The Fireman's Son

by Tara Taylor Quinn

  Faye didn’t doubt that for a second. Elliott was a healthy eater.

  Thinking about it made her feel good. Like she was getting something right.

  Or maybe it was the fact that thinking about something good took her mind away from all that was wrong.

  “He’s not interacting as well as I’d like with the other kids,” Sara said, her expression not changing. They dealt with facts in this office in a manner that made them seem less threatening. At least, that was Faye’s take on the sessions.

  “Except for Kyle.”

  Sara shook her head. “Even with Kyle, this week. He seems to have pulled back from all of his associations.”

  “I’m assuming, since you’re mentioning this, you asked him about it?”

  Sara nodded. “I did. He said that he didn’t want to get anyone else in trouble.”

  “Because I told Reese I’d seen Kyle?”

  Faye had told Sara she was working for a man she used to date because of the dreams she’d been having. Sara shrugged now. “It could be because you recognized Kyle. But I’m not sure that’s all it is. He seems to be separating himself purposefully. He waits for everyone to sit at lunch and then finds a place a few feet away. It’s the same in the classroom. In the gym, he won’t play contact sports.”

  “But I thought he was loving basketball. Kyle was playing with him...”

  “Something about that fire he set in the bathroom trash can changed things.”

  Her stomach cramped. Like someone was twisting his fist in it.

  “Do you know what he wrote that he had to burn?”

  Sara might not tell her what it was—Elliott had been told that he could tell the counselor things that would not be repeated to his mother—but Sara would tell her whether she knew.

  “Not really. I’ve been able to make some educated guesses.”

  “He doesn’t want me to know.”

  The woman’s shoulder-length blond hair fell lightly against her blouse as she shook her head.

  “So what do you think is going on?”

  Sara had something to tell her. Faye knew her well enough to see that. She was just helping Faye catch up so that when it came, she’d have a better chance of dealing with it.

  Two years in counseling taught a woman a thing or two about the process.

  “Just another educated guess at this point, but I think Elliott’s fears are turning inward.”

  “Meaning?”

  “Maybe setting the fire scared him. About himself. It was such an in-your-face defiance of not only your rules but of the career you care about.”

  “So why did he do it?”

  Sara shrugged. “The obvious. He wanted to destroy what he’d written—but why choose that means? I honestly don’t know.”

  Faye heard the unspoken yet in the counselor’s tone. Or at least hoped she did.

  She told Sara about Wednesday night’s sleepwalking. About her son’s seemingly growing anger with her.

  “I thought, when we talked about snitching on Monday on the way home, that he got it. That he understood why I told Reese I’d recognized Kyle at the scene. But he’s been treating me more like an irritating stranger than a mom all week.”

  After a not-so-great weekend that had had nothing to do with her tattling on his friend.

  But now her son was distancing himself from Kyle, too? They were going through all of this—the move to Santa Raquel, his time at The Lemonade Stand—so he could get better. Not worse.

  Sara studied her in a way that made Faye want to be patient and wait. She didn’t just like the woman—she trusted her. Implicitly.

  Sara didn’t talk about her personal life but Faye had heard that she was married to a bounty hunter who’d had a young daughter that Sara adopted. And that they had a year-old son together.

  “I have a theory,” Sara finally said. She sat up, both feet flat on the floor and faced Faye. “It’s only a theory.”

  “I understand.”

  “I’d like to hear what you think about it.”

  Faye nodded, resisting the urge to twirl a piece of her long, dark ponytail around her finger like she used to do in school.

  “I think it’s quite possible that Elliott is starting to look at cause and effect as a means of trying to control a world that seems to be spinning out of control around him. Some of this is quite probably because of the move. A new home, new counselors, new schooling situation, new babysitter, you having a new job...”

  “But...”

  Sara put up a hand. Faye reminded herself to be patient.

  “You were counseled to make this move. Everyone involved, myself included, told you Elliott’s best shot was to be in a program like this one. I still believe that. But we also talked about the fact that there might be escalated acting-out at first, until he adapts and takes ownership of his new world.”

  Faye took a deep breath and nodded, letting Sara’s peace creep into her again.

  “You’re here because Elliott is in behavioral danger. We all knew that going in. And that’s what we’re dealing with here. I’m not sure this is anything new, just a continued manifestation of what was already there.”

  Feeling stiff, Faye said, “So the move gave him a sense of being out of control, but the way he’s trying to gain control is by taking on the issues inside himself?”

  “Basically. But keep in mind, his attempt to take control or deal with his issues—that’s not something an eight-year-old mind is going to grasp. His choices are reactionary.”

  “You think maybe he doesn’t even know why he set that fire?”

  Sara’s words scared her to death. How could they ever hope to fix this if her son’s conscious actions were as unconscious as his sleepwalking ones?

  “Just like someone suffering from grief goes through various stages, skipping some, getting stuck in others, Elliott is facing various ways of dealing with his past.”

  They were talking about her son. An eight-year-old boy, with a past he had to deal with. The facts cut her to the quick.

  This was a part of her own process, she knew, but that knowledge didn’t seem to help. Crying didn’t help, either. So she just continued to listen.

  “He knows why he set the fire. And I think he knows why he’s suddenly isolating himself. I just don’t think he’s doing anything as an effort to help himself through his issues. He’s reacting to the issues.”

  Okay. She understood that. Felt like she had something to land on for the moment.

  “I believe it’s possible that Elliott is explaining his behaviors to himself, or maybe he’s fearing, that they’re the result of him being his father’s son.”

  “He’s afraid he’s like Frank?”

  She’d had the thought a time or two. Not maybe in the way that Elliott did, but...

  “I’ve wondered if he treats me like he does because of hearing his father be so disrespectful to me.”

  Feared more than wondered. Had spoken to Sara and other counselors about it before, too.

  “My suspicion is that Elliott has somehow become focused on a fear that he can’t help but be like his father because he was made by him.”

  “Made by him?”

  “A statement that he made to me. He’d been speaking in reference to something else, but all things seem to be leading back to that statement.”

  “As in, because he’s biologically the son of Frank Walker, he will be like him even if he doesn’t want to be?”

  Sara’s nod broke her heart. “And in order to protect others from him doing to them what his father did to you, he will distance himself from them.”

  “Tell me this is just a stage because he’s so young...”

  Sara’s expression was serious. “Worst-case scenario, if he’s not helped,
he could become a recluse who develops dark thoughts that eventually consume more of his thinking than rational thoughts do.”

  It wasn’t the first time she’d heard a potentially dire prediction where Elliott’s future was concerned.

  Faye said, “But he’s getting help and there’s every chance he’ll grow up to be a perfectly healthy, happy husband and father.”

  Sara’s caring smile was like sunshine in that room.

  “That’s our plan, Faye. You asked for the straight truth and I’m giving it to you.”

  She nodded. “I know.” After living with Frank’s lies for so many years, after ruining her life by believing them and acting upon them, she wanted the truth at all costs. And the reason she could trust Sara even more implicitly than she trusted herself was because the other woman had agreed to give her the stark truth. Every time.

  But she had to ask, “Do you still think our chances are better than average that we’ll get there?”

  “I do.”

  Okay. She could do this then. She would do this.

  “Tell me what to do.”

  “First, tell me what you think about what I said. Do you notice anything about Elliott that would either support or disprove my theory?”

  Psychology, after all, was not as exact a science as they’d all like it to be.

  “I think, since I was already suspecting some of the same, you’re probably right. I know it sure makes me feel better about him ignoring me this week if he’s doing it out of some sense that he’s protecting me. Though, at the same time, it breaks my heart that my eight-year-old son feels as though he has to protect anyone against himself.”

  “I’m not sure it’s completely conscious at this point,” Sara said. “I’m sensing that he doesn’t want to be around others because he doesn’t feel good about himself. I don’t know that he’s connected the other dots yet.”

  Head hurting, Faye tried to fight the thought that was assaulting her. She wasn’t ready to deal with it yet. The third step of her plan. So far, things had fallen into place. But they had to have time for Elliott to get well before the next phase came to be.

  Once the third step was complete, she’d have to leave. Clearly there was no way she could do that yet.

  But, in her plan, the third step had only been periphery. Something that would have to wait until Elliott was well. Until he could be exposed to something new without risk to his mental health.

  The third step was something Faye had to do because it was the right thing to do.

  But what if...

  He could become a recluse who develops dark thoughts that eventually consume more of his thinking than rational thoughts do...

  “Faye?” Sara’s concerned tone pulled her back to the comforting room. To the fact that she wasn’t handling the situation alone.

  She had help.

  Professional help.

  “You’ve grown white. You’re shaking. What’s going on?”

  She was scared to death. Not surprising the counselor had noticed.

  “I’m trying to figure out whether or not I should tell you something.”

  “I’d think, at this point, the answer to that one should be obvious. I thought we’d already agreed that if we’re going to help your son, you need to be completely up-front with me.”

  They had. Of course. Faye nodded but still didn’t speak. Her son was not going to get well if they had to pick up and move again. Or if she did, without him.

  By Sara’s own admission, the most recent move was costing him.

  “Step three was never about getting Elliott well.” She said the words aloud. Because they were all she had. She didn’t know what to do. Was in over her head.

  “Step three?”

  Faye took a deep breath.

  And plunged into a world that was going to take more trust than she had to give.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  WHY REESE PULLED into the cemetery Friday morning on his way back from a meeting with the mayor, he had no clear idea. He saw the turn coming up and it hit him that he should go in.

  So he did.

  He wasn’t from Santa Raquel. The only person he knew who was buried there was Tabitha. She’d gone to high school in Santa Raquel.

  He’d met her at college, but she’d always called Santa Raquel home. Burying her there had seemed like the thing she’d want. Applying for the job of Santa Raquel fire chief after her death had seemed like a way to honor her.

  Too bad he hadn’t spent as much time showing her that he cared while she was still alive.

  It had been a while since he’d visited her grave. The flowers he paid to have on the site looked good. They were geraniums this time. He couldn’t remember what had been there last time he’d been by. Something white, he thought.

  He walked around the stone of the single grave. There was no married couple marker there with his name and birth next to hers with a dash waiting for his death date.

  No plot purchased for him next to hers.

  Which said pretty much what she’d said when she’d been alive. He wasn’t “all in” when it came to their union.

  He’d been faithful, though. From the moment he’d asked her to be exclusive with him.

  The grass was cut. There were no weeds to pull.

  He should go.

  But he stood there thinking about a barely developing fetus. There’d been nothing to bury. Just a lab test to tell him the newly fertilized egg had been a boy.

  His son.

  Would he have made a good father? He’d thought so at one time. Not anymore. Nothing had turned out as he’d once thought it would. Including himself.

  Not even his job. He was more dedicated to it, more drawn to it, than he ever thought he’d be. But he didn’t love the work as much as he thought he would. He needed it. Was driven to do it.

  It just didn’t fill his house with happiness.

  Neither had coming home to Tabitha.

  He turned his back on the stone. Meant to walk away.

  But he turned back.

  “I’m sorry,” he said.

  The apology didn’t do as much good as maybe he’d thought it should have. It didn’t do any good at all.

  He still felt like shit.

  “She’s back,” he said then. “I didn’t know she was coming. I didn’t ask her. I never would have hired her if I’d known. But she’s back.”

  If there was a heaven, Tabitha would have made it in. And if angels looked down from their perch, she already knew what he was telling her.

  She deserved to hear it from him.

  He’d been her husband.

  She’d been his second choice.

  * * *

  “I HAD MORE than one reason for coming to Santa Raquel.” Still in Sara’s office, Faye spoke slowly, choosing her words carefully, still not sure she wanted to expose the one secret she’d told no one. Ever.

  She wasn’t ready.

  That was a given.

  But if it would help get Elliott out of the personal hell she’d helped put him in...

  “Or, for choosing The Lemonade Stand over the shelter in New Jersey,” she corrected herself.

  “It was best that you keep Elliott in California, in the warmer beach environment he’s grown up in,” Sara said, nodding.

  She was probably trying to make this easier. Clearly she could tell that Faye was struggling. But there was nothing Sara was going to do or say to make this any easier.

  What if the whole thing blew up in her face? What if, ultimately, it hurt Elliott more than it helped? There was a very real chance that it could.

  “Faye?” Sara didn’t seem to be in any hurry. But she was clearly concerned.

  Faye wasn’t alone. She didn’t have
to shoulder her burdens alone. The idea, even after two years, still seemed brand-new.

  “I’m going to tell you something, but that in no way gives the go-ahead for any action to be taken on it. Period.” She was dead serious here. She knew her rights in terms of counseling confidentiality.

  Sara nodded.

  “I mean it. This goes nowhere besides you and me until I determine differently.”

  “Hey.” Sara leaned forward, met Faye’s gaze, took her hand. And held on. “This is me, Faye. You’re safe here. You know that.”

  She was being counseled. Fine.

  “Reese Bristow was not just someone I dated in college,” she said. There was no question now where to start. The words were all there. “He was the love of my life.”

  Sara didn’t seem shocked. But then she was trained to listen without judgment.

  “We met in high school. In a suburb of San Diego. Dated for two years and then through the first two years of college.”

  She could picture those days, but she wouldn’t let herself travel back there. It hurt too much.

  “I’d probably have jumped off a cliff for that man if he’d told me it was safe...”

  She’d been so naive. So trusting. Had had no idea that people in real life used other people for their own cruel purposes. Not good, seemingly normal people.

  Sara smiled but didn’t interrupt. The compassion shining from the counselor’s eyes encouraged her to continue.

  “I had a scholarship to UCLA,” she continued, filling in what seemed to be a necessary detail. “For nursing. And with the UCLA medical center right there, that was a big deal. There was only one school in the state that offered a bachelor’s degree in fire science, which was Reese’s choice, and that was Cal State. The campuses are only about fifteen miles apart so it didn’t seem like a big deal that we’d be attending different schools.”

  For a second, she felt like her story would surely bore a woman who had much more important things to handle.

  But for Elliott...

  “About a week before UCLA’s homecoming, he told me that he couldn’t make it to a party that Friday night. He said he’d had some late drills that day or something.” She knew exactly what he’d said. Verbatim. She couldn’t get that close and not cry.