“Don’t.” He turned away and pressed his face into the pillow, as if to hide from her. She noticed his knuckles again.
“Can I get ice for your hand?”
“No.” He looked up at her, his eyes desolate. “I know you hate me. I’m a shitty son.”
“No, you’re not. I love you, David.”
“I should leave you alone, quit messing up your life….”
“My life is fine. It’s yours that needs some work.”
“I belong with my dad. I miss him so much.”
“You hardly knew him, David.” She fought the panic that always arose when he brought up Skip. David wanted to run from what he’d done, so he’d jumped to his imaginary perfect father as his escape hatch.
“We used to have fun.” He hesitated. “Was he mad at me? Because of that fire in his apartment I started? And now I did it again. Started another fire. I’m such a loser.” His face crumpled and he began to cry.
“It was an accident, David. And the fire at Skip’s was not your fault.” She’d thought David had forgotten that. He’d been barely five. Her heart lurched. “Skip should never have left you alone. I should never have left you with him.”
She’d known better than to trust Skip for an entire weekend, but she’d had a last-minute commercial shoot in LA, and no place else for David to stay.
“You were trying to make oatmeal.” But he’d put a metal bowl in the microwave, which sparked and set off a fire. Luckily, neighbors heard the smoke alarm and called 9-1-1.
“We were lucky you weren’t hurt.” She’d never forget the terror she’d felt pulling up to the apartment to find fire trucks and police parked there, then the sight of David sitting on the bumper of an ambulance, wrapped in a blanket, his eyes blank with shock.
“I remember the alarm screeching and screeching and how bad the smoke smelled, then a fireman pulling me out from under the bed.”
They’d told her it was common for children to hide from a fire they’d lit.
“Is that why he never invited me over again?” David demanded now, his eyes wild. “He didn’t forgive me for that?”
“You did nothing wrong. He was playing poker instead of keeping you safe. He knew it was his fault. After that we moved to Phoenix, remember?” David had had nightmares for weeks and clung to her at night. Christine had left Skip and his bad habits in Albuquerque. Skip had neither objected nor asked for visitation rights. He knew he didn’t deserve them.
“This time it’s all on me,” David said, desperation in his eyes. “I was so stupid. I hate myself.”
“It was an accident, David. No one was hurt. We’ll get through this. We’ll fix it. We’ll rebuild the damaged rooms. You’ll help. You can hammer nails or paint. Whatever is needed.” It would be cheaper if the commune residents did the construction themselves for sure. She might have to fight Aurora to even do that. “And you’ll try harder around here—be better, do better, right?”
He nodded, still miserable. Maybe David’s horror over what he’d done would jolt him into changing, or was that also excessive optimism on her part? She thought of something else. “You and Marcus have been talking, right? What about if you get his ideas on how to do better? Talk with him?”
“You mean be his patient?”
“Not in a formal way, no.” Marcus wouldn’t want that. But their talks could be more directed, more purposeful, with David fully involved in the process. “You would discuss your problems and he’d suggest ways to do better. Would you do that? Talk to him? Get serious about it?”
“Marcus is okay, so I guess.”
“I’ll ask him then. We’ll figure it all out tomorrow. Get some sleep now, all right?” This time when she touched his hair, he didn’t turn his head away. She smoothed the locks away from the bump. “The swelling’s going down. You won’t have a scar.”
At least not on the outside. She hoped Marcus would agree to more talks. David needed all the help he could get.
Marcus… His name made her go hot and cold all over. He’d been her rock tonight, comforting her, reassuring her.
And before that? They’d been in bed. She couldn’t believe that mere hours before David got drunk, started a fire and tried to run away, she’d been blissfully making love, acting as if she hadn’t a care or concern in the world.
There was a lesson there. Clearly, they had to stop. The sex had been lovely…heavenly…achingly good, but it was over, especially now that she would ask Marcus to spend even more time with David. Believing David was better, she’d allowed herself to be selfish and shortsighted. Marcus had figured it out, she realized, suggesting they think about it. He wanted to let her down gently. Sex was not worth the risk, not even sex so good the thought of never having it again made her almost cry.
As he’d worked, he’d felt the painful déjà vu of breaking into Nathan’s bathroom, finding him slumped against the tub, his skin gray, the needle still in his hand, the belt around his upper arm. While Nathan had been giving himself a lethal injection of drugs, Marcus had been oblivious, working at his computer. He would never forgive himself. Never.
Marcus shook himself clear of dark regrets. Now, in the sunlight of the present, David was unharmed. And there was work to be done. That was where he should focus.
“Oh, dear. It’s bad, huh?” Christine asked, surveying all that Marcus had brought onto the terrace to dry—furniture, books, papers, clothes, his computer, the mattress on its side, too wet to salvage.
“It could be worse,” he said, rubbing his eyes, which felt as though they’d been scraped by sandpaper from smoke and lack of sleep. “It’s mostly water damage. The walls got ripped up pretty good. The smoke smell should fade. I haven’t tried the computer, but it’s pretty wet. The books will dry. I can get copies of most of the research.” The pages and files had been soaked, trampled and torn. “My net book survived so I can keep working.”
“What about your guitar?” David asked, looking at the case braced against the wall.
“Safe and dry. How about yours?”
“I had it in the truck, so it’s okay.” He hung his head, evidently feeling guilty about his attempt to run away.
“Can we help you?” Christine asked.
“Want me to carry out more stuff?” David asked.
“I’ve got it, David. Go ahead and start on your room.”
David nodded glumly, then turned for next door.
Christine followed Marcus into his room. “We’ll pay for everything you lost. I feel so bad we did this to you.”
He shook his head. “The computer’s outdated. Nothing else is worth replacing. I brought very little here.”
“I have to do something, Marcus.”
“It’s all right. I have what I need and a place to stay. No real harm done.” He wanted to take her into his arms to reassure her, except David was nearby.
“Mitch and Louis have worked construction, so they’re going to give me an estimate on supplies. If we do all the labor, with their help, it shouldn’t be too expensive.” She bit her lip.
He wished he could slow the churn of her worries. Hell, he wanted to hold her again. So much for taking time to think about it. Just seeing her made him want to make love with her. “How are you feeling? Did you sleep?”
“Not much. You?” Their voices held the tenderness that came from physical intimacy and closeness.
“Not bad. How did your talk with David go?”
“Surprisingly well,” she said, brightening a little. “He’s agreed to work on the repairs and to try harder. Perhaps I’m being excessively optimistic again, but he seems motivated this time.”
“That would be a reasonable reaction.”
“Actually, Marcus, I have another favor to ask you. I know that sounds outrageous after what we did to you—but…well, it’s important.” She searched his face, her eyes hopeful and anxious.
“Yes?”
“I asked David if he would talk with you about his problems. Not like a session or anything. I know you don’t want that. But more direct and specific than before. And he’ll take your advice, he says. Is that okay with you?”
She wanted him to go deeper with David, uncomfortably close to therapy. Feeling as he did about the boy, Marcus no longer had a shred of professional neutrality. “You might be happier with a formal therapeutic relationship. Now that David’s willing to work on his issues, the therapist could create a full treatment plan and truly—”
“But he trusts you, Marcus. And we’ll be leaving soon. Starting new with a therapist doesn’t seem smart.”
Would he truly be able to help David or would his feelings blind him to the boy’s needs? He was now far too enmeshed in both their lives. If he wanted to back away, this was the time.
“Mom! Help!”
David’s shout brought them both running next door, where a set of bookshelves had toppled onto his back and shoulders. He was struggling to hold them up. Marcus and Christine lifted the shelves away.
David stood, looking shaken and pale.
“Are you hurt?” Christine asked, a black streak on her cheek from grappling with the charred shelves.
“No,” he said, rubbing the back of his head. In his other hand he held a photo in a blackened frame, the glass cracked. David and a girl. Brigitte, no doubt.
“Let me see,” Christine said, checking his skull through his hair.
David pulled away. “It’s okay. I’m fine. Just quit.”
Watching the two of them, Marcus’s heart went tight. They looked like war refugees, lost and shaken and scared. He would do whatever he could to help them, no questions asked. “Your mother tells me you’d like to talk with me,” he said.
David’s gaze shot to his. “Yeah, I guess. If you want.”
“This has to be something
you
want. For yourself. Not to appease your mother or out of guilt.”
David considered that for a moment. “I want to be…a better person. So, yeah, I want that.”
Christine heaved a relieved breath.
“Then we’ll start tomorrow,” he said, hoping to hell he was doing the right thing. He’d sworn to do no harm. Could he do some good? He wanted to very much. More than he’d wanted anything in a long time.
Bogie stopped his soft whistling and smiled. “Hey, girl. You doing okay after last night?”
“I’m fine. It’s the house I’m worried about. We made quite a mess of it.”
“It’s nothing we can’t handle. No worries about that.”
She smiled. Bogie did make her feel better, even if he was completely wrong. “I want to get it fixed up. And I talked to the guys who know construction—Mitch and Louis?—and they said it won’t be too difficult.” About three grand in lumber, wiring, insulation, wallboard, plaster and paint. “I’d like to get started right away while they’re still here. I figure we can let some chores slide a bit, borrow people for the labor. If we have to, we can hire extra help, too.”
“What does Aurora say about that?” he asked, rearranging some seedlings in small clay pots on the slats of wood.
“That’s where I hope you can help. We kind of argued about it already.”
“Aurora can get scratchy about changes. Why don’t you take a look at those anemones you planted.” He pointed down the row. She walked over and saw slivers of green poking up in every square. “They’re coming up!” She felt ridiculously proud, though she knew it was just nature doing its thing. Trees sprouted from sidewalks, for God’s sake. She’d merely picked the place and offered soil and water. Still, it seemed so brave of the seed to send up a shoot, come what may. “That is so cool.”
“Make sure the soil’s damp, not soggy now.” These minor miracles were everyday events for Bogie in his greenhouse.
She checked. “It feels right.”
“When the leaves touch, we’ll thin them out. These lilies are ready to go into bigger containers. How about we repot them? Grab me three of the mediums.” He gestured to the stacks of graduated containers.
She brought them over. “So what about Aurora? How do I approach her? Or should we buy the supplies and go for it?”
Bogie didn’t answer, just gently shook the lily out of its clay pot. “See how the roots are twisted and crammed together? It’s maxed itself out.”
“Yeah, I see that.” She forced herself to calm down and focus on what he was showing her.
“Always use the very next size up. Not too big or the plant exhausts itself absorbing food and water.” Bogie braced the plant in one of the pots she’d brought, then nodded for her to pour in his special formulation of loam, peat and sharp sand.
They repotted the rest together, working in peaceful silence. “Did I do this one okay?” she asked him.
Bogie nodded. “You did it just right.”
“You always were a good teacher.” She remembered he’d been so patient with her and the other kids, tolerant of silliness and mischief. He’d taught her to pick strawberries without bruising them and to set the irrigation tubes in the big fields.
“I just show what I know.” He shrugged, finishing the last lily. “Aurora won’t let you spend your savings on this, you know that. She’s got plenty of cash.”
“But it’s our responsibility, Bogie. We—” She stopped. “What do you mean, plenty of cash? We’re bringing in more from the clay works, but I don’t see that as
plenty.
”
“From her parents. When her mother passed, an attorney tracked Aurora down with quite a pile of dough. She didn’t want to take it, but I said we might need it for emergencies. I was right, what with her heart surgery and all. But there’s thousands left.”
“
Thousands?
Why hasn’t she spent any of it on the commune? I mean, at least paint the house. Fix the plumbing, the wiring, put in some landscaping. Harmony House could be so much more appealing. You said you wanted more residents, right?”
Bogie stopped working and looked at her closely. “Is that what you want, Crystal? To fix up the place?”
“Me? I don’t know. I’d love to improve things. Who wouldn’t?” She remembered joking with Marcus about what fixes she’d need to stay here. Then she realized what Bogie might be asking. “Wait. It’s not my soul’s work or anything, if that’s what you mean, but it would be fun for sure.”
She’d love to give Harmony House a fresh face. Abruptly, she remembered Winston talking about “experience” vacations. Harmony House would be perfect for that—
experience life in the oldest continuously inhabited commune in the west.
Travelers would eat that up. Especially a new and improved commune. One with clean towels and hot showers.
Her advertiser’s brain was spinning with plans. They would place ads in travel venues, pitch themselves to travel agencies and travel writers…. This could be great.
Then reality set in. “Aurora would never go for it,” Christine said. “She had a conniption over buying a computer, which, by the way, she never leaves alone now.”
“Your mother listens when you say something she believes in her heart, but won’t let into her head.” He deftly pushed some seeds into a flat of potting soil. “How do you think I talked her into keeping the money in the first place?”
Hmm. So Bogie knew how to work around Aurora after all.
“Of course, doing all that construction and painting and landscaping will take more time,” he said, shooting her a wily look. “That might appeal to your mother.”
Uh-oh. More time would not work. David had school and she had her job…. But if they started immediately, it should be easy to make her mid-August departure time.
“If this is right, you’ll find a way.” He looked her straight in the eye, no humble ducking or shuffling at all. Bogie had surprised her. Maybe her mother would, too.