by Marin Thomas
“He doesn’t look happy,” Conway said.
That was the truth. Ryan hadn’t smiled once since he’d driven off with Will after working at the church. “Got any plans with the twins tomorrow?” Maybe Will and Ryan could tag along.
“Isi wants me to paint over the water stains on the ceiling in the upstairs hallway.” Conway grinned. “Want to help?”
“No, thanks.” The last thing Will cared to do with his day off was home repairs. “I thought about taking Ryan to the junior rodeo in Growler, but he doesn’t like rodeo.” He wished his son felt differently about the sport. He would have loved teaching him how to rope a steer.
“You’ll think of something to do.”
Will checked his watch. Eight o’clock. Bedtime was at least three hours away. He cut across the yard and stopped in front of the group.
“We’re bored.” Javier pointed a dirty finger at his cousin. “Ryan’s bored, too.”
“Ryan’s mom wouldn’t let him bring his e-reader, so he can’t read us any stories,” Miguel said.
Now he understood why Ryan wouldn’t make eye contact when they’d waited for their burgers at Vern’s Drive-In—the teen blamed Will for having to leave his favorite hobby at home. “What do you say we head to the swimming hole?”
The twins popped up and shouted, “Yeah!”
When Ryan remained silent, Javier said, “You wanna swim with us? There’s a board we can jump off.”
“It’s called a pier, dummy,” Miguel said.
“Do you know how to swim, Ryan?” Will asked.
“Yeah, but I didn’t pack my trunks.”
“I’ve got an extra pair you can use,” Will said.
When Ryan remained silent, Javier tugged his arm. “Uncle Porter taught me how to do a cannonball. Can you do one?”
Ryan nodded.
“Mig and Javi, go change into your swim shorts and don’t forget towels.” The twins raced into the house.
“I’ll find those trunks for you.” Will walked off, hoping they’d swim for at least a couple of hours, then maybe Ryan would be tired enough to go to bed and Will wouldn’t have to worry about entertaining him.
Forget a long swim—in less than an hour Will and Ryan were back in the bunkhouse, twiddling their thumbs. “Is there a TV show you like to watch on Friday nights?” Will pointed the remote at the big screen mounted to the wall across from the beds.
“I don’t watch a lot of TV. I mostly read.”
Determined to find a program they’d both enjoy, Will flipped through the channels then stopped when he came across a documentary on the Hoover Dam. Maybe Ryan would be interested in the science behind the construction of the dam. “You like popcorn? I’ve got the microwavable kind in the cupboard.”
“Sure.” Ryan stretched out on Johnny’s old bed and listened to the TV.
Will handed Ryan a bag of popcorn, then sat on his bed. “Do you know how much cement they used to build the dam?”
Ryan shook his head.
“Over four million cubic yards.”
“How much water does it store?” Ryan asked.
“Almost 9.2 trillion gallons from the Colorado River.”
“How long did it take to build?”
“Five years.” Will suspected the kid was testing him.
“How much did it cost?”
“Almost forty-nine million.”
Ryan gaped at Will. “How come you know so much about the Hoover Dam?”
Not from reading about it—that was for sure. “I watch a lot of how-things-are-made shows.” He drank from his water bottle.
“Did you have to go to a special school to learn how to build houses?”
Will was excited that Ryan appeared interested in what he did for a living. “I learned by doing it.” He compensated for his reading disability by observing others in action and then going off on his own and building things from memory.
“I like to do science experiments,” Ryan said. He reached into his duffel bag and pulled out a notebook. “I keep my ideas in a journal.” He handed the pad to Will. “You can take a look, if you want to.”
“What kind of experiments are these?” Will perused the sketches in the notebook, impressed with their complexity.
“I describe them in the margin.” He pointed to the handwriting along the edge of the page.
Will’s eyes strained to make out the letters, but his brain couldn’t put them in the right order. “This looks interesting,” he said. The drawing contained a series of overlapping circles and lines.
“One day I want to experiment with solar panels to see if I can use them to create rain.”
“The ranchers in the southwest would appreciate that,” Will said.
“I explain how the panels work here.” Ryan flipped the page. “Since you know about construction, maybe you could tell me if my idea will work.”
Sweat broke out across Will’s brow. “You know who’d be a better judge?”
“Who?”
“Your uncle Conway. He could give you advice based on his experience managing a crop with little annual rainfall.”
“Yeah, sure.” Ryan shut the notebook.
Will hated that he’d put a damper on his son’s excitement, but he hadn’t been able to make sense of all the scientific notes Ryan had scrawled in the journal. “Is there someplace you’d like to go tomorrow?”
“Have you ever been to the Yuma Territorial Prison?” Ryan asked.
“You want to tour a prison?”
“I heard there’s a library in the prison and that some of the prisoners were taught music, Spanish and German.”
Will had lived his entire life in Stagecoach and had never toured the state park where the prison was located. “Sure. We can drive out there tomorrow.”
“Cool.” Ryan tossed his popcorn bag in the trash. “I think I’m gonna go to bed now.”
“I’ve got a couple of things to do before I turn in,” Will said. He left the bunkhouse and walked out behind the barn where he stared at the stars. Would there ever come a day when he could let his guard down with his son?
* * *
THIRTY MINUTES BEFORE the Sunday-morning service Marsha’s mother called down the hallway. “Will’s here with Ryan.”
“I’ll be right there.” Marsha checked her image in the mirror then added a swipe of pink lip gloss before walking outside.
“Good morning.” She stopped next to Will’s Ford and glanced between the two males—neither looked any worse for wear. “You’ve got ten minutes to change clothes, Ryan.”
“Okay.” Her son hefted his duffel onto his shoulder and hugged the sleeping bag to his chest. “Thanks for taking me to the prison. See you tomorrow.”
“Sure thing.”
After their son walked off, Marsha said, “You guys toured a prison?”
“Ryan said he’d always wanted to see the old Yuma Territorial Prison.” Will’s expression sobered. “He wasn’t happy that you made him leave his e-reader behind.”
“I hope he didn’t take it out on you.”
“He survived, but I’m sure he’ll want to catch up on his reading today.”
“What did Ryan mean about seeing you tomorrow?” she asked.
“I said I’d take him to that fancy model shop on Main Street in Yuma to pick out a model that we can build together.”
“Do you plan to put it together at the farm?”
“If it’s all right with you. And you can drop Ryan off at the farm whenever he wants to work on it.”
“Is he staying the night with you tomorrow?”
“If he wants, otherwise I’ll drive him home later.”
“That’s fine.” She motioned to the cars pulling into the church lot. “Would you like
to attend the service with us? The parishioners are excited about the new classroom wing. I’m sure they’d love to talk with you about it.”
“No, thanks.” He opened the truck door.
“Before you go...” She gathered her courage. “I wanted to cash in on that rain check for our missed lunch earlier this week.”
“What did you have in mind?”
“Maybe a picnic supper.”
“The three of us?” he asked.
“No. You and me.”
“I don’t mind if Ryan wants to tag along.”
Why was Will suddenly backing away from her? “Picnics aren’t really Ryan’s thing. How about Tuesday evening?”
“Sure.” He hopped into the driver’s seat and shut the door before the word goodbye escaped Marsha’s mouth. After he drove off, she made her way to the church, ignoring the funny feeling in her stomach.
Will acted as if his day with Ryan had gone well, so why did she sense he wasn’t telling the whole truth?
* * *
“WHICH ONE DO YOU WANT?” Ryan stared at the selection of models.
When Will had suggested they build a model together during the drive home from the prison, Ryan had jumped at the opportunity. He studied the boxes in Ryan’s hands. A small boat and a single-engine prop airplane. “I was hoping to put together a more complicated model,” Will said.
“You were?”
He pointed to the top shelf. “Maybe a coast guard ship, or that rocket looks pretty cool.”
“The rocket’s three feet long,” Ryan said.
“The table in the bunkhouse is six feet long. We could build an aircraft carrier.” He moved his finger down the shelf. “This one is five feet long.”
“If we get a big one, I won’t be able to take it to California with me,” Ryan said.
“You don’t have to wait until next summer to see it again. You’re welcome to stay at the farm for Thanksgiving or Christmas break.” The idea of his son leaving in a couple of months bothered Will now that they were becoming comfortable with each other.
“I kind of like the rocket ship.” Ryan glanced at Will then looked away. “But it’s got lots of parts and looks difficult.”
Did Ryan assume Will wouldn’t be able to put it together? “I worked on models when I was your age and I think we can handle this one.”
“You built models?” Ryan asked.
“Yep. I’ve always liked working with my hands.”
“It’s expensive, but Mom gave me spending money for the summer and I can help pay for it.”
“No way,” Will said. “I’ve got fourteen birthday presents to make up to you.”
Ryan smiled—the first genuine smile he’d offered Will.
Will reached for the rocket ship from the top shelf. What was two hundred dollars anyway? He spent that in one weekend at a rodeo—if he included the entry fee, gas and food.
“After you turn sixteen, if you spend the summer in Stagecoach, your uncle Buck will help you work on a car.”
“What do you mean?” Ryan trailed Will to the checkout.
“You’ll need a car in high school, won’t you?”
“Maybe.”
“We’ll buy an old beater and fix it up. Buck’s a whiz at cars and Conway and I are pretty good with engines, too. Between all of us we’ll make sure you have a nice set of wheels.”
“Awesome.”
Will hoped he hadn’t overstepped his bounds in promising Ryan a car for his sixteenth birthday, but he wanted to give his son a reason to return to Stagecoach.
Back at the farm Ryan organized the rocket parts into piles for each section of the model. He read the directions out loud and Will listened while he mentally matched up the pieces with the image on the box.
“Which part should we do first?” Ryan asked. The teen wanted to build the model in a well-planned, organized way, whereas Will would have put pieces together at random.
“You choose where you want to start,” Will said.
Ryan’s eyes lit up when he realized Will had given him the green light to spearhead the project. He mapped out a game plan and when he’d finished explaining the details, it was already nine o’clock.
“You’re welcome to sleep here tonight if you want to work on the rocket,” Will said.
Ryan stared longingly at the table strewn with parts. “I better get home before my grandpa goes to bed.”
“If your mom will drive you over here, you can work on the rocket whenever you want.” Will hoped Ryan wouldn’t take him up on his offer, because he wanted them to do this project together.
“Do you think the twins will mess with this?” Ryan asked.
“I’ll make sure the boys understand this is grown-up stuff and they shouldn’t touch it.”
Will talked about the models he’d built in the past with his friends and before he knew it, they’d arrived at the pastor’s house.
“Thanks again for buying the model.”
“See you later.” Will watched Ryan enter the house and for the first time since he’d met his son, he felt they were making a connection.
What about you and Marsha?
Tomorrow night he’d find out if they were meant to connect, too.
* * *
“I THOUGHT YOU were in bed?” Marsha stepped onto the patio at eleven-thirty Monday night and found Ryan reading. After Will had dropped him off a short while ago, he’d rambled on about the rocket Will had bought. Marsha’s father hadn’t appreciated hearing that his grandson and Will had discovered a hobby they could enjoy together and had gone to bed early.
“Reading in the dark is bad for your eyes.” She stretched out in the lounge chair.
Ryan ignored her comment and used his finger to turn the page on the gadget’s illuminated screen.
“We haven’t talked much lately. Tell me more about the tour you and Will took of the Yuma prison,” she said.
Ryan set the e-reader aside. “Mom?”
“What?”
“Will can’t read.”
Marsha’s heart skipped a beat. “What makes you say that?”
“I showed him my science-experiment journal and asked him to read the data I’d collected and he got this funny look on his face.”
“That’s hardly proof Will can’t read.”
“When we were at the prison, I pretended I couldn’t see one of the signs on the wall and I asked him what it said. He stumbled through the words, then turned all red and walked off.”
Marsha wished Will had confided in Ryan about his learning disability. It wasn’t her news to tell.
“And when we were putting the model parts together, he never read the directions. He looked at the picture of the rocket on the box, then guessed which parts went together.”
“Maybe he wanted to work on the easy sections first?” she said.
Ryan shook his head. “I’ve been researching stuff on reading problems and I think I know what’s wrong with Will.”
“Oh?”
“He’s got dyslexia.”
Wow. Her son never ceased to amaze her. “How can you tell?”
“He skipped over some words and read really slow, dragging out the pronunciation of the letters.” Ryan sat forward in the chair. “And people with dyslexia have messy handwriting like Will’s. He paid for us to get into the prison with a credit card and after he signed the slip, the lady asked him to show her his license, because she couldn’t read his signature.”
“Honey, that doesn’t prove—”
Ryan left the chair and paced across the patio. “I can help him, Mom. I can teach Will how to read.”
She’d never seen her son this animated, but obviously he felt strongly about wanting to help his father.
“D
o you know that Will watches a lot of TV and memorizes stuff he hears?”
“What do you mean?”
“We saw a program on building the Hoover Dam and I asked a bunch of questions about it and Will knew the answers, because he’d seen a show on the dam. Then he said that he learns things by watching people do them first.”
Ryan was talking so fast, Marsha had trouble making sense of everything.
“Because he can’t read well, Will memorizes what he hears and sees.”
“Amazing.” She didn’t know whether she meant Will or Ryan’s excitement over his father’s learning disability.
“Do you know what this means, Mom?”
“I’m afraid I don’t.”
“If Will learns how to read, he could be smarter than both of us.” Ryan spread his arms wide. “He could build a space station one day.”
“Honey, Will seems happy building houses and fixing churches.” Then again she’d never asked him if he loved his job.
“But if Will could read better, he could learn all kinds of really important stuff.”
“I wouldn’t tell your grandfather that you don’t consider the addition of classrooms to his church important stuff.”
Ryan didn’t crack a smile. “Do you think Will would let me tutor him?”
“I don’t know.”
“Should I ask him?”
That Ryan appeared eager to get together with Will again was a positive sign. Still, she felt compelled to warn Will what Ryan had up his sleeve, and she hoped it wouldn’t blow up in her son’s face.
* * *
“THIS IS SO PRETTY,” Marsha said. She had no idea the natural spring nestled next to a rocky incline existed south of Stagecoach. “Whose property are we on?”
“It’s government land.” Will placed folding chairs on the ground at the edge of the spring.
Marsha opened the cooler she’d brought and removed a bowl of fried chicken and a bottle of red wine.
“You thought of everything,” he said, eyeing the wine and plastic cups.
Once they were seated and had helped themselves to the chicken Marsha’s mother had made, she asked, “How’s the construction on the classroom wing coming along?”
“Ben’s waiting on a delivery of insulation. After that’s installed, we’ll put up the wallboard, patch the seams and paint.” He sipped the wine. “This is good.”
