by Linda Seed
“Yes. I understand,” Breanna said into the phone. “I’m so sorry. I don’t know why he—” Silence as she listened. Then: “Okay. I’ll be right there.”
She tapped the phone to end the call and looked at Jake, clearly upset. “I’m so sorry. I have to go.”
“What happened?”
“Michael got into a fight.” She shook her head, the space between her brows furrowed in concern. “He’s never done this before. They want me to come and get him.”
“All right. Let’s go,” he said.
“You … That’s …” Breanna rubbed at her face with her hands. “You don’t have to come. Stay here and enjoy your lunch. I don’t want to ruin your afternoon.”
“Nothing ruined about it.” He called the waitress over and asked for their food to be packaged to go.
* * *
The principal, a trim, tidy, pants-suit-clad brunette named Mrs. Woodley, told Breanna that Michael was being suspended for hitting another boy.
“Why did he hit him?” Breanna asked. Michael was sitting outside in the hallway while they talked.
“The reason doesn’t matter,” Mrs. Woodley said. “We have a zero tolerance policy for violence.”
“Of course the reason matters,” Jake said.
Mrs. Woodley, seated behind the kind of large, fake wood grain desk most commonly seen inside cubicles, folded her hands on the desktop and looked at Breanna.
“If we were to attempt to determine the reasons for every dispute between the kids at this school, we’d have time for nothing else. And it’s often impossible to determine the real story.”
“Because kids lie,” Jake supplied.
“Often they do, yes. That’s why we have a policy of suspending anyone who participates in a fight, with no exceptions.”
“I see,” Breanna said.
When she, Michael, and Jake got out to Breanna’s car, they all got in and headed back toward the Delaney Ranch.
“Mom,” Michael started.
“We’ll talk about it at home,” she said.
“But—”
“I said we’ll talk about it at home.”
Breanna was angry, and she didn’t want to talk to her son when she was angry. She wanted to be calm and clear-headed. Her hands were so tight on the wheel that her knuckles had turned white.
After they’d been driving for a few minutes, Michael said, “Why is he here?”
Breanna opened her mouth to answer, but before she could say anything, Jake answered, “I’m here because I’m your mother’s friend, and sometimes it’s nice to have a friend when your kid gets busted for fighting.”
It was nice to have a friend, Breanna thought. But now Michael had one more thing to give her attitude about.
They rode the rest of the way in silence.
* * *
Breanna dropped Michael off at home and sent him to his room, with instructions to Sandra to keep an eye on him to make sure he complied. Then she drove Jake back to the work site, where he’d left his truck.
“You know, the reason does matter,” Jake said when they were sitting in her car outside the Moonstone Beach house.
“He’s suspended either way,” she said, her voice weary.
“Yeah, but it’s one thing if he was bullying someone. It’s another if he was defending himself. This one-size-fits-all discipline is bullshit. The reason matters.”
“I know.” But she also knew that Mrs. Woodley was right: She might never get to the bottom of what really happened. She was certain that both of the boys involved would tell a story that skewed reality to their own benefit. In the end, you had to listen, but you also had to assume your child wasn’t an angel. You had to resist the urge to treat your kid like a special unicorn who had only goodness and purity in his heart.
“I hope I wasn’t out of line coming with you,” Jake said. “I know it wasn’t my place, but—”
“It was nice to have the support,” she told him. “But I’m sorry about our date.”
“There will be other dates.”
“Will there?” Right now she felt as though she’d ruined things simply by being herself, a person with kids and issues and obligations.
“I certainly hope so.” He leaned toward her and kissed her softly. Then he opened the car door and stepped out. “Now go home and give him hell,” Jake said, leaning in through the passenger side door and giving her a wink.
* * *
By the time Breanna got home, some of her anger had burned off and she just felt weary.
Michael was going through a rough time, and she doubted her own ability to handle the increasing challenges of dealing with his turbulent feelings. Her date had been ruined, and while she was trying not to prioritize that—her son mattered more, after all—she was, nonetheless, feeling somewhat bitter about it. And Michael had made it clear in the car that he was not on board with her seeing someone.
It was a lot to deal with, and Breanna was feeling the strain of it.
Still, she gathered her motherly resources as she climbed the stairs to his room, and she was admirably calm as she came in and sat on his bed to talk.
“Michael.”
He was lying on his bed with a book open in front of his face, studiously concentrating on not looking at her.
“Michael, put down the book, please.”
When he didn’t, she gently took it out of his hands and set it on his bedside table.
“Would you like to tell me what happened?”
“No.” He was scowling and looking at the ceiling, his arms crossed over his chest.
“Who were you fighting with?” she tried again.
“Why was that guy with you when you came to the school?” Michael asked.
Breanna knew that if she let him get her off track, she’d never get the answers she needed. “We’re not talking about that right now.”
“I am. I’m talking about it right now.”
“Well, I’m not.” Breanna’s voice was growing louder and more shrill, and she took a deep breath, forcing herself to bring it back under control. “Michael, please tell me what happened at school today.”
His eyes narrowed. “I’ll tell you that when you tell me why that guy came with you to the school.”
Breanna stood. “I think you should stay in your room for a while. We’ll talk some more about this later.”
She made it all the way out of the room before her vision grew blurry with tears.
* * *
Liam had gotten through to Michael before, so Breanna thought of him when she couldn’t get her son to open up about what had happened.
She hadn’t had lunch yet and her stomach was growling, so she ate her takeout Caesar salad in the kitchen. Then she called Liam on his cell phone.
Liam agreed to take Michael out to work on the ranch again. Breanna didn’t tell Michael that the purpose was to see if he would be more forthcoming with his uncle than he was with his mother. Instead, she told him there was no way she was going to allow his suspension from school to become a vacation. If he wasn’t in class, he was at least going to be working.
The strategy worked. When Liam brought Michael home at the end of the day, he took Breanna aside to give her the rundown.
“I’m kinda proud of him, really, if his story isn’t bullshit,” Liam said, scratching his head thoughtfully as he and Breanna stood out on the front porch. “He was sticking up for this kid in his fourth period class who was getting picked on. Bunch of assholes were giving the kid a hard time because he takes dance lessons. Michael punched the ringleader.”
“Dance lessons.”
“Yeah.” Liam shrugged. “Not manly enough for the in crowd, I guess.”
“But … why didn’t he tell me that?” Breanna said.
Liam shrugged again. “He was embarrassed.”
“Embarrassed? But why? If he was helping a boy who was being bullied …”
“Hell, he’s thirteen,” Liam said. “That age, everything you do is embarra
ssing, especially when it comes to your mother.”
* * *
Breanna knew better than to take Michael’s word for it without any kind of independent verification. So she called a woman she knew who also had a kid in Michael’s fourth period class. The woman put her son on the phone, and the boy gave pretty much the same story Liam had recounted.
As soon as the bell rang ending class, the boy told her, a kid named Mason Thomas had been surrounded outside the classroom door. A group of four bullies had been calling him names—the usual ones when someone’s manhood was being called into question, words Breanna didn’t want to think about.
Michael had asked them to stop, and when they hadn’t, he’d punched the most aggressive, most vocal one of the bunch.
Breanna had never heard Michael talk about Mason Thomas; she hadn’t realized they were friends.
They weren’t, the kid told her over the phone. They barely knew each other.
Somehow, that made what Michael had done even more noble.
* * *
After dinner that night, Breanna went into Michael’s room, where he was lying on his stomach on his bed, pretending to do homework. She knew he was pretending from the look on his face—intense, as though he were working hard not to acknowledge Breanna’s presence.
“Michael?” She gently took his pen and his notebook from his hands and set them on the bedside table.
“What?” That one word—one syllable—was loaded with all of the defiance, angst, and anger the boy was feeling.
“I called around, talked to some people from the school,” she said. “Why didn’t you tell me you were protecting a boy who was being picked on? I would have talked to the principal. I would have—”
“They don’t care,” Michael said, sulking. “You heard what Mrs. Woodley said. The reasons don’t matter.”
“They matter to me.”
He didn’t respond, so she tried another angle. “From what I heard, you and Mason aren’t even friends.”
“We’re not.”
“But you stuck up for him anyway.”
Michael shrugged, then sat up. “People should be able to take dance lessons if they want to, even guys. It’s not like he was hurting anybody.”
She reached out and pulled him into a hug. He resisted at first, then put his arms around her and squeezed.
“I won’t do it again, Mom.” His voice was muffled within her embrace.
“Don’t say that.”
He pulled back a little and looked at her. “What do you mean?”
“I mean, I don’t want you to promise that. You did fine, Michael. I’m proud of you. Don’t change a thing.” Her voice was rough with emotion.
He pulled away from her, avoiding her gaze, embarrassed.
“But I don’t understand why you didn’t tell me what happened,” she said.
He scowled. “That guy was there.”
That was all he said: that guy.
If Breanna was going to continue seeing Jake—something she very much wanted to do—Michael wasn’t going to make it easy.
Then again, a lot of things weren’t easy. That didn’t mean they weren’t worth doing.
13
Breanna and Jake redid their date on Friday—same time, same restaurant. Over the entrees, Breanna told him about what had happened with Michael.
“Damn,” Jake said, admiration in his voice. “That took guts. Especially if there were four of them.”
“It did,” she agreed. “But I wish he’d told me instead of making me play detective to find out for myself.”
“A man doesn’t make excuses,” Jake said. “A man just accepts the consequences.”
“But it’s not an excuse if it’s the truth.”
“I didn’t say it was rational,” Jake said, pointing his fork at her for emphasis. “I just said that’s how men are. And Michael wants to be seen as a man.”
Breanna poked at her salad, considering what Jake had said.
The restaurant was less than half-full—not uncommon for a weekday in winter. The air was cool and crisp, and the sound of the surf added a gentle, thrumming undercurrent to their conversation.
“That’s probably what he needs,” Jake went on. “To be thought of as a man. I mean, when you’re thirteen, you’re right in the middle: you’re not an adult, but you’re not really a kid, either. You end up not knowing who the hell you are.”
“He’s unhappy about the move,” she said. “The way he sees it, I’m taking him away from his home.”
“You’re trying to create a new home,” he said.
“That’s not how it feels to Michael.”
It felt good to be talking to Jake about this, good to get his insight and pour out her worries. She didn’t expect answers from him, she didn’t expect easy solutions. But he was listening to her—really listening—and that went a long way toward comforting her.
When lunch was over, he walked her to her car and kissed her.
She relaxed into him, and he held her with the ease of someone who felt right at home doing something he was born to do.
“This feels good,” he said, and they both knew he wasn’t just talking about the kiss.
* * *
With the second date finally completed after two attempts, Breanna started fretting about sex: when they would have it, how she would feel about it, and how it would affect her life.
There was no question about whether they would have it; barring some bizarre accident or Jake’s sudden need to escape from the law, that part seemed pretty much certain.
Breanna told herself to slow things down in her mind—this wasn’t the time to mentally play out sex, marriage, a lifetime of togetherness, and eventual death in each other’s arms. They’d had two dates. It was hardly time to start writing Breanna Travis on her notebook with glitter pens.
Still, after two good dates and some great kisses, the issue of sex was certainly on the table. She would get to know him better, and once she had, the only thing stopping them would be her fear—or possibly a no-holds-barred move by Jake’s ex-wife to get him back.
There’s an ex-wife, she reminded herself. And her own children. In fact, this budding relationship contained quite a few people beyond just Jake and herself.
I need to be careful.
While she was thinking about that, there was something else she wasn’t being careful about. Distracted, she nearly burned the crap out of her hand while she was making eggs and toast for the boys on Saturday morning.
“For God’s sake, girl,” Sandra told her scornfully, an apron around her waist and her fists planted on her hips. “I’d think you’d know by now that when a pan’s been sitting on a fire, it’s bound to get hot.”
“I know, I know.” She slipped an oven mitt over her hand and tried once more to pick up the pan. It went much better this time.
“Something on your mind? Because it sure isn’t kitchen safety.” Sandra cackled at her own humor.
“No. Not a thing. I’m fine.”
When the boys finished up, Breanna shooed them out of the kitchen and started gathering up plates sticky with strawberry jam and dribbles of melted butter.
On his way out, Lucas ran up to Breanna, threw his arms around her waist, and squeezed. Then he dashed out to do whatever it was he planned to spend his school-free morning on: Minecraft, maybe, or those mindless cartoons he loved so much.
“That boy’s a sweet one,” Sandra remarked approvingly.
“He is. I’m not looking forward to the stage when he grows horns and starts breathing fire.” She sighed and carried the dishes to the sink.
“Hmph. Might never happen,” Sandra commented. “That boy’s essential nature is sweeter than sugar. You might just escape the worst of it with him.”
“Unlike Michael,” Breanna said, sulking.
Sandra shrugged as she wiped the big kitchen table with a damp cloth. “A boy who’d step in to help somebody who needs it? I’d say he’s doing all right.”
“I guess,” Breanna said. “But he’s sullen all the time. And he’s mad about the move. And he doesn’t like Jake.”
“Well, I don’t guess a woman’s kids get to choose who she goes out with. You’re the one who has to date the man, not Michael.” She attacked an invisible spot on the table, her muscles working as she rubbed at it.
“Sure, but … what if this thing with Jake goes somewhere? Not that I think it will …” She did think it would—at the very least, she thought it certainly could—but that wasn’t something she was ready to admit at this stage.
“If it does, it does,” Sandra said. “That’s your business, not Michael’s. The boy will have to adjust.”
“But it’s his life, too.”
“Not yet it isn’t, unless you’re planning to elope with the man over the weekend.”
The nice thing about talking to Sandra was that she put things into perspective bluntly and with an effectiveness that was rare in most people.
“You’re right. I’m being silly.” Breanna loaded the dishes into the dishwasher, avoiding her mother’s scrutiny.
“Well, now, I didn’t say that,” Sandra commented thoughtfully. “I figure, if you’re already thinking about what that contractor of yours is going to mean to your kids, it’s not because you’re desperate for things to worry about.” She let out a grunt. “Must be some chemistry there.”
Breanna didn’t answer, but that didn’t stop Sandra from going on about it.
“Been a long time since you’ve dated and had a good time doing it,” Sandra said. “Don’t you let your son’s attitude ruin this for you. Why, he’d just as soon have you all to himself until he’s on Social Security. But the best thing you can do for him is to give him a happy mama.”
Having delivered her speech, Sandra gave the table one last buff, said, “Well, I guess that ought to do,” then threw the cloth onto the counter and walked out of the kitchen.
* * *
