by A. M. Burns
Scott combed his fingers through Dillon’s hair and a tingle of excitement ran in their wake. “I understand. You just remember, that if you need to talk and don’t feel comfortable talking to Bryan, I’m here for you.”
Dillon hugged him tighter. “Thank you. I’ve always been able to talk to Uncle Bryan about nearly anything. That’s one of the really great things about him.” For a moment Dillon’s throat tightened up, and he had to force back tears that threatened to spill out. “I know he’s been hurting too.”
“I know he’s been talking to Alex and Paul. They’ve been there for him.”
A strange thought hit Dillon. “Is there anything going on between them?”
Scott pulled back and stared at Dillon. “Bryan and my dads? I don’t think so. My dads have never said anything about it. Bryan’s just a good friend to them. He’s been around longer than I have.”
“Okay. I wasn’t sure. I’m still trying to sort out the whole gay thing around here.” The minute the words left his mouth, Dillon felt awkward.
“With them, me, or is there something more?”
“I don’t—” Dillon started, but then someone knocked on the door.
“Scott….” Paul’s voice came from the other side. “We’re heading home.”
“Out in a second.” Scott glanced at Dillon. It was a soft expression that reminded Dillon of how his mother would look at him when she was about to hug him or kiss him. “We’ll talk more later. You should come down tomorrow if you’re up for getting out. We moved that hawk you guys brought in to a big flight chamber. She’s making great progress.”
For a second, after not wanting to deal with Scott a few minutes before, Dillon didn’t want him to go but knew he should. “I’ll try. Maybe getting out will be good for me.”
Scott flashed him a dazzling smile. “That’s all I can ask for. If you don’t come down, I’ll either text you or come over here. I don’t think you need to spend so much time alone.” With a parting hug, Scott hurried out the door.
Dillon followed him to the front door and said good night to Alex and Paul. He had to assure his uncle that he was going to be fine before he returned to his room. The knife still lay on the bed. Somehow he and Scott had managed to not sit on it. There was just a hint of red along the sharp edge that glistened in the lamp light. Dillon picked up the knife and went into the kitchen to clean it off. When he got back to his room, he cut the tape of the first box he came to. The sharp knife made short work of the rest of the unopened boxes, and he began deciding where he was going to put things in his room.
16
FOR THE first time in more than a week, Dillon awoke before ten in the morning. He lay for a while in the secluded safety of his bed. Since his mother died, he hadn’t actually had a good night’s sleep. He stretched. If I get up, I have to face the world. Maybe it’s a good thing. I never would’ve imagined that Scott’s birth parents were killed too, and when he was six. Mom always said I was a survivor. That I had to be if I ever wanted to get out of South Dallas. I guess I’m out of the hood, but do I have it in me to be a survivor like Scott?
When he got up, he had to move a couple of the empty boxes that had fallen over in the night. He glanced at the half-full bookshelves. I guess I started last night.
After he showered, something else he’d been neglecting for a couple of days, he realized there was enough scruff on his face that he should shave. It wasn’t something he had to do often. The last time was the day of the funeral. Uncle Bryan had insisted, saying it would be more respectful to the memory of his mother if he looked nice as they laid her to rest. As he lathered up his face, he remembered his Christmas present from Uncle Bryan the previous year had been a razor and a lesson on how to use it.
The savory smell of freshly cooked bacon still lingered in the kitchen when he walked in. Uncle Bryan looked up from his tablet and a soft, sad smile crossed his face. “I heard you in the shower and thought you might like some food.”
“Thanks.” Dillon started to scoop all the bacon off the plate, then looked at Uncle Bryan. “Have you already eaten?”
His uncle gestured to the food. “All yours. How are you feeling today?”
“Better. Finger’s still sore.” Dillon carried his plate to the table after grabbing a couple pieces of bread. The butter still occupied the center of the table, an obvious sign that Uncle Bryan had eaten recently.
“It probably will be for a few days. So, did I hear you opening boxes last night after Scott and the guys left?”
Dillon smeared butter on the bread. “Yeah. I figure it’s time to unpack. Guess I’m staying for a while.”
“Unless the judge finds a problem with your mother’s will naming me your guardian for the next couple of years.” Uncle Bryan picked up his coffee cup and took a long drink.
“Do you think that’s a possibility? But if that happens, aren’t I too old to go into foster care?”
“I honestly don’t know. If you’re worried about that, we can check.” Uncle Bryan sounded tired. He’d sounded tired since the funeral.
Biting into the bread, Dillon shook his head. “Don’t worry about it. We can cross that bridge if we have to, right?”
“Right. So what’s on your schedule today? I really need to get some work done. I’ve fallen further behind than I have been in years.”
“Scott wants me to come down and see that hawk we picked up. He said they’ve moved her to a flight pen and she’s doing great.”
Uncle Bryan put down the coffee mug. “That’s a good idea. I think Scott cares about you. Alex was telling me that he’s missed you while you’ve been cooped up.”
“I’ve missed him too.” I just didn’t realize it until last night. Dillon chewed his bacon and silence fell over the kitchen, broken only by the crispness of the bacon and the occasional tap of Uncle Bryan’s finger on the tablet. Outside a crow cawed.
THE HEAT was worse outside than Dillon remembered. By the time he walked from the house down the street to Scott’s house, his red T-shirt was soaked with sweat. As he walked past the driveway that led to the pond, he looked down it, wishing he could stop and go for a quick dip to cool off.
Scott met him on the front porch, almost like he’d been watching for Dillon. “Hey, Dillon. Nice to see you out and about again.”
“Thanks.”
“So how are you feeling today?” Scott came off the wide porch and quickly closed the distance between them. Scott’s T-shirt was nearly the same color of red as Dillon’s, but it had the WoW horde symbol on it.
Dillon tried not to frown and succeeded. “Uncle Bryan asked me that too. I guess I’m doing a bit better. I got some of my books unpacked.”
“That’s cool.” Scott caught Dillon up in his arms.
A shiver of excitement passed through Dillon as he hugged Scott back. I guess I need more time with Scott. He makes me feel good.
They embraced for several moments, and then Scott stepped back from Dillon. “Well, come on, I bet you came down to see that hawk. She’s over here.”
Dillon fell into step with Scott as he strolled to the flight pens. “I came to see you too. It’s not just about the birds, although they are cool.”
“Good.” Scott flashed him a bright smile.
It took them a couple of minutes to get to the right pen. There were other hawks in the pen, and it took Dillon several moments to spot the one he’d carried to the center. But then he caught her eyes, and a flash of recognition shot between them. “That’s her.” He pointed to where she stood on the perch near a very dark bird.
“Right. Wow, you’re a natural with the birds. That’s good.”
“What do you mean?” Dillon didn’t move his gaze from the hawk. She looked so much better than she had when they’d found her on the roadside. When she turned her head to look at something, there was an obvious white mark on the darkness of her upper beak.
“Most people have trouble telling hawks apart,” Scott explained. “If they’re differen
t, like that Harlan’s red-tail in there, the dark one, that’s easy, but your girl, she’s very similar to the other regular-colored ’tails with them.”
“I recognized her look. She’s very forceful.” Dillon shrugged. “I don’t know if that’s the right word.”
“It works. She does have an attitude. A lot of hawks do, but for an injured bird, an attitude is often the difference between getting back into the wild and not.”
“And what happens to the ones that can’t go back to the wild?”
“Depends. Some we use as educational birds. Like the ones Paul takes to schools and such. But some wouldn’t have a good life, even here. That always ends up being Alex’s decision. But then he’s also the guy who puts down the ones that wouldn’t have a quality life in captivity.”
“I’m glad he didn’t have to put down the one I brought in. I like to think she’ll find the sky again.” He paused and looked at the bird. “I think I’m beginning to understand what it’s like to have the world change on you unexpectedly.”
The hawk flew across the pen and landed near a larger bird. She landed softly, but still seemed to be favoring her injured foot.
“How much longer until that foot is better?”
“Alex is the one to ask, but I think when she came in he said two to three months before she’d be back in the wild. Once he thinks she’s ready, he’ll move her to a more enclosed pen and make sure that she can catch prey. If she can do that, she’ll be ready to go.”
Dillon brightened a bit more. “That will be nice. I’ll have to make sure to come down here for that.”
“Yes, you will.” Scott turned from the hawks. “Now that we’ve seen her, what do you want to do?”
Dillon paused for a moment. “If I’d been thinking and brought my laptop, we could play WoW for a bit. Or, if your dads don’t need you around here for a while, we could go back to the house and get some more boxes emptied.”
“Emptying boxes is important. Are you sure you want me there helping?”
“Yeah, I’m sure.” Dillon gifted Scott with the first full smile he’d managed in weeks. “You’re helping me feel better, just having you around. If nothing else, you can sit and talk to me while I go through things.”
“Okay. Let’s go get some boxes emptied, then.” Scott walked toward the gate. “I need to let Alex know where I’m going.”
“Sure.” Dillon followed him into the house, then stood in the neat and functional living room while Scott hurried off. At least he doesn’t appear to be upset at me withdrawing for a couple of weeks. Maybe he does care about me. I know he’s making me feel safe and happy.
Dillon stared at a picture of Scott and his dads that had obviously been taken at Six Flags. The picture perfectly captured their happy family. He could easily envision himself there with Scott, both looking just as happy. For a second, he tried to see a girl, any girl in the picture with him and failed. Does that mean that I really am gay? I hope, wherever Mom is, she can understand that if I am gay, it’s who I am and be happy for me.
Scott came bouncing back into the room with his backpack. “I grabbed my laptop, just in case we get bored unboxing and want to game for a while.”
“Sounds like a plan.” Dillon followed him to the door and the heat hit him again when he opened it, but with Scott at his side, it didn’t feel so bad.
17
DILLON PAUSED and looked at his room. After several days of work, he’d unloaded the boxes they brought from the apartment. The room had become an odd mix of his stuff, things his mother had bought over the years, and Uncle Bryan’s furniture. Most of the chairs, couches, and shelves from the apartment had been old and secondhand when acquired, and the stuff in Kerens had been higher quality and new when Uncle Bryan bought it. Dillon didn’t have any sentimental attachments to anything other than a few dishes and pictures, so they’d opted to leave a lot of things until they could arrange for Goodwill to send someone to do a pickup.
“Wow, no boxes.” Scott appeared in the doorway.
“Yeah, cool, huh?” Dillon gestured for him to come in. “So what are we doing today?”
“What are you up for?” Scott plopped down on the bed.
“Just about anything. It feels good to get unpacked, but it also kinda cements it in my mind that this is home now.” Dillon picked up a plastic elephant that his mother bought him the first time they went to the zoo. The paint on the eyes and ears had mostly rubbed away with his frequent handling over the years. He’d always been really careful to never take it or some of his other toys out of the house. The fact that they were in Uncle Bryan’s house hit him the hardest when he’d unpacked them.
“You’re going to be a country boy for real. Do you know how to ride a horse?”
Dillon put the elephant back on the shelf, where it led a small herd of other animals he’d slowly acquired over his younger years. “I can sit on a saddle and steer with the reins, if that’s what you mean. Anything much beyond a walk gets a little scary.”
Scott laughed and hauled himself off the bed. “Come on.” He grabbed Dillon’s hand and pulled him toward the hallway. “Bryan asked me to spend some time riding his horses this summer so they get some exercise. I’ve been busy with other things, but this is a good opportunity. There’s nothing going on this afternoon.”
Scott paused and grabbed a baseball cap off the hook near the back door and set it on Dillon’s head. “What about afternoon feedings?” Dillon adjusted the hat but didn’t resist as Scott hauled him out of the house.
“They can happen anytime before sundown. Everyone will be fine if we go take a little ride.” Scott let go of Dillon’s hand and grabbed a backpack and cowboy hat that sat on the back porch.
“Do you have something planned?” Dillon continued down the steps.
Scott jumped off the porch, landing next to Dillon with a playful smile. “Maybe. Let’s get Rusty and Dusty saddled up.”
Dillon ended up on Dusty, a mild-mannered buckskin gelding, while Scott rode Rusty, the more spirited blood bay. They set out along the dirt road that headed to the paved road that ran back to the highway. The sun was warm, and before they reached the pavement, Dillon was again coated in sweat. As bright as it was, he appreciated the shade of the hat’s bill on his face.
“So where are we going?” Dillon shifted in his saddle, clutching the horn to help alleviate his fear of falling off Dusty’s broad back.
Scott paused them when they reached pavement. “Has Bryan taken you to the lake yet?” He looked up and down the road before motioning Dillon to move Dusty across the street.
“There’s a lake?” As they crossed the pavement, the tone of the horse’s hooves changed, ringing slightly.
“Reservoir, actually.” Scott pulled back on the reins so Dusty walked at Rusty’s side. “Richland Chambers Reservoir. It’s just down the road.”
“Nope, never heard of it.”
“It’s huge. I’ve got some friends from school who sometimes go out on their parent’s boats, and last summer I went a couple of times. We went all over the lake. It was really cool. But you have to be careful; there’s a lot of submerged trees.”
Dillon thought about that for a moment. “Submerged trees? In a lake?”
“Most of the lakes around here aren’t natural. They’re man-made. Folks put up dams and flood areas to make them. But they have a lot of trees, and in some cases, fences, houses, and barns.”
“That doesn’t sound right.” Dillon tried to understand why anyone would flood an area just to make a lake.
“Didn’t say it was right. But it’s been done years ago.”
Ahead of them a bird flew across the road. It had a long, dark gray tail, and it flew up and seemed to hover for a moment. As it hovered the long tail opened up and looked like two long blades. Then it dove at something, just above the tall grasses in the field next to the dirt road. Dillon kept his gaze on the bird as it flew up onto a wooden fence post and swallowed a large insect.
�
�What is that?” He pointed at the bird.
Scott turned in his saddle. “Oh, that. It’s a scissor-tailed flycatcher. They’re really cool. Almost like kestrels, they seem to float along, then dive in and get bugs.”
“Do you ever wish you could fly?” Dillon stared down the road as another flycatcher swooped across their path.
“All the time.” A soft, pleasant chuckle rumbled from Scott. “I think it’s a common human wish, but when you work with birds, it becomes a little more strongly ingrained in you.”
“Could be. I never really thought about it until recently. But lately, I seem to think about it all the time. It would be so nice to get away from the ground and most people around here. To see the world from a whole new perspective.”
“Exactly. Now don’t let too many kids at school hear you saying things like that. They’ll be offering you all sorts of drugs and stuff to help you fly.”
Dillon shuddered. “No, thank you. I’ve seen how messed up some of the kids in school get from that shit. I was hoping by living out here, I might be able to get away from it.” And the gangs, but I guess they’re everywhere.
“We’re between Dallas and the Mexican border, and a lot of stuff comes through here, mostly up I-35, I-45, and Highway 287. But I doubt it’s as bad as it must be in the city.” A compassionate look passed over Scott’s handsome face. “Don’t worry, I’ll steer you away from the troublemakers. We can also work on bulking you out a bit, that’ll help. The druggies at school don’t like messing with folks they think can whup them in a good fight.”
“But I don’t fight.”
“You don’t have to. You just have to look like you could. It’s a lot like being an owl. Owls can and will kill just about anything, but not many things mess with them, just because of the way they look. You look tough and folks leave you alone.”
“I guess so.” I wonder if folks don’t mess with Kareem because he’s bigger and just looks meaner than everyone else. But he’s always pushing people around. It’s more than just being bigger.
