Callaghan's Way

by Marie Ferrarella

  “I think he only played a couple of games before he dropped out. Said he didn’t like the game.” Football had been more to Don’s liking. Now that he thought about it, Kirk recalled Cameron saying that Don had planned a career in football.

  Cameron cursed himself for not remembering that Don was on this one when he had picked out the videos for tonight. He hadn’t wanted to stir up bad memories for Rachel or for Ethan.

  “That was only because he was uncoordinated and didn’t have the patience or the eye for it,” Cameron reminded his friend.

  Resentment leaped into Ethan’s eyes as he scrambled to his feet. “That’s just because he didn’t have time for a dumb old game like baseball. Me neither.” Like a prizefighter daring an opponent, Ethan stuck his chin out at Cameron.

  She’d had enough of deifying a man who hadn’t had the time of day for his son. Who hadn’t had time for anything except mourning the pieces of a broken dream.

  “Ethan, I think you owe your uncle an apology.” The look in her eyes was stern.

  Ethan turned rebelliously toward his mother. “What for?” He pointed accusingly at Cameron. “He’s the one who said bad things about Dad.”

  He wasn’t one to intrude, but this was the closest thing he had ever had to a family. “He wasn’t saying anything bad, Ethan,” Kirk said quietly. “He was just making an observation. Your dad was better at football.”

  “Yeah.” Ethan leaped at the way out. “He would’ve been one of the greats, if he hadn’t busted up his knee in that last game.”

  He was parroting words about an event he’d heard about time and again, Rachel knew. An event that had taken place when he was only a baby.

  Ethan looked down at the floor, sighing impatiently. Kirk’s words seemed to have siphoned the air out of his indignation. “I’m sorry.”

  The words weren’t entirely sincere, but at least he had said them, Rachel thought, grateful for any tiny headway that might have been made. She glanced toward Kirk and offered him her silent thanks.

  “Apology accepted.” Cameron stopped the videotape, and a commercial for cat food materialized where the baseball game had been a moment ago. “I think it’s time that we all called it a night.”

  Rachel nodded. “I think we’ve skipped down memory lane long enough for one night.” She rose and cleared away the almost empty bowl of popcorn she’d made for the occasion. Cameron managed to snag one last handful before she set it on the dining room table.

  Kirk stopped to pick up a couple of crumbs from the rug and deposited them on the coffee table. He dusted off his hands. “I’d better be going myself. It was a great dinner, Funny Face. Thank you. Good night, Cameron. Ethan.”

  The boy looked surprised to be acknowledged, but he nodded at Kirk awkwardly.

  “Get ready for bed, Ethan,” Rachel urged, though her son was already out of the room. She hurried after Kirk as he reached the front door. As she passed, she noted that Cameron seemed inordinately busy gathering his tapes together. He undoubtedly thought she needed this time with Kirk to make amends for her son’s behavior, and she was grateful to him for his intuitiveness. Her brother had his moments, she mused.

  “I’m sorry,” Rachel said softly as she walked Kirk outside. He closed the door behind her and waited. Rachel ran her hands along her arms restlessly. “The divorce, and then Don’s death, seemed to hit Ethan really hard.”

  He thought of the boy, of the defensiveness in his stance. It was a familiar sign he could relate to so well. “Did Don?”

  Rachel looked at him, confused by his question. “Did Don what?”

  She looked so vulnerable. He had a sudden urge to enfold her in his arms, and shoved his hands into his pockets instead. But his eyes remained on hers, kind and coaxing. “Hit Ethan really hard.”

  Rachel’s head jerked up as she looked at him sharply. “What makes you ask—?”

  He’d struck a nerve, he thought. This wasn’t anything that he could just casually go into with her, not from his standpoint. Not yet. “A hunch. Nothing I could really explain to you, just a feeling.”

  For a moment, reflexes had her wanting to sweep away the question with a denial. But who would she be protecting if she did that? Don? Ethan? The answer, she knew, was neither. Don was dead, and Ethan needed saving. Things like this had to be out in the open, at least as far as the people who cared were concerned.

  She took a step farther away from the house, as if distancing herself a little from the subject. She looked out at the inky sky. There were no stars out tonight, she thought. No stars to wish on.

  “That’s why I left him.” She said it so softly, he almost didn’t hear her.

  The night air was warm, with a hint of a breeze. Her words, and the memories they evoked, made her feel so cold, so abandoned. She looked at Kirk. He was waiting for her to continue. No prodding, no probing. He was just there, waiting. If she said nothing, she knew, he’d accept that. Rachel took a deep breath and made up her mind.

  “I could put up with it when it was just me. Looking back, it’s a terrible thing to admit, that I was that weak. I made up all sorts of excuses for him. Mostly I kept hoping that he’d change, that maybe he needed to work things through for himself.”

  Rachel wondered how many of the details he knew from Cameron. She knew she hadn’t written to Kirk about it herself. She couldn’t.

  “That accident with his knee had robbed Don of his identity, of who and what he thought he was, or would be. He couldn’t play football anymore, and he’d never wanted to do anything else.”

  She knew she was making excuses for Don again, but she had felt his pain, his agony, with him. Until it had turned on her.

  She bit her lower lip. It was difficult to say the next part without pain, even now. “When he took his frustration out on Ethan—I knew I couldn’t afford to wait any longer.”

  He’d assumed that she was talking about emotional abuse, which was bad enough. But then he realized that she meant something far more horrendous. Something twisted in his gut at the mere thought of it.

  Rachel was surprised when Kirk abruptly seized her arms, forcing her to look at him. “He hit you?”

  She’d never seen such anger in his eyes. It made her look away, ashamed to be the cause of it.

  “A couple of times.” Rachel raised her eyes to him, suddenly wanting to make him understand. “It wasn’t anything that landed me in the hospital. It wasn’t even bad enough for Cameron to see. The few times it happened, they were bruises that I could easily cover up, at least outwardly. And he was always so sorry afterward.” She sighed as the emptiness threatened to swallow her up. “But the situation only became worse instead of better.” Her mouth grew hard. “And then he hit Ethan.”

  She could have killed her ex-husband for that, she thought. “I have an awful feeling that Don had done it before, when I wasn’t around, but Ethan swore he didn’t.”

  She shrugged, looking off into the darkness. She blamed herself for that, for her son’s tolerance of things he shouldn’t have mutely tolerated—he’d only had her example to follow.

  “Maybe Ethan was like I was, looking for the good, thinking that perhaps in some way he’d done something to deserve a beating.”

  Kirk swung her around, his eyes fierce. He’d never been anything but gentle with her before, and the sight of his anger overwhelmed her. “No one deserves to be battered around, Rachel.”

  “I know that now.” She looked at him in surprise, both at his tone and because he’d used her name. “You called me Rachel.”

  Very slowly, he released her, cursing his temper. But it wasn’t Rachel he was angry with, it was the ghost of her husband. He’d seen so much injustice, so much suffering. Somehow he’d never thought of it as touching those he cared about.

  He attempted to smile at her. “‘Funny Face’ didn’t seem to fit this situation.”

  She nodded. “No, there was nothing funny about it. But it’s over.” She blew out a long, cleansing breath. “I can
move beyond it now.” She frowned as she glanced toward the closed door. “If only Ethan hadn’t withdrawn the way he has.” Rachel felt tears forming, and blinked to force them back. One was too far along and spilled down her cheek. “He won’t let me hold him anymore. I just don’t know how to reach him.”

  Moved, Kirk took her into his arms, to offer her what comfort he could. “He’ll come around.”

  She sniffed, feeling like an idiot. “That’s what Cameron says.” She wiped the tear away with the heel of her hand. “That’s what I’m clinging to.” A ragged sigh tore loose as she looked up at Kirk. “Sorry he spoiled the evening.”

  “It wasn’t spoiled.”

  She felt good in his arms, he thought. As if she belonged there. As if he were meant to hold her.

  He felt a sexual edginess move to the fore, pushing everything else aside. They’d said good-night to one another a hundred times on this very spot. Why was there tension crackling between them now? Why did she have to look so vulnerable—and so damn attractive?

  Like a man in a trance, Kirk inclined his head to kiss her good-night. But then he remembered the last time, when she’d turned her head and her lips had brushed against his. Kirk stepped back, releasing her as if she were suddenly too hot to hold. And maybe she was. If he continued holding her any longer, he knew that he’d kiss her, not as a friend, but as something a great deal more. And that would lead to other things.

  The one thing he could count on was her friendship. It was very precious to him. He didn’t want it to become tangled up inside something else, something whose parameters he was uncertain of.

  He’d been ready to kiss her, she thought, a pang filling her as he drew away. What had changed his mind? What had made him pull away from her?

  Rachel touched his cheek. “Don’t be afraid of me, Kirk.”

  He’d been referred to as fearless by some, as well as reckless. The warning sounded almost amusing. “What?”

  She let her hand drop, though she wanted to go on touching him. To have him hold her again. To let what seemed to be hovering just on the fringe take over and progress naturally. A small kernel of impatience struggled to peek out from behind her calm demeanor. “You look as if you’re afraid of me.”

  He shook his head slowly, his eyes remaining on hers. “It’s not you I’m afraid of, Funny Face. It’s me.”

  Slipping his hands into her hair, he just lightly touched his lips to hers and then turned away.

  Rachel could feel her very blood humming in her veins. She stared after him as he walked away, wondering what he had meant.

  * * *

  When she awoke the next morning, Rachel remembered feeling emotionally drained and exhausted after Kirk left. She’d had just enough energy, when Cameron went home, to check on Ethan and then peel off her clothes. She didn’t even remember climbing into bed.

  Questions buzzed through her head as she clung to the warming blanket of sleep. Questions about Kirk. Was she reading things into his actions, or was there something there? Something on the cusp, that he was afraid to release? Something that would take them beyond the plateau where they were?

  She thought she was ready.

  Anticipation stirred deliciously throughout her semiconscious body.

  Morning spilled into her bedroom unannounced, like a bucket of sunbeam that had been accidentally kicked over. One moment she was buried in a soothing dreariness, the next moment there was sunlight all over, prodding away misty half dreams.

  With a surrendering sigh, Rachel rolled over in her bed and focused on the bright red oversize digital numbers on her clock.

  Eight o’clock.

  She couldn’t remember when she had slept so late. It was definitely time to stop hibernating.

  Throwing off the covers, Rachel sat up and dragged her hand through her hair. It struck her as odd that she hadn’t been woken up earlier by the sounds of Ethan puttering around. He was always dropping something or banging it. By nature, Ethan was like her, an early riser, even on weekends.

  As she got out of bed, Rachel heard a crash. But it came from outside, and sounded as if it were some distance away. It sounded vaguely like metal hitting pavement. Absently she wondered what it was.

  Stretching, she reached into the closet for a pair of cutoffs and a baggy sweatshirt. After tugging them on, she went downstairs to see what Ethan wanted for breakfast. Maybe she could get him to talk about the videos, she mused hopefully. Any conversation was better than none.

  He wasn’t there.

  “Ethan? Ethan, where are you?” She went from one room to the other, looking for him. He wasn’t in the kitchen, or planted before the television in the family room, the way she expected him to be.

  A tight feeling began to wrap invisible fingers around her throat. Something was wrong. Six months ago, she thought as she hurried upstairs again, she wouldn’t have felt panicky like this if Ethan wasn’t around. She’d just have assumed that he was out playing. But life wasn’t that simple anymore.

  She knocked once on his door and then opened it. The room was empty. A quick search of the rest of the house yielded the same information. No Ethan.

  Had he decided to run away? He’d been upset last night, after seeing that last video. But when she had gone into his room to check on him, to talk if he wanted to, he’d been asleep.

  Or he’d been pretending to be, she thought now.

  Rachel was just about to retrace her steps to his room, to see if he had taken anything with him that might indicate that he had run away, when she heard another clatter out front. It made a continuous noise, like a hubcap spinning around before it settled down on the sidewalk.

  Impulse had her turning on her bare heel and hurrying to the front door. Ethan wasn’t supposed to take his bike out for a ride without telling her first. Maybe he was just tinkering with it.

  Her heart sank when she saw that her driveway was empty.

  Rachel pressed her lips together and let out a ragged breath. Ethan, where are you? Rachel dragged a hand through her hair and turned to go back into the house. She’d call Cameron and see if he would help her look for Ethan. Two steps toward the house, and she stopped as impatience rose up within her. She didn’t have time to wait for Cameron. Kirk could help.

  Rachel was halfway down the driveway when she heard his voice.

  “No, hand me the smaller wrench.”

  He was with someone. Ethan? It didn’t seem likely, but she was ready to clutch at any straw. She picked her way around the patch of dirt that separated their two properties, circumventing the border of cypresses that blocked her view of his house.

  And then she stopped just at the perimeter of the last tree.

  Kirk’s minivan was in the driveway, jacked up on one side. A pair of worn cowboy boots—Kirk’s, she recognized—were sticking out from underneath. It looked as if the car had partially ingested him.

  And crouched down beside the worn boots, a profusion of tools scattered next to him, was Ethan. There was a semiempty toolbox just beyond his reach.

  Rachel didn’t know whether to laugh or cry with relief. She did neither. Instead, she just stood where she was for a moment, watching.

  Without anyone around to observe him, Ethan’s face was devoid of its perpetual frown. He looked almost animated, she thought. And involved.

  “Okay.” Kirk’s voice sounded a little strained as it drifted from beneath the vehicle, as if he were struggling with something. “Now get in and turn the wheel all the way to the left, then all the way to the right.”

  Ethan gaped at the driver’s seat. “You want me to turn the steering wheel?”

  “You don’t see anyone else around, do you?”

  Ethan shook his head in response, though Kirk couldn’t see. “No.”

  “Then do it.”

  Ethan was quick to scramble up to his feet and follow orders. Like a kid on a joyride, he twisted the wheel first one way, then another. “How’s this?” he called out happily.

  He s
eemed so carefree. Rachel could hardly believe that this was her son.

  Kirk sighed. “That about does it.”

  Another turn on the bolt, and he was satisfied. Kirk snaked his way back out, hoping he wouldn’t tear his worn jeans. That was his last clean pair. Emerging, he threw down the wrench next to the others.

  “Thanks.” He wiped the back of his wrist across his forehead, leaving a small, dark streak across it. “You were a great help.”

  Ethan shrugged self-consciously. “I just handed you some stuff.”

  Kirk rose to his feet, brushing off the dust and dirt he’d acquired. “When someone tells you that you’ve been a great help, don’t contradict them. It makes them look foolish. Just say thanks.”

  “Oh. Okay.” Ethan seemed to fight with a smile, then let it take over. “What are you going to do now?”

  Kirk looked down at his hands. They were black. He hated getting dirty, but he hated not having a vehicle in running order even more. Necessity had taught him how to make basic repairs. Triple A didn’t make pit stops in Somalia.

  He was getting rather good at it, too, he thought.

  “Wash up.” He looked down at Ethan. The boy had wandered out earlier to watch him work. He’d made a point of getting him involved. He had no intention of letting go of his edge now. “Want to come in?”

  Ethan attempted to appear nonchalant. “I guess.” But he couldn’t manage to hide his curiosity. It rose up to shine in his eyes.

  She’d hung back long enough, Rachel thought, stepping forward. “Can you see your way clear to stretching that invitation to include two?”

  Startled, Ethan spun around to face his mother. Before her eyes, he seemed to withdraw into himself. He began to edge away from both of them.

  “I got other stuff...” he began.

  She’d be damned if she was going to let him drive this wedge farther between them. What she’d seen just now gave her hope that the bright, happy boy she’d known was still in there somewhere.

  Rachel placed a firm hand on his shoulder, stopping him in his tracks. “No, you don’t. You don’t have to run away every time I come near you.”