by Lisa Henry
Isaac was sullen again. “I guess.”
“I mean it, Isaac,” Jason said. “Homelessness is not a better option. Trust me on that, okay?”
Isaac glowered at the ground. “Just call the camp!”
“Okay.” Jason wished he had to look the number up, but he’d spent so long stalking the Moving Forward website that he knew it without checking. What did that say about him? That he was still holding a grudge? Or that he read through their stories and testimonials at least every few weeks, looking for… what had he been looking for? Fuel for his rage, or something else? Maybe he’d been looking for a glimpse of naïve, betrayed Nathan Tull instead. Like a smiling photograph and a few essays about overcoming his challenges told him anything about the man Nate had become.
Isaac kicked a can. It bounced and clattered across the sidewalk and landed in the gutter.
Jason dialed Moving Forward. It took a little while for an answer.
“Moving Forward. This is Nate.” He sounded thick with sleep.
“Nate, it’s Jason. Don’t hang up.” But he wouldn’t, would he? Not Nate. He was too damned nice for that. “Listen, I’ve got one of your kids here outside the Broken Record.”
“What?” Nate’s voice was suddenly sharp.
“It’s Isaac,” Jason said. “Come and get him, okay?”
“I’ll be there in twenty minutes.”
Nate threw on his jeans over his pajama pants, pulled on a hoodie, grabbed his car keys off his dresser and headed, barefoot, into the parking lot. He had a dull, throbbing headache at the base of his skull, and hadn’t had enough sleep to kill it. He sighed. First he’d go and collect Isaac, and then he’d find out why Emily and Paul had managed to let a kid walk out of camp. There were no locked fences at Moving Forward, but every night two counselors were tasked to stay awake in shifts and keep a watch on the cabins for trouble.
Nate started up his car, and even the sound of the engine didn’t bring anyone looking. He shook his head, anger flaring. It was irresponsible. What if Isaac had been hurt? Nate would never forgive himself if anything had happened to him.
Moving Forward was only a fifteen-minute drive from Pinehurst, up a winding dirt road that climbed slowly out of the valley. The land had been owned by the Tulls for over a century, ever since Josiah Tull had come west in the mid eighteen-hundreds and made his fortune in timber. That fortune was long gone, lost again by the 1920s, but the Tulls had stayed in Pinehurst. And when it had come time to find a place to make Reverend Tull’s vision of Moving Forward into a reality, what better use for the land could there be?
Nate turned off the dirt and onto the narrow road that led down into the town. He passed the first of the streetlights a few minutes later. The thought of Isaac walking all this way, alone in the night, worried him. What worried him more was what Isaac was running from. He’d thought they’d had a good session that afternoon. Thought Isaac was responding.
Nate tightened his grip on the wheel.
This was another test of his faith, or his resolve at least. He hadn’t told anyone about Tyler and Steven, and he should have. He couldn’t even articulate to himself why he hadn’t. He tried to push it from his mind, to focus on the road, but he couldn’t do that either. It was like the bruise on his leg. He wanted to poke it and worry it and test how much it hurt.
It was late enough that there wasn’t much traffic in town. Nate pulled up in front of the Broken Record, and remembered too late he was barefoot. He got out of the car anyway, hoping there was no glass lying around.
Jason and Isaac were waiting for him. Jason was leaning up against one of the large planters that the town council had put in along Main Street several years ago, in an attempt to beautify the place.
“Isaac, are you okay?”
Isaac stared at the ground. “Sorry.”
“Hey, none of that.” Nate gave him a quick hug. “You’re okay, and that’s what matters.”
“Am I in trouble?”
“No.” Nate couldn’t stop glancing at Jason. “We’ll need to talk in the morning, but you’re not in trouble. I’m your friend, remember?”
Isaac nodded.
“Thank you,” Nate said to Jason.
“I didn’t do it for you, or your damned camp.” Jason stood upright, wincing. “I did it because, if I hadn’t, he’d be hitching a ride with some trucker right now, heading fuck knows where.”
A chill ran through Nate.
Jason took a step forward, his shoulder dropping as he limped. He shoved a hand in the pocket of his jeans, and Nate wondered if he was trying to disguise his injury.
“Do you want a lift?” Nate said.
Jason narrowed his eyes. “I don’t want your pity.”
“I wasn’t offering pity, I was offering a lift,” Nate said, fighting to keep his voice even. Pity Jason Banning? The idea was almost laughable. Jason was… Jason was terrifying.
Jason regarded him evenly, then something in his expression softened. “Okay.”
Nate gestured to Isaac, who climbed into the back seat. He walked around the other side of the car and sat in the driver’s seat. Stared at the dashboard while he waited for Jason to get in.
This was okay. Isaac was with them. Nothing would happen. The danger to Nate’s soul here wasn’t in asking Jason into his car, it would have been leaving him standing at the side of the road.
It didn’t matter if Nate was scared of what had happened in the past, or what might happen again if he stumbled. It didn’t matter if a part of him was angry at Jason, and would always be angry. It didn’t even matter if Jason had the power and the inclination to injure him again.
Whoever hits you on the cheek, offer him the other also; and whoever takes away your coat, do not withhold your shirt from him either.
Not offering a lift to a man whose leg had been ripped apart by a bomb wouldn’t have just made Nate a bad Christian, it would have made him a bad human being.
Jason gripped the roof of the car tightly as he lowered himself into the front seat. Hooked his hands under his knee to lift his leg into position, then pulled the door closed. He tugged the seatbelt, and Nate waited until he heard it click closed before pulling back out onto the street.
They drove a while in silence.
“It’s good that you’re back in town,” Nate said at last, then flushed when he heard himself. “For Rose, I mean. It’s good that you’re back for Rose.”
Jason’s hand, resting on his knee, curled into a fist. Then he splayed his fingers, and for a moment all Nate could see, feel, was Jason’s hand on his naked skin. The way Jason had touched him, and Nate’s whole universe had contracted into that single point of contact that blazed with heat and somehow made him shiver at the same time.
A jumble of memories.
“You sure you want to do this?”
“I want to.”
Photographs and bookshelves. Standing on the precipice. Wanting like he’d never wanted anything before.
“You’re not doing anything wrong.”
“You believe that? Really?”
Loving Jason, in that moment, with an urgent intensity he knew wouldn’t last the night, but it didn’t matter. Jason would go and be a hero in some dusty, dangerous corner of the world, but Nate’s heroism was there, with him, that night. They would love each other until the morning, and then think of each other fondly in the years to come, with secret smiles and the sweet, faint taste of melancholy.
Nate hadn’t wanted forever.
But he’d wanted something true.
The memories of that night were twisted up now with others. Tainted by bitterness. The shock on his father’s face. The moment—later than it should have come—
when Nate realized Jason had betrayed him. The photographs. The article. The video. The phone ringing at all hours, as though there’d been a death in the family.
It had been hell.
“Are you happier?”
“Come on, Nate. Even Jesus got angry.”
Nate heard Isaac shift. “Your leg. Did… Was the recovery period really long?” He could feel Jason turn to look at him, but Nate kept his gaze resolutely on the road.
“Yeah,” Jason said coolly. “It was long.”
And were you scared?
Nate had thought he’d known fear the moment he’d realized he felt something for Jason—that night at the UW Tacoma party. But looking back, he hadn’t been afraid. Nervous, sure. Surprised, yes. But he’d been excited more than anything.
Real terror had come when Nate’s father had seen the photos. In an instant, Nate had been convinced that the compassion the reverend showed the kids who came to camp wouldn’t be extended to Nate. That his father, who’d never raised a hand to him, might hit him, or order him out of the house. And Nathan wouldn’t have blamed him.
“What happened?” Isaac asked Jason, shifting forward.
“A bomb,” Jason said. “Afghanistan.”
“You’re a soldier?”
“Journalist.”
“Oh.” Isaac leaned back. Then, a moment later, he inhaled sharply. “Oh.”
And that, Nate thought, was the sound of the penny dropping. Isaac had been looking at the stills on Tyler’s phone earlier. He’d just figured out where, literally, Jason Banning fit into the picture.
So this was a test again. Or at least the opportunity to lead by example. To show Isaac that he didn’t have to be ruled by his phantoms. He could overcome them.
“I saw some of your articles,” Nate said. “There was one about the boys working in the tea house in the market. Great pictures.” He glanced at Jason. Jason was looking at him like he didn’t know what the fuck he was doing. “You see so many photographs of just these dusty streets that you don’t realize how vibrant and colorful it can be if you’re given the chance to look beyond that.”
Jason nodded.
They drove the rest of the way in silence, but Nate couldn’t shut off his thoughts about Jason. One minute, he’d find himself comforted by how little he felt for Jason. The next, he’d remember coming on Jason’s sheets while Jason’s teeth sank into his shoulder, and he’d grip the wheel hard, unwilling to allow himself those memories but powerless to stop them.
Why did so much feel unresolved? If Nate was happy, if he’d overcome his phantoms, then Jason wasn’t his concern. Jason deserved Nate’s compassion, but not quite so much of Nate’s time. And Nate was spending a lot of time and energy thinking about him lately. That had to stop. And maybe the only way to stop it was to get some closure.
They pulled up in front of Rose’s house, and as Jason undid his seatbelt, Nathan said, “I’d like to talk to you. About what happened.” He hoped his voice was low enough that Isaac hadn’t heard, but even if Isaac had heard, it wasn’t like Nate was doing anything wrong.
Jason looked at him quizzically.
“I wasn’t ready to talk earlier, but I am now. Could we meet tomorrow? Somewhere public?” He couldn’t read Jason’s expression. His nerves buzzed, but he forced himself to keep eye contact. No backing down.
Jason turned his gaze to the dashboard. Finally he gave a curt nod. “Coffee? The place downtown?”
“Okay. Eleven?” Isaac was definitely listening now. Nate could feel him leaning forward.
Jason nodded again and opened the door. Slowly pulled himself out of the car. “Thanks for the ride,” he said stiffly, and shut the door without waiting for a response.
Chapter Seven
Reverend Tull moved through the dining hall, smiling at the noise and stopping at each table to say hello to the kids. He knew all of their names. Nate had already spoken to him on the phone that morning, filling him in on Isaac. He watched, leaning in the doorway, as the reverend pulled up a chair beside Isaac and spoke. Isaac was hunched over at first, but began to very slowly unfold himself as he listened. Reverend Tull had that gift. He talked, but he also listened, which was a rare thing. When Isaac was ready to open up, whatever he said would be met only with compassion.
Nate’s phone buzzed in his pocket, and he checked his messages.
5 minutes.
It was from Marissa. But five minutes what? Maybe she was running late. She’d agreed to come up and help out with craft activities this morning. If Nate was the poster boy for Moving Forward, then Marissa was the proof of his success. Nate had worried about that at first; it seemed unfair pressure to put on Marissa. But Marissa and her family were members of the church as well. They didn’t see Nate’s history and his responsibilities at the camp as an embarrassment or a burden. They understood and supported him.
So. Two hours of crafts, then Nate would hand his group over to Emily for guitar lessons. He’d have to be back after lunch for the workshop on self-esteem and spiritual growth. Nate felt like he could use a refresher himself.
He headed outside to see if he could spot Marissa’s car yet.
He was anxious today. He hadn’t slept well, and he had a headache he just couldn’t shake. Last night it had seemed like a good idea to meet Jason for coffee. To sort things out. To get some closure. Something. He hoped that Jason would listen. Not just hear, but listen. He needed Jason to know that he didn’t hate him. He needed Jason to know that it still hurt, but there was no blame attached to that hurt. He needed Jason to know that they could both live in Pinehurst and, even if they could never be friends, they could be neighbors. Most importantly, he needed Jason to know that God still loved them both. Because if Nate was sure of anything, it was that Jason had more wounds than the one he’d picked up in Afghanistan.
Nate stepped out of the shade of the building and into the sunlight as Marissa drove up in her little blue hatch. The same mix of guilt and affection swept over him as she got out of the car, smiling. He liked Marissa. It was his fault, not hers, that his feelings toward her didn’t run any deeper than that, however hard he tried.
“Hi!” She stood up on her toes, and they kissed. A closed-mouthed peck.
“Thanks for coming.”
“I wouldn’t miss it. What are we making today?”
“Photo frames and key rings.”
Marissa jingled her car keys. “Good. I can use a new key ring.”
Nate twined his fingers through hers and led her inside to the curious gazes of the kids.
Jason and Rose didn’t have a lot of deep conversations. They’d always talked plenty, but it wasn’t until he was heading off to college that Jason realized how little they said to one another. They rarely talked about Jason’s parents, though once in a while Rose would pick up a vase in a store and say, “Oh, your mother would have loved this.” And Jason had asked her a few questions about his mom and dad, but he got the feeling she didn’t like talking about them, and he felt like he shouldn’t want to either.
It wasn’t that Jason wanted to have some long, meaningful conversation about his feelings, but there were things he wanted to ask her. Had wanted to ask her—though fifteen-year-old Jason would never have admitted he needed answers.
Should I have been in the car with them?
If I had been, would things have turned out differently?
Were they really irresponsible, like people say? Should they have settled down when they had me?
His mother’s dark hair sweat-plastered to her temples. Khaki button-up with damp spots at the armpits. One arm hanging out of the jeep. His father, telling them about a spider big enough to eat birds.
The questions he wanted to ask now, four years after he’d ruined Nate Tull’s life and made a mockery of his parents’ kindness, the values they’d tried to instill in him.
Were you ashamed of me? Are you ashamed of me? Do I look as broken as I feel?
“I never hated him,” he said.
Rose stirred sugar into her tea. “But you hated what he represented.”
The question he would never ask:
Would they be ashamed of me?
“I don
’t know why the hell he wants to talk to me.”
“Honey.” She shook her head, her thin grey hair lifting and then settling again. “You’re the one who went out to the camp first. Now why would you do a thing like that?”
“I don’t know.” He sighed. “To apologize.”
Rose fixed him with a stare. “Well, good. But whose hurt are you trying to heal. Jason? His, or yours?”
He snorted. “I’m not—”
“Jason Banning, don’t you lie to me.”
“I’m n—”
“I know you. I know that underneath all those sharp edges, you’re a good man.”
Jason snorted.
“I know you care about what you did, even if your pride won’t let you admit it.” She raised her eyebrows. “I’m at the end of my run here. Maybe you can do us both a favor and put all the bullshit aside when you talk to me.”
“Language,” he reminded her gently, his heart constricting, and she laughed quietly. He sighed again. Something about sitting here in the old, familiar kitchen, the soft light of the morning, the chamomile tea... For the first time in a long time it was easy to talk. “The thing about what happened... God. It’s like, imagine I was driving a car, and I ran over a kid or something, and suddenly there’s a crowd of people, and a dead kid, and there I am bitching about how I spilled my coffee when I hit him. That’s how hurt I get to be, you know?”
Rose unclasped her hands from her mug and absently rubbed the thin silver wedding band on her finger. She’d been married once. He’d died before Jason was born. She’d never taken the ring off. “You’re talking about how hurt you are, not how sorry you think people should feel for you. Those are two different things.”
“Are they?”
She turned the ring. “Oh, yes.”
Jason remembered his first few weeks in Pinehurst. He’d hated it. And then Rose had sent him along to the youth group at Reverend Tull’s church. One session. The reverend had said something about how it was important to treat each other with respect, some moral lesson wrapped in a homily that Jason couldn’t remember now. Something about saving yourself for the woman you married.
