More Than Neighbors (31 page)

“Well,” her son said reasonably, “they might be impressed. Like I was.”

“And they might decide I’m a hick, one-man operation, not up to their standards.”

“But all they have to do is look at your cabinets.” Mark sounded passionate.

Gabe slapped him lightly on the back. “You’re right.”

A few minutes later, Gabe suggested they ride tomorrow. Work on “reining”—whatever that was. High-speed stops and starts.

“You’re getting there,” he said, “but I want to be sure you can stick on Aurora’s back before I let you work a herd.”

“Okay!” Mark’s delight was obvious to Ciara, even when her back was turned.

They exchanged opinions on some country-music stars. She hadn’t realized Mark was listening to local stations. There was passing discussion about finding the volume of spheres. Apparently, Mark had been continuing in his geometry book on his own.

Gabe sat back in his chair and said, “Huh. Now, that one I might have to glance at the book for. It’s been a while, you know.”

“You sound like Mom,” Mark said with dissatisfaction.

“Bring the book with you next time you come.”

“Okay, if I can’t figure it out.”

Boom!
Something on the screen blew up. She didn’t even want to look to see how violent the game was. Surely Mom and Dad had paid attention to ratings.

“You weren’t fast enough,” Gabe observed, the undercurrent of amusement back in his voice. He didn’t sound horrified, so it couldn’t be too bad.

She stood across the kitchen, looking at the backs of their heads and felt...invisible.

Like a ghost, she drifted to the back door. Not even the sound of it opening brought either of those heads around. Only Daisy was interested. With a grunt, she struggled to her feet and accompanied her person outside.

Ciara hugged herself and walked a few steps toward the trees that sloped toward the creek. Daisy plodded beside her, squatting once, as well as her arthritic hips allowed, to pee.

Had both man and boy really forgotten she was there? she wondered, and doubted it. She couldn’t believe Gabe really gave a damn about a shoot-’em-up computer game.

He was making Mark happy, and that was what counted.

Her vision blurred as she looked straight ahead. What a fool she’d been to start something she’d
known
wouldn’t go anywhere! Gabe’s signals were clear. She should be grateful he wasn’t cutting Mark off, too. Maybe...maybe she’d go back to sending goodies along with Mark and quit inviting Gabe to dinner. It was too hard having him here. She didn’t have to torture herself.

The back door opened behind her. She didn’t bother turning around.

“I’m taking off,” Gabe said. “Thank you for dinner.”

“You’re welcome.”

There was a long silence. He had to still be standing there, or she’d have heard the screen door slap shut.

But he said nothing more. The door did finally close, leaving her out there alone.

She kept walking. Somebody, long ago, had laid a couple of boards to span the distance between two stumps, forming a bench that would, in Western Washington with the never-ending rainfall, have long since rotted. Here, the boards were dry and cracked. She was careful to sit close to one of the stump supports.

She watched as Daisy contentedly wandered, sniffing the ground and tree trunks.

Ciara hugged herself tight, but after a while the peace of the early evening began to sink in. And the quiet. She couldn’t imagine ever living anywhere again with the constant noise of traffic.

The conversation she’d eavesdropped on ran again in her head.

You sound like Mom.
Useless, was what he meant. He
might
not have said that if he’d remembered she was in earshot...but he might just as well have.

Except...she found herself thinking about some of the other things he’d said. Telling Gabe that anyone seeing him at work would be impressed.
Like I was.
That was what her son had said, so simply. Demonstrating that he understood what Gabe needed to hear. Which was—unprecedented.

No, she thought, frowning, it really wasn’t. She’d been surprised more than once lately when he read cues he once wouldn’t have known existed. Tonight, the whole conversation had sounded so...normal.

She winced at using a word Gabe had dismissed. And of course he’d been right, but it was also true that Mark had made huge strides lately toward...okay, not seeming so overtly
different
.

Her arms loosened and she gazed, unseeing, at the rear of the house. This realization about Mark connected with the similar one she’d had about Bridget, and she thought,
What Mark’s done is mature
.

And it also hit her, out of the blue, that he wasn’t much like Bridget at all. And of course that was what she’d been telling herself and any school officials who dared to try to put a label on him...but she thought now her denial had been too vehement. Gabe was right. She had been burying her fear that he
was
like Bridget.

Mark, Ciara thought, was no more dependent on her than any other kid his age would have been. He was intellectually gifted enough; she couldn’t possibly give him what he needed in the way of schooling. There wasn’t a reason in the world Mark wouldn’t go to college, be successful there, have a career, a girlfriend, probably a wife and possibly children.

She’d known all that in one way—but not in another.

In her fear and denial, she could have crippled him, she thought with stunning clarity. There were undoubtedly good reasons to homeschool, but hers hadn’t been the right ones, nor did she love teaching for its own sake.

She sat there feeling so much, some of it contradictory, that she doubted she could have moved even if she’d heard Mark screaming. It was all knotted up in her. Ciara had a bad feeling it was going to take her a long time to untangle this muddle of joy and grief and sense of inadequacy and stupidity and, yes, relief.

One thing she did know—it was time she talked to Mark about what
he
wanted. She had a bad feeling she never really had. She’d yanked him out of school in the furious belief that, above all else, protecting him was the right thing to do.

It was probably another twenty minutes before she stood, imagining that her bones and joints creaked when she straightened, even though of course they didn’t, and returned to the house. When she stepped into the kitchen, Mark, of course, was still utterly engrossed in his game.

It might have been the sound of the door closing, or the click of Daisy’s claws, but he did turn. “Can I have another piece of pie?”

“You’re
already
hungry?”

He didn’t dignify that with an answer. He was always hungry.

“Why not? Bring it to the table, why don’t you. I want to talk to you about something, if you can take a break from your game.”

He already had the refrigerator open. “Do you want some?”

She almost shuddered. “No, thanks.”

Daisy followed, settling with a heavy exhalation under the table close enough to sigh and rest her chin on Ciara’s foot. Ciara leaned down to scratch her head.

A minute later, Mark plopped down across from her. Watson had followed, of course, probably hoping for handouts. She saw that Mark had put a scoopful of vanilla ice cream on top of his pie. Well, if anyone could afford the calories, it was a boy his age, who seemed to be stretching out before her eyes. When Watson put his paws on Mark’s lap and eased upward, Mark automatically fended him off with an elbow.

“What I wanted to talk to you about is school,” she said. “I’ve been wondering how you’d feel about trying eighth grade at the middle school here.”

His mouth fell open. “But you said—”

“I know what I said. But I want to know what
you
think.”

He poked at his pie with his fork. “Well...doing the worksheets and stuff has been kind of boring.”

“I think we can improve on that, if we decide to stick with the homeschooling. With the move and trying to take on more commissions with work, I took the easy way out, knowing we only had to get through two months to finish the year. But...” She hesitated. “I’m wondering if you don’t need to be around other kids. If you were really into sports, we could sign you up for teams, but—”

He grimaced.

She smiled at that, even though she didn’t really feel like it. “It might help that you’ve already met some of the local kids,” she suggested tentatively. “I know Jacob and Will and even Jennifer are younger, but some of the kids you hung out with at the cutting-horse competition were your age, weren’t they?”

“Yeah. Most of them don’t go to Goodwater schools, though.” He frowned. “I think Brandon does. And...some girl. I can’t remember her name.”

Ciara nodded. “Well, at least you wouldn’t be a total stranger to everyone. Especially if, well, Gabe takes you to any more events like that this summer.”

“He said he would.” Mark hesitated. “The schools in Goodwater are, like, all together, you know. I mean, they all use the same playing fields and stuff. So I could take high school math classes. And biology, I bet.” His voice was gaining experience.

She, too, had noticed the schools were clustered, logical when class sizes were so small.

“There might still be kids who are jerks,” she reminded him.

He ducked his head. “You mean, because they think I’m weird or something.”

“No, because they’re jerks,” she said, almost steadily.

He hunched his shoulders. “Yeah, well.”

“Mark, this decision is going to be yours. I will do my absolute best as your teacher, if that’s what you want to do. But if you’d prefer to enroll in school here, that’s okay, too.” She managed a smile. “I won’t be insulted, I promise.”

He stared at her. “Well...what do
you
think?”

Oh, he had to ask.

“I guess,” she began slowly, thinking about things Gabe had said and knowing he was right, “I do think you should give it a try. You need friends. Teachers who have different styles, different ways of looking at things. You know?”

He nodded.

“It’s...actually Gabe who has convinced me that part of growing up is learning to work with other people.” She had to give him his due. “To make friends, to deal with people who don’t like you or who you don’t like. It may be harder for you than it is for some kids—” She held up a hand at his expression “—
not
because you’re weird. Just because that isn’t your strength. You were smarter than most of the kids in your classes, weren’t you?”

After a minute, he nodded again.

“Some kids are athletic but lousy students. Some are good in one subject, not another.”

“Like Gabe. ’Cuz he didn’t read very well.”

“Right. Some are shy, some outgoing. Hardly anybody is well-liked by everyone. But most jobs require you to work with other people. Gabe and I are exceptions, being self-employed
and
working alone. With your interests, you seem more likely to end up working in a lab, or even becoming a college professor. So...that’s what I think. But I meant it when I said the decision is yours. And deciding to homeschool for another year doesn’t mean you can’t enroll as a freshman here in Goodwater. By then, you might really have made friends.”

His face went through gyrations as he thought.

Ciara smiled. “And you don’t have to make up your mind right this minute. We have the rest of the summer.”

“No,” he said. “I don’t have to think. I want to try. Unless, I don’t know, something happens this summer.”

Like some boys who would be classmates giving him a hard time. She nodded her understanding.

“All right.” She held up her right hand, and he gave it a high five.

“Cool! I can hardly wait to tell Gabe.” He leaped up. “Maybe I’ll go call him now. And Jennifer, too.”

“You call anybody you want,” she said with a laugh, hiding her pain, “
after
you load your plate in the dishwasher. You may note the kitchen is already clean.”

His head turned. “Oh. Sure.” With a few clatters and bangs, he complied. Before he could reach for the phone, she started upstairs.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

G
ABE HUNG UP
the phone, trying to decide what this meant. Ciara had been so adamant about shielding Mark from the bullies of the world. She’d been so defensive, he hadn’t thought she’d easily change her mind. And he’d been afraid her sister’s visit would, if anything, reinforce her fears.

So—what had happened?

Mom said it was
you
who convinced her. You know, that I need friends, and that I have to learn to work with other people.

Thanks to his ill-chosen words, she’d been pissed when he suggested as much. Although she’d also said she would think about it.

In his experience, angry people didn’t usually mean that—but it appeared she had.

Damn, he thought. Would she listen now if he were to apologize? But thinking about her pleasant, noncommittal expression during dinner, her tendency not to meet his eyes, he had a bad feeling the answer was no.

The bad feeling got worse when, two days later, Mark showed up to work on his second box with something in his hand.

“Cookies,” he said, handing over the lidded plastic container. “White chocolate chip with pecans.”

Gabe didn’t move, only looked at the container. Ciara hadn’t sent goodies this way since she started inviting him to dinner. She gave him cookies, homemade bread and leftovers in person now.

He closed his eyes momentarily. She hadn’t had to write a note to send a crystal-clear message. Those dinner invitations were going to come as seldom as Mark would let her get away with.

“What’s wrong?” Mark asked, sounding anxious.

Crap
. Gabe thought a few other words, too, ones he wouldn’t have said aloud in front of a kid.

“Nothing,” he said. “Let’s get to work.” He set the cookies aside without so much as peeling off the top to inhale the sweetness.

* * *

C
IARA WAS SCRUBBING
out the refrigerator when Mark wandered into the kitchen. Carefully setting in place the glass shelf she’d just washed in the sink, she let her gaze linger on the sight of white athletic socks on skinny ankles. The two new pairs of jeans she’d bought that day at Costco weren’t enough. With a sigh, she bumped the refrigerator door shut with one hip.