Fork in the Road

FORK IN THE ROAD By Scott Turner Chapter 10

"If you come to a fork in the road, take it." -Yogi Berra

Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction that occasionally contains rather graphic depictions of sexual activity between consenting adult men. If that's no your cup of tea, or if it is illegal for you to possess or read such material, then please go elsewhere. This story is copyrighted, 2008, and may not be reproduced, reposted or published without the expressed permission of the author.

FROM CHAPTER NINE:

He checked his voicemail. "Hey, Turner, it's Sonja. Been talking to some folks and there's a pretty general agreement that we need to turn up the heat on Lyman and his goons before the November meeting. Not sure we're going to have the votes by then, but his Neanderthal views can't go unchallenged between now and then. I'm gonna call a buddy over at the campus radio station and get some available dates and times and will call you back later. Get ready to become a radio star, Mr. President."

"Aw, shit."

CHAPTER TEN:

The weather babe had just finished her report and five-day forecast. Scott and Elliot scowled at each other across the table in front of their respective microphones.

The host and moderator, Steven Paulson, cleared his throat. He made Scott smile. He was a big burly guy with a mop of unruly brown hair and a scruffy beard, but he sounded something like Winnie the Pooh.

"Thank you Barbara. Sounds like a nice fall weekend ahead of us. Great job. Welcome to WMAD's `Student Crap'. This is Steven Paulson, and WSA President Scott Turner and the Senate's finance chair, Elliot Lyman, join me this afternoon. Thank you both for coming in today."

In unison, both guys said, "Happy to be here."

Steven sensed the animosity between them. "Well, gentlemen, it sounds like things are kind of tense within the WSA these days. Mr. Lyman, you're advancing a proposal for disbursing student activity fees that will completely de-fund several student organizations."

"Well, really only three: the Gay/Straight Alliance, the Young Log Cabin Republicans and the Ten Percent Society."

Scott chimed in "And it significantly decreases funding for the student committee that advocates and works to educate on HIV/AIDS, and another that educates and advocates for those who might have been victims of sexual harassment or discrimination here at the UW.

Elliot stared him in the eyes. "Yes."

Steven nodded. "Okay, fair enough. Five student organizations either de-funded entirely or significantly reduced in terms of financial support." He turned toward Elliot. "So, what problem do you see with using student activity fees to fund these organizations?"

Elliot sipped his water. "Well, first of all, I and many others think they represent and advocate a perverse lifestyle. Second, while their members are free to live their own bizarre lives and condemn themselves to Hell, it ought not be done with the support of student fees that we are all compelled to pay. Those dollars are taken from our students without asking. They're just taken from us as part of our registration and tuition. Our job in the WSA is to decide how they ought to be spent. We're just doing our job and representing a significant voice among the student body."

Paulson turned his head. "Scott?"

"And those funds have been spent in support of these organizations for more than a decade, in some cases two. Our job is to allocate student funds in a manner that supports and represents ALL of our students. What is NOT our job is to pass judgment about how our peers spend their time behind closed doors or in their bedrooms."

Elliot sat up straight and grabbed the microphone, and then he pointed at Scott. "It's a deviant and ugly style of life, and my dollars shouldn't be taken to support it."

Scott smirked. "That `style of life' as you call it is going to continue whether or not we spend any student funds on these organizations. The fact remains that our sexuality is simply part of who we are. Do you really think that cutting off funds is going to stop same sex hoo-ha? Jesus, Elliot! We're not subsidizing sex here; we're funding valid and important student organizations. What your dollars are subsidizing is equal treatment of all students."

Elliot shook his head. "And we're striving for fair treatment of all students. Fair treatment for all would take into account what our students support and what they oppose. These fees are taken against my will, and against the will of every other student on campus. Those same fees have gone to support student organizations that advance the pro-gay, pro-lesbian agendas on this campus for years. And the students whose money is being taken and spent have not had a clear voice in the money's distribution. If somebody wants to donate in support of pro-gay groups, it's their right to do so voluntarily, but nobody should be compelled to do so against their will. That's the real fairness issue!"

Paulson scratched his head and looked to the other side. "Mr. Turner?"

"Hang on, Elliot. First of all, I've reviewed all of your campaign materials. Nowhere did you state you would fight to eliminate these fee allocations. So, to claim you have some kind of mandate or broad student support for this cause is a joke. If you ran because you're on some sort of mission from God, you should have said so up front. The folks who voted for you deserved to hear this stuff before they cast their ballots.

"Second, you might disagree with how the funds have been spent in the past, but that doesn't mean you haven't had a voice. We'll all stand or fall on the judgment of the next election. That's where the interests and desires of the student body is expressed. You're simply disregarding and offending a large number of them who also deserve representation. You and your committee have put forth a budget proposal that represents your own narrow views. Like it or not, every one of us in the Wisconsin Student Association have an obligation to do all we can to represent ALL of our students: straight, gay, black, brown, white, and all the rest."

Scott looked back at his host. "And, if Mr. Lyman actually believes that passage of his committee's proposal would do anything to reduce, discourage or eliminate homosexuality here or anywhere else, as if it's any of his business, then he's simply delusional in my opinion."

Paulson raised his pen in the air to signal his intent to speak. "So, Scott, what's next within the WSA on this matter?"

Scott sipped from his water. "Well, I understand that there are one or more amendments to the proposal that are in the works. So what's next is that I'll do my job and see to it that they get due consideration by the full body."

Elliot was spitting at his microphone now. "I'd like to know what Mr. Turner's interest in this really is. Are you just pandering to your homo friends or are you gay yourself?"

Paulson rolled his eyes and his head tilted back. "Whoa. Now wait a minute, guys."

Scott put up his hand to halt the moderator and he laughed out loud. "It's okay, Steven. Some folks, when they're losing on reason and logic have to fall back on personal attacks. It only serves to demonstrate how intellectually bankrupt his ideas are. I'd be happy to sit back and let him go on and on and on. The more he talks the more sense I make."

He turned toward Lyman. "But let me address that." Scott sipped his water again and cleared his throat. "Elliot, there's a big chunk of me that wants to answer your inane question. But if I did that, it would be signaling to you and the rest of the world listening in that it's a legitimate question to ask in the first place. Well, sir, it is not. It's a dumb ass and bigoted question, frankly. I might be straight. I might be gay. I could be bisexual, or even asexual..." he decided to make a few more up just to fluster the asshole across the table. "I could be omnisexual, hypersexual, autosexual, antisexual, anglosexual or whatever. It is simply none of your damned business. It's entirely irrelevant to the jobs that you and I have been charged with. I could be chasing sheep around my bedroom every night wearing Indian paint a bra and a jockstrap, but until it affects my performance on behalf of our students, it's simply none of your fu...your damned business." He paused. "Sorry Steven." Paulson nearly fell off his chair.

Scott was on a roll. "You tell me, Mr. Lyman, how many times a week do you masturbate?"

Elliot's legs began to shake. "I don...I mean it's imp...that is...I don't engage in perverse behaviors."

Scott smiled. He was really enjoying this now. "It's okay Elliot. It explains a lot. You seem so awfully tightly wound and uptight. Maybe you don't know how. Perhaps we should look at a student groups for folks like you to assist you in discovering the occasional pleasure of self-stimulation. `Cuz you, dude, need to let off some steam!"

Lyman's eyes were wide now. "I do too know how! I just choose to not indulge in that kind of behavior."

Scott laughed. "Come on, Elliot! You're a healthy 22 year-old American male. You expect us to believe that you've never whacked off? That's either a very rich lie or it's just plain sad. Are you lying to the good people who elected you and who feel they have a right to know if you touch yourself in an impure manner?"

"But they don't have a right to know anything like that about any of us!"

Scott smirked. "Why not? I want to know!"

Elliot was nearing a stroke. "Because it's none of your or anybody else's business. It doesn't affect you or anybody else one way or another!"

Scott smiled slyly. "Seven, I rest my case."

The show's host, Paulson, was sweating profusely and Elliot was gripping the edge of the table and grinding his teeth. Steven jumped into the fray. "Gentlemen, I do believe that this discussion is over, for now anyway."

Elliot found his voice. "I should hope so. I can't believe the president of our student government could be so vulgar on the public airwaves."

Scott moved the microphone closer and glared across the table. "Get used to it, Elliot. I can be a lot more vulgar than that. Hell, I was just warming up. You're a homophobic a-hole, and your budget on behalf of all the students of this system does not represent all the students in this system. And the effort to amend it is going to get due consideration. It might pass or it might fail, but it's going to be handled in the bright light of day in front of God and everybody, not in some closed-door five-member committee meeting."

Both Paulson and Elliot were beside themselves, and it was obvious. Scott leaned into the microphone. "Mr. Paulson, my colleague here is simply dead wrong on every level. He is a right-wing fanatic, a bigot and a homophobe. He has manipulated our system to serve a very narrow-minded and mean-spirited agenda." He pointed his pen at Paulson. ""Three students, Steven. Three students on a committee of five, in an elected body of thirty-one representing forty-four thousand have advanced this measure. Three out of forty-four thousand! Imagine! That's roughly point one four seven of one percent of our student body. There's something wrong with that." Then he swiveled in his chair and looked at Lyman. "I'm still pledged to represent the greatest body of students that I can. Mr. Lyman is not, and he never has been. I'm pretty sure that when the day comes that I look back on my tenure with the WSA, I will see the decision to appoint him chair of the finance committee as the biggest mistake I ever made. Nevertheless, I'm confident that those of us who are living in this century will defeat his views. And with that, I'll thank you for your time, and bid you both a good day." He stood up and walked out of the studio.

Outside the building that was home to the small studio Elliot caught up with Scott at the curb. He shouted from behind. "Turner!" Scott turned as Elliot jogged to meet him face to face. "You're making a huge mistake here, Turner."

"Elliot, you can take horse shit and roll it in powdered sugar and that doesn't make it a donut." He grinned, glad that Big Scott had used that line now and then when he was a kid. Lyman blinked. "And that's what you're trying to do. You're wrapping bigotry in a so-called Christian and family values flag and then putting your hand on your heart and pledging allegiance to that bogus flag. I have a friend in Tennessee who'd say, `that dog don't hunt.'"

Lyman smirked. "You're kind of long on borrowed phrases and platitudes today, Turner." He was right. "Be as flippant and unoriginal as you want. It doesn't change the fact that I'll have a majority of the WSA and a majority, or a loud enough minority, of the student body behind me on this. I already have `The Herald' with me. This is going to bury you." He smirked again. "Have a great day." He turned right and was gone.

Scott was nearing his car when the cell phone rang. He grinned at the name on the screen.

"What the fuck do you want?"

"Fucking brilliant, professor! Couldn't have scripted it better myself." Marty was cackling.

"So, you actually heard it?"

"Well, five emails telling me you were going to be on the show forced me work hard to find it on the AM dial, even here in Rockford."

"I fucked up, didn't I?"

"Are you kidding me? You were brilliant, and without my help no less! It was fucking perfect! You handed that dipshit his ass and he didn't even know it. He will, eventually, but he's the most clueless fuck I've ever heard on air. You had that sad, stupid bastard for lunch." He giggled again. "Plus the image of you in Indian paint, a bra and jockstrap gave me a chubbie. Can we do without the sheep though?"

"Hang on." He was standing next to a cube-shaped trashcan, and set his phone down on the top of it. He zipped up his coat and perched his butt on its corner of the can. He picked up the phone again. "Okay. No sheep. So how are you, and how's the little guy?"

"Little Scotty's just great. Nearing twenty pounds already and in love with his sister. Ash' is the perfect surrogate mother when Jill's at work, so I don't even have to change too many diapers." He laughed. "What a scam I got goin' on the poop end of things. She takes her job seriously."

Scott threw his head back and guffawed. "Leave it to you. You got a four year old taking care of the shit."

"You know it, but only on the diaper end of things. I do the feeding and the socializing stuff. He's turning into quite the crowd pleaser. But Ashley's gifted in the diaper department. I put down a towel, lay him on the bed and hand her a clean one. It's all good." Marty giggled. "But he still wants to breast-feed with me, which is tough. My nips are getting kinda raw and sore."

Scott laughed again. "Well, you do aim to please. Talk to the lad. Tell him you're not lactating. He's a brilliant child, my namesake. He'll understand."

"But you suck on my nips practically every time we get together, and you know I'm not making milk here."

"I only suck on your nipples when you plead with me." They both laughed. "I take it the kids and Jill are gone?"

"Yeah. She took them both to the library. I took the afternoon off because we needed some work done on the car. So I found the UW public access channel on the radio and listened in. Honestly, Scotty, you were ab-so-fucking-lutely brilliant."

Scott grinned. "Well thank you, Mr. Special Advisor."

"So what are you gonna do about that assholes assertions?"

"You mean his sarcastic wondering about my personal life?"

"Yeah."

"Nothing. I'm going to keep saying it's none of anybody's fucking business, as long as I'm doing my job. I might have gone over the top and the many labels about sexuality I made up..."

Marty laughed. "No shit! Omnisexual? And the sheep thing! I spit Coke through my nose on that one."

Scott laughed too. "Whatever. You know he's trying to Google omnisexual right now, the sad sack. But like I said, the minute I answer that question I'm also saying it's okay to ask it. And it's not. I wasn't elected to either fuck straight women or not fuck at all."

Marty chortled. "Speaking of which, how's Kel' doing?"

"Uhm, okay as far as I can tell. We're going to do the whole Homecoming thing together. Still not sure it's a good idea, but we have a past, I still consider her a good friend and, I have to admit, she's lookin' great these days."

"So, you getting' it elsewhere?"

Scott paused. "Actually, yeah. Met a really cool guy who's new here. Baseball player and a really great guy." There was a long pause and Scott held his breath. "Well, buddy, you asked. Not gonna lie to you."

Marty cleared his throat. "No...no. Wouldn't expect or accept anything else from you."

"He's a good guy, Marty. A little insecure at times and you'd sympathize with his family situation. Shit head of an old man, and his mom died a couple years ago. Sometimes I feel like he needs somebody in his life and we have a lot of fun together."

There was another long pause until Marty mustered up his charm. "And I assume he's a hottie."

Scott snickered. "You know I have high standards and great taste."

"So is this serious? Like a relationship."

Scott sighed. "I don't know what the hell it is, bud. If I had to put a label on it I guess I'd call it one of those `friends with benefits' kinda things. You're no stranger to that." He blew warm air into his free hand. "But we haven't seen each other in a while. Looks like he's been stoking the coals with an old friend, so I'm giving him some room."

"So you're not taken. If I came up for a visit you could still take advantage of me?" He giggled.

"Slut. You're a married man."

"That didn't stop you from having your way with me last time I came up there."

"You forced yourself on me. What was I to do?"

"Uhm, as I recall, you willingly rode the pole before I left."

"And walked funny for a day and a half."

"It was two days for me." There was a pause. "I miss you."

"I miss you too, and I'm glad you called. That radio thing had me pretty rattled. I needed to hear a friendly voice."

"I knew that. That's why I called. You know I'm always here for you, professor."

Scott swallowed hard. "I know that, and I love you for it." He felt compelled to change the topic. "So Little Scotty's good, huh?"

"Sassy. Eat, sleep, poop, gurgle, grab my nose, my hair, my ears, and then poop some more. We got the routine down pretty well. He misses you too."

"So when are you going to come up for another visit?"

"You mean, when am I going to visit and cum?"

"Well, that too. Jeez, you're quite the horn dog today. Send the kids to your mom's place and take your wife to bed. You need to get yourself some."

"Grand idea. Well, hey, just wanted to give you a stroke over the phone. I'll get up there when I can. I want to meet this guy you're with. Keep on taking no shit from that lunatic Lyman and stick to your guns, professor."

"It's all I can do."

"Love ya."

"Love ya back, buddy."

"Kay, then. Gotta run. I'll be in touch. Be good, or don't get caught bein' bad." And, he was gone.

Scott had made a hot dish and the guys were dumping the used plates in the sink. Brett was running some hot water and squirting the store-brand soap over the dishes and silverware. It was his night to do the dishes. The doorbell rang. All three looked at each other. Nobody ever rang the bell. They either banged on the door or they walked right in. Craig was closest to the stairs. "I'll get rid of `em, whoever they are." He thumped down the stairs and opened the door. Scott and Brett heard, "Hey, stranger! Come on in! It's getting cold out there!"

It was Kelly's voice. "How've you been Craig? It has been a long time. Is Scott home? I should have called first, but not thinking straight today. It's great to see you."

"Yeah, come on up. We just finished dinner and he's right up here. Great to see you too."

Scott stepped to the top of the stairs. "Hey there! What's up?"

She hit the top step and wrapped her arms around his neck nearly strangling him. "Oh Scott! It's so unreal. It'll be in the campus papers tomorrow." She pulled back, her eyes welled with tears. "They elected me Queen. I'm going to be Homecoming Queen."

Scott had to force a smile. "Oh, Kelly, that's wonderful! They couldn't have done any better! I guess the Greek crowd does have some taste and good judgment after all." He kissed her cheek. "Congratulations."

She giggled and kissed his cheek. "I'm so friggin' excited." She grabbed his right hand. "So where's your room? We need to make a few plans."

Scott led her back to his room and sat her on the edge of his bed. He sat opposite her in his desk chair. "Okay, so what do we need to plan for?"

She handed him a ticket stub from a formal wear shop. "Well, bring this with you to Alexis Formals. They'll fit you for a tux. Not to worry, it's already paid for by the Greek Counsel." He nodded.

She bit her lower lip. "But then, Scott, you gotta know that this means I'll be doing all the public stuff...the parade, the stadium stuff, the crowning, on the arm of the Erik Erickson. He's the king." Her eyes were pleading now. "I promise we'll do all we can together, but I'm afraid there are going to be times when I'm going to have to be with Erik. You know, for the cameras and crap like that."

He nodded again. "Gotcha. I understand. No problemo, Kelly. I'm really happy for you."

She sighed her relief and giggled. "Oh, I knew you'd understand. This is just so special for me. And then, after the game, there are three house parties we absolutely have to attend, and a couple of others that are more optional." He nodded his compliance, starting to feel more than a little hen-pecked. Finally she leered at him. "And then...and then, I have a room booked for us at The Concourse and we can do...whatever we want."

She stood up and then leaned down, forcing a quick kiss on the lips. "Oh, Scott! We're gonna have so much fun!"

He hugged here. "Sure we will, Kelly."

They walked together to the top of the stairs. Kelly ducked her head into the kitchen. "Your night on KP, Brett?"

Brett smirked. "Yes ma'am." He turned and smiled. "How ya been, Kelly? I overheard the good news. Congratulations your highness." He continued scrubbing the casserole that had plenty of cheese stuck to it.

"Thanks." She looked back up at Scott. "Well, I have to run. Too much to do and too little time. Go to Alexis tomorrow, will you? I'm betting they'll have all your sizes in stock, but if they have to call out for something..."

Scott nodded. "I'll do it. Don't worry. The penguin suit will be hanging on my closet door in a day or two."

She kissed his cheek again. "Gotta run." She was bouncing back down the stairs. "Bye guys!" she shouted over her shoulder. Both Craig and Brett shouted back in unison.

Brett pulled the stopper from the drain, rinsed his hands off and dried them. He faced Scott, but shouted toward the living room where Craig had hunkered down to digest the heavy hot dish they'd just devoured. He affected a very bad British accent. "Ain't it grand, Craig-o? We're living with the Queen's doorman!"

Scott swatted his chest with the back of his hand. "Fuck you and the horse you rode in on you fucking fucker."

Big Scott was waiting in a booth, a glass of water and an iced tea in front of him. He was perusing that morning's edition of `The Badger Herald.'

Scott dumped his backpack on the seat next to the wall. "How's it goin' old man?"

"Same old, same old, ya' little shit." He put down the paper. They'd just printed their second article about the radio interviews, bleeding that controversy more than dry. "You need to get some friends on this rag, sonny boy. I see the same old knuckle-dragging mob of goofballs is running the show over there. Just like when I was here."

Scott shrugged. "Trust me. That's the last place I want to find a friend. Have a supporter in the WSA with some contacts with `The Cardinal.' They're gonna start pumping out some good ink this week."

Big Scott rubbed his eyes. "I had no idea this had become such a cause celeb on campus. We don't talk often enough."

Scott ordered a cup of coffee and glass of water before waving a hand. "Ah, screw them. I haven't answered any of `The Herald's' calls. It's tempting, but I'm not going to get into a name-calling pissing match with Elliot and his idiots."

His dad laughed. "That's rich. Not gonna get into name-calling with `idiots.'"

Scott grinned sheepishly and he shrugged. "What can I say? I'm not going to meet them at their level. They're non-thinkers. I thought of the whole `teaching a pig to sing' line you always used to use."

Big Scott smiled and gave him two thumbs up. "That's my boy. Nice to know you were listening. Does a daddy proud."

Scott sighed and scratched his chin. "Besides, I think we can beat `em by the book. Might take a bit of a stiff arm on my part to give the good guys some time to find enough votes, but I'm optimistic that we can shove this shit down Elliot Lyman's throat when the day comes."

The father squinted and smiled. "There ya' go, Scott. Keep fighting the good fights. Keep doin' what you know is right." He paused and sipped his tea, and then cleared his throat. "You know, your grandmother would be proud of you."

Scott swallowed hard on the gulp of water. "I think of Gran' every day. Usually several times a day. I still miss her so much."

Big Scott pursed his lips and exhaled heavily through his nose. "We all do, Scotty. We all do. But she's still with us." He picked up the paper. "And this is the proof. You know she's smiling down on you."

Scott nodded. "Ya' know? I swear I can feel her hand on my shoulder sometimes."

Evelyn's son smiled broadly. "You too?"

The waitress took two identical orders: hot pastrami on dark rye with Swiss, an order of fries and a side of slaw. The little urn of spicy brown mustard was already on the table. "If I'm gonna have a coronary, I'm gonna have it on a full and happy tummy," Big Scott joked.

Scott gulped some coffee. "So what's up? Not that I don't enjoy having lunch with my daddy, but I got the impression when we talked the other night that there was something on your mind." Scott's cell phone buzzed in his backpack and he ignored it. He figured it was either Greg or Kelly and he wasn't going to interrupt this for either one of them.

His dad drained his glass of tea and set it near the edge of the table to signal a request for a refill. The waitress promptly caught it and replenished him before warming up Scott's coffee with a quick shot from the steaming pot in her other hand. "Well, you know I'm going to this candidate training for us rookies. I got the packet of pre-conference info the other day. One of the things they want us to do is to look for any `skeletons in our closets.' We're not going to have some sort of confessional or anything, but part of the training is how to best deal with potentially embarrassing topics."

Scott sat back and upright. "I see."

"And I need to know if there's anything I need to know. Me and your mom...and you, we could all come under a level of scrutiny we're not used to. I don't think I'll be blind-sided by anything, but it'd be irresponsible to not at least ask. I hope I don't offend, son."

Scotty rolled his eyes. "You talkin' sex and drugs and rock `n roll?"

Big Scott smirked and nodded. "Probably. Or anything else that comes to mind."

"Dad." He inhaled and exhaled heavily. "I'm soon gonna be twenty. I'm a normal college student. Drugs? A little here or there last year, but only with a small group of close friends behind closed doors. But I've pretty much outgrown that."

Big Scott nodded. "That's good."

"And as for sex? I'm very much in favor of it. Very pro-sex here, father of mine." He grinned and winked. "Making your squirm a little bit, aren't I?"

His father actually blushed a little bit. "As a matter of fact, yes you are."

"Good." Scotty leaned across the table and whispered. "Ya' want the details?"

"No!" Scott nodded, the smirk still on his face. "Dad. Serious now. I'm healthy, I'm normal and I'm pretty picky. I'm not out there whoring around with any and everybody willing to give it up." His dad couldn't force back the smile. Scotty leaned on the table. "And if you or anybody else asked for the details, I'd tell you or them what I said to Lyman on the radio the other day. None of your friggin' business."

He continued. "I don't have any kind of record with law enforcement agencies. I believe my reputation is honorable. I've established myself pretty well both on campus and at the Capitol, even when I don't like doing what I'm doing. I think I've served the students well and our lawmakers well. And I have a private life that I intend to keep private." He paused. "I hope you can live with that."

The father beamed across the table. "That's good enough for me." He choked up a bit. "Your mother and I are very proud of you. I hope you know that."

Scott sniffed. "I do, Dad. I do. And I'm proud you two are my mommy and daddy."

Big Scott was still laughing when the sandwiches arrived. They spent the better part of an hour just shooting the breeze: mom's business, Daisy, the Badgers, the Packer's prospects for the season, a little politics here and there. It was a great lunch. They hugged on the sidewalk outside and the father kissed the son's cheek. "Have a good time at Homecoming. And I promise I won't ask any questions."

Scotty smirked. "Because you know what the answer would be."

He patted his son's shoulder. "Yep. Now getcher ass to class and keep makin' us proud, ya' little shit."

Scott smiled. "Will do, ya' old fart."

The father walked one way, the son the other, each one of them glowing.

Scott dug into his backpack to grab the phone and see who had called. He stopped short of the curb across the street from the bottom of The Hill. "Marty?" he uttered out loud. Then he thought, `In the middle of the day? That's weird.' He hit the call back function and let it ring.

Marty answered on the first ring. "Scotty?" He sounded really strained.

"What's up, bud? Calling in the middle of the day? What's goin' on?"

Marty sniffed. "It's Jill. I'm at the hospital now." There was a long pause, and then Marty sobbed into the phone. "It's leukemia, Scott. It's mother-fucking leukemia!"

Scott's chin fell into his chest and his eyes clamped shut tight. "Oh, shit. There's only one hospital in Rockford?"

Marty sucked in some air. "Yeah."

"Stay there. I'm on my way." He folded the phone, did a one-eighty and headed for his car.

Author's Note: Big thanks to Kory for his help on the proof reading and editing, with many happy thoughts that he's doing well these days. Continuing thanks to all who have sent me well wishes. I'm happy to report that things on this end are going pretty well. As always, feel free to contact me with questions, comments or concerns about the story at scotty.13411@hotmail.com