Slumped low in his seat, Mark grimaced.
“You miss school?” Gabe asked after a minute. “You must have had teachers you liked. Maybe a counselor.”
“My math teacher was okay, but the science teacher had us do really stupid projects like make up animals that would live in a certain environment. It was like creative writing,” he complained. “I wanted to learn real stuff.”
“I can understand that.”
“English class was dumb. I don’t like stories. Anybody can make things up. Kids do it all the time. They were always saying I—” He applied the brakes.
Gabe wondered if he wanted to hear this, but how could he resist now? “You?” he prodded gently.
“I don’t know,” he mumbled. “That I’m weird or something.”
“You must have had friends.”
He shrugged, head down, voice still subdued. “Not really. So maybe I am weird.”
Well, yeah, Gabe thought, but not necessarily in a bad way. Asperger’s was his best guess.
“You’re a smart kid. I’d expect you to be a good student.”
“I guess my grades were okay. But Dad—”
Gabe had a really bad feeling he was going to detest Mark’s dad even more than he already did as soon as he heard what the guy had had to say. Maybe he should stop with the prodding. Instinct told him some things had to be spoken aloud, though, and that those might be the very things Mark wouldn’t tell his mother.
So he went ahead. “What did your dad say?” he asked, as gently as he could.
Mumble, mumble.
He had to have misheard. “He said what?”
“That I’m some kind of retard!” Mark yelled. “Okay?”
The steering wheel creaked, Gabe’s grip on it was so tight. His molars were about ready to crack, too. “No,” he said, “it’s not okay. You are smart. You must know that.”
The slouching posture had gotten downright sulky now. Mark’s shoulders jerked.
“He said that to you?” Gabe asked.
“Nah.”
“Then what makes you think—?”
“I heard him tell Mom.”
Gabe flinched. “Bet she was mad.”
“Yeah, but—” Those skinny shoulders jerked again. “She probably thinks so, too. ’Cuz I can tell teachers and everyone think, you know, that I’m weird, too. And probably dumb.”
Through his icy rage, Gabe managed to come up with a tone that was almost matter-of-fact. “I guarantee you, nobody thinks you’re dumb.”
“Dad does.”
“I don’t think that’s what he meant, either.”
Another shrug. Mark had his face averted now.
Not paying much attention to the passing landscape, Gabe still let a mile or two pass before he spoke again. He had to stop at a red light, which allowed him to glance at the boy. “You spend much time with your dad?”
“Nah.”
The traffic light turned green, and, very conscious of having a passenger, Gabe took a careful look each way before he started forward. On his own, he’d gotten so he could go through busy intersections without remembering, but it was different when he had Ciara or Mark with him. They probably thought he drove like a little old lady.
Better than the alternative, he told himself. And it wasn’t as if he was having flashbacks. Just...a prickle of anxiety.
“You miss him?” Gabe asked finally.
Not usually slow to speak, Mark took his time before answering. “I dunno.” Another pause. “Sometimes.”
“I’m sorry.” Gabe hesitated. “I didn’t always have a great relationship with my father, either.”
“Really?” Mark looked at him again, surprise on his face. He’d probably never imagined Gabe had been a boy with a father and mother. Kids didn’t tend to think of adults that way. “How come?”
Gabe brooded about that for a minute. “He was always hard on me. Couldn’t understand why I struggled in school.” He frowned. “My father owned an airfield. Have I told you that before?”
“I think so.”
“Well, he had a flight school, too, and offered charter flights. Me, I never liked flying. Heights scared me. Dad couldn’t understand that, either.”
“Really?” Mark’s voice rose in surprise. “You were scared?”
“Don’t you think we’re all scared of something?”
“Most kids don’t act like they are.”
Gabe half smiled. “They just don’t want to admit to it. Most adults don’t like to, either. Especially men.”
“How come you told me, then?”
He had to think about that. “I don’t see you making fun of me because you know I’m scared of heights.”
“You wouldn’t care if I did, would you?”
Gabe smiled. “Probably not anymore.” He paused, feeling clumsy. “I told you because you need to know that nobody is perfect. Most people have things they’re good at, things they’re not. That’s the way it is.”
“I don’t know anything Dad isn’t good at,” Mark muttered.
“What’s he do for a living?”
“You mean, for work? I don’t really understand it. Mom says he’s called a financial manager.”
Gabe nodded. “So he’s good at math, too. He passed that ability on to you.”
Mark looked perplexed at the concept, but then his expression cleared. “Because Mom isn’t good at math. So I didn’t get it from her.”
“Right. But don’t tell her I said so.”
They exchanged a grin.
Time to change the subject. “So...do you know what your mother is making for dinner tonight?”
“You really like her cooking, don’t you?”
“Yeah. I really do.” He didn’t say, I like sitting at the table with the two of you, too. Laughing. Hearing Watson whine from the other side of the door. Looking at your mom. Imagining my fingers slipping through her hair. Kissing her. Seeing her naked.
Nope, there was a lot he didn’t say.
* * *
“SO, YOU HAD a good time today?” Ciara asked as she hung up the dish towel and Mark sat down in front of the computer that sat on a small desk in a nook of the big kitchen.
Gabe had left after dinner, and Ciara was thinking about settling down with a good book while Mark prowled the internet—an exercise in patience. She paused behind him and watched as he logged on then swiveled on the chair to face her.
“Yeah, it was super cool,” her son declared enthusiastically. “He really let me help. When we were done, he took some pictures with his phone. Next time he’s here I’ll have him show you.”
“That’s great. I’ll bet the cabinets were beautiful.”
“He said thank you for the sandwiches.”
She smiled. “He told me.”
“Usually he goes to Subway or something. Or he doesn’t eat lunch at all, ’cuz once he starts working he doesn’t like to stop.”
“I can understand that,” she agreed.
She asked about the town of Post Falls and learned next to nothing. It was lots bigger than Goodwater.
Of course, almost every town was.
Sure, the river was pretty. The cabinets went in a big house. Lots bigger than this house.
Her son was not destined to become a travel writer.
“Did you two find enough to talk about?” she asked, indulging her curiosity. She only hoped Mark had let Gabe get a word in edgewise.
“Yeah.” His forehead pleated. “On the way home he asked me a bunch of questions.”
She slowly straightened. “A bunch of questions?”
“About school and stuff. Why I don’t go anymore. You know. And he wanted to know about Dad and why I don’t see him.”
A giant hand squeezed her rib cage. “Did he?” she said grimly.
“Yeah. Usually he just talks about what we’re doing. When he talks at all,” Mark said. “He’s kind of quiet. This was different.”
What was different was that he’d gotten her son a
way from her long enough to grill him, and she knew damn well what conclusions he’d come to.
“Speaking of,” she said, keeping her tone casual, “there’s something I forgot to ask Gabe. I’m going to run down to his place right now.”
“Really?” He gazed at her in bemusement. “You’re going to run? You never run, Mom.”
She faked a laugh. “I’m going to drive. Not run. You’re right. I never run if I can help it.”
“Okay.” He turned back to the computer, and she sensed he’d dismissed her from his mind. “I’ll see you later.”
She grabbed a down vest on her way out the door, even though she was mad enough to be steaming.
Lights shone in the windows of Gabe’s house, but no porch lights were on when she pulled in. She leaped out, went to the back door and rapped hard on the glass inset.
A moment later, he appeared, a big man whose solid body usually offered reassurance and a shiver of excitement she’d forgotten she could feel. Not tonight. Tonight she was too mad.
He flicked the porch light on then opened the door. “Ciara. Is something wrong?”
“Yes,” she snapped. “Something is wrong.”
“Come on in.” He backed up, letting her storm across the threshold. His expression changed when he got a good look at her face.
She pushed the door shut behind her hard enough to make the glass rattle. “Mark told me you asked a bunch of questions today. About school and why he doesn’t see his father.”
“We talked,” Gabe said slowly.
“You don’t approve of me homeschooling him, do you?”
He looked stoic. “Did I say that?”
“I could tell you were shocked when I said I mean to keep on doing it.”
“I admit I’ve been wondering why you would.”
Her skin prickled with anger. Something else, too, but she couldn’t think about that. Protecting Mark was her first priority. Nothing else could be allowed to interfere. “Then you should have asked me. Not him. How dare you interrogate him the minute you have him alone!”
Gabe’s gray eyes narrowed. “I did ask you, but your answer didn’t make a lot of sense.”
“So you went behind my back?”
“We talked. That’s all.”
“You think I should have let him be bullied for five more years of public school?” she yelled. Oh, God. She probably sounded like a crazy person, blaming him instead of the vicious little thugs who’d persecuted Mark, the teachers and administrators who wouldn’t protect him, but she couldn’t seem to help herself. The sense of betrayal was huge.
Gabe stood four square in the middle of his kitchen, irritation setting his jaw. “I didn’t say that.”
“Then what?”
“Nobody in Goodwater has bullied him.”
She spun away then back to face him. “Oh, like the school here will be any different.”
“Why won’t it?” he said softly.
So softly that, too late, she realized he had set a trap. He wanted her to say, Mark is why it won’t be any different.
The fact that she so much as thought anything like that scared her to death.
I don’t think it. I don’t.
She glared at him. “I’m not willing to take that chance.”
“He told me kids think he’s weird.”
“Which you totally understand, since you think there’s something wrong with him.” She crossed her arms tightly, and her fingers bit into her own flesh. Why had she ever let things between them get to the point where this hurt so terribly? But she couldn’t let those feelings matter. Nobody was judging Mark, she thought fiercely. Not if she had anything to say about it. Nobody.
“I apologized for my choice of word,” he said. “But Ciara, you have to know he’s not quite normal.”
“That’s a horrible thing to say!”
“Why?” he asked in a voice of reason. “What’s normal anyway? Hell, what’s wrong with not being normal?”
There. He’d said it again. Wrong.
“Not normal.” Her laugh sounded hysterical. “Isn’t that nice. A polite way of saying weird. Full circle. You know what?” She was yelling again. It was that or throw something. Or cry. “He thinks he’s weird because of people like you!”
Now he leaned forward, his sheer bulk suddenly menacing. “By God, you won’t tar me with that brush, lady. I don’t deserve it.”
A rational part of her mind knew he was right. Except for her, nobody had ever been kinder to Mark, more patient, more understanding. Something else she couldn’t let matter. The temper driving her, the fear that was at its heart like the eye of the storm, kept her from backing down.
“But you think I have no business homeschooling him. Why don’t you just say it?” she goaded. “It’s not a secret, is it?”
He swore harshly. “All right. I’ll say it. You’re making a mistake. You’re a fool if you think it’s healthy for him to be locked up in that house with no friends and his mommy his only teacher.”
He might as well have hit her. Stricken, Ciara backed up a step, then another. She saw his expression change to dismay, maybe even horror at what he’d said, but shock gripped her in cold talons.
“I don’t know why I ever thought I could trust you.” She shuddered at what she was saying, what it meant, but couldn’t seem to stop herself.
“Ciara. Damn it, you know I didn’t—”
“I’m sure you thought you were doing the right thing.” She fumbled behind her for the doorknob. “But my decisions about how I educate my own son are none of your business. Thank you for what you’ve done, but Mark won’t be back.”
They stared at each other. On a distant plane, she thought he looked as stunned as she felt. The next moment, he wiped his face clean of expression.
“Fine,” he snapped. “I have better things to do than let some kid hang around talking nonstop.”
She fled, all but falling down the two steps from his back door, scrambling into her van. Grateful she’d left the key in the ignition to make her getaway quicker.
She turned the key with a shaking hand and then looked to see that he’d closed his door and turned out both the porch and kitchen lights. He’d meant it.
I have better things to do.
Not until she was safely at a stop in front of her own house did she let herself collapse forward, forehead pressed to the steering wheel, and think, What did I do?
* * *
JUST AS GODDAMN WELL, he told himself. The woman and boy both had thrown a curve into the life he’d carefully built. The one that suited him, that protected him from ever again having to face utter devastation.
Feeling the need to get away, the next morning he loaded Hoodoo into the trailer and hauled him to the Coeur d’Alene area to a favorite trail. He refused to let himself remember that he’d intended to bring Mark this time. Solitary was good. Solitary was how he’d chosen to live since he was left alone by fate.
An hour into his ride, he realized he wasn’t settling like he should have been into the beauty of the wooded land studded with lakes, the sunny day with the bite of spring in this northern part of the country. The closest he came to any human contact was when he nodded brusquely as he reined Hoodoo to one side of the trail to let a couple of other riders pass.
Maybe he should have called around, found someone else who felt like a trail ride today.
He made a sound in his throat that had Hoodoo’s ears swiveling.
Sure, he thought, but then he’d have had to make at least occasional conversation, and he didn’t much feel like that.
Good thing he hadn’t brought Mark Malloy then, he thought savagely. The kid would have talked the whole way. Peace was what he was looking for, not a chat fest.
An hour and a half into the ride, he realized he was getting hungry. He hadn’t brought a lunch; he never did. Between one blink and the next, he saw himself sitting down at the table in Ciara’s kitchen. Before he could feel the keen edge of anticipation, he blanked
the picture out. He’d get a burger on the way home. He hadn’t had a good, greasy cheeseburger and fries in weeks. Couldn’t think of a better meal.
Once he’d trailered Hoodoo, he stopped on the Idaho side of the border at a familiar hamburger joint. Got his lunch to go so the quarter horse didn’t have to stand around unnecessarily. His stomach rumbled as he took a first bite, but by the time he stuffed the last fry into his mouth, he felt queasy.
Fine. It went with the sick feeling he’d been carrying beneath his breastbone all day.
When he passed the old Walker place, his foot lifting from the gas to start slowing for the turn into his own driveway, he didn’t so much as glance that way. None of his business whether they were home or not.
Poor Mark. Would the kid ever work up the nerve to articulate to his mother how isolated he felt?
Frowning over the fact that his mind had taken a forbidden pathway, Gabe nonetheless followed it. He was aware of the irony that he, of all people, should be championing someone else’s need for companionship. But he thought all kids needed friends, and in his quiet way he still enjoyed riding in cutting-horse competitions partly because he was able to share that enjoyment with other people. Sometimes he went out to a tavern to watch a Mariners or Seahawks game because there’d be other people around to groan at a bad call or hoot and holler at a home run. He worked with contractors he considered friends. When he’d been alone for too many days, he looked forward to an installation where he’d be working with some other men. Even a loner like him needed other people.
Mark might have been miserable in school—but look how he’d leaped to join the group of kids at the ranch.
After parking in front of the barn, Gabe let down the ramp and backed Hoodoo out then led him to join an impatient Aurora in the pasture. He fed the horses, spent some time leaning against the fence listening to them whuffling and crunching, but brooded the entire time.
When it came down to it, Ciara was right. What he thought didn’t matter. She had a right to make the important decisions about her own son. He’d overstepped. The why didn’t matter, either.
Give him a couple of days, he decided, and he’d quit thinking about Ciara and Mark at all. He might really be glad to regain his former solitude. If anyone was the loser here, it was Mark.
More Than Neighbors Page 13
