by Liv Brywood
“You coming in?” he called.
“Yeah.”
As he took off his helmet, Dusty couldn’t get over how nothing had changed. The same wooden flower boxes hung from the porch still filled with snapdragons and bright red creeping zinnia. The house had been recently repainted with the original colors. White shutters contrasted against the dominant palate of barn door red. Sometimes he missed this house. He’d shared a lot of good memories with his family until that night.
Clark stood just outside the front door. Tan slacks drooped from thin hips. A black and brown checkered shirt hung from shoulders rounded by age. He’d lost a lot of weight since Dusty had last seen him. Hopefully, he wasn’t sick.
“You look good,” Dusty said.
“It’s all the clean living.” Clark patted his stomach. “Dropped a few pounds in the last couple of years.”
“Looks like more than a few.”
“Your sister’s fight inspired me to get my own health together. I’d been cruising along eating far too much pizza and ice cream. Harriet’s been after me for years to stop eating junk. Watching your sister wither away, well, that about did it for me.”
They stood in uncomfortable silence until Dusty finally broke it.
“How’s Harriet doing?”
“Great. We just celebrated our fortieth wedding anniversary.”
“I can’t believe it’s been that long.”
“Me either.” Clark chuckled. “But once you find a good woman, you hang on and don’t let go. Happy wife, happy life. Are you married?”
“Uh, no.” Dusty rubbed the back of his neck. “So, Mason’s the kid’s name?”
“Yeah.”
Dusty took a step toward the door, but Clark held up a hand to stop him.
“Now, hang on. Mason’s not in a good place right now. His mom was all he had. As far as I can tell, she never mentioned you. He didn’t even know he had an uncle until I told him last night.”
“She never told him?”
“No. She had a lot going on.”
“Where’s his father?”
“That good for nothing son-of-a-bitch is long gone. Left her high and dry to take care of Mason by herself.”
“When did he leave?”
“Well let’s see… right around the time I had my stent put in, so five years ago. Mason was eight. Poor kid. His dad was an asshole, but boys need a man in their life to show them how to grow up. I’m glad you came. I wasn’t sure you’d want to come back.”
“I don’t plan on staying long.”
“The school year’s not over for a few weeks. At least stay until the end of the year, then you can take Mason back to your place. Where are you living these days?”
“Outside of Lincoln, Nebraska. But look, I can’t take him with me.”
“Why not? You’re the only family he’s got left.”
“I live in a tiny trailer with a wood burning stove for a heater and no hot water. I live like a homeless person.”
“Don’t you have a job?” Clark asked.
“I drive a truck. I put away most of my money. Having a big house just for me never made much sense. I’d have to clean it and keep it up. With my single-wide, I can live in it until it falls apart then just build another one.”
“Well that’s a problem because Mason’s going to need a decent house with his own room.”
“Can you take him?” Dusty asked.
“No. I’m retiring in a few months, and I’m not looking to raise a kid. I loved your dad like a brother, but I’m too old to be running after a teenager. I’m surprised you don’t want to step up to help. You always stepped up when your dad really needed you.”
“He never needed me.”
“He shouldn’t have kicked you out.”
“I left.” Dusty shrugged. He didn’t want to bother trying to defend his father. It was all in the past. Besides, he was gone, so what difference did it make?
“Either way, he regretted it the rest of his life,” Clark said.
“I highly doubt that. Anyway, it’s all in the past, and I don’t want to go back there. I’m not about to pick up a bunch of baggage here and drag it home. I like my life, and I’m not going to blow it up for some kid I didn’t even know about.”
Dusty glanced up in time to watch a boy’s face move away from one of the bedroom windows.
“Shit.”
“He probably heard you,” Clark said, following his gaze. “You’d better go talk to him. Like it or not, you’re family. Maybe things didn’t go well when you lived here before, but you have a chance to make things right now. Take it. Consider it a chance to make your father proud. I’ll swing by tomorrow.”
“You’re leaving?” The pit of acid in his stomach bubbled up his throat. He couldn’t stay with the kid alone. He didn’t know what to say to him.
“I have to finish some paperwork at the office. If I miss dinner, Harriet will tan my hide. You’ll be fine. Apologize for being an insensitive jackass and get to know Mason. He’s a good kid. Never gets into trouble,” he said with an edge Dusty couldn’t miss.
“Okay. I’ll see you later then.”
After Clark left, Dusty stood on the porch for several minutes. He had no idea what to say to Mason. At his age, Dusty would not have welcomed a stranger into his house. Blood or not, he would have been too busy railing at God for taking his mom to give two shits about his long-lost uncle. He ran his fingers through his hair. No matter what he said or did, this was going to be a complete disaster. Might as well get it over with.
He opened the front door. The same bright white tile covered the entryway floor. The same tan carpet filled the living room. He recognized the couches. His mom had been so happy the day they’d been delivered. Their bright blue and green tropical pattern had faded, but his memories of everything that had happened in the living room hadn’t. Good times and bad, they all came flooding back.
The kitchen off the living room still glowed with the lemon-yellow paint his mom had adored. His father loved to complain about how bright it was in the morning, but his mom simply laughed it off and said it was better to be awakened by sunlight than by the endless cups of coffee his father had preferred. Dusty could almost smell the French Roast simmering in the coffee pot.
Down the hall, he poked his head into the first of three bedrooms. His sister’s old room had been turned into a small library. The shelves were separated into fiction and non-fiction then categorized alphabetically by author. He ran his fingers across old titles. Nancy Drew, The Hardy Boys, all of his childhood favorites were on display. He’d spent hours reading everything from mysteries to westerns. He still read. Audiobooks helped block out the drone of the tires on his rig as he drove hundreds of miles through flat land in middle America.
The door to the second room was closed. His old room, probably Mason’s now. He passed it and walked into the master bedroom. His parent’s old room had become his sisters at some point. Since he hadn’t kept up with the family, he assumed she’d moved into it after their deaths. Or maybe she’d waited until she was married. He’d never know, not that it mattered.
His sister’s room looked as if she’d stepped out for a few minutes. It didn’t look like the room of someone who was planning on going to the hospital never to return. A bright pink frilly dress hung on the closet door. Matching sandals sat ready to wear. A smattering of makeup and perfume bottles covered the sink in the en suite bathroom.
“Get out of my mom’s room.”
Dusty spun to find Mason standing in the doorway. His hands fisted at his hips, and he maintained a scowl worthy of the meanest shifter in a biker bar. He looked almost exactly how Dusty had looked at his age. Same medium ash blonde hair. Golden-brown eyes that sparkled when he got mad. Mason was a bit chubbier than Dusty had been at thirteen, but the kid would grow into his shifter body. He’d bulk up as soon as his shifter hormones fully kicked in. God, Dusty had to make sure he was long gone before the kid hit full-shifter-puberty. His bear s
huddered.
“Hi, I’m Dusty.”
“Get out!”
“Okay.”
Dusty walked past Mason who stood guard at the door. As soon as Dusty cleared the threshold, Mason grabbed the doorknob and slammed the door.
“Don’t go in there again. That’s my mom’s room—was…”
“I’m sorry. I was just looking around. I lived here too when I was your age.”
“Go back to wherever you came from, leave me alone.”
“Want some lemonade?” Dusty asked. Trying to argue with a pissed off kid wasn’t going to work, but maybe some sugar would help.
“What?”
“Lemonade. You still have lemon trees in the backyard, don’t you?”
“Yeah,” Mason said, a hint of suspicion in his voice.
“Let’s pick some, then we can make lemonade together.”
Dusty headed toward the sliding glass door in the living room. He glanced over his shoulder to where Mason stood. He hadn’t made a move to follow Dusty.
Rather than beg and plead with the kid, Dusty walked into the backyard. He spotted twin lemon trees exactly where they’d been when he’d left. Several plump, bright-yellow lemons hung from their branches. He picked four before returning to the living room.
“Want to help squeeze them?” Dusty asked.
Mason shrugged but followed him into the kitchen.
After digging through several drawers, Dusty found the old cast-iron lemon squeezer. Mason opened a cabinet and found a glass pitcher. He set it on the kitchen counter before opening the pantry. He pulled a large bag of sugar out. He eyed Dusty before opening the bag.
As he poured, granules of sugar floated through the air. Dusty tasted the sweetness on his tongue. He didn’t stop Mason even when he’d far surpassed a reasonable amount of sugar. Trying to set and enforce rules was pointless at this stage. It wasn’t like he was going to stick around.
While Mason returned the bag to the pantry, Dusty squeezed lemon juice onto the mound of sugar in the pitcher. He polished off all four lemons before adding water to the top. Mason pulled a wooden spoon out of a container of utensils. He stirred until the sugar dissolved.
“Can you grab a couple of glasses?” Dusty asked.
Mason took two large glass mugs from the cabinet. He walked over to the fridge and used the ice maker on the front to fill them. He set the mugs on the counter and slid a sideways glance at Dusty. He didn’t react other than to fill the glasses.
“Sound we go outside and drink them?” Dusty asked.
Mason cocked his head to one side and studied him for several seconds. He grabbed his glass and walked down the hall, slamming his bedroom door behind him.
“That went well,” Dusty muttered.
His bear huffed in agreement.
He glanced through the kitchen window toward the pack on the back of his motorcycle. He’d planned on sleeping in the woods tonight, but he couldn’t leave the kid alone. Tomorrow, he’d figure out what to do next. He needed to talk to Clark and find out who else might be able to take Mason in. He couldn’t leave until he got the kid situated with a new family. His sister would crawl out of her grave to haunt him if he didn’t do right by his family. Even though he couldn’t take care of Mason, he wouldn’t leave until he was sure the kid would be okay.
* * *
The next morning, Mason continued his sullen silence through breakfast. His only comment was to complain about rubbery eggs.
“They’re not Top Chef level,” Dusty agreed. “But, they’re not that bad.”
“Why can’t I just eat cereal?”
“Growing boys need protein. If you want your bear to grow up big and strong, then you’re going to have to eat eggs and bacon.”
“My what?” Mason’s fork scraped the plate.
“Your bear.” Dusty’s eyebrows knitted together.
“I don’t have a bear. Bears live in the forest. You can’t keep them as a pet.”
Oh, shit. Apparently, his sister hadn’t had the shifter talk with him yet. Great. Another thing to take care of before he could leave.
“Right…” Dusty said slowly. Now wasn’t the time to have that conversation. “What time do you need to be at school?”
“In ten minutes.”
“Ten minutes?” Dusty jumped up. “We’re going to be late.”
Mason shrugged.
“I’ll go with you and explain to your teacher why you’re late.”
“No way. You’re not coming with me to school.”
“I need to meet your teacher anyway.”
“Why?”
“Because I need to know what’s going on at school.”
“You’re not sticking around, remember?” Mason said with a smirk. “Why do you care what happens at school? You’ll be gone in a few days anyway.”
“I…”
Mason took his plate to the sink and set it down. He lumbered down the hall to get his backpack.
“Well, are you coming or not?” Mason strolled back into the living room.
“I’m coming.”
Dusty grabbed the house keys and shoved them into his jeans. He followed Mason down the street. The school was only three blocks away, but by the time they reached it, the grounds were empty, and all the kids were inside their homeroom classes.
“Which room are you in?” Dusty asked.
“Seventeen.” Mason pulled open the door and hurried inside.
As Dusty followed, the teacher looked up from her desk. Their eyes met, and a jolt of pure lightning struck him straight in the heart.
“Laurie?”
“Ms. Denning,” she said softly.
“Ms. Denning? You’re his teacher?”
“Yes. And he’s late for school. Care to explain why?”
“It’s my fault. I didn’t know the start time.”
“If you’re going to be responsible for him, then you should learn his routine.”
“Can I speak with you outside?”
“Class, open your books to page fifty-seven and read the section about the Spanish-American War. I’ll be right outside. No talking.”
As she stepped into the hall, his mouth went dry. He swallowed several times. She was even more beautiful than he’d remembered. Dark, coppery-brown hair hung past her shoulders. Pale blue eyes the color of the sky after a spring rain fixated on him for several seconds before she looked away. She wore a lot of makeup—more than necessary—unless… He kicked himself for being such an idiot. She probably painted her face to cover the burn marks.
“It’s good to see you,” he stammered.
“I’m glad you came.”
“Really?”
“Mason needs family right now. You’re all he has left.” She lowered her voice so much that he had to lean in to hear her. “He’s doing as well as can be expected, considering everything he’s been through, but he needs a parent.”
“I can’t… I’m not parent material. Isn’t there anyone else who can take him in?”
“No.” Laurie drew back and frowned. “We shouldn’t talk about this now. Make an appointment with the office and we can discuss next steps. I need to go back to my class.”
She dropped her gaze to the floor as she walked back into the classroom. She slowly closed the door behind her, without meeting his eyes.
The moment the door closed, air rushed out of his lungs. He hadn’t seen Laurie in fifteen years. She was still as beautiful as he remembered. Makeup or not, her grace and sweetness shinned just as brightly as it had before the accident. How she hadn’t turned into a bitter, angry recluse was beyond him. But… maybe this was all for show. Maybe under the makeup and smile lay a scarred woman who held bitterness in her heart. He wasn’t sure if she was doing as well as she seemed to be doing, but he wanted to find out. He had to know if he’d ruined her life forever.
3
Laurie managed to keep a smile plastered on her face through first and second period, only letting it fall during the morning br
eak when she’d locked herself in a bathroom stall in the teacher’s lounge. She hadn’t expected to be affected by Dusty’s return, but one look at his handsome face had been enough to send her bear into a frenzy. She only had five minutes with which to compose herself before she had to head back to class. She felt like she needed five years.
As she struggled to regain her composure, she exited the stall. She washed her trembling hands in cold water before drying them with paper towels. She pulled a makeup compact out of the pocket in her dress.
After powdering her face, she studied her reflection. She’d caked on enough foundation to cover her scars for the day. She’d had fifteen years of practice, not counting the months she’d spent recovering from multiple facial reconstruction surgeries. Through endless hours of therapy, she’d come to terms with the accident. The scars on her body remained, but the scars on her soul had healed.
Still, seeing Dusty for the first time brought every flashback she’d avoided for years rushing back. The screech of twisting metal. The acrid scent of gasoline and burning flesh—her flesh—haunted her for the first time in years. Sure, she still had nightmares from time to time, but she’d stopped experiencing the debilitating flashbacks that plagued her during the day. At least until now.
“The bell’s about to ring. Are you feeling okay?” Julia asked.
“I didn’t hear you come in.” Laurie snapped her compact closed and dropped it into her pocket. “I’m fine.”
“I heard Dusty’s back.” Julia leaned against the sink. Her long, blonde hair was tamed by an ever-present braid. She wore black slacks and a pink blouse. “I just thought I should check on you.”
“Who told you he’s back?”
“I saw you talking in the hall.”
“We were talking about Mason.”
Laurie wasn’t sure why she was getting so defensive, but she didn’t want Julia to think she’d been affected by Dusty. He was just passing through anyway. There was no reason to give him a second thought, but she couldn’t get him out of her mind. She’d been barely able to get through the first two classes without losing her focus every few minutes.
