I used to, so I, uh, I carry his picture. It was tucked inside the letters so I hid it, too.”
Dr. Quartz had said not to push Gareth through the stages of grief, but it sounded like he was trying to push himself. Something told Janie that maybe that wasn’t a bad thing, that maybe it was actually a really courageous thing.
* * *
JANIE RETURNED TO the kitchen to find Aidan sitting at her table. He’d made a pot of coffee so she poured herself a cup and took a seat across from him. Janie explained what Gareth had told her.
Aidan asked a few questions, but mostly he listened.
“So, I guess we’ll see how it all plays out with the police.”
Aidan ran a thumb over his chin. “I can’t imagine they would pursue this after you explain the situation.”
Janie allowed herself to take confidence in his words.
“Thank you so much, Aidan. I don’t know what would have happened if you hadn’t seen him coming out of your place.”
“I’m glad I was there, too. Your boys have become really important to me...”
“They feel the same—obviously.”
“What about you? How do you feel?”
“What?” She barely got the word out because her pounding heart seemed to be smothering her voice.
He leaned forward. “Things have been so crazy...we haven’t had a chance to talk again about what happened between us the day I got stung. I know we said we’d talk on Sunday, but I don’t want to wait.”
Janie wished she could play dumb. She really didn’t want to talk about that humiliating afternoon where she’d acted like a desperate housewife and Aidan had nearly died and the lovely Meredith had appeared and forced Janie to come to her senses.
She tried to give him an easy out. “Aidan, it’s okay. I understand.”
“You do?”
“Yes—you don’t have to explain. It was just a moment—that day. I got caught up in it, too. But...” She swallowed down a sudden, unexpected lump of emotion. “Since that time I have come to fully realize how different our lives are.”
Aidan slowly smoothed a finger over one brow. “A moment?”
“Yes, it was nice. It was a great kiss, and a nice afternoon—until you got stung and almost died. But then Meredith and Blake breezed through the door and they both represent these parts of your life that I don’t know anything about—”
“Janie.” Her name came out with a sigh of exasperation. “That afternoon was so much more than a moment for me. These last weeks, the time I’ve spent with you—I have never been happier. I’ve never felt like this with another human being in my life. I’ve never been able to truly be myself with anyone before and I’d like to explore the possibility of a relationship—”
She cut him off. “No.”
He looked genuinely shocked and Janie was surprised by how much it hurt her to say the word—even though she knew it was the right thing to do.
“Aidan, I can’t. First of all, my boys are everything to me and the risk is too great—”
“But I love your boys.”
She smiled and tried desperately to keep her turbulent emotions at bay. “I know and I am so very grateful for that. What you’ve done for them in the time you’ve been here... I doubt I’ll ever be able to repay you for that. But what would happen if it didn’t work out between us?”
“Why wouldn’t it work out?”
“Well, there’s the communication thing.”
His gaze went flat. “I’m aware, Janie, and I’m trying. With you I’ve have communicated, confided in, more than I ever have with anyone—ever.”
Janie squeezed her eyes shut and tried not to enjoy that statement too much. She opened her eyes and faced him—this—head-on. “But, it’s not enough for me, Aidan. There’s so much about you I don’t know—so much that is off-limits. Think about it, your own sister didn’t know you were engaged. That doesn’t bode very well for me or for any woman you decide to let into your life. I wrote an article about you and practically had to scrape the bottom of your shoes for tidbits to write about.
“You didn’t tell me you were allergic to bees, you never mentioned your fear of public speaking, you didn’t tell me about the boxing, or about your engagement. I had to figure all this out on my own and...you’re probably used to being alone and so not having to factor in somebody else’s thoughts and feelings. It’s about sharing.”
His gray eyes latched on to hers and she could see he was searching for words.
“Why didn’t you tell me you were engaged?”
“Honestly? It didn’t seem relevant.”
“That’s the thing with you, Aidan. You pick and choose relevance and risk and what you’re going to reveal about yourself based on criteria completely different than mine. With me, what you see is what you get. What you said about me to Emily that day is true—I’m not worldly or sophisticated. I am, in fact, just a simple girl.”
Aidan scoffed. “Janie, if you truly believe that, then you don’t know yourself nearly as well as you think you do.”
He stood up and Janie could see the hurt on his face, radiating off of every plane of his body. But Janie was absolutely certain his pain couldn’t possibly be a match for hers.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
THE VFW HALL opened at 8:00 a.m. so the students could get their booths set up in time for the science expo to begin at ten. Lunch would be at noon and demonstrations were scheduled to begin at one thirty and would last until four. The longest time frame ever, Ms. Treyborn had mentioned at
least a million times, because so many students were participating this year.
Gareth had helped Elena and Reagan lug in all of the stuff for their projects and they were on their way outside to meet their mom when Harmon intercepted them in the hallway.
Harmon stepped close and Gareth could smell his disgusting breath that for some reason always reeked of pickles.
“Hey, Everett—everyone is dying to know what you had in your locker. And why you ran away from school like a scared little girl.”
Gareth knew better than to react to Harmon’s statement even as his heart started to hammer wildly in his chest. “What are you talking about, Harmon?”
“Rumor has it you took something out of your locker and left school with it. What was it?”
“None of your business. Now get out of the way. We have things to do.”
“Was it a gun? Maybe you were planning one of those school shootings, huh? You’re loony enough to do that. Or was it drugs—you’ve been hanging out with that geeky scientist guy who’s been running around town. He looks like he could be into drugs. I’ve heard the police are investigating.”
Riley laughed maniacally at the obvious reference to Harmon’s dad.
Gareth rolled his eyes and said sarcastically, “Gosh, we’d love to stick around and chat about your brilliant criminal theories, Harmon, but my brother has a contest to win.”
Harmon’s snake eyes narrowed at Gareth. “If your brother wins this contest he’s dead meat and he knows it.” Harmon turned on Reagan. “Don’t you—you eggheaded little wimp?”
Elena barked out a laugh. “Eggheaded? You do realize you just called him a smart person, right? Which is the opposite of you, moron.”
Harmon sneered at Elena. “You know the only thing saving you from getting the crap beat out of you, too, Elena? The goodness of my heart and the fact that I know you secretly like me.”
“You know that face looking back at you in the mirror when you practice your tough-guy routine, Harmon? You better enjoy it because that’s the only human being on the planet who is ever going to look at you without wanting to puke.”