Crossroads (8 page)

A moment later Mitch opened her door and reached down to take her hand, drawing her toward his uncle.

“Uncle Ray, I'd like you to meet Tess Lockwood. Tess, this is my uncle.”

He released her hand, and Uncle Ray engulfed her slender fingers in a work-worn grip. His voice was warm and welcoming when he spoke, and his cobalt-blue eyes were kindly—and as sharp and insightful as those of his nephew. “It's a pleasure to meet you, Tess. Mitch has told me quite a lot about you, and I've been looking forward to this weekend.”

She mulled over that nugget of information as she returned his greeting, trying to focus on the older man's words rather than the delicious memory of Mitch's hand momentarily holding hers. What exactly had Mitch told his uncle? Nothing bad, obviously, because the man appeared to be genuinely glad to make her acquaintance. In fact, more than glad. There was a gleam of interest in his eye that somehow seemed to go beyond mere hospitality. But before she could analyze it, he'd turned his attention to Bruce, who had gotten out of the car and now stood somewhat awkwardly behind the adults.

“And you must be Bruce. Mitch tells me you're new at school this semester. Must be hard, makin' that kind of transition in the middle of the year. Never did like changes, myself. But the good Lord just keeps dishin' 'em out. That's life, I expect, whether you're a senior in high school or a senior citizen like me. Hope you like farms.”

Bruce seemed somewhat taken aback by the older man's lengthy greeting. “Uh, yeah. I do.”

“Good. I'll show you around later. But first, let's get everybody settled.”

Tess found herself in the guest room, while Bruce was given the room once occupied by Uncle Ray's son. The older man planned to give Mitch his room, but his nephew insisted on taking the couch in the den.

Once they were all settled, they regrouped in the cheery country kitchen for lunch.

“I hope this is all right,” Uncle Ray said anxiously as he passed around the plates. “I'm not much versed in entertaining. That was always my wife's depart
ment, and since she passed on eight years ago, I haven't had many people over. 'Cept Mitch, of course. He's a regular. Best farmhand I ever had, matter of fact. And not too picky when it comes to eating. Good thing, too. My repertoire is limited. That's why I got some fancy store-bought food for lunch. I heard city folks like quiche.”

“Don't let him fool you,” Mitch warned, his eyes twinkling. “He makes a mean meat loaf. And the best beef stew I've ever tasted.”

“Can't take any credit for those,” Uncle Ray said as he eased himself into a chair at the head of the polished wooden table. “After Emma passed on, I got to craving some of her specialties, so I dug up her old cookbooks. Took some practice, but I finally mastered a few. Matter of fact, we're having one of my favorites tonight. Tuna casserole. Nothing fancy, but real tasty.”

“Bruce is a great fan of tuna anything,” Tess told him.

“Well, then I picked the right thing, I guess,” the older man said. “I've been partial to it myself since I was a teenager. How old are you, son?”

“Fourteen.”

“Is that right? I would have guessed sixteen.”

That seemed to please Bruce. “I'm tall for my age.”

“I'd say so. Probably top six feet by the time you stop growing. Why, you might even pass Mitch.”

That seemed to please him even more. “I'd like to be tall.”

“Why is that?”

Bruce shrugged. “People can't push you around as much if you're bigger than they are.”

Uncle Ray nodded thoughtfully. “I suppose that's true. Course, bein' tall isn't the only way to get respect. There was a man lived down the road a piece when I was younger. Couldn't have been more than five-five, five-six. And nobody ever pushed him around. Looked up to him, in fact.”

Bruce polished off the last bite of his quiche and looked at Uncle Ray with interest. “Why?”

“I suppose it was because he always did the right thing. And I mean
always.
Not to mention the fact that he lived by the golden rule. Never turned anybody away who was in need, and was always the first to help in times of trouble. Amazing thing, too, considering a lot of the people he helped weren't so nice to him when he was young. Called him ‘shorty' and ‘stubs' and lots of other things, from what I hear. Treated him pretty bad, sort of like an outcast.” Uncle Ray shook his head. “Kids can be real mean sometimes.”

Out of the corner of her eye Tess saw Bruce's nod of affirmation.

“But he never let it turn him bitter or spiteful or mean. He just went about his business, doing his best. Never gave anyone a lick of trouble, though I expect if he'd wanted to get even with some of the kids who were giving him a hard time, there were opportunities. But eventually all those boys grew up, and then they recognized what a fine person Roger was. The girls did, too, by the way. In fact, Roger married the prettiest girl in town and raised three fine sons. He passed on to his reward twenty, twenty-five years ago now,
but nobody who ever met him forgot him. And you know, when I think of him now, I remember him as one of the tallest men I ever knew.”

Bruce pondered that for a few moments. “It wasn't fair, what those guys did to him when he was young. He couldn't help being short.”

“That's a fact,” Uncle Ray agreed.

Mitch's uncle had hit on a theme that was near and dear to Bruce's heart. How many times had she heard the sometimes plaintive, sometimes bitter expression “But it's not fair” in the past few months? More than she could count. And considering the frown on her son's face right now, he was wrestling with the concept yet again. She wished she'd been able to come up with an explanation for the vagaries of the world, but in her heart she knew there wasn't one. Bottom line, that was just how life worked. So maybe Uncle Ray's response was best. Just acknowledge it rather than try to explain it. Bruce seemed to respect that.

“How about a tour of the farm, Uncle Ray?”

Mitch's voice broke the brief silence, and she smiled at the older man. “Yes, that would be lovely.”

“Mitch knows the place as well as I do. Why don't you two go on and we'll catch up with you? Me and Bruce are gonna have some more of that fancy quiche. What do you say, Bruce? It's pretty good for store-bought stuff.”

“Yes, sir.”

Tess stared at her son. She hadn't heard him call anyone “sir” in—well, not since they'd moved to St. Louis. Amazing.

Tess studied the older man as he rose to cut two more slices of quiche. He'd given little indication
since their arrival that he knew the extent of Bruce's problems. But Tess expected that Mitch had filled him in pretty thoroughly. And she also suspected that the casual conversation about fairness and respect might have been carefully orchestrated by Uncle Ray. Which impressed her.

But what impressed her even more was that Bruce was listening. For some reason, he seemed to have connected with Mitch's uncle. That wasn't exactly what she'd expected this weekend—nor hoped for, if she was honest—but if Bruce bonded with Uncle Ray rather than Mitch, so be it. As long as it helped him get his act together, she was all for it.

Uncle Ray returned to the table with two more loaded plates, and as Bruce began to ply the man with questions about the farm, Mitch grinned at Tess. “I don't think we'll be missed here. How about that tour?”

“Sounds good.”

As they stood, Uncle Ray looked up at them. “You two take your time. Bruce and I have plenty to talk about.”

Tess gave Mitch a “Do you believe this?” look and followed him outside. Neither spoke until the door was firmly closed behind them, at which point Mitch voiced her exact thoughts.

“I see signs of progress already.”

Tess looked up at him. “How in the world did your uncle do that?” she asked wonderingly as they strolled toward the barn.

Mitch shook his head. “If I knew that, I'd be ten times more successful with my students. He has an amazing ability to empathize with people. Young or
old, rich or poor, man or woman, he has this uncanny knack of knowing exactly the right things to say to draw people out. And he listens well. I hadn't really thought about him and Bruce clicking, but something is going on in there, that's for sure. In fact, I feel a bit like the odd man out,” he teased.

Tess smiled. “Hardly. If it wasn't for you, we'd be spending the holiday in a cramped apartment instead of this glorious place.” She paused at the edge of a field and leaned on the fence. The freshly turned earth was rich and dark, and a pond shimmered in the distance. Puffy white clouds billowed lazily in the deep blue sky, and the silence was interrupted only by an occasional bird call or the distant moo of a cow. She closed her eyes and lifted her face to the sun, feeling the tension melt away from her. “This is the perfect antidote for a weary soul,” she said with a sigh.

Mitch angled toward her and propped one arm on the fence. She looked at peace for the first time since he'd met her, he realized, as the bright, midday light turned the reddish highlights in her hair to glints of fire. The fine lines of strain around her eyes were dissolving under the caressing warmth of the sun, and he watched as she drew in a deep, cleansing breath. Since her eyes were still closed, he took the opportunity to let his gaze leisurely trace her upturned profile, drinking in the smooth brow, perfect nose, full lips, firm chin and the delicate, slender column of her throat. Her loveliness alone would attract any man, but coupled with what he already knew of her character, he couldn't help but think again what a fool her husband had been. Even if he'd married her for the wrong reasons, how could he have failed to eventu
ally realize what a treasure he'd found? And how could he not love the son she'd borne out of their union? It boggled his mind.

And it made him angry. Very angry. Bruce's father had hurt his son in ways that Mitch could clearly discern. And in throwing away the love of the special woman who now stood beside him, her husband had hurt her in ways that Mitch could only begin to imagine. Ways he wished with all his heart he could erase.

Tess chose that moment to open her eyes, and the expression on Mitch's face made her heart stop, then race on. He was gazing at her with such intense tenderness that it took her breath away. No one had ever looked at her like that, as if she was someone precious to be cherished and protected. Her lips parted in surprise, and she unconsciously lifted her hand to her throat.

At her movement, Mitch very deliberately—and with obvious difficulty—altered his expression from tenderness to simple friendliness. She watched his Adam's apple bob convulsively, and his voice was noticeably husky when he spoke.

“We haven't made much progress on our tour. Come on, I'll show you the barn.”

He took her arm as they traversed the uneven ground, and Tess hoped he wouldn't feel the tremors that ran through her. Maybe they hadn't seen much of the farm, but she'd learned a lot more than she'd bargained for a few moments ago, when she'd turned to him and caught his unguarded expression.

Tess wasn't very worldly. She hadn't had much experience with men other than her husband, and she'd been out of the dating game for a very long
time. But she knew enough to recognize when a man was interested. And Mitch was definitely interested.

The question was, did he intend to pursue his interest? And if so, how was she going to handle it? Because unless he and Bruce established a truce, any involvement she had with the boy's enemy could make her son bond more closely with the gang that had become his adopted family. And that could only lead to disaster.

Tess's spirits took a nosedive. Her current dilemma confirmed what she already knew. Life was filled with difficult choices. And as Bruce had recently discovered, it often wasn't fair.

“H
ey, Uncle Ray, that ship-in-a-bottle is cool! Where did you get it?” Bruce handed the older man his glasses, which he'd volunteered to fetch from the bedroom, then sat beside him in front of the computer in the den.

Uncle Ray took the glasses and adjusted them on his nose as he turned on the computer. “My son, Jeff, made that for me many years ago.”

“No kidding! How did he get all those big pieces in there?”

“With a great deal of patience and skill. He was good at that kind of thing. Would have made a fine surgeon, I think. That's what he wanted to be.”

There was a momentary pause, and when Bruce spoke again his voice was tentative. “On the way down here I heard Mr. Jackson tell Mom that he got killed in Vietnam.”

“That's right.”

“You must have been real sad.”

Uncle Ray took off his glasses and swiveled away from the computer to look directly at Bruce. He studied the boy for a moment, as if debating how to respond. “That's a fair statement, son. It's real hard when someone you love dies, especially when they're so young. And when it didn't have to be.”

Bruce frowned. “What do you mean?”

Uncle Ray sighed and carefully set his glasses next to the computer. “I was once a very stubborn man, Bruce,” he said quietly. “After I made up my mind about something, I couldn't see things any other way. That's how it was about that war. When I was growing up, young men went to war when they were called. Maybe they didn't like it, but they went anyway, because it was the right thing to do. But Jeff didn't see it that way. Not for that war, anyway. He didn't believe in what we were doing in Vietnam. In fact, he felt so strongly about it that he wanted to go to Canada to avoid the draft.”

“Could he have done that?”

“Yes. Some young men did.”

“Was that wrong?”

Uncle Ray gazed into the distance. “I thought so at the time. And I told Jeff so. Plus a lot of other things. I told him that he was being unpatriotic. That I'd always thought he had guts, but I wasn't so sure anymore. And that I was ashamed of him.”

The answer was plain, straightforward and painfully honest, given without excuses and unsparing in its harshness. But the raw regret and deep sadness in the older man's voice eloquently communicated his anguish. Instinctively Bruce reached over and touched his arm.

Uncle Ray looked at Bruce and laid his work-worn fingers over the boy's hand. “I'm sure you can guess the rest, son. Jeff loved me so much he couldn't bear for me to be ashamed of him. So he put aside his own convictions and went when he was drafted. He was only over there two weeks when we got word he'd been killed in an ambush in the jungle.”

Bruce's voice was hushed when he spoke. “I'm sorry, Uncle Ray.”

The older man patted his hand. “Thank you, son. I am, too. I still miss Jeff every day, even after all these years. And I still regret that he never got to be that surgeon. Could have done a lot of good for a lot of people, I think. It was such a waste.” He sighed and shook his head. “Took me a long time to learn to live with myself after that. Had a lot of conversations with the Lord about it. Didn't seem fair, him gone, me still here, when it was my mistake. 'Cause the fact is, I was wrong about that war.”

Bruce looked at him curiously. “It's kind of weird to hear an adult admit they're wrong.”

Uncle Ray smiled gently. “Let me tell you something, Bruce. Admitting mistakes, having the courage to say you're wrong, is a sign of growing up. Trouble is, a lot of people never learn to do that. Or they learn too late. Like me. I didn't get a second chance with my mistake. But lots of times people do, and if we're smart, the next time we do better.”

“I guess everybody makes mistakes,” Bruce said slowly, his brow creased with a frown.

“That's a fact. Important thing is to learn from them.” Uncle Ray picked up his glasses and settled
them back on his nose. “Okay, that's enough heavy stuff for today. Let's surf.”

 

“Man, he is one cool dude.”

Tess gave the spaghetti sauce one final stir and turned to Bruce. Instead of the perennial scowl he'd worn for the past few months, his face was animated and eager. Uncle Ray had certainly made an impression. Bruce had talked of little else since their visit to the farm a week before.

“What's the latest?”

Bruce straddled a kitchen chair. “He just sent me an e-mail about this great Web site he found on the Pilgrims, to help me with the research for my history paper. Did you know that they landed at Plymouth Rock because they ran out of beer?”

Tess chuckled. “Can't say that I did. Are you sure about that?”

“Yeah. The Web page has part of a journal from the ship, and it says they had to land because they ran out of food and stuff, especially beer. Mr. Landis knows a lot about history, but I bet he doesn't know that.”

“You could be right.”

Bruce rose and helped himself to some cookies from the jar on the counter.

“You know, Mom, Uncle Ray could use some help on the farm and I was thinking…well, I've got spring break coming up in two weeks, so I thought maybe…if he wanted me to…I could spend the week with him.”

Tess looked at him in surprise. “Did he invite you?”

“No. Not exactly. Not yet. But I think he would, if I volunteered to help him.”

Tess reached over to stir the spaghetti sauce again, buying herself a moment to think. A week on the farm was certainly preferable to a week with the group he'd been hanging around with at school. And Bruce and Uncle Ray had certainly seemed to hit it off. They'd been e-mailing daily. It was a completely unexpected turn of events, but Tess was nonetheless grateful. Bruce had seemed more like his old self ever since their visit to the farm, and she was willing to support anything that made a positive impact. But she wasn't willing to take advantage of the older man's generosity, even though the temptation was great.

“It would be okay with me, Bruce,” she replied finally. “But Uncle Ray might not want two week-long house guests.”

“Two?”

“Mitch will probably be there, too.”

Bruce's face fell. “Yeah. I forgot about that.”

“I'll tell you what. I'll ask Mitch to talk to Uncle Ray and see if he's willing to take on one more farmhand for the week.”

Bruce frowned. “I don't know. When we were there for Easter, I kind of had Uncle Ray to myself. It wouldn't be the same this time.”

“Maybe it would be better.”

He gave her a look that said, “Get real.”

“Why is that so unlikely?” she persisted. “You haven't had any trouble with Mitch at school lately.”

“He's still the principal.”

“He could also be your friend, if you'd let him.”

“Like he's yours?”

The unexpected question, delivered in an accusatory tone, startled her. “What do you mean?”

Bruce shrugged stiffly. “You call him Mitch. And you two seemed real friendly at Uncle Ray's.”

Tess felt hot color steal onto her cheeks, and she bent down on the pretense of looking for a lid in the cabinet. She'd tried to keep her growing feelings for Mitch in check, but apparently Bruce had picked up some undercurrents. Had Mitch, as well? The thought made her cheeks grow even warmer, and she rummaged even more vigorously in the cabinet.
Get a grip,
she admonished herself tersely.
You could be overreacting here. Play it cool.

“Well, I guess we have become friends,” she said, striving for a conversational tone as she straightened up. “He's a very nice man, Bruce.”

“Yeah. Right.”

Tess folded her arms and leaned back against the counter. “You may not want to believe that, Bruce, but it's true. He cares about people. Especially his students. He could be your friend if you let him.”

“I have enough friends.”

They were moving onto dangerous territory, and she didn't want to get into an argument that could propel him back into the arms of his so-called friends. Since Bruce had been grounded after the car accident, his contact with his “group” had been limited to school hours. Interestingly enough, he hadn't complained much. Nor had he talked about his brief visit to jail. Maybe she was being naive, but Tess had a feeling the events of that night had had a big impact. As had the trip to the farm. With things going so well,
she didn't want to rock the boat. If Bruce didn't want to associate with Mitch, so be it.

“Have it your way,” she said, trying for a nonchalant tone as she pushed away from the counter and turned back to the spaghetti sauce. “So should we forget about the farm for spring break?”

Tess held her breath while he mulled her question over in silence.

“I'll think about it,” he finally said noncommittally as he snagged another cookie and headed toward his room.

Tess watched him disappear down the hall, her expression troubled. He hadn't said no outright. Which was a good sign, she told herself encouragingly.

What wasn't so good was his reaction to her relationship with Mitch. She'd felt him withdrawing as they discussed her “friendship” with the principal. And she couldn't let that happen. Bruce needed to think of her as an ally, not a traitor. So until he made peace with Mitch, she needed to keep her distance. Make that
if
he made peace with Mitch, she corrected herself.

Tess sighed. She'd known all along that her feelings for Mitch could get her into trouble. Especially since the attraction appeared to be mutual.

Then again, she could be wrong. She didn't have much experience in such things. And she hadn't heard from him once since their trip to the farm, though her heart had skipped a beat every time the phone rang. Maybe he had been interested, but the attraction had waned during their weekend at the farm. Or more likely she'd just read more into his kindness than was intended. Chalk it up to the overreaction of a lonely
woman starved for affection, she thought with a bittersweet pang.

Besides, if Mitch
was
attracted to her, things could get really complicated. It was better this way.

At least for Bruce.

 

Bruce wasn't sure what had awakened him, but suddenly he was staring wide-eyed at the ceiling above him. Or at least in the direction of the ceiling. It was too dark to see anything. He turned and squinted at the illuminated dial of the clock on his nightstand. Two o'clock in the morning. That was weird. He never woke up in the middle of the night. Unless he was sick or something. But he felt fine.

With a shrug he flopped onto his back and closed his eyes. Better get back to sleep or he'd never make it through the American lit class tomorrow. Mrs. Bederman's droning voice was a sure cure for insomnia, he thought with a sleepy grin, especially on Fridays. In fact, just last week Dan…

Suddenly his eyes flew open again. Now he knew what had awakened him. That low, moaning sound. From his mom's bedroom. Cold fear gripped him, and he swung his legs over the side of the bed and took off at a run.

He stopped in front of her door, which was uncharacteristically shut, and knocked cautiously. “Mom?”

There was no response, but now he could hear the sound much more clearly. Something was really wrong. Without bothering to knock again, he pushed the door open. And that's when he got really scared.

Tess was lying on her side, doubled up, gasping for
breath. Her face was gray, her eyes were tightly closed and beads of sweat dotted her forehead.

“Mom?” He dropped down beside her and touched her shoulder, his voice laced with panic. “Mom?”

Her eyelids flickered open, and for a moment she seemed to have trouble focusing.

“Mom, what's wrong?”

Even through a fog of pain Tess could hear the fear in his voice. And though his face was hazy, the terror in his eyes was clear.

“I got sick…a couple of hours ago,” she gasped. “I didn't want to…bother you, so I shut the door, but…the pain just keeps…getting worse.”

Bruce's face drained of color. “What's wrong?”

“I…don't know.” She closed her eyes again and moaned.

“What should I do?”

No response. Bruce wasn't sure if she'd even heard him. And if she had, she was too sick to give him any instructions.

Bruce stood and stared down at his mom. He'd seen her sick before. She'd had the flu last winter, in fact. But he'd never seen her like this. Something was really wrong. She needed help—fast.

Bruce ran to the kitchen, snatched up the phone and punched in 911. The woman on the other end took some preliminary information and assured him that an ambulance was on the way.

He raced back to Tess's room, where he dropped down beside her and awkwardly laid his hand on her shoulder. His heart was hammering so hard he thought it would burst through his chest at any mo
ment. “It will be okay, Mom,” he said, his voice quivering.

And for the first time in a long time he prayed.

 

The policeman laid his hand on Bruce's shoulder. “Is there someone you can call? A family member?”

Bruce watched the paramedics carry his mom out on a stretcher. He'd never felt so alone in his life. “We don't have any family. It's just me and my mom.”

“How about a friend, then?”

A friend. He thought of the guys at school, and just as quickly dismissed them. They weren't the kind of people you called in an emergency. He thought of Uncle Ray. But the older man was a long way away. He needed somebody
now.
Somebody who would know what to do in an emergency like this. Somebody you could count on to take care of things. Somebody you could trust.

His gaze suddenly fell on Mitch Jackson's card, still thumbtacked to the message board in the kitchen. That was the
last
person he wanted to call.