Harvard Comes To Montana

"Harvard Comes To Montana" - Chapter Thirty-One

By Griz

umgriz@protonmail.com

Hi, Friends;

It's Spring up here, it's Autumn down there, and wouldn't you just know it, the Sun continues to rise in the East for all of us.

Thanks for checking in with Jozef, Marc and every other sentient being on Farm W. Yes, I'm including stupid chickens.

This chapter is longer again. Jozef's priority is not only listening to Marc, but hearing him. I've heard rumors we can do both.

Oh---you know that phrase by and large', which we use as another way to say, for the most part', or generally speaking'? Its origins are nautical. It meant by'--sailing to or aside (quarter) the wind, and `large'--sailing away from the wind (a tail wind). It'll make sense to you. I promise.

Griz

*** The following story is a work of erotic fiction. If you are under the age of 18 or if this type of fiction is prohibited in the location where you are reading this, do not read any further.

All characters and names are creations of the author. Any resemblance to persons living or dead is purely coincidental.

Please show your support for Nifty, a great organization that gives opportunities to all types of authors to express themselves. To find out how you can contribute, go to donate.nifty.org/donate.html ***

I looked around for my man but he was nowhere to be found in the house. I could've just called him or pinged his watch, but where's the fun in that? If hunting for eggs had been on my daily radar for most days in my seventeen years, then hunting for hairy Harvard professors shouldn't be much of a challenge. Hmmm.....hairy former Harvard professors? At least one I can think of, anyway. Oh, woe is Fergus County if more of `em descend on us. Lu Barney wouldn't be able to keep up. I didn't think she'd see that as a bad thing. Her Willys Overland had room for five all tied up in back, after all.

After brushing my teeth and finding a hat, I walked out into the barnyard and sniffed the air, as if I were anyone in the Barn Family. The smell of soil was in the western breeze, a fair indication Harvest was finished for most of us. No stalks of grain or grasses to be smelled; just the soil that grew them. Another season, come and gone. It was the realization of hard work, of Dad's and Mom's hard work, keeping the farm alive and in the black for another year. We would never know more grain planted by Dad, but the grain he planted would in part be the seed for next season.

What we grew this year was from the same seed stock as every previous year, up to the point that the initial homesteading Wojtowiczes bought their initial supply of wheat, barley and rye seeds. I was their legacy, Aleksy and Gus, too, of the homesteaders. The seed we'd use next season was the legacy of what they'd planted 120 years ago. I'm sure you can predict this, but that's only because I have you well conditioned to anticipate it: Aleksy and I were committed to another 120 years with plenty of seed of all kinds planted on Farm W by Team W.

What I really wanted, too: not just little Jozefs racing through meadows, but Marc's issue, too. I regretted that I had no cousins on Mom's side; I'd be very much inclined to find one and ask her to bear Marc's child so there'd be full Team W blood here. Ah, well. Although I'm quite accustomed to getting what I want---most of the time---it's not a one hundred percent success rate. Yet.

I walked to the north end of the barn to find my brother back from town and with my mate at the other end, wrangling black fencing material. Ohhhh-----duh! I forgot about the enclosed dog run Marc got for Lola Cola and her pups. This was a perfect day to get that built. When I approached, Aleksy laughed and shook his head.

"Get used to it, Marc; you'll get precious little peace. He'll always find you, and then want to supervise the work you're doing."

Marc laughed good-naturedly. Only two weeks in with Team W, but he already `got' our humor.

"Well, he found me a couple of weekends ago. I know now your little brother won't let me get lost on a highway or in a barnyard."

"Damned right I won't! So. Lola Cola's dog run?"

"Yeah. Aleksy and I think they'll appreciate some sunlight and freedom to move around."

The three of us discussed the project, and just to be a (you know me) smart-ass, I found the printed instructions among the parts and pieces on the floor of the barn.

"Okay. So. It reads here that the run can be configured a few different ways. That's good. Also expandable. Something to keep in mind when the pups hit the day when they magically discover their clumsy little legs can run as well as waddle. I can't wait for that."

Aleksy grinned and nodded. He talked about the generous size Marc already bought, and that as adoptions of the pups increased, the necessary space for the rest would decrease. Marc was brought up to speed on the thoughts Aleksy and I had about finding another registered bitch to mate with the sire we were about to adopt, and what to do about space for future litters.

"Oh, well, I noticed stalls closer to the other end of the barn, only holding equipment and tools now. If you want, we could build something within the space of a few or them, and even saw some short portals in the wall of the west wall of the barn. Fence a large area in outside, cover the ground with cedar chips, and voila! Lots of room for lots of dogs."

That sounded like a good idea to me. From a tax concern, Farm W could lease the space to Aleksy, which would give him some tax credit to offset a little of the revenue he'd make from the breeding fees collected, or the litters thrown and adopted off. Lots to consider, and the farm's accountant could advise on all of it. I liked Marc's idea for other reasons, though. Relocating to the north end of the barn would give the dogs some separation from the horses, which they, too, would probably appreciate. For now, we had a run to assemble for this big-quantity, little-bodied family. Except Lola Cola. `Little-bodied' Bernese? Not since she was seven months old.

My phone buzzed in my pocket. Lamar sent a text message.

"#27 update: doing well, eating, energy returning, head up. Solid stool, no problem urinating. All systems are go for whenever you want to get her, once we're open again."

"Thanks, Lamar! That's great news----but you're working outside of your clinic hours. You're dedicated, or just bored."

"Heh.....both, kinda. Sally says I should get used to not having a lot of time to myself; vets never get much. Not a lot to do around here in the evenings, anyway. I stick out like a sore thumb, as I'm sure you noticed. People look at me funny if I'm eating someplace alone."

"Maybe a thumb, and yeah, you might be sore after a few months of pulling calves and other big-animal stuff. I want you to come out here on your next unofficial day off. Hang with Team W. We're a goofy bunch, but we're never boring!"

"Thanks; really thanks. I will. Gotta scoot; Biedermayer's colt needs some time on the walker. See you whenever you come for #27."

I signed off and brought Aleksy current. Either one of us could go get the heifer. And speaking of bovine beasts: Sebastian must've heard my voice, and within a moment, all of Fergus County heard his.

"I've been summoned, Boys. Carry on."

Marc giggled and Aleksy just shook his head.

"Don't encourage him."

I ran to the other end of the barn and found both an apple and a carrot in the fridge with Sebby's name on `em, and a long lead. Walking out and around to see the west side of the barn, I could see where Marc was suggesting some doors cut into the wall to allow future litters to come and go outside at will. It was a good idea, and I loved that he didn't hesitate to offer it.

Approaching the corral and my Big Guy, I felt a twinge of an emotion only a farmer knows, and never just once. We're all visited by the emotional discomfort of the perfect storm of guilt and sorrow. No matter how many times we tell ourselves, no matter how many times others tell us, we never just let an animal leave the farm alive on a one-way trip to its final destination without wishing things could be different for everyone concerned.

Sebastian the prize-winning steer looked me in the eye as I approached. For a moment he looked like he'd just read my mind. I doubted one apple and one carrot would assuage my guilt, but I couldn't show up empty-handed. Nor could I leave before getting there, pretending for both Sebby and me that he didn't see me. I let myself in the corral and approached the one-ton-heavy steer. He raised his head to sniff in my direction, and then snorted as if to get the stench of an overly-clean human out of his head.

"Hey, Big Guy. You doin' okay? Want to go out and stretch your legs? Go keep watch on your flock? You're really good at that. Thank you, Sebby. Um, just want to say: your new human is trying to get out of an agreement we had. I hate that guy. Not because he made a bad business decision, but because he's not gonna honor the unspoken part. The one that acknowledges you're special, Sebby. I can't sell that. There's no increased price on the hoof just because I've loved you for five years. I just wanted you to know I've loved you. Five years. Long before you got a purple fucking ribbon at the fair. Fuck that ribbon. It doesn't matter, Big Guy. And I'm sorry."

Sebastian The Wonder Steer dropped his head and got his slobbery nose right up to my pocket. Whether he heard me or understood me, he knew I brought sweet appreciation. If only fruits and vegetables could mollify me in my morose and maudlin moment. In reality, they actually made me feel worse; I was picturing in my head a twenty-four ounce cut of Black Angus prime rib on a platter, surrounded with roasted carrots and apples.

Well, that was enough of that. Had to get my head back in the moment and remember why I bought that little steer at auction when I was a much wiser, more practical, less emotional twelve year old farm boy. Damn, how I had devolved in maturity in only five years. I wondered how I'd manage to get my shoes tied in another five years. No doubt even cowboy boots would confuse me. Probably just wander around in bedroom bunny slippers to save myself the embarrassment that any other toe garages would present me.

Sebastian almost savored his treats, chewing each a few times before swallowing. His exceptionally long tongue cleaned up around his mouth, and then he bellowed what I chose to believe was a `thank you', though Sebby had nothing to thank me for. Indeed, it was I who had thanks to offer him---and for him. He was my first personal experience in animal husbandry, approved by and encouraged by Dad.

Never once in five years did he have to tell me Sebby was my responsibility. Probably because I never saw my Big Guy as a responsibility; he was a daily privilege. Sebastian was also a good and challenging opponent in a game of Tag, and it seemed like that's what he had in mind at that moment. Either that, or he just wanted to knock me on my ass for being sad. Or for not bringing more treats. Next time, Sebby; in fact, for each time in the foreseeable future: two apples, two carrots, more scratches between the eyes.

I laughed as I picked my vanquished butt up off the straw-laden corral and attached the lead to Sebastian's halter. He was certainly not dragging his four hooves to get out of the corral, and if we're being honest, he led me to the gate that offered him acres of freedom in the little pasture. Once he was on the other side, the better side, he walked toward the cows and announced his presence. They all raised their heads for a moment and then returned to grazing. Soon would come the time they'd wonder where he was and why they hadn't been out with him. No one knows the extent of the bovine brain's cognitive abilities, but I naturally assumed Sebastian's purple ribbon was for his Rhodes Scholar mentality. The cows were, at the very least, as smart as a high school graduate. Even one who got out in three years and had college to conquer yet.

I closed the gate and took a moment to watch 54 pregnant cows and one male Black Angus who had absolutely nothing to do with their current condition, but who just moved naturally among them and stayed aware and alert to the dangers of coyotes. The scene before me was so peaceful and pastoral. I wondered how many of my ancestors, farm boys at one point of another, stood against the same gate and looked at the pasture before them. What did they think about? What were their worries or joys? What did they call their steer? What was the Polish version of `Sebastian', anyway?

I heard footsteps approach from behind me. I knew it was Marc without even seeing him. Aleksy's legs had a longer, heavier stride, and each step announced his arrival. I stayed leaning against the old fence, and felt arms wrap around me. I moved a hand to cover Marc's. A simple, kind and intimate gesture that we could enjoy anywhere on these three thousand acres.

"Is this a private moment, or can I join you?"

"You're welcome wherever I am, Boyfriend. Except when I'm pooping."

"That goes without saying. Or it should've gone without saying. I'll respond only that you are welcome to all the privacy and time by yourself for that particular activity. So what goes on here? Just watching the livestock gestate?"

"Pretty much. Sometimes Time moves slowly out here. Sometimes it goes so fast. Five years in the flash of an eye. I wish I could buy a thousand acres of more time like I can land."

"Hmmm.....interesting use of land as a quantity of time. What's bringing this on?

"Ohhhh.....just me in another example of not being all that mature yet. I'm lamenting the unenviable future moment when I have to trade that huge beast for a little, and likely, rubber check. It is not a fair trade, but it seemed like it when I shook that Texan snake's slithery hand."

"`Seller's Remorse', Babe?"

"Yeah, pretty much. But this is the way of the world, or at least this farm, and I've always known this is how things work here. Maybe I'm feeling like this year has been magical in so many regards. Graduated high school, pulled in a perfect harvest, and met you. And yet, there've been moments that are in the other column of the ledger. Dad died. Eva was beaten.....again. And now, my Big Guy there is soon to leave me. Weird, I know."

"`Weird'? Beautiful, actually. At least in my book. You possess empathy and compassion, two of the reasons I found myself attracted to you a couple of weekends ago."

"How's that?"

"You didn't have to drive me back into town, you know. You could've just stepped back and let me run past, or got me turned around so I could run back the way I came---with the risk in both directions of skunks, porcupines and owls. You were my first friend here. Then my first boyfriend. You've never been, in all my experience with you, anyone whom I'd believe would react differently to the sale of Sebastian. I love you for that. Heck, I just love you, Jozef. My Jozef, the Farm Boy."

I turned around within Marc's embrace and moved my arms up around his neck. What kind things to say. He didn't discount my feelings at the moment, nor did he join my in my wallow. Marc just.....loved me. It's what I needed at that moment, because I was not feeling lovable. Without doubt, this feeling of regret would come to me again, and without doubt, Marc would offer me comfort in his embrace. I would accept it most gladly and gratefully. Heh.....Marc talks about my compassion and empathy, and yet just then, he shared the motherlode of both with me. Seventy years with both of those being shared between us? They'd do a lot to sustain us through each of those years and the challenges we'd face during them.

"Babe, I'm going back into town. I need to work on the logistics of going to Cambridge and wrapping stuff up there. I know you haven't even worked through lunch yet, but what's for dinner?"

"Mom's making liver and onions! I can bring enough for two---with plenty for leftovers!"

"Ah. Yeah, well.....as much as I love Marie and her cornucopious kitchen, I'll politely ask for just a small piece, please."

"I love Marie and her kitchen, too---but liver or any organ meat on a plate in front of me, and I'll become a lifetime member of PETA before it even has a chance to cool off. Actually, I'm going to cook tonight. I'll bring some veggies from here. Is there anything you hold in the same esteem as a fried detoxifying organ?"

"Creamed corn or pickled beets, but I promise you: I'll never turn my nose up at anything you give me to eat."

"Oh, really? Well, I can say confidently you'll need to turn your nose up to one particular Polish delicacy I'd like to get in your mouth."

"What does `turning my nose up' have to do with voluntarily dislocating my jaw?"

"Nothing and everything. I'm just thinking of you, Boyfriend."

"YEAH, y'are. Come in anytime you want. Want me to put a 7-Up in the fridge for you?"

"Yes, please. I'll admit, I miss your grandma and her offers of innocent bubbles-in-a-glass."

"I miss her, too. Grampy, too. This is by no means a direct comparison between entities, but only in terms of how we're born to endure loss. I have become concerned that I won't see The Grandies again. They're both in their Eighties, and not the shallow end of the decade, either. Dynamic, healthy and joyful people. To be completely candid, they've given me so much, and I have given them nothing but worry over the years. Yes, some moments of pride, too. I wish I could've given them grandkids. You saw the walls in the little apartment; they celebrate family. You know what I'd really love? To frame a photo of my own son or daughter, put it on the wall down there, and take a photo to then send to them. Grammy would cry. Grampy, too, I think."

"How would you prioritize that?"

"Top Five, Babe."

"We're smart. We'll figure it out. Aleksy said so."

"Unless I'm mistaken, it's a priority on your list of accomplishments in your still-young life, too."

"Top Five, Marc. Particularly after Mom's news last night. Five to eight years are not a long time for her to have conversations with a grandchild, and I know she wants those. `Kids are to be seen AND heard in this house', she'd tell anyone who visited and thought my brothers and me a little obstreperous in our kinetic, energetic states. Even Dad was fine with that. He had, on more than one occasion, told people he didn't have three boys, but furniture that squeaked and shouted, and wouldn't stay in one place. He also said he only got nervous if we were quiet; it meant we were up to something not good. I want boys like that, too. And girls. Whatever they are."

"I've never met anyone like you, Jozef. Your future is not only for your pleasure and security; you really do want a secure future for the farm and family, both."

"The only way I'm gonna get some of this soil out of my veins is if I get it into another generation's."

Marc leaned his smiling face toward mine, and I got a kiss that was gentle at the start, but by the time we finished, well, I was glad my back was up against the gate. Marc seemed to be in competition with my Big Guy for a ribbon win in parking me on my ass, given the chance. That man----MY man----put the passion' in compassionate'. Hmmm.....the cum' in cumpassionate'? You know by now: I'm exceedingly clever or precociously annoying. Depends on who you ask.

When we gave up trying to suck the very breath out of each other's lungs, Marc released the hold he had on me. I missed it and him immediately.

"You're bringing the garden to town, but is there anything you want me to pick up from the store?"

"Only if you're going there, otherwise I'll stop and get some chicken thighs and some brown rice, myself."

"I can remember those two. I need some cream for my coffee, anyway. If you think of anything else, send me a text. I'll upstairs now and get my electronic leash. I'll make more notes for the book."

We walked back to Marc's old truck.

"Can I drive this someday?"

"You can drive it today if you want."

"Nice! Really? Are you fucking with me right now?"

"Not right now, but later, probably. Depends on how good a cook you are. I would offer a tip at the end of a good meal in a restaurant, so if you do at least as well this evening, I'll tip you over the kitchen counter."

"I am now inspired to embarrass Julia Child and Martha Stewart with my culinary capers. Oh! Capers! Can you grab a jar of those, too? And some Dijon mustard?"

"Babe, we'll make love even if dinner sits unprepared in the fridge and all we feast on is each other. I might as well make a list before I drive, though. So am I taking your truck and leaving you this one?"

"Tempting, but no. I want to drive when you're with me. Do you have a timeframe for your agenda this evening? Want me in at any particular time?"

"No timeframe, but yes to agenda. It's simple, really. Dinner, talk, enjoy some `shades-down' time with you. Also, there's room in all of that for anything specific on your mind."

"Nothing from me this evening, other than attentive listening to you. Something is on your mind, and yeah, I'll admit I'm a little nervous. No one has ever said they need to talk with me before. Sure, some things, but not on matters pertaining to that person and me. I'm just inexperienced in yet another area of Life."

"Your experiences, your hopes, your expectations; all of those and more are why I need to talk with you. I can't stop you from feeling nervous right now, but you'll wonder why you ever felt that way after we've eaten, talked and had ice cream. Oh----I'll get some ice cream. Favorite flavor?"

"This is gonna be so predictable, I'm embarrassed. Vanilla, Moose Tracks or Peppermint."

"Does the store at the top of the hill have any of those?"

"All of em, I should probably be embarrassed to say. Mom was right, though; I have two hollow legs, and ice cream goes into both of em quite nicely. We've been known to have five or more flavors in the freezers. Dad had his favorite, Mom had hers, and I remember Aleksy craving Strawberry----with more strawberries on top. Gus liked Moose Tracks, so I liked it. Silly little oinker, I was."

"Come when you're ready, Babe. I will be ready for you."

We shared a kiss again, and off drove my man in his fancy `57. It was so far from fancy, really; it was solid, basic, durable and maintained impeccably. Once he was up on the county road, I turned and walked to where my brother was, putting the finishing assembly touches on the dog run. I assisted with fastening the shade cover on part of it. With all the anchor spikes in place, we walked around, looking for any uneven terrain that would make it easy for a pup to get out of the run, or a fox could take advantage of and get in. The only question on our minds was O.C., who until now had full and immediate access to Lola Cola and her family, should any emergency arise. This was not going to go over well with him.

Once everything looked safe and secure, I went to the barn and got some straw to lay at one end of the run. Lola Cola would know by instinct that was her rest area, and the pups would not be wandering down that far for awhile yet. I saw O.C., who was watching me with skeptical disinterest. That's a feat no human could accomplish, but for mistrusting and curious cats, it was natural talent. Well, might as well butter him up now for a good attitude later. Duck heart it is, Old Cat. He accepted, but that wasn't really an offer he'd consider declining. He'd sell his own mother for a treat like that.

It seemed like the right time to help the Berneezers move to their new home; the Sun was still higher and warm, and it had a way to go until it settled behind the barn in another five or six hours. She was Aleksy's girl, though we all loved and doted on her from the moment she leapt from my brother's SUV a couple of weeks ago. This was just like taking her to Sally's vet clinic; it was one for all and all for one. Aleksy had to be the human to move the first pup. Unlike cats having zero trust in humans, dogs have full trust----as long as they can trust their alpha.

I unfastened the nets, but not until I'd reflexively looked up to the rafters for Barni. I didn't see her. Dad said sometimes she'd fly off to the trees if she was looking for a mate, or to tantalize her taste buds and find a little forest creature. Aleksy woofed at Lola Cola who responded in kind, yet again thumping her tail against the floor of the barn. I was happy for her already that she'd have a more comfortable home with a cushy floor to recline on. Aleksy knelt and rubbed her head and ears, earning him several licks to the hand.

"Okay, Girl; you're movin' on up, to the East side; to that deluxe apartment on the law-aw-awn....."

I rolled my eyes and laughed at him. George and Weezy would not be impressed. He picked up two of the pups and held them where she could see him.

"It's okay; you'll see!"

He stood up and walked out the side door of the barn, turning to look at Lola Cola. She was very alert and very suddenly, but her bark was less one of, what the fuck do you think you're doing?!' and more of, I have my eyes on you, and I trust that I'll like what I see'. He was fast across the barnyard with the pups, which made me as nervous as Mom would've been to see him running with her tailor's shears in his hand. He got them inside the door of the dog run, and then took off runnin' himself right back to Lola Cola and the other ten pups. Two more pups picked up, presented to Mama Dog, then a run back to the house.

This caught O.C.'s attention, and as predicted, he was having none of this. He was hot on Aleksy's tail, and once all four of them were back with the first two pups, that old cat bullied his way right in the dog run door and checked on each of the four little pups. I could see him staying right in there, despite Aleksy laughably telling Uncle O.C. that he should come back out of there. AS IF, Human.

I stayed with Lola Cola and the ever-dwindling remainder of the litter until it was down to two pups: a tiny female and my Little Guy. Lola Cola could also see what was going on across the barnyard and on the human house's lawn. She woofed at me and nudged Little Guy at me with her nose, and then stood herself and picked up the tiny girl very gently with her mouth, and we both moved across the way to their new home. I marveled at that mother; she never ceased to show her trust of the humans in her presence. That would likely make the adoptions go well, I thought. I certainly hoped so.

The tiny pup in my hands was making his tiny sounds, and it was with reluctance that I put him back in with his sisters and brothers. Lola Cola waited for me to do that before she went in with her daughter. Once they were all in, Lola Cola ran to the far end of the run and squatted, always relieved to get relief. O.C. was all up in the pups, and waited for Mama Dog to return. When she did, I went back to the barn to get the food and water bowls. Oh----and duck hearts. Relocating an entire household is strenuous work; you get an appetite moving that far away.

"Aleksy, what're we gonna do about Old Cat?"

"Hmmm. I could show him how to open the door and maybe even give him a key, but I think he's gonna have to just figure this whole thing out for himself. I love how caring and careful he's been with all thirteen of them, but their comfort and safety is more important to me."

A thought crossed my mind. I made another trip back to the barn and found an old but clean rug that we kept in the barn bathroom. I knew we had others in the basement of the house, and I'd replace that one later. I got it and took it back to the stall where the Berneezers had been living, and dropped the rug face-first on the straw. I stepped on the back of the rug to really smoosh in some of the scent of the little family, and then returned with it to the dog run. I laid it out across the very end of the run, which was up against the side of the house. The whole run was maybe forty inches high, and the rug covered the retracted shade cover. It was, I thought, the perfect vantage point for O.C..

To encourage him to try this, I reached through the door and gently picked him up. Of course he had to give me a little yowl to tell me how uncool of me that was. Then I placed him up on the rug where a duck heart and all sorts of Lola Cola and Family scents were. He peered down into the dog run, and while he wasn't happy to not be in there with them, he was grudgingly accepting with his bribe. He was in the Sun, something that didn't happen for him in the barn stall with the pups.

That and the treat must've convinced him I wasn't being a dick on purpose, and he did exactly what I'd hoped he would: he got down into that resting crouch position cats are famous for, looking to all the World like the lions in front of the New York City Public Library or a quadruple amputee, and basked in the Sun. He would still very likely want to be able to inspect and clean the pups like he'd been doing for ten days now, but until Aleksy and I could figure out a way to make that possible and still let him then get out and go back to mousing the barn, this would have to suffice. We'll work on it, O.C.. If Marc and I can figure out how to give Mom grandchildren, Aleksy and I can creatively keep Uncle Old Cat in the paws-on uncle-ing business. So, now I have a Top Six agenda. Fine.

Around 4:00PM, I'd managed to cross a few things off my list for the day. Ross Sweeney wasn't in, which actually disappointed me; we needed to come to a mutual understanding about our previous mutual understanding. I found Mom and told her I was about to head into town. Of course she asked what we were doing for dinner, and offered to send in a frozen casserole or lasagna with me. I told her my plans, which she liked right away. I'd made that particular dinner for her and Dad a few times, and they always liked it. I liked that we were all creative in the kitchen, sharing the work load there as well as in the fields and barnyard. Mom gave me the run of the cellar and garden for whatever I wanted, which I quickly filled a box with. I gave her a peck on the cheek and went out to my truck. Aleksy was coming out of the barn bathroom about then.

"What's all that? And why aren't you taking the liver so I don't have to eat it?"

"I'm making dinner in town. Marc wants to talk about something serious this evening. I suspect there's something bothering him."

"It's probably your face, although he didn't say that specifically to me earlier today."

"Dick. When are you going to get Eva?"

"6:00PM, she said."

"Can I ask---how'd your appointment go?"

"Brief and rushed. He had to rush to hospital to anoint a terminal patient. We'll talk again, and now that he knows what I want to talk about, Father Tim said we can speak on the phone in future. That's good. Once we begin cleaning up the fields and planting Winter wheat, I won't have a lot of time to be running into town. It'll get even more tight once you start school."

"So I'm guessing he didn't say you're not eligible to marry Eva."

"Actually, we didn't even get that far. He just knows the topic is on my radar. Now it's on his, too. Jozef, I'm beside you entirely if this becomes your own topic on your own radar. However you want to do it, I'm there for you. Still really early on, I know; but I also can see how you two are around each other, and how you look at each other. You know what's the most glaring, obvious thing, though? It's how you can be silent with each other and still communicate tons of stuff. I've watched you. That's beyond being only boyfriends. You guys just act like you've known each other for a long time."

"Thanks. Thanks very much, Big Brother. Mom kind of said the same thing earlier. But you're right; it's still early on. I'd really like to have a similar conversation with Father Tim, but other than him just listening, I don't foresee much action in my favor. Our favor."

"There's no god of love who can't see the love between two people. You two are everything Hallmark makes cards about."

"Oh? The `I'm so sorry to hear about your broken skull, but you should've worn that seatbelt' cards?"

"Specifically those cards. Weren't you going into town? Was that just a rumor I was hoping to believe?"

"Yes. On my way now. Not returning tonight, but I'll be back out tomorrow morning. Oh....."

"Yes, I can take care of the morning chores."

"Thanks. Sebastian is out with the cows."

"Okay. I'll probably organize the straw inventory up in the loft, and maybe move some more hay bales up there, too."

"Fine. Anything we need from town?"

"Not that I can think of. I'll send you a text later."

"Smooch up on Eva for me. See you tomorrow."

"See you, Little Brother. Bye."

"S'Long, Big Brother."

My drive in was a little peppier during that trip. I didn't know at all what Marc wanted to discuss, but I knew preparing dinner would run me about thirty minutes. The sooner I got it doing, the sooner we could eat and then talk. The sooner we talked, the sooner he cocked my ass. I swear I don't have a one track mind, but when I think about my man inside me, it's suddenly my focus.

I turned onto the highway and waved to Kim and Kristi in the window. The line to the window was nine vehicles deep, and three semi tractors were parked at the other end of the building. The drivers were probably inside. Aleksy and I really needed to get that counter built for Eva, but I knew now what he really focused on was building a marriage.

Main Street was quiet in the late afternoon. The few businesses still there closed no later than 6:00PM, having little incentive to wait for foot traffic that would not come until the following morning. Friday evenings they'd stay open until 9:00PM, all but begged by the Chamber Of Commerce to participate in an additional three hours of little or no revenue. Begging was fine.....but passive-aggressive shaming could also be employed, and had been in the past.

Since I was a little ahead of my own schedule, I drove through the third of three lonely stoplights in town and past the hotel. There was that 70s blue Eldorado convertible, parked right up front. Good night. That thing was as subtle as a drag queen and not nearly as good-looking. The horns above the grill gave it a particular tasteless appearance, at least in my opinion. Montana is not a county in Texas. I'm sure if I really thought about my opinion, though, I'd find it colored and informed by my own interactions with its owner, which wasn't fair to the innocent---however ostentatious---car that was longer than the swimming pool in the hotel courtyard.

Well, maybe I just needed to actually walk into the cranky, broke lion's den and see what can be done about the bad check he was going to soon be writing. Actually, I had a thought that I needed to park away in my noggin. I was going to go get some advice from Mr Raver before the week was out. Maybe tomorrow on my way out of town. I knew from him being a teacher and as a banker that he was someone I felt I could trust. I'd confided a few things in him when I was in school.

Nothing about my sexuality or activity; just how I was feeling overwhelmed being the youngest freshman, and then two years later, how I was losing my mind while trying to make it up about college. Mr Raver listened and didn't talk until I was finished. I loved that quality in him. When he did talk, it was sincere and thoughtful; and he didn't hesitate to offer an opinion, whereas most adults would just leave the kid still confused and more frustrated. Mr Raver was in my Top Five of adults in Fergus County I admired, respected and trusted. I'm sure I wasn't the only kid who ever thought that.

I wrapped my trip down Main Street around and drove back up to 6th Avenue and through an older part of a town that only ever seemed old. Well, except for Mr and Mrs Taylor's house. Marc's house. OUR home (in town, that is). I passed Mr Siler, owner of the Coast to Coast hardware store in town. I waved at him and he waved back, but I doubt he recognized me. He was a good businessman and waved at everyone, likely assuming they'd helped him at some point to buy and maintain his house by being a customer needing anything from a light bulb to a candle----in case they ran out of light bulbs.

When I got home (that was gonna take some gettin' used to, but I was happy to get goin' on it), I parked on the street and walked up to the door. Reflexively, I raised my closed hand to rap my knuckles on it. Before I could roll my eyes and yank my hand back down, Marc opened the door and smiled.

"You'll figure it out someday, but obvious not today. That's okay. I actually like it when you announce your presence. Reminds me I'm lucky."

I smiled and shook my head as I walked through. Marc closed the door behind him, and I wasted no time getting my arms around his solid waist. I nibbled on his ear for a moment, which made him shiver and giggle.

"Here I am."

"May you ever be thus."

We stayed still for a moment, my man in my arms and my head on his shoulder. Still didn't know what I did to deserve this, but until I knew or until I no longer deserved Marc, I was not going to take any of it---or him---for granted. Even though we'd parted only recently, I still behaved like I hadn't seen my man in years. How the royal fuck was I supposed to endure a week of him being what would seem like a million years and billion miles away? Geez, Jozef; don't you have some growing up to do? Better get on it. Seventy years is gonna be a challenge if I only ever act like a seventeen-year-old throughout it.

"Forgot the veggies in the truck, Boyfriend. I'll be right back."

"Okay. Maybe if your hands are full you won't be tempted to knock....."

"Cowboy boots, you know, are multi-functional tools for farm boys....."

We laughed and I kissed the back of his neck while unwrapping my arms from around him. I returned to my truck and got the big box of Garden and Cellar. Whatever I didn't cook tonight would at least occupy vast, empty space in the fridge, and keep that box of baking soda company. A few jars, both quarts and pints of things, for the cabinets, too. Stuff I'd remember was there, and smile while thinking about Dad, Mom and me working in evenings and weekends to get what remained of the garden into jars and work some wizardry in food science to keep us fed through the long, barren Winters that were and always will be, probably, half of a Montana year.

In no time I had the box unloaded and stored, except for what I'd be using for dinner. Marc offered to help, but this was honestly a fast process that I'd executed many times previously. In twenty minutes, dinner was in the oven. Marc stood and reached for the drawer that had utensils and cloth napkins. With plates and glasses pulled down, he walked it all to the dining room and set the table. He found a nice, mellow playlist on Spotify for the old radio. I was already enjoying this evening, and yet it wasn't even 6:00PM. I washed my hands and dried them on the towel hanging from the wall oven's door handle, and then joined Marc in the dining room.

"One hour in the oven, fifteen minutes to rest once out again, and we're eating. I'll get a spinach salad going in forty-five minutes. So, I have this notion in my head that Ivy League professors have men's clubs they go to, sitting on overstuffed furniture in hushed big rooms, enjoying something amber in a glass before dinner."

Marc hesitated as he placed one of the forks on a napkin.

"Um, I think that went out with black & white movies in the Thirties, along with dressing formally just to eat dinner. Although I watched what you're making. Maybe I should get dressed up. Looks incredible, and I gotta put those suits to some use, after all."

"Damn, I am still seeing you standing on that round platform in Billings, just in your underwear. That's an image I want fresh in my head for the rest of my life."

"You know, Jozef.....you can have a live version of that memory, whenever you want it. I am yours, Babe."

Don't know why, exactly; but it made me a little misty-eyed. Not bad or anything; just feeling.....lucky, perhaps? Yeah, the entire team at Jason's saw what I saw that morning, and Anna at the hotel saw even more. What none of them saw, though; what I saw every time Marc looked deeply into my eyes: just Love and Like, and lots of both. I walked around the end of the table and took his hand, leading him over to the mohair-covered sofa. I interlocked our fingers and sat down, and Marc did the same.

"Marc, thank you. You are mine. I am yours. Exactly how we came to that conclusion, knowing each other only briefly, I can't fathom. We did, though. Here we are. I know you want to discuss something this evening, and it's important to you. So, it's important to me. Do you want to do that now?"

"I was thinking of waiting after your surely wonderful dinner, but now.....perhaps sooner is better than later. We'll have future conversations following this one, but we can't have those unless we have this one now. Come downstairs with me, Babe."

We stood, but I kept our hands together. Something was on his mind, and I wanted him to know I was still present, still right with him, as he said whatever it was that concerned him so much. We walked down the wide stairway, steps that were designed and built so much wider than what you'd find in most houses. I'm sure there was a reason for it, but for now, the reason for our meeting and conversation lay somewhere downstairs and off we descended, side by side, hands no less together.

The basement was so much cooler than the main level of the house. I liked it. I always liked cold air more than hot. I'd have bet the temperature down there changed little from season to season. Marc walked us to the double doors of the little apartment. He reached for the doorknob and gave me a sober smile at the same time. It was the same smile some of the mourners sent our way at Dad's funeral Mass. No doubt there were countless situations such an expression was extended to whomever was on the receiving end, whether they wanted to see it or not. Sometimes we don't get to choose what others show us, but we can always choose how to react. I didn't know how to look back at Marc, so I kept a straight face, but squeezed his hand just a little. I'm still here, Marc; tell me what you need to tell me. You're mine, sure; as are your joys and challenges. I promise my reaction will be honest.

Marc reached in and flipped the light switch, which was not wired to any ceiling fixtures, but to the outlets in the wall. As the last time we were all there, four table lamps came on, offering homey and, in my opinion, more favorable light in the room. He led us to the long wall on the right, where his school pictures were mounted. Marc squeezed my hand just a little, and then pulled his away. He moved it up to the same frame I saw a few days ago. Unhooked now from the wall, he held it up and blew on the glass, I suppose, to whisk away any dust that just wasn't there; Mr and Mrs Taylor left the house immaculate, and no room was ever cleaner than the little apartment where Marc and his parents spent the first six days of his life.

Marc looked at the frame and then moved it more in front of me so I could see it better than if it remained on the wall. I still wasn't entirely sure what I was looking at, but I kept my ignorant curiosity to myself. Well, for a moment, anyway.

"You won a spelling bee, and you want to tell me you cheated?"

Marc snorted just a little.

"How do you cheat at a spelling bee.....or shouldn't I ask you?"

"Hmmm.....yeah, bad example. I don't see you as cheating at anything."

"I tried.....for a long time. That's why we're down here. So....."

"I can't read what's engraved on it. I've never seen a red medal. It's so small to be a medal....

"And yet, it celebrates a victory, Jozef. I have lots of them. This was my first. That's my 30-Day chip. Sober for an entire month."

So this is what he wanted to tell me, finally. I turned to look at Marc to see both sadness and relief on his face. I could understand the relief, but the sadness part escaped me. No doubt there was a lot more for him to tell and me to hear, but inspired by Mr Raver, I would have nothing to say in response until Marc stopped telling. Sure, we had about thirty minutes until dinner was ready, but we had----if wishes were horses----seventy years for him to say anything and everything, on even just this one topic.

"That----this----is what I need to tell you about, Babe. I hope I can still call you Babe. Often times, knowing that one of the people in a relationship is an addict can scare away the one who isn't. I don't exactly think you'd do that, but you didn't exactly think I'd tell you this, either. Two weeks, Jozef; we love each other and we belong to each other, but for any amount of time together, baggage comes with each of us. This is a big piece of mine."

I still had the framed red chip in my hand. With the other, I took hold of Marc's again.

"Is there more down here you want to show me right now?"

"About this? No."

"Then let's go back up. I want to put that salad together, and I want you to talk to me while I do it. Okay?"

"Okay, Babe."

We walked out of the little apartment. Marc turned off the lights and closed the door again, and we headed up the carpeted steps to the main floor. We returned to the kitchen. I rested the little frame against the flour canister on the counter. Then I turned to Marc and pulled him up tightly against me, my arms around his back and hips. I invited a kiss. The kind you give---and hope to get---when reassurances are necessary, and words won't convey all that's necessary.

"Boyfriend, if comes the day you wonder if you can still call me Babe', I'll know I've failed in the integrity I have and esteem I hold you in. I have in abundance just love and support for you, Marc. Besides.....Mom and Aleksy know you call me Babe'. If you stop, they're gonna get really pissed off! And that's nothing compared with how pissed off I'LL be. Please. Continue."

Marc continued and I listened. It took five minutes to get spinach, tomatoes, feta cheese and Greek olives in a bowl, ready for a last-minute dressing. I joined Marc on his side of the kitchen island where I'd been working. We sat facing each other. He took a big breath and exhaled.

"Okay, so.....from start to finish of how that red chip came to be in a little frame on a wall in the basement. When I was in junior high school, twelve years old, I began experiencing some severe depression. Not the kind, "I'm feeling blue today", but dark and deep clinical depression. My parents were already having big problems with me being gay, so this was just the cherry on the cake of their day.

What have you got to be depressed about?', and we give you everything you want or need'. Other comments that were, I realized later, just more of their bullying. They didn't understand depression. They didn't understand gay kids. And they never understood me. By the time I was 13 years old, I was getting drunk on a nightly basis. Just to get through the night without crying. So, in addition to being a gay kid and depressed, I became chemically dependent, as well. The unholy trinity for many kids.

It was a visit from my grandparents that saved my life, really. They had sent me a birthday card for my 14th birthday. It arrived the day before. Grampy had known something wasn't right in my world. Conversations on the phone probably led him to that conclusion, and their visits, too. In the birthday card, he and Grammy both wrote, `we would like you to call us, collect, after your parents have gone to sleep.' I did. I wanted so much for them to tell me I was adopted, that these people I lived with were not really my parents. Anything. Tell me anything, Grandies, that'll make me feel better.

I called not that night, but the next; the night of my actual birthday. My parents were going to some work-related event. I was old enough not to need a babysitter. They didn't even say goodbye; just that they'd be back after Midnight, and that there was a twenty dollar bill on the fridge door for pizza or whatever. I was not to leave the house. And that was it.

I waited until I saw their car disappear down the driveway and through the gate before calling my grandparents. They were so kind. Grammy got on one phone, and a moment later, Grampy was on another. Just hearing their voices brought relief. I could say nothing. I was silent for a moment, and then I began sobbing and crying. They said nothing. They just listened.

I told them everything. Gay, depressed, getting drunk in my room pretty much nightly. I told my Grandies I was fully prepared for them to respond as my parents had, but that didn't happen. Grammy cried along with me, and Grampy offered absolute assurance that they did not feel the same way, that they loved me and everything about me.

Grampy was hesitant to ask me a question, but he did. Slowly. He asked me if I felt desperate, that I might harm myself. Grammy kind of gasped. I don't think she was prepared for that question. I wasn't. I didn't answer right away. When I did, I said that it seemed like my only option to stop feeling the way I do. Grampy said, `We'll be there tomorrow. Promise us you will get through this night. If you have to drink to do that, fine. Do whatever you need to do so you wake up tomorrow. Your birthday.'

Grammy and Grampy both said, `we love you, Marc. hang on; we'll be there as soon as we can'.

I was already drunk by the end of the phone call. Of course I was. My parents' expensive French vodka mixed with orange Kool-Aid. The Grandies didn't give me permission as much as they just acknowledged that I was, truly, desperate. That was my bargain with them: I could drink if it would get me through the night until they came tomorrow. To this day, they are the only people in my family who've ever said, `I love you'. I would remain alive for another day if only to hear them say that again. I couldn't conceive that anyone could love a gay, depressed, nightly-drunk, freshly-minted 14-year-old.

I was asleep when my parents got home, whenever that was. Maybe `passed out' is more accurate. I didn't order pizza. The Twenty remained on the fridge where they left it. Instead, I poured vodka into an empty stomach to take early and strong effect.

I was awake right on time to get ready for school, though. I never missed school. It was all that I had to look forward to. I was at an exclusive boys' academy on Mercer Island. Most boys boarded there because they were from out of town or other states. Even other countries. I was what was known as a `Day Student', and was off campus no later than 5:00PM, Monday through Friday. Occasionally I'd be there for extracurricular functions, but mostly, I was home well before my parents were.

My parents were both big at Boeing. Mom was the head of HR. Dad was an executive vice president in Commercial Aircraft Sales. Their combined salaries were, I'm pretty sure, well in excess of a million or two a year. So, we had some domestic staff. Grady Thorstad drove me to and from school and anyplace else I needed to go. He lived in an apartment above the garage. Maura O'Malley kept the house and also cooked breakfast and dinner. She lived in her own home and came to us every day but Thursday. From the time I was a little kid, Maura's son Daniel was the only `regular boy' I knew, and although I wanted to be friends, he wasn't interested. He tolerated me if he came with his mother on the rare occasion.

Grady was wonderful to me, but he was kept so busy by my parents with all the yard work and handyman stuff that he barely had time to breathe. He let me hang out with him when I was little, but once I was older, I had more challenging school work. Grady also introduced me to vodka. He didn't mean to; he had a bottle of it in his room, and was making himself something to drink after he'd finished his work. I asked him if I could try it.

"Sure, Marc; but don't tell anyone. I'll lose my job and won't get another like it."

Grady had made a vodka tonic with lots of limes squeezed in. I had never tasted anything so incredible! One sip led to another, and by the time he came back from the bathroom, his after-work drink was gone.

"You sly fucker.....can't turn my back on you for a moment, can I?"

We both laughed and he topped off his drink, and then shooed me out. Damn, that was good. It made me feel funny, but not in a bad way. I liked it. I felt rubbery all over, and suddenly everything was funny. I got back to the house from Grady's apartment over the garage and watched Maura finish the Shepherd's Pie that would be dinner.

"Marc, what has gotten into you? You're acting silly. Is your homework done?"

"It is, Maura. I did it in the library at school, actually. I'm doing research for a history project. How long until dinner?"

"I'd say an hour. I suppose you're hungry now, though; typical twelve year old boy. Never full."

"Well, yeah, kinda. I didn't eat lunch at school. Something gross that was probably the headmaster's favorite when he was a boy there. My motto: `If I can't identify it on the plate, I can't eat it'."

"Well, I can't argue that logic, but maybe you're spoiled; you've always known what I cook, because you almost always watch me while you do your homework. You can nibble on something before dinner, but not too much. What would you like?"

"Oh, I'd say five tipsy olives from the bottom of a Martini glass....."

"HA! You and me, both! Seems like we both watch the same old movies on TV. What's your second choice?"

"Can I have a slice of your sourdough bread, toasted with butter?"

"My boy, you may certainly have that."

When Maura turned her back to get the bread out of the box she kept it in, I involuntarily shouted out the loudest, most vulgar belch ever heard west of the Cascade Range. I was so shocked, I slammed both hands over my mouth. Maura turned to look at me like I was the Kraken from the ocean's depths. We both just looked.....horrified, I think is a good word. I knew already it was the tonic water I'd swilled down in Grady's apartment. I just hoped Maura couldn't smell it.

"If you were ten years older, I'd be laughing and congratulating you on that.....whatever that was! What do you do in school all day? Just sit there and swallow air?!"

"HAHAHA! No. That just kind of......snuck up on me, I guess."

"I will tolerate those.....but not exactly happily. But once one of those comes out your other end, you will be banished from my kitchen and you'll eat all your meals outside and down wind of me, young man."

"AHAHAHA! Okay, Maura! That's fair. But what happens if YOU do that?"

"What....I? Oh, you scoundrel! Maybe bread is all you'll get for dinner! Your parents can be the first to dive into my grandmother's Shepherd's Pie recipe!"

"They won't. You and I both know it'll just sit there, or if it is eaten, it's Dad who'll do it."

"Well.....I can't argue. I guess that means more for you."

"It's good for me you're a great cook, Maura. Thank you for everything you do for us. For me, though, especially. I think I like you eating with me as much as I like what you give me to eat."

"Oh, you're welcome. This is my job, but you're my joy while I'm doing it. Now. Here's your toast treat. I need to check the pantry and the freezer and make a shopping list. If you want, I'll show you what's involved in that."

I nodded and smiled and got off the chair at the big island in the kitchen and followed her into the big pantry. All the dried goods were in there, along with different kinds of potatoes, onions, garlic and some canned food. I'd been in there before, but never really paid attention to any of it. I noticed a big cabinet that was all on its own against one wall.

"What's in there?"

"Where? Oh, that? That's the liquor cabinet. Not the wine, though; that's all climate-controlled and on the other side of that door."

I opened the door and looked at what seemed like a dozen boxes of different boozes in there. I didn't know what most of it was, but I recognized the brandy and the vodka. Those were what my parents drank, and were kept in nice, leaded crystal decanters in the library. I'd seen Maura bring the decanters to the kitchen and fill them a few times each week.

So. Vodka. There you are. Now.....where's your friend, Mr Tonic? Hmm.....none I see. Maybe Dad doesn't drink it that way. Didn't he like feeling rubbery and funny, too?

I closed the door and watched Maura continue with her shopping list. Once in awhile I'd look back at the liquor cabinet. I was the fox seeing a very easy way to get into the chicken coop, and the farmers were rarely around. I wanted to feel rubbery again and laugh at everything. At least until I could go back to school the following day and try to find some path forward for my life, which felt like it was getting darker and deeper all the time.

"Maura, I.....saw a TV show and the guy in it was drinking tonic water. Is it good? Like 7-Up? Do we have any?"

"Ugh! That horrid stuff! Good for nothing but taking tomato sauce stains out of linen napkins! No, none here. Well, unless your parents are having a party or something. Then I'll get some."

"Oh. Okay. Just wondered."

I hated lying to one of my only friends, particularly the friend who was more of a mother to me than the one whose blood was in my veins. She was nothing like my mother. I don't know how many Band-Aids Maura put on me, or how many times she woke me up in the morning with a hug and a smile. And on my birthday every year? I got a homemade cherry pie. I didn't like cake. Pie, though: oh, yeah. Maura's are still the best I've had, although Eva's is pretty damned incredible, too.

So, I found the vodka that Grady unintentionally made familiar to me. No tonic, or just rarely. Improvisation would have to do, and there were plenty of options. I improvised plenty for almost two years, and by my 14th birthday, I was improvising every night. That birthday was on a Thursday. Maura made my birthday dinner the evening before, and my parents were actually there for it, although not for that reason, I was sure. One of the rare occasions when their social calendar had a gaping hole in it, so might as well spend it with the result of their bad decision one night in grad school.

On my birthday the next night, my parents explained with fake guilt that they'd already been obligated to attend a work thing', but they'd take me out soon. I didn't care. In fact, if they HAD stayed around for my birthday, I couldn't get started with the drinking as early. Buzz off, Dave and Tamara. Go to your work thing. I have a vodka and orange Kool-Aid thing to attend.' I looked at the Twenty on the fridge. There wasn't good pizza for miles, and if I could get even a small one, it would cost way more than twenty dollars. Heck, in our zip code, a Twenty covers the tip for the delivery guy. I didn't care; I had half of a pie and some of the birthday dinner. Lasagna, by the way. Reheated or cold, it was incredible. As Fourteenth Pre-Birthdays go, mine was perfect, really. My favorite foods and my new favorite liquid refreshment, willing and able to take my mind off my despairing and lonely-gay-kid self.

So that was the night I called my grandparents. That was, I choose to believe, the night they saved my life. Had they not noticed something wasn't right, I also choose to believe, you and I would not be having this conversation in this house on this night. We would not have met. My grandfather's and my grandmother's blood lines would've ended, not only with my parents being covered in an avalanche, but me also very likely dead from the lethal combination of too-deep depression and too much vodka.

I didn't drink more that night, though. I was already properly polluted by the time I'd spoken with my grandparents. No more vodka was going to do me any more good. Heck, the cavalry was on the way. I just needed to brush my teeth, jack off, and pass out. Happy Birthday In A Few Hours To You, Marc Taylor. Drunk punk fourteen-year-old loser.

The following morning, I got ready for school and enjoyed Maura's breakfast casserole that I never got tired of. Extra salsa, please! Before I went out the door where Grady waited to drive me to school, I turned to Maura to thank her again for my birthday pie, which I'd finished the night before.

"Maura, my grandparents will be here by this evening."

"Oh? Your father usually tells me so I'll cut back on the salt when I cook dinner."

"Not them. My Montana grandparents."

"Oh! I love them! Wonderful! Your mother didn't tell me!"

"She doesn't know, Maura. Um, I know I'm just a kid and I'm not trying to tell you what to do, but I don't think this is going to be a happy reunion. They're coming because of me."

"Oh, Marc.....are you in some kind of trouble?"

"Yeah, I guess I am. My grandparents are coming to help me. So, I think there's going to be some drama tonight, in case you want to skip dinner. Isn't this supposed to be your night off, anyway?"

"Your mother would fire me if I did that. I'm taking Friday off, instead. My son has to go somewhere, last-minute. If I'd known that yesterday, your birthday dinner would've been today. Well, you get a second one, and your grandparents will be here, too. No, I'll be here, at least until your mother tells me to go. Now I'm worried about you. I'll make something that'll be no big deal if no one eats it. Marc, is there anything you want to tell me? If it's a secret, I'll keep it for you."

"I know you won't judge me, and if you can keep this secret until my grandparents get here and rock Dave and Tamara's world, I'll tell you. I've.....been getting drunk every night for a couple of years. Well, almost. Since I was Twelve, anyway. Also, I'm gay, which my parents know about and hate me for, and I seem to have that clinical depression thing going on for me, too. We studied it in school one week. Fits me to a T. So, there you go. I'm kind of screwed up, Maura."

Maura walked over to me and wrapped me up in a hug. Hers are almost as good as yours, Jozef. Babe. Thank you for that, by the way. So, that was happening, and then Maura pulled back. She had tears in her eyes. She took off her apron and grabbed her coat out of the little closet off the kitchen.

"Come on. You can't be late for school. I'm riding with you and Grady."

"Don't tell Grady; he's not like you. He's a good guy, but I don't want him knowing what I just told you. Especially the part about me getting drunk in his apartment."

"I told you I'd keep your secret. I like your Montana grandparents very much. I could always tell how much they loved you, Marc. I am glad and relieved to know they'll be here. Now let's go."

Maura rode with me to school. She told Grady she wanted to just go for a ride. He didn't argue. Grady never argued. He never said no. It's probably why he was so over-worked; he never told my parents no. He didn't tell me no when I asked to try his vodka tonic. We got to the academy and I got out of the car. I looked back at both of them and smiled, then joined the crowd of boys, all dressed alike, little clones who would do predictable school work and become predictable adults who'll bring their own sons to the academy----predictably.

The day dragged its well-shod feet, but it was finally over. I wondered if my grandparents were here yet. In the library during my free period, I looked up flights from Montana to Seattle. There were two. If they took the early flight, they'd already be in Seattle. If they took the later, they wouldn't arrive until almost 10:00PM. Either way, they'd be with me and see what a little drunk I was. Maybe Maura and Grady, too. Heck, even my parents. Everyone can be disappointed, all at once.

Grady was waiting for me after school. I'd told him during the ride in that I wouldn't be staying late. We drove home, and while going across the bridge to Medina where we lived, he looked over at me with a slight smile on his face. Uh-oh..... Now what.....

"Are you expecting company?"

"Oh.....well, yeah, I am. My grandparents from Montana. Have you seen them?"

"Yeah. They got to the house about three hours ago. I showed them all over so they could see the new stuff I'd planted. After that.....they've just been sitting there, waiting for you. Maybe it's just me, but it seems like they're acting as if they'd never see you again."

"Yeah, well.....that could be what they're thinking."

"That's cryptic, Marc."

"Sorry.....don't know why I said that....."

When we got through the gate, I nearly jumped out of the car and ran all the way up to the house. They must've seen us approaching, though; they came out and stood beneath the porte-cochere. Maura was there, too. All three were smiling. I got out and was engulfed by grandparents. It was such a relief. They did love me. They both cried. I did, too. Maura wasn't going to be left out in the cold, and she had a handkerchief up to her eyes. Grady just kept driving and parked the car in the garage. He was going upstairs to relax into a vodka tonic, lots of limes. God, I wanted to be there, too.

The four rest of us went back into the house, into the morning room next to the kitchen. The Grandies and I sat on the window seat together, one on each side of me. They held onto me and we didn't say anything for a moment. Maura came in with iced tea with lemon and mint, and a plate of her own Snickerdoodles. Well, so far, so good; my favorite grandparents and my favorite cookies. What could go wrong?

Nothing went wrong. Well, not right away.

After we had our drinks and cookies within reach, Maura walked back toward the kitchen. I called her name.

"Maura. Um, just a moment, please. Grammy and Grampy, Maura knows. Everything. I told her. Can she stay?"

Grammy smiled and welcomed Maura, who after a slight hesitation sat on a chair next to the window seat. Grampy seemed pleased.

"Marc, a man needs friends, when he's in trouble. We're glad you have trusted Maura. We will trust her, too. Now. When do you think your parents will be home?"

"I don't know.....I never really know. They have lots of things they do with their friends and business people after work on most nights. They don't exactly check in. Maura, did you get anything from them today?"

"No, Marc. Not on the house phone, not on my cell phone, and nothing in an email, either. I'm sorry to say....."

"Don't be sorry. At least my parents are consistent."

Grammy had a very perturbed look on her face. She and her daughter, my mother, had a contentious relationship, which seemed centered on me. During previous trips my grandparents made to Seattle, there were raised voices just out of reach of my bedroom---but I could still hear the distinct absence of peace in my own home. This time, I knew without a doubt that I had allies at a time when, like Grampy said, a man needs friends. Even a man who was a boy who was a loser.

Grammy pulled her phone out of her purse. I smiled when I saw it; she had trimmed my school photo to fit inside her clear phone case. Heh.....whether anyone wanted to see a picture of me or not, they were going to; every time Grammy used her phone. Maura saw it and smiled, too. Suddenly, Grammy's Grammy' voice was gone, replaced by the Mrs Taylor, School Teacher' voice.

"Tamara. Your father and I are in town. We are, in fact, in your house. I suggest you finish up whatever it is you're working on. Whatever that is, I'm sure it can wait. Your son and his grandparents, however, cannot wait. Yes, David, too. You call him or I will. We expect you here in one hour. Oh, I think you can; I've seen your cars. One hour, Tamara."

Grammy didn't say goodbye. She pressed the virtual red button, took a deep breath and looked back at us.

"Maura, you are a woman of true strength."

There was a pause, and Grampy started laughing. Then the rest of us did. That was over. Expectations made, shots fired, iced tea drunk and cookies nibbled. Grampy asked me if I'd bring them current on what we discussed the previous night on the phone. I repeated what I'd told them, but elaborated on how I started getting drunk. I was reluctant to tell them the precise detail about Grady. I didn't want to get him in trouble. He meant no harm in letting me have a sip. No one could've seen this moment as the result of that one sip.

"Okay, I was up in Grady's apartment one afternoon. He'd just finished work and I guess I was just bored. He's always been good and nice to me, and I knew I wasn't much of a pest to him. I was looking at one of his car magazines. He'd made himself an after-work drink, just like Dad and Mom do. I didn't think anything of it, and neither did Grady. When he left the room, I tried his drink. It tasted good, and I liked the bubbles. They were fizzier than 7-Up.

He was in the bathroom awhile, and I just kept drinking. I didn't know there was vodka in it until I saw the bottle. But by the time he came back in the room, it was all gone. I told Grady I was sorry, and he could tell I was. I ran back downstairs, and by then I was feeling funny. I liked it.

I didn't feel so down like I normally did. I was laughing at stupid stuff. Everything was good. I sat and talked with you, Maura; you probably don't remember, but I do. You showed me how you made your shopping list, and that's when I found the liquor cabinet. It had so many bottles of all kinds of things, but lots of vodka. I already began plotting the next drink. I knew then that I could get out of my funk, the depression, and how to not care as much that I was a disappointment to my parents. When I told them I was gay, they were like a light switch; they just turned off. It was weird. Things never went back to normal between us. They just.....avoided me. I guess I should feel lucky they didn't try to send me to one of those conversion camps."

Grammy and Grampy just looked angry. Not at me. At least, I hoped not. Maura looked unhappy, too.

"Marc, I don't remember what you do, but thank you for telling me. Us. Grady made a mistake, though he didn't mean for anything to happen as it did. You were twelve years old. He should've told me about it then. We can't go back in time and change any of this, but I know I would've moved heaven and earth for you if I'd known you were suffering before you'd even taken your first drink. I feel like Grady and I failed you. I can't speak for your parents, and won't speak for them, but I'll say this much: your grandparents and I know you're not doing well right now. Whatever your parents do or don't do will change nothing about how the three of us will keep very close watch over you. Not to change you or anything about you; just to love you and care for you, and be available to you, whether you know you need us or not."

Grampy nodded his head, but Grammy was not finished being pissed off at her daughter and son-in-law.

"Well, I'LL speak for your parents: I'm sorry. Extremely sorry for this perfect storm at sea you find yourself in. You're getting force-ten gales, by and large, and all you want is a safe harbor. By the time your grandfather and I leave here, you will not be adrift any longer. And we believe Maura will be your lighthouse."

Maura sniffed and nodded, returning her handkerchief to her eyes and nose. I was relieved like I never thought possible. Not entire relief, though.....my parents would be home eventually, whether within the one-hour mandate or not. Just from the sound of my grandmother's voice, I felt certain not even the coldest criminal on the planet would disobey an order from Grammy. Not without severe consequences, that's for sure.

What followed was silence among the four of us. They were not at a loss for words, I'm sure; nor was I. I felt like just being quiet. You can't say the wrong thing if you don't open your mouth, and my head was full of the long-standing belief that I couldn't say the right thing, anyway. No one pressured me to prove myself right. The silence was pleasant and peaceful. It was the calm before the storm.

The big gates at the foot of our drive opened. I saw on the monitor in the kitchen my mother coming through them. Unlike my grandparents, she was in no hurry to get there. The camera tracked her movement. We could all see her laughing while holding the phone to her ear. I wondered who was on the phone with Tamara Taylor. Who was the recipient of smiles and laughter? I could not remember the last time I got either, from either of my parents.

I guess I should tell you, Jozef; you're probably wondering how my last name is Taylor, if my mother was the daughter of my grandparents----also named Taylor. Somehow David Taylor of Seattle found Tamara Taylor of Lewistown. It's not an uncommon surname. They could've gone the hyphen route, which would've been interesting for me, meeting people: `Hi, I'm Marcus Tyler Taylor-Taylor'.

So, there's that. Monogrammed stationery, towels and sheets were safe, even if the marriage didn't end up so fortunate. They'd never divorce; they'd lose their place in line as a local power couple, and social standing meant everything since they were still so obsessed with social-climbing.

My mom parked in the garage courtyard, likely unhappy that my Grandies' rental car was under the porte-cochere where she would've typically parked if she was home temporarily. We could hear her voice outside, still talking pleasantly with someone and laughing while she walked up the couple of steps into the house.

"Okay, well, I have to go. Let's talk again tomorrow! You want to meet in Kirkland for brunch Sunday? Sure! Gather up all the girls! Okay! You, too! Bye!"

She opened the door to the hallway off the kitchen and the smile was already off her face, replaced with distrusting skepticism as she looked at the four faces sitting in front of her. Maura stood up to leave, but turned to my grandparents and then looked right at me.

"If you will excuse me, Marc."

Maura didn't move until I smiled wanly and said `thank you' to my lighthouse. She walked into the kitchen and closed the swinging door behind her.

"Maura works for you now? So. What's the emergency that I had to leave a very important meeting?"

Grammy just looked at my mother with sadness and disappointment on her face, shaking her head slightly.

"You came to a more important meeting. Will David be here soon?"

"I have no idea where he is or when---of if---he'll be here. We both work for a living, if you weren't aware of that small detail. So again: what's the emergency, and why are you here? I have no messages from you."

Grampy spoke in a voice that was clearly heard and understood.

"Get him here, Girl. He can earn the living another time. He has a son to earn right now."

My mother was now getting angry, but she rolled her eyes and called my father. While waiting for him to answer, she looked at me with steely determination to find out what I'd done now. I could see her cooking a tongue-lashing of her own for me, even before she knew what was going on. I couldn't blame her for her confusion, though; I didn't know what was going on. All I knew was the cavalry arrived on a plane from Montana to save me from floundering in a turbulent sea. Yes, I wanted answers, too; but more so, I wanted a drink. Vodka and milk, if that was all that was available. Your skills are legion, Babe; I remember you saying so. I had a few of my own, and one of my best was improvising. I could drink vodka straight from the bottle, of course; but I hadn't descended that low.

"Where are you? I need you here. At home. I don't know. No one is saying anything about this little surprise. Very typical of you. I'll manage it, whatever it is. I don't know. No."

And the call was over. My mother took a deep breath and flipped her head so the long hair would be behind her back. She removed her coat and purse, but held onto her phone. That all-important connection to a world that I did not live in.

"David won't be here for awhile. He can't just walk out of a sales meeting with Singapore Air if they're here to buy twenty new planes. I can't walk out of my job, either. People are depending on me."

Grammy's voice was cold.

"One person in particular. The one person who is your first and foremost responsibility. Have you met your son? Marc, this is your mother. Tamara, your son, Marc."

I was frozen. I didn't respond at all, though the polite thing would've been to say, `It's nice to meet you'. My mother was getting more incensed by the moment.

"Yes. I KNOW who my son is. Marc, what is this all about? Did something happen at school? Are you being kicked out or something?"

"No. I'm still very high up on the headmaster's list of favorites."

"Then what did you do!?"

Before I could answer, Grampy looked directly at my mother.

"It seems to me you got certified in some group of letters after your name, awhile back. `Crisis Management', I believe. Well, you have a crisis, Vice President of Human Relations. Here's a human you're related to, and he's in a crisis that needs very particular management. Listen very carefully to what this boy----this man----is going to tell you, Tamara. You will very likely never hear anything else in your entire life that could have a bigger impact on your past, present and future as a parent."

My mother exhaled exasperatedly at me and bored her eyes into mine, expressing all kinds of impatience. The Grandies moved so close to me, we were almost laminated together. Grampy had a hand on his shoulder and Grammy held my hand. I looked at my mother, almost with pity; I knew she was not prepared for this, and her reaction wasn't going to be the one she ultimately wished she had chosen.

"I am drunk. I've been drunk since last night. Since I was Twelve. Every night before I go to sleep, sometimes before I even eat dinner, and then again afterward. All I want to do is go to school and then come here and get drunk."

She blew up.

"Goddamnit! That's what this is about?! You're a drunk?! I hope you're not drinking your father's expensive vodka; he'll hit the roof! That stuff is over a hundred dollars a bottle! Well, I knew you didn't get a girl pregnant....."

"I'll pay him back. Yes, that's what this is about."

"Why?! Why are you drinking so much?!"

"WHY IS HE DRINKING AT ALL, TAMARA??! HE IS A BOY WHO STARTED WHEN HE WAS AN EVEN YOUNGER BOY!!!"

Oh, shit.....Grammy. Her grip on my hand was vice-like and only getting tighter.

"How am I supposed to know everything he gets into or does?! So, answer me! What's behind all this....drinking?!"

Grampy tightened his hand on my shoulder. Both of them were so angry. Not with me; I knew that. Angry for me.

"It is the only thing that gets me past being so deep in depression all the time, and the loneliness of being ignored by my parents. Having no friends. There. That's why."

"Depression! I am so sick of that word! Do you know how to spell `depression'?? I'll tell you: L.A.Z.Y.!!! You pulled that crap on us in the past, and each time, we remind you of where you live, where you go to school, what you eat and what you wear. ALL OF THAT is because your father and I work our asses off to provide it. We don't expect you to be grateful; kids these days have no gratitude. But don't sit there and tell us IT'S NOT ENOUGH. It's MORE than enough. Or I thought it was; turns out we've been keeping you in top-shelf vodka, too!"

Her words cut me so deeply I couldn't move. I had to voluntarily breathe. We were all quiet. Well, all of us in the room. I heard Maura let out a sob in the kitchen. I regained control.

No, I hadn't.

I felt it before I saw it. I knew, though. I looked down and saw the dark outline spread from the zipper to the legs of my pants. Grammy and Grampy saw it. Then my mother saw that I really didn't have control; not of that moment and not of myself.

"You just peed your pants, you little baby?! Do you know what that upholstery cost?! You've ruined it!"

Grampy had tears in his eyes. He hugged me from the side and pulled me to stand up. I could see the look he sent in my mother's direction. She saw it, too; or maybe she felt it. She blinked once very fast and took a step backward. Grammy stood and stepped toward her until they were maybe two feet apart. The loud, forceful slap across my mother's face shocked all of us. Well, not Grammy; at that moment, it seemed like she'd wanted to do that since my mother got to the house. Maybe since last night. Maybe for a long time before any of this.

The shock and horror on my mother's face at least kept her from saying anything more. Well, at least until I left the room. Grampy walked me out and up to my room. He waited for me to get out of the school uniform and take a shower. When I returned, he was there, sitting on my bed, looking at the numerous academic achievement awards I'd earned at school, taped to my walls. He held the most recent one in his hands, and when I walked in with the towel wrapped around me, he looked up sadly.

"`Top Honors, Freshman Year, Science Fair'. I am so proud of you, Marc. For this. For all of these."

"Thanks, Grampy. The only reason I'm not drunk all the time is because school is the only thing here that's worth living for. Each time I get a new award, it reminds me I can be a better person. Someday, maybe. Or not....."

I sat on my bed next to him and rested my head on his shoulder. He reached behind me and up to the side of my face, holding my position right there.

"Have your parents seen these?"

"No. I don't know. I can't remember the last time they were in here."

"Oh.....your friends have seen them, though; they must be jealous of you!"

He was trying to bring even the thinnest sliver of levity into the room.

"My friends have never been in here. They're all boarding students. They don't leave campus except for school stuff. I don't really have friends there."

"Friends who are not at the academy with you?"

"Nope."

"You don't have sleep-overs?!"

"Not allowed to. Dad's worried all the time I might break something, or anyone with me would."

"You are without a doubt the loneliest boy on the planet. You don't live in a home; not even a house. You live in a prison with the two most hateful wardens on the planet. I'm so sorry, Marc."

"Thanks, Grampy. Can you see why being drunk, especially on the good stuff, is better than sitting here in silence until I can go to school the next day?"

"`Silence'? They don't even let you listen to music, or watch TV?"

"I can do all that. And play video games. Get on the internet and do research. This place is still silent, though. No parents to ever break it to ask how school was, or how I'm doing, or asking me what I'd like to do over the weekend. Those are sounds I don't think I've ever heard, Grampy. Oh----I'm sorry I lost control down there. That has never happened to me. Well, not since I was a baby. I was so scared. I didn't know what she would say next, but I knew it would be worse. She always builds up to a climax that no one else can top. Even with my father, my mother gets the last word. It's just safer for everyone if she does."

"Marcky, my Marcky. Get on some clothes. Maybe some nicer clothes. Your Grammy and I are taking you out to dinner. Our favorite place here; Canlis."

"Is.....my mother....."

"Not coming with us. She was just served a knuckle sandwich. I think she's had more than enough to eat for awhile. You get dressed, then come back downstairs. Oh---set a timer on your watch. Ten minutes. Then come down."

I nodded and he kissed me on the top of my head, stood up and walked out of my room. He had my award still in his hands.

"I'm taking this with me. I need to show two people exactly the kind of man you are, and the future you deserve to have."

Grampy smiled a little and walked down the hall to the stairs. I closed the door to my room and turned on the bluetooth speakers and cued up a Spotify playlist. Wynton Marsalis, accompanied by his father on the piano. I looked through the closet at what might look good. Black trousers and a dark gray shirt. That's when I heard the shouting start. I turned the music up, set the timer on my watch and looked up the Canlis website. I'm glad I did; there was a dress code. Jackets for men, and definitely a tie. I had a few of each. Dress up for dinner. Why not? My parents did it several times a week.

I sent my computer into Sleep Mode and returned to the closet. I had, as my mother said, lots of clothes that they'd worked to buy me. There was no doubt I'd find something in the closet to make me look good. I also had something in there that'd make me feel good, and while there weren't more than a couple of swallows remaining, I was intent on at least achieving an empty vodka bottle and the warm void that would come back to me. Well, I had finally descended as low as I could; I drank those final two swallows right from the bottle. Well-intentioned little drunk, Marc; you tried, at least.

I looked out the window to the back yard below. I saw Grady on his knees, attending to a gigantic azalea bush. I almost envied him. His job had no future there, but it had security. My parents made sure he felt secure. They often said they'd never find another Grady, so they had to keep him happy so he'd stick around. At the same time, he was working all that overtime to keep my parents happy because he was worried he'd never find another job like this one. Some guy named O. Henry wrote a story about the same kind of thing once. `The Gift Of The Magi'. This, though: Life imitating Art.

The timer buzzed on my watch, and I silenced it. Looking in the mirror, I saw a fourteen year old boy looking back at me. I was pretty sure neither of us liked what we were seeing, who we were seeing; and despite the fancy clothes, the boy inside was only then beginning to feel the warmth he'd come to need. Anything to fill the empty loneliness, Jozef. It's all either he or I wanted.

I was about to put the empty bottle back in my closet, but as of half an hour ago, there wasn't any hiding anything anymore. Congratulations, Taylor-Taylors; you can add something else to the description of your depressed gay kid. Choose whatever you want that won't embarrass you too much in front of your society and work friends. That is, if for some strange reason, you feel like you have to mention your kid at all.

I held the bottle in my hand and made sure my wallet and key to the house were in some pocket. Check, check, check. Okay. Let's check out of this room at the Hotel California. I walked down the stairs to voices still raised, but no longer shouting. My mother was red-faced as she stood with her back against the kitchen island. I stood in the doorway looking at all three. Maura was still in the kitchen, assuming she was still in the house at all. I would not blame her if she'd left her keys in the kitchen and just took off, never to be seen there again.

I was behind my grandparents in the doorway. My mother saw me, though. She just looked so disgusted at me. Grampy was holding my science fair award, telling my mother the walls in my bedroom were covered with more just like it. She just choked out more venom.

"That's why he's there! He's expected to learn! Do you know what that place costs for a year of tuition, not including books, uniforms and all the activity fees?!"

"Yes, we know. It's costing you far more than you think. But it's about to cost you more, still. Effective tomorrow, you're enrolling him to be a boarding student, too."

"WHAT?! THE HELL I AM!"

Grammy was still standing and I saw her hands shaking.

"You do not have a son living here with you! You are warehousing a teenaged, borderline overachieving, depressed, drunk, gay kid! Tell me right now---tell all of us---that letting him live and study in a healthy environment is worse than letting him slowly kill himself in this one, while you and his father continue to ignore and, yes, neglect him! You brought Marc into this world, and you two are obligated to do everything you can to help him own it. TOMORROW, Tamara. Clear your schedule of all obligations. Your first and your only obligation will be your son's future. Am I understood?!"

"You people have no idea what you're doing, meddling in this....."

I walked forward with the empty vodka bottle slightly behind my leg, up to where she stood. I placed the empty bottle on the island right next to her. Her look at the bottle and then at me was one of anger again, but also resignation, I thought.

"I go through four of these every week. At a hundred a pop, that's $1,600.00 a month. I think that'll put quite a dent into the boarding expense, Mom. Listen. I'm sorry. About all of this. You didn't plan on me to begin with, and you didn't think I'd be coming to you with some pretty common kid concerns later. I don't blame you for wanting to achieve at work and with your friends. Please don't blame me for wanting to do the same at school. And Life. Please, Mom. It's only three more years and a few months."

Mom put her face in her hands and just sobbed. Loudly. Was she sad? Coming to any uncomfortable realizations about her only kid's health and longevity? I don't know. Maybe she was just worried about how much it was going to cost. I doubted my parents had to mortgage the house, though. I wrapped my arms around her, attempting an empathetic embrace. Her hands never moved from her face. Ah. Shame. I knew it well, Mother.

I was not going to achieve anything with that gesture but my own embarrassment. I turned back to Grammy and Grampy and shrugged my shoulders. Grammy pulled me back down to where they were sitting now, on the sofa. Mother got herself somewhat composed again.

"Fine. Whatever. If that's what will just get this all past all of us, fine."

Grampy was having none of that.

"Marc's PAST is why you're going to give him a FUTURE! Oh---and one more thing! Just how good is the insurance you get from your almighty precious job?"

"Why? What does my insurance have to do with anything?! He's covered, okay? Until he's what, twenty-five now? I'm not taking it away, just because he'll be at that goddamned academy around the clock!"

"No, you're not taking it away. You're going to make that provider card do a lot of sweating tomorrow, too. Get Marc enrolled as a boarding student, and then after that, you're going to get him admitted in-patient at Seattle Children's Hospital. Chemical dependency, depression and possible self-inflicted harm.

Oh---by the way, that was our first stop on our way from the airport. Your mother here worked her way---our way---into the director's office and gave him a good idea of what we needed. Marc, you are going to be welcomed and well-cared for. I know this is a surprise to you, but son, trust me as much as you are able: your health is the paramount concern right now. Isn't it, TAMARA?"

Grampy glared right at my mother, who had tears in her eyes again. She was trying very hard to absorb them into a paper towel without smudging her makeup. Sorry, Mom.....that's a lost cause at this point. She just nodded and looked at what was likely twenty dollars of expensive makeup on a kitchen paper towel.

"Fine. I'll call tomo....."

"NO, Tamara. You are not going to work tomorrow. Your only agenda is saving this boy's life. The four of us are going everywhere together for as long as your father and I are in town. Whatever happens over the next few days, the four of us, maybe the five of us if David can be inclined to share in these concerns, will experience this together. Do you see that empty bottle? It and dozens like it have helped create an empty boy. Do you have any questions?"

"No."

"Good. I have one more for you. What is today?"

"Thursday."

"Date."

"25th of May."

"AND?"

"WHAT?!?"

"Remind yourself what happened fourteen years ago on this date. Go on."

"Oh.....Marc. You're Fourteen. Yes. Happy Birthday, Marc.....I'm sorry....."

"It's okay, Mom. It slipped my mind, too. Grammy and Grampy reminded me when they sent a card."

Grampy cleared his throat and stood up.

"We are taking our grandson out for his birthday dinner. You are welcome to join us, if you can pull yourself together and remember what this day is. Marc is Fourteen. You, David, your mother and I, are going to do our damndest to get him to 94, but we have to start with helping him make Fifteen. You'll have a busy day tomorrow, Tamara. So. Are you coming?"

"Ah, no. I need to rearrange my schedule for tomorrow. You three go. Um, where are you staying while you're in town? You can stay here....."

"No, thank you. I've made arrangements. We will be at the Olympic until we're satisfied Marc is going to be all right going forward."

"I see. Um, Marc, I'll get changed and fix my face. Can you all give me fifteen minutes?"

"Yes, Mom. Even if it's thirty minutes."

My mother choked out a sob and a laugh at the same time. She tried to smile and went upstairs. Grammy walked into the kitchen and knocked on the swinging door. Maura pulled it open and smiled, and that smile was only the preview of the huge, monstrous, Grammy-lifting hug that followed. Maura's Irish brogue came flying right out of her mouth.

"Oh, you wonderful people! You have brought a light into this house and into this young man's life! I was in there, rooting you on, punching the air and, sometimes, a certain face.....but you took care of that for me, you did! You're going to Canlis! GOOD! I'll turn the oven down and the roast and all will be just fine until Mr Taylor gets in! Oh, I am SO GLAD I switched nights off! I would not have missed this for anything! Well.....except for my own son. I will miss all time and eternity for my son. Marc, your grandparents are doing that very thing, for you. You lucky, blessed, wonderful young man!"

We all laughed and piled into a group hug, holding on to the kid who might have some future, after all. I hugged him, too; I saw his face in the mirror. That kid needed a hug from me.

My mother came back downstairs in a fresh dress and her hair brushed out and straight. Her face was fixed, and with no `I'm going out to Canlis' enhancements. We all looked acceptable. Grampy herded us to the car, and once in, we began the drive up on 405 and then west on the Evergreen Bridge toward Seattle.

"We are ready for the restaurant. My jacket and tie are hanging up back there. Tamara, David is welcome to join us, if you choose to include him. Bear in mind he knows nothing of this conversation today. I won't have a scene in public, so either give him the condensed version over the phone and secure assurances he won't cause a scene, or wait to discuss it with him another time. This is Marc's birthday. He only gets one Fourteen."

"Uh, no. David, your father, Marc, won't be able to join us."

"It's okay, Mom; some other time, maybe."

"Um, can I ask you something....."

"Sure."

"Are you.....drunk.....right now?"

"Yeah, I am. That bottle on the island wasn't empty before I came downstairs."

"Oh.....I......"

"How about we let that play the fairway, Mom? It's my birthday. I want a wish before I even blow out the candles. My wish is that the rest of this day just end with good food and all of us having a good time, okay? It won't be Maura's food, but our house doesn't exactly have the view Canlis does. A fair, one-night trade. And I already know what I want, Grampy and Grammy. Though I'll look at the menu, you know, to be polite....."

Grammy laughed and we drove across the second-longest floating bridge on the planet, atop a lake that, as legend had it, was bottomless and was part of a sister lake in China. I knew that wasn't true, of course. It was the Nile and Amazon rivers that fed Lake Washington. Everyone knows that. Well, anyone who was drunk on his fourteenth birthday, anyway.

And I was. The void was filling with the warmth of expensive, one-hundred-proof vodka. Or maybe with love from my Montana grandparents who dropped everything to race to my rescue; one I didn't even know was possible. They did, though. I am convinced, Jozef; that is the only reason I could go running a couple of Sundays ago. Everything that has happened since? My Saved Life in action, and a future of perhaps seventy years with a Fergus County farm boy whom I love more than anything. If he'll still have me.

Please have me, Babe.