The Foster Family, page 25
He trailed off. His hand stroking Charlie’s arm was the only movement, the rustle of the sheets the only sound.
“But?” Charlie prompted after a while.
“We weren’t that far from that neighborhood, Charlie. We weren’t that far from those people on the brink of eviction. If he didn’t have foster kids, he would have been those people still.”
“So he didn’t do as well as he hoped. Didn’t give him the right to go—”
“Not just that he didn’t do as well as he hoped, or make it as far as he dreamed. He wasn’t just the guy who came and fixed your plumbing. He was the guy who came and tossed all your shit into the street when you didn’t pay on time. He was the guy evicting his own friends and neighbors. He was the guy so deeply invested in the financial shithole that was that neighborhood, he couldn’t quit. He could only do as he was told. And it killed him to do it. He grew hard and bitter and angry.”
“And took it out on you.”
“On everyone around him. Worse on me, and Bobby.”
“Bobby?”
The room seemed to still around them, and here, Charlie thought, here at last was the nugget of truth at the center of his lover that he’d never been allowed close to. The secret he knew existed but had never been told. Here was the emotional point to all those cutting blades. The flame behind the cigarette burns.
“Another foster,” Malcolm said after a moment. “He lived there maybe three years. He was about two years younger than me. When they found out about my cutting myself, they took him out of there. Who knows what happened to him. I know it wasn’t the happiest of foster homes, but there was never any wanting for anything. He always made sure we ate and had good clothes, and it was at least… stable. Who knows where Bobby ended up.” Malcolm grew quiet again.
“You think that kind of emotional battering was okay because it was stable? That the example foster monster was setting was okay because no matter how messed up you were, he never kicked you out or gave you back?”
“You think being bounced around did Kerry any good?” Malcolm shot back. “You were lucky, Charlie. You had one foster family. You were adopted. It worked for you, and you even got to decide what you wanted from your birth parents. For a foster kid, that’s Nirvana. You’re the proof that the system, as broken as it is, can actually work. That really good people who want to help, who can help, are out there.”
“I know.” Charlie planted small kisses on his lover’s chest and sighed. “I know that, Mal. I was lucky. That doesn’t mean I don’t know about how grown-ups should treat kids who need love and care and support, and foster monster was not that guy.”
“No,” Malcolm admitted. “He really wasn’t. But it wasn’t his fault Bobby got moved, and not his fault the kid didn’t have at least the stability of one place to live.”
It wasn’t lost on Charlie that Malcolm had never called that house, that family, his home.
“And you really don’t know what happened to him?”
Malcolm shrugged. “I know he was moved to a temp home. Then he told me he was in a group home. He left there near the end of the school year, but I don’t know after that. I lost touch. Guess he moved to a different school. And then I met you.” Malcolm kissed the top of his head. “I found a new home and that place mattered less.”
Charlie smiled and pressed his body more tightly over Malcolm’s. “Love you too, baby,” he said softly and was rewarded with a finger lifting his chin so Malcolm could kiss him. It was one of those kisses that dropped a soft, fuzzy damper over everything, and Charlie could drift on the wave of Malcolm-ness for long, long minutes, or however long the touch lasted.
It did end, eventually, and they lapsed into more silence. He felt his lover growing heavy beside him, caught the twitch of Malcolm’s leg against his as he dropped into that floaty region between sleep and awake.
“I’m sticky,” Charlie complained.
Malcolm’s arm around him tightened.
“Mal?”
“Go to sleep,” Malcolm muttered.
“But. I’m a mess.”
Malcolm kissed his hair. “Me too. But you’ve got me on the right road now. I’m tired.”
“Yeah. Mal, my pillow—”
“I’ll buy you a new one.”
Charlie chuckled softly and gave up. Sheets and bodies could be washed. The pillow could be washed too, and the cats would appreciate a new bed from the old pillow. Charlie would pick something expensive and fluffy for himself. He could let Malcolm pamper him some of the time. He’d watched Kerry allow what pleased Malcolm, and the kid hadn’t imploded into a helpless sack of lazy. Charlie could manage to keep his autonomy too, probably.
Chapter 20
THE FLIGHT to Seattle felt a lot longer than the five-and-some hours it had actually been. I was exhausted by the time I exited the cab on the curb in front of Nash Jones’s house. It was close to three in the morning, since the flight had been delayed something like five times. I couldn’t remember anymore. They’d finally squeezed me onto the last flight leaving the airport, and the ride had been a rough one, since the plane was flying through the trailing edge of the storm once it left the ground.
I’d decided not to call Nash to pick me up at the airport, just texted him and let him know when I expected to land, once I was actually on the plane and fairly sure they weren’t going to have everyone deplane and wait for morning.
Now, I glanced up and down the dark street and let out a sigh as the cabbie handed me my suitcase.
“Thanks, man.” I gave the guy a bit extra, since he’d been cool with both the bank machine stop, and the coffee drive-through, and my account had been semiflush. At some point, I supposed I would have to get in touch with Malcolm and thank him for that. I’d given him my banking information so he could deposit my gardener’s paycheck, but what he’d actually deposited was substantially more than any gardener had a right to make in less than a month.
“Enjoy your visit,” the driver said with a smile. “I’ll bet your folks will be glad to have you home. You’re a nice kid.”
How the guy could know that after a twenty minute car ride, I had no idea, but I smiled and thanked him anyway, and the cab drove off into the night, leaving me feeling heavy and tired and alone on the sidewalk.
I’d only taken two steps toward the house when the outdoor light came on, and for a moment, I thought I’d triggered a safety lamp, but then the door burst open and Nash himself barreled down the steps.
“Kerry!”
Another tall, lean figure appeared in the doorway, and I recognized David from brief encounters over the years. A tiny, bandy-legged figure clutched at David’s pant legs from behind, round, pale face peeking out to see what was going on.
“Is everyone still up?” I asked, dismayed that they hadn’t gone to bed hours ago because of me.
Nash swept me into a bear hug that pushed the breath out of my lungs and nearly lifted me off the pavement.
“Bah,” he said, slapping my back as he let me go to take the handle of the rolling suitcase. “Grey crawled in with us about an hour ago. He does that almost every night since we took out the crib and put him in a big-boy bed. Wouldn’t mind, except he sleeps like a ninja flailing starfish.”
“Ninja?”
“Yeah,” David added as we trudged up the three steps toward the warm kitchen light. “The ninja part is the getting in under the covers from the bottom of the bed. We never know he’s there until someone gets a knee or a foot or an elbow somewhere sensitive. The rest—”
“Pretty self-explanatory,” I agreed. I looked down at the child, still peering at me from behind David’s thin legs. One small fist clutched David’s sleep pants tightly, the other, Grey had half stuffed into his mouth.
“Ninja, huh?” I asked.
Grey blinked at me solemnly, removing the fist from his mouth just long enough lift both arms in a silent demand to David.
David obliged instantly, lifting the child while Nash surreptitiously put a hand on David’s back, as though ready to catch him if he overbalanced. David shot him a brief smile and settled Grey on a bony hip. “Thanks, babe.”
In answer, Nash pecked his cheek, then Grey’s and pulled out a chair, which David took without comment.
“Put your stuff in your old room, Kerry. Then come have a cup of tea. We’re all up anyway.”
I looked from one to the other of them.
“What is it, son?” David asked.
“That,” I said quietly, feeling the word sink into skin and bone. “Just that.” I smiled, ruffled Grey’s thin crop of red hair, then took my suitcases down the hall to my old room.
I was tempted to just sit there on the bed and stare at the walls, my old dresser, the cork-covered closet door, still plastered with posters of Rambo and Top Gun and muscle-bound athletes. How I had ever thought I was being incognito with that flaming display was beyond me now. But fifteen-year-old boys could make themselves believe anything, I supposed.
It was a little shocking to see that not much had changed. The bed had a new mattress, the closet and dresser held linens and jigsaw puzzles, but the vibrant-green walls and the sand-colored carpet Nash had taken me to pick out were the same. I smiled to realize I had chosen an updated variant of those exact colors for my room at Malcolm’s. I hadn’t done it on purpose, but there it was, staring me in the face.
“Kerry?” Nash called from the kitchen. “Water’s on.”
“Be right there!” I hung up my jacket and tossed keys, sunglasses, and cell onto the bedside table. Curious, I pulled open the drawer, but it was empty. No sign of the hand lotion or foil packets I’d left.
“Expired,” Nash said, and I jumped, closing the drawer with a small, guilty thump as I turned.
He smiled wide. “Don’t think it’s a shrine or anything,” he said, nodding to the posters. “We just haven’t had a reason to change it. Grey’s room is where Lacy’s was, and if David needs his own bed, I use the pullout in the living room. It’s less like being banished, and I can hear them if they need me.”
“Right. How is he?”
Nash’s smile remained. “I don’t have to sleep on the couch this week.”
I nodded. “Good. I’ll keep my distance, though. Plane air and all.”
Nash blinked at me, still standing there, leaning on the doorframe, arms crossed, and I didn’t know what it was I’d said to make him look at me like that.
“Come here,” he said after a moment, and held out his arms to me.
What could I do but go to him and allow the second hug in less than fifteen minutes? “You’re a good boy, Kerry.” I hugged him back this time. “I’m glad you’re here.”
“Me too,” I whispered, and it was heartfelt and true. I missed Charlie and Malcolm and Miss Claire, and even Lissa enough to etch gouges in my heart, but here was safe. Here was something I hadn’t realized I truly had. Home. Family.
I took one more look at that half-wall of posters. “You knew I was gay from the first day, didn’t you?”
Nash smiled. “I could make a case for knowing before you did, I think.”
I studied the collection. “What gave me away? Greg Louganis?” The man had certainly rocked that Speedo, but I had banked on his gold medal hiding the real reason I had him in a place of glory in the center of one of the doors. “Because Rambo and Top Gun were pretty ubiquitous, I thought.”
Nash ruffled my hair. “The Wham! album under the bed. Maybe if you’d actually played it, even once, I’d have hedged my bets.”
I laughed then and followed him out of the room. “I’ll just wash up and meet you in the kitchen.”
Nash waved a hand in acknowledgement, and I ducked into the bathroom to wash my hands and face. I’d looked up what I could about heart transplants while I sat bored to death at the airport, and with knowing David was just barely recovered from some sort of infection, I didn’t want to chance carrying something into their home that would set him back.
When I joined them, David was pouring the boiled water into a teapot, and Grey was curled on an armchair next to the table watching him, that fist still tightly wedged in his mouth.
“You going to give Daddy Dave his chair, Grey?” Nash asked.
Grey shifted his focus to Nash, but made no other move. His face was round and sort of flat, eyes huge and sky-blue, and the hair on his head stood out in all directions, a peachy-orange fuzz that reminded me of Miss Claire when I’d first brought her home, all tiny and watchful and looking like she’d just stuck her tail in an electrical socket.
“Why you sucking on that hand, Grey?” I asked, choosing a chair across the table from him. “Does it taste good?”
He looked at me a moment, then slowly drew it out of his mouth and looked at it. He made a face that made me think of the lemon after a tequila shot and I chuckled.
“Not really, I bet,” I told him, accepting the cup David handed me. “I remember when I was, oh, maybe four, I used to suck my thumb.” I glanced up to see if he was paying any attention at all, and found his gaze riveted to me. “This guy I knew, he’d sprinkle salt on it to get me to stop. Thought it would taste bad, and I wouldn’t do it anymore.”
I felt Nash looking at me, that enigmatic smile on his face I remembered that meant he had just had a lightbulb moment.
“You know what Papa Nash just figured out?” I asked Grey, who continued to stare and blink and soak up every word I said. “He just figured out why, when I was finished eating dinner, I would pour a little pile of salt on my plate and lick it off my finger while I waited for him to finish eating.” I glanced up at him and smiled. “I don’t do that anymore, by the way. We all outgrow these things, eventually.”
Grey promptly stuffed his fist back into his mouth and shifted his position so he could watch me while I poured tea for Nash, David, and then myself.
It was a little ritual, but it made me feel settled, and they didn’t have to know why I did it.
“How did you know I’d figured anything out?” Nash asked.
When I answered, I spoke to Grey. “You’ll get to know this about him. He has absolutely no ability to mask what’s going through his head. That’s a good thing, by the way.” I glanced at Nash. “It means you always know when he’s happy and when he’s not. You’d think knowing would make it easy to manipulate him, but don’t even try it. If he hasn’t done whatever it is you think you’re getting away with himself, he’s had a kid in this house who has, and he knows it all, I promise you.” I smiled as Grey yawned and curled his soggy fist against his chest. “You’ve got yourself the best papa in the world, kid. Don’t ever forget that.”
It was David who cupped a hand around the back of my neck and gave me a little shake. “Good to have you home, Kerry,” he said. “Real good to have you home.”
WE TALKED over our teacups for a little while before Nash declared it bedtime and carried Grey to his toddler bed in Lacy’s old room. It still had the yellow walls and brilliant-blue carpet she’d chosen, but the furniture was all brand new, made from cedar and stained a reddish brown that looked perfect against the bold backdrop.
“You make these?” I asked, running a hand over the edge of the tall dresser.
Nash smiled fondly at his son. “I thought it would be appropriate. When he’s grown, it’ll still be standing and he can take it with him when he gets his own place.”
I nodded. “That’s a good plan.”
I thought about that. Nash was pushing fifty. Grey, barely a year. The man was in good health, and even though David was a textbook case of recovery and health after his transplant and ten years Nash’s junior, this kid could very well end up alone way too young. I brushed a curl of red hair off his cheek and he wiggled deeper under the blanket.
“He’s adorable, Nash.”
Nash nodded.
“Can I ask you something?”
“Anything.”
“It’s morbid,” I warned.
“Anything,” he said again.
“You have a plan, right? To take care of him? Just, you know….”
“Because I’m old and David is—”
“On my second lease?” David said, coming in the room and wrapping an arm around Nash’s waist. “So you want to do this now, babe?” he asked Nash.
“I was going to wait at least ’til morning. Or, you know, a few days or weeks. Until they got to know each other.”
“Do what?” I asked, skin beginning to cool and sweat breaking out to make me shiver at the dichotomy.
“Come out so we don’t wake him,” Nash said, leading us both out of the room.
I followed them, casting one last look at the sleeping cherub with the really intelligent eyes.
“I truly didn’t want to spring this on you the minute you walked in the door, Kerry. Certainly not in the middle of the night when you’re obviously exhausted.”
I stifled a yawn and managed a smile. “Well, it isn’t like I’m going to sleep if you don’t tell me now anyway, so you might as well say whatever it is so I can not worry myself into a freak-out.”
“It’s nothing bad,” David reassured me as he took a seat beside Nash on the couch. “Promise.” He took Nash’s hand and smiled at him. “I plan on living a hella long time, so it’s probably just a formality.”
“And you don’t have to give us an answer right now. You can think about it as long as you need to.”
“Oh my God, guys, spit it out.”
“Okay.” Nash drew in a breath and let it out. “Remember I told you about Lacy asking me to take guardianship of Grey? She wanted to make it formal before he was born, so that nothing bad could happen to him if something happened to her.”
“Okay.”
“Well, it was a good idea on her part, as it turned out.”
“Yeah,” I said, sad to think about how rough the girl’s life had been and how sad her death was. The same sadness showed on both Nash and David’s faces.
“Well, so we adopted Grey and all. He’s our son, and nothing can change that now. He’s safe.”
