SONS of DON

by Brenda L. Harper

  “Or fail to do.” Paul dragged his fingers through his hair, knocking the soft curls into a new pattern that threatened to change the whole shape of his face. It was a nervous habit he had. Every time he touched his hair as he began to speak, Gwen knew she was about to be moved to a new home.

  Paul had been her social worker for six years—the longest any one worker had stayed with her case. He was nice enough, she supposed—sometimes he would come pick her up for a day of bowling and ice cream, or shopping now that she was older—but he was still an employee of the state, still the one who pulled her out of homes just as she was getting used to the routines, the one who had told her over and over again that the state couldn’t afford to pay for her to go to a private high school no matter how smart she was. But, again, he was the one who told her she’d been awarded a full scholarship to Dewey High…so, maybe he wasn’t all bad.

  He straightened as Gwen finally climbed out of the van and walked toward her.

  “Hey, kid. How’s it going?”

  Gwen shrugged. “It depends on why you’re here, I suppose.”

  A whole host of emotions rushed across his face all at once, moving so fast she couldn’t pick out specific ones. “Oh, hey,” he said, stepping forward and laying a hand on her shoulder, “didn’t mean to worry you. I just came by to check on you.”

  “You have time for me today, but you didn’t have time last week when it was time to bring me here?”

  “Gwen,” Theresa began to say, but Paul shot her a look that made her bite back whatever else she’d had to say. She stepped back, gestured toward the house. “I should go make sure the twins are doing their homework.”

  Gwen watched Paul as he watched Theresa. His features were so familiar to her. He was the only person who had been a constant in her life, the only one she had known for longer than a few weeks or months. Yet, she felt like she knew nothing about him. It was an odd relationship—he knew everything about her, but all she knew about him was that he liked chocolate ice cream and he had the nervous habit of running his fingers through his hair when he had to do something he didn’t want to.

  Could you even call that a relationship?

  “You want to walk?” he asked, his attention coming back to her the moment the slamming of the front door began to reverberate through the quiet afternoon.

  Gwen shrugged.

  Paul gestured for her to lead the way. Gwen adjusted her backpack on her back and began walking quickly along the wide sidewalk. They walked in silence for a while, just the sound of their breathing between them. It was still hot out—it seemed as though the beginning of school should end the hundred degree days, but it never seemed to work that way. Gwen could feel sweat beginning to puddle in her bra, to drip along the hollow of her spine. Just as she was beginning to think this walk was going to continue forever, Paul cleared his throat.

  “I’m sorry I wasn’t there when you were moved to the Langleys’.”

  “Where were you?”

  “Serving a court order to remove a little boy from his parents’ home.”

  Gwen bit her lip, that familiar sense of guilt settling over her that always came whenever she realized how lucky she really was. She had been abandoned for reasons she would likely never know. Someone had left her on the steps of church just outside Lubbock city limits. She’d been told that she was well dressed and well nourished. She was never abused, not neglected, by her parents, anyway. All the horrible things Gwen had seen or experienced had come after she was abandoned, not before.

  Some kids were not as lucky as she was.

  The stories Gwen heard from other foster kids could fill a whole book, most of them filled with abuse, neglect, or a little bit of both. There was one kid who had been beaten within an inch of his life on a daily basis by his father, but when he was put into foster care he would cry for that same man every night. Or the kid whose mother was a drug addict and she would trade sexual favors for drugs. When the dealer got tired of the mother, she let him use the kid.

  Horrible things.

  Paul put his hand on Gwen’s shoulder again. “I should have been there for you.”

  She shook her head. “It’s fine. I understand.”

  “I know you do. But it doesn’t change anything.”

  Gwen slowed her step a little, taking more comfort from the feel of Paul’s hand on her shoulder than she knew she should. There was something about him that always made her feel secure, as though she knew he would do anything to protect her. A stupid thing to believe when her whole life was about surviving one messed up situation after another.

  “How are you doing at the Langleys? Do you like Theresa and Tony?”

  “They’re okay.”

  “Just okay?” he asked with a soft smile as his hand fell from her shoulder.

  Gwen glanced at him. “They’re just like half the other people I’ve lived with. A little too nice in the beginning, a little too strict later.”

  “You think so?”

  “Yeah.” She paused as they approached an intersection, glancing back the way they’d come before turning around and heading back that way. “But it’s only for nine months, right?”

  “That’s true.” Paul touched her arm lightly. “You still planning on Columbia?”

  “Anywhere but here.”

  His chin came up a little. “Texas isn’t so bad.”

  “Says the guy who works with abused and abandoned kids.”

  “There are abused and abandoned kids all over the world, Gwen. It’s not just a Texas thing.”

  “Maybe.” She cleared her throat. “I never really thanked you for all your help in getting the state to let me go to Dewey High. So, thanks.”

  “Dewey High?”

  “That’s apparently what the other kids call it.”

  Paul nodded, that smile slipping onto his lips again. “I guess that’s an easier way of saying it.” He nudged her with his shoulder. “Do you like it there?”

  “It’s only been one day.”

  “But you can tell a lot in one day.”

  Gwen thought about the school day, her thoughts centering on Ms. Dru and her history class. “I think I’m going to really enjoy the classes. The teachers aren’t as bored and checked out as they tend to be in a public high school.”

  “That’s good.” He buried his fingers in his jean pockets under the tail of his button down shirt. “And the other kids? Did you meet anyone you liked?”

  “You sound like Theresa.”

  Paul shrugged his solid shoulders, nearly dislodging the sunglasses he had wedged between two button spaces on his shirt. “We have a similar goal for you.”

  “What’s that? To make friends that I’ll just leave behind when I leave for college? No thanks.”

  “You never know, you might meet someone with the same goals, the same target schools.”

  “With my luck, I’d befriend someone wanting to go to Columbia and they won’t get in. Or I won’t.”

  “There’s always email and Skype and Twitter.”

  Gwen shook her head. “It’s not the same.”

  “You can’t isolate yourself forever, Gwen. Everyone needs friends.”

  “And I’ll make friends. When I’m settled in at Columbia.”

  “Gwen—”

  She gestured to his car. They had arrived back outside the Langleys’ house.

  “Go do your good works, Paul, and let me live my life the way I want to. After all, in nine months, I won’t be your problem anymore.”

  “I’ve never looked at you as a problem, kiddo.”

  “A case, then.”

  “Gwen…”

  “It’s okay, Paul.” She touched his arm much the way he had touched hers earlier. “I’m not a child anymore. I get it. You don’t have to feel like you need to protect my feelings anymore.”

  “When did you become so jaded?”

  “Not jaded. Just mature.”

  Paul touched her face lightly, his fingers lingering on the curv
e of her jaw. “Just be careful, Gwen. You might think you’re being smart isolating yourself this way. But even Christ had the twelve disciples at his side.”

  “Yes, and one of them betrayed him.” Gwen reached up and kissed Paul’s cheek lightly. “I’ll see you around.”

  She could feel Paul’s eyes on her as she walked away, but she resisted the urge to look back. If she was going to stick to her plan, she couldn’t worry about Paul. The only way she was going to be able to walk away from here was if she had no connections. Paul was the last connection she had.

  She had to let him go.

  Chapter 7

  Dinner was another big production, especially with everyone filled with stories to tell about school. The twins attended an elementary school a few blocks from the school, so they had spent most of the summer with their classmates. But there were still stories to tell about kids who had gone out of the country for the summer, or who spent the long summer at camp.

  Anna attended middle school. Like Gwen, she was the new kid in her class. But she smiled when she talked about the girl who had sought her out during gym class.

  Melanie only spoke to Cei, as usual, until Tony arrived home and drew out stories of sunburned enemies and newly pierced and dyed friends.

  Cei, surprisingly, had little to say about his day, leaving the spotlight for Gwen. She talked about her English class, deciding that was the safest route to take. Anything else might have reignited the discussion on her unwillingness to make friends, or a lengthy discussion on history that Gwen had already discovered—after only four days in this household—was something to avoid at all costs, unless used as a distraction technique from a subject that was littered with potential landmines.

  Gwen was relieved to slip away as soon as the dishes were cleared from the table. She took her copy of “The Divine Comedy” and slipped out the window, the process much easier now that she had discovered she could keep one side of the window fastened while slipping out the other.

  The world was so quiet as the sun disappeared from the sky. She stood at the low railing and looked over the city, imagining that all the lights that shown from home windows and the headlights of cars were actually firelights flickering on some ancient landscape. What the world must have looked like from Dante’s point of view…a primitive world where indoor plumbing and electricity weren’t even a thought, let alone in the realm of possibility. It fascinated her how someone from that time, from that world, could still be so relevant today.

  Sometimes she thought she had been born in the wrong time period. She should have lived all those years ago, even before Dante. In the world described in medieval texts, a world where honor was measured in acts of kindness rather than in the size of one’s bank account. If she had been a man, living during the time of knights and castles, she might have mattered. It might not have been so easy to isolate herself…she might not have needed to isolate herself.

  Gwen sighed as she settled on the blankets and pillows she had smuggled up there over the weekend. A little LED lamp she’d found in the garden shed provided just enough light for her to read the first few stanzas of the epic poem. She was quickly engrossed, falling in love with Dante’s lyrical use of language, a part of her wishing she had chosen to take Italian instead of French so that she could read it in its original form, the way Dante had intended it.

  “You’re going to get yourself hurt, sneaking up here all the time.”

  Gwen didn’t even look up. “Then I’ll be one less nuisance for you.”

  “Who said you were a nuisance?”

  “What do you want, Cei?”

  “To make sure you aren’t contemplating throwing yourself off the roof.”

  She snorted as she finally looked up, instantly distracted by the way the moon outlined his perfect physique. How could a high school student look that perfect, like a Greek god who had decided to grace humanity with his presence? How was it fair that one human being could have so many lovely attributes when most usually were lucky to get one, or two, nice features in the roulette game that was genetics?

  “Was your mother a Sports Illustrated swimsuit model, or something?”

  Cei’s expression almost made the uncharacteristic lapse of judgment worth it. And then came the guilt when he tilted his head away from her, his eyes moving along the treetops as though the answer to her question might be there.

  “Sorry,” Gwen said. “I was just joking.”

  “You’ve never asked my story before.”

  “I learned a long time ago it was best not to ask for stories.”

  “Or to tell them.”

  She inclined her head slightly as his gaze fell on her again. “It’s a good rule to live by.”

  Cei came over to Gwen’s impromptu sitting area and settled down beside her. He flicked his nail on the corner of her book. “Interesting read.”

  “It’s really good. This’ll be the third time I’ve read it.”

  “Do you believe in all that stuff? Underworlds and paradise and whatever else?”

  Gwen shrugged. “I don’t. If you asked me if I believed in God and the devil, I would probably say no. But that’s more to do with organized religion than a belief in the unexplainable.”

  “Then you do believe.”

  “No. I’m just open to possibility.”

  Cei drew his knee up against his chest and rested his chin on it for a moment. She found herself staring at his hands, at the long, slender fingers that rested against his dark jeans. She remembered being in a similar situation with another boy once upon a time, remembered how those fingers felt on her skin. She wondered how nice Cei’s fingers would feel before she looked away, reminding herself once again that she needed to keep things simple.

  Columbia. She just needed to remember Columbia.

  “That history class promises to be interesting.”

  Gwen nodded. “Ms. Dru is something else.”

  Cei made a sound, somewhere between laughter and a grunt. “I have a couple of friends who took her class last year. They say that she is deadly serious about what she teaches. There’s no bell curve in that class, but she does like to lecture and sometimes she can be manipulated into getting off subject.”

  “What do you think about the stuff she was talking about today?”

  Cei shrugged. “Sounds like the stuff Tony’s always talking about.”

  “Do you think he knows anything about the Druids? Maybe he could help us with our homework.”

  “I’m sure he does. You could go ask.”

  Gwen shook her head. “Not now. But maybe later, when she starts assigning homework.”

  “What is it about you, this need to not ask for help?”

  “Do you like asking for help?”

  Cei shrugged. “No. But I know sometimes it’s inevitable.”

  “For some people.”

  Gwen lifted her book, making a big show of it so that he would recognize her effort to dismiss him. Instead, he took the book out of her hands and began rifling through the pages.

  “Give it back.”

  He glanced at her. “My English class is doing Moby Dick. Have you ever read that?”

  “Yes.”

  “Would you be willing to help me out? English isn’t exactly my strong point.”

  “If you’ll give me my book back.”

  Cei turned; as he did an owl hooted in a nearby tree. He immediately climbed to his feet and went to the railing, the book forgotten in his hand.

  “Did you hear where that came from?”

  Gwen stood, too, but more out of a desire to get her book before he dropped it than a desire to see an owl. “It was over there,” she said, snatching the book back as Cei turned to the left to follow her directions. “Why are you so interested? Are you some sort of amateur ornithologist?”

  “A what?”

  He didn’t even turn to acknowledge her, didn’t seem too interested in what she’d said despite his question. It made Gwen curious what, exactly, he was
looking for.

  The soft hooting of the owl filled the quiet suburban neighborhood again. This time Gwen saw a small movement in the trees to their left. Not a shape, really, but movement.

  Cei glanced at Gwen before he moved farther down the small walkway. There was tension in his shoulders, as though he was uncertain what was about to happen.

  “It’s just a bird,” Gwen said, tension unconsciously building in her own shoulders. “There’s probably hundreds of them in these trees.”

  The bird hooted again, as though in response to Gwen’s words. It would have been comical if Cei didn’t seem ready to jump over the railing.

  “We should go back down,” Cei suddenly said. “It’s getting late and Theresa might come looking for us.”

  “It’s not that late.”

  “It’s late enough.”

  Gwen turned back to her pillow oasis and settled back down. “I came up here for a reason. I intend to enjoy a few moments of silence before I have to go to bed.”

  “Why can’t you do that in a safer environment? Four walls and a floor too much for you?”

  “A little claustrophobic, if you really want to know. Why don’t you go back down? No one asked you to come up here in the first place.”