The Rebuilding Year (26 page)

Ryan was sitting at the breakfast table, struggling with the intricacies of the adrenal hormones, two books and a chart open in front of him, when John came back in from taking out the trash and sat at the table across from him. Ryan looked up, and then slid his books to one side. “Problem?”

“No. I just…parenting is the most important job there is, and you have to fly by the seat of your pants.”

I like the seat of your pants.
Ryan kept the joke to himself, and searched for something supportive to say. “It’s early days yet. And Mark doesn’t seem actively unhappy. He showed me his math quiz. He got a B+.”

“Really? He didn’t tell me.” John brightened but then frowned. “How come he talks to you more than to me?”

“I matter less?” Ryan speculated.

A clatter of teenage feet on the stairs heralded the wonder boy himself. Ryan and John watched as Mark went straight to the fridge, grabbed a coke, and then turned back to the stairs. But this time he hesitated, and came back toward them. He sat at the table, and cracked open the pop top.

“Coke. Breakfast of champions,” Ryan quipped.

Mark winced instead of smiling.
Okay, then.

“So, John,” Ryan said, “do you want to do the grocery run or shall I?”

“Do you have time? I thought you had an exam.”

“Monday. It’s Saturday. Not even a crack student like me can study for forty-eight hours straight. I have time.”

“Thanks. I hate those freaking carts,” John said, faking ease. “I took out a display of Christmas window clings with the front end of the cart last time.”

“Which tells me how long it’s been since you did the shopping,” Ryan said. “Mark, anything you want me to get?”

Mark shook his head, but then said, “I have a question.”

“Sure,” Ryan offered.

“What should you do,” Mark began slowly, “if you think someone is doing drugs?”

Ryan turned to John.
Definitely a real-parent question.
“That depends,” John said. “It’s different depending if it’s pot or meth, and if it’s a friend or just someone you know.”

“Not pot, Dad, Jesus, I’m not that much of a ween. I’m not sure what drug, really. And his good friends don’t seem to be worried.”

“That’s hard,” John said. “If you like this guy and you can talk to him, maybe that’s the first step. Find out what he’s on, see if there’s a chance he wants help. Or talk to his other friends, see why they aren’t doing anything for him. But be careful. You don’t want to get mixed up with that stuff. Is this someone I know?”

“Uh-uh. Just a guy at school. But I like him, and I don’t want to see him go down.”

“If it’s meth, he needs help now. That stuff is nearly impossible to kick once you start. Otherwise…you have to decide if the teachers or his parents would be able to help.”

“I can’t tell anyone. He’d never speak to me again.” Mark sighed. “I wish I knew what to do.”

“Even adults have a hard time dealing with addiction issues. We get a whole semester class on it,” Ryan offered. “Be there, talk to him, but don’t get sucked in.”

Mark nodded silently, but he didn’t get up. He sat sipping his soda, gazing out the window. He seemed more at ease and Ryan felt his spirits rise.

“Hey, kid,” he said. “Why don’t you come along to the store? We can sneak in some more Oreos and Ho Ho’s and stuff on your dad’s dime.”

John kicked him, and then hesitated as his cell phone rang. Ryan saw John’s face get stiff, like a mask, as he glanced at the display and flipped it open, and guessed even before the man said, “What is it, Cynthia?”

The woman had taken to calling every day for a report on Mark, and what seemed like a nasty and prolonged rant at John. Ryan wished John would just cut her off. But the man’s innate courtesy or maybe lingering guilt apparently wouldn’t let him do that.

“You are?” John’s voice was wary. “Now?” He paused. “Okay. I guess I can’t stop you. Yes, he’s here.” But he hung up the phone instead of passing it to Mark, as Ryan expected. John muttered something like a curse under his breath. “Your mother’s at the airport,” he told Mark. “She’ll be here in an hour.”

Mark leapt to his feet, his chair crashing to the floor. “I’m not going back with her. She can’t make me. I’ll just run away again.”

John winced.

“Mark.” Ryan nailed the kid with a look. “Pick up your chair and sit.” He waited until Mark cautiously complied. “You’re right,” he told the boy firmly. “You’re not going back with her if you don’t want to. Neither your dad nor I will let that happen.” He turned to John and raised an eyebrow.
Your ball.

“She’s decided she just wants to see you,” John said. “She doesn’t feel right making important choices about your future over the phone.”

“She’ll try to make me say I’ll come home. I mean, back to LA. I don’t want to see her.”

“I’m sorry, Son. I can’t just tell her to go away.”

“Fuck that.”

“It won’t be easy, but if you really want to stay here, you need to be able to look your mother in the eye and say, ‘I love you but I want to live with my father.’ She needs to hear it from you and really know that it’s your choice. Can you do that?”

Mark kicked at the cabinet with the toe of his sneaker. “Is
he
with her?”

“I didn’t ask.”

“I definitely don’t want to see
him
.”

“We’ll be here with you,” John said. “You don’t have to do this alone. But if you’re making adult choices, you’re going to have to stand up to them.”

Mark looked down and nodded slowly.

“So,” Ryan said, “we have an hour. Does anyone have an uncontrollable urge to clean the bathroom?”

“Do we have to?” Mark whined.

“Better cleaning than brooding. We’ll get the Sunday cleanup done a day early. And I don’t want Carlisle seeing this place in a mess if he shows up.”

“I’ll get the dishes and the kitchen,” John volunteered.

“I guess I said the word bathroom,” Ryan feigned dismay, but he actually wanted his hands busy. “Mark, the vacuum is calling your name.”

Ryan was scrubbing the sink when the doorbell rang. He scowled down at the porcelain, which didn’t reflect his face because the enamel was forty freaking years old, and should have been replaced twenty of those years ago. The rust stains were
not
coming off.

He straightened and put his supplies away in the cabinet. Then he slowly made his way downstairs. John was at the door. Mark appeared to be lurking in the kitchen. From the sound of the voices, Carlisle had come along with Cynthia. Then Ryan heard John say, “Torey! Hey, sweetheart, it’s good to see you!”

He came down the last steps as John swept his daughter up in a hug. Torey spotted Ryan as her father put her down, and ran up to him. “Ryan!” Her arms wrapped around him too, and he hugged her back with a smile.

“Hey, princess, I like the hair.”

“What about her hair?” John said.

Ryan grinned at her, “Highlights, right? He won’t notice unless you dye it green.”

A woman’s voice said, “I don’t think we’ve been introduced.”

Ryan looked up to get his first glimpse of John’s ex-wife. Of course, he’d seen the woman in photos around the house. But she looked more fragile, less self-assured, in person. Or maybe that was the effect of a long trip and the slight bulge of her stomach around the baby she carried.

“Ryan Ward,” he said, not holding out his hand given the lack of space in the crowded entry hall. “You must be Cynthia. Come on in and sit down. Can I get you something? Water maybe, or hot tea?”

“Um.” She eyed him.

“Yes,” John said. “Everyone come on in and sit down.” He led the way into the living room and directed Cynthia toward the biggest chair. She eased down into it with what was probably an involuntary sigh. The tall blond man whom Ryan was assuming was Carlisle sat on the arm of her chair. Possessive, or looking for the high ground? John perched uneasily on the edge of the couch. Ryan made his bid for status by sitting in the recliner, low and at ease, knees apart. Position of confidence. The posturing would have been funny, if the kids weren’t caught up in it.

Speaking of.
“Hey, Mark,” he called. “As long as you’re in the kitchen, get your mother a bottled water, and then come on out here.”

Mark appeared after a moment, water bottle in his hand and a mulish look on his face. Torey spotted him, and dropped quickly onto the open seat beside their father. Mark perforce handed his mother the bottle and sat stiffly in the wingback. There was a moment where they all just looked at each other.

Then Cynthia cleared her throat. “So, Marcus, how are you?”

”I’m fine.”

“I…we, your father and I, wanted to talk to you.” Her gesture indicated Carlisle, and Mark’s brows drew in further.

“Stepfather.”

“You need to listen to your mother,” Carlisle snapped. “She’s been very worried.”

John shifted in his seat. “Listen, I think we all need to be calm about this. And I wonder if Torey shouldn’t maybe go watch TV or something. This is really about Mark.”

“No way,” Torey said. “I want to come and live here with you too.”

Ryan choked. Cynthia glared at John. “You see?” Her voice was shrill. “You took my son, and now you want to steal my daughter.”

“No one’s stealing anything. I didn’t take Mark, you lost him. Anyway, getting mad isn’t going to make things easier.”

Carlisle turned to Torey. “You go upstairs, young lady. We’ll talk to you later.”

“No,” John said. “If she’s going to put herself in the middle of this, we might as well all be here together, let it all come out. But, Torey, we are going to talk about Mark first. Your turn will come later.”

“Mark’s always first,” she muttered, but she subsided into the cushions, eyes wary.

“So,” John said to Cynthia, “I assume you’re here because you want to hear Mark’s decision from him directly. So you can be sure that it’s the right choice.”

She was shaking her head. “It’s not. He should be home, going to a good private school, living with his parents and his sister, not here at some dinky public school, living in a boarding house.” She turned to glare at Ryan. “Speaking of which, why are you letting a stranger butt into our family business. You. Don’t you have something to do somewhere else?”

Ryan didn’t shift position, but he raised an eyebrow at John.
Your call.

John hesitated, and then said, “He lives here. He’s involved.”

“I don’t want him listening in,” Cynthia said.

“He’s no more a stranger than Brandon is.”

“What are you talking about? Brandon’s my husband.”

John took a deep breath. Ryan kept his eyes on the man, trying to give him whatever he needed.
I can go, I can stay, you play it your way, babe.

John said simply and clearly, “You brought Brandon into our family when you fell in love with him. I’m in love with Ryan.”

“You what?”

“I love him. I live with him.”

For once, Cynthia was silenced, her mouth opening and closing like a fish. Mark threw Ryan an odd smile. Ryan figured he was either enjoying seeing his mother flummoxed, or thinking this would take the heat off him and his decision.
Not likely. Think it through, boy.

Sure enough, the first words out of Carlisle’s mouth were, “Pack your stuff, Mark. You’re leaving now.”

“No way!” Mark sat back solidly in his chair. “I like it here and I’m not going.”

Cynthia found her voice. “You’re not staying here with that…pervert.” She pointed a trembling finger at Ryan.

“Now back off.” John’s voice was harder. “No name-calling. Ryan is my boyfriend, just like Brandon was yours.”

“And did he know you had a teenage son?” Cynthia demanded. “Did he suggest bringing Mark out here? Having a young boy in this house with the two of you?”

“Watch it,” John said. “Torey doesn’t need to know how your mind works. Ryan and me getting together has nothing to do with Mark living here. Except that it’s easier to care for a child in a household with two adults. Mark is my son. I would never do anything to hurt him.”

“How do I know that?”

John’s voice was rueful. “You’ve known me for twenty years, Cynthia. You don’t worry about Brandon with Torey, and you’ve only known him for four years.”

“Six,” Cynthia snapped with vicious satisfaction. Ryan could see the barb go home on John and did the math—a year and a half
before
the divorce.

Cynthia’s hands suddenly gripped the arm of the chair and her husband’s knee with white knuckles. Carlisle might have been rubbing her hand for comfort, but Ryan figured he was more likely trying to unclench her fingers from his flesh. “Oh God,” she said in a painful gasp. “Oh God, you’re gay! I was with you and you’re gay! The baby… I have to get AIDS tested…if you… You could have brought home anything.”

“Stop,” John said harshly. “Listen to me, Cynthia. You’re fine and the baby’s fine, at least on my part. I was never with anyone but you, before Ryan. Not anyone.”