Owen

Owen

Chapter twenty-five

by Roy Reinikainen

Jonah took a shaking breath and tried to steady the telephone as he dialed the number Sam had underlined. Sam, Abigail and Opie stood nearby, watching him, willing Owen to be home. Opie took her older sister's hand, both girls watching as Sam moved closer to Jonah and rested a hand on his shoulder, offering support. Jonah felt as if he'd been operating on an adrenaline-high ever since Sam had rushed out of the house, screaming and waving his arms. He wanted nothing more than to fall into bed with Sam's arms around him, and shut out the world. Scott McKenzie had assured him his mother would recover from the wounds inflicted by her husband, and would probably be home the following day, so he could speak with her personally. His father . . . he hesitated to call the man who beat up his mother, father, but could think of no other word. His father was in custody, and would hopefully remain so. He didn't want to think about it. Then, there were his sisters to tend to. He had to remember he wasn't the only person who was suffering. He caught Abigail's worried expression and put on a brave smile. 'Maybe no one's home,' Jonah thought, as the phone rang for the fourth time. Before it could ring a fifth time, it was answered.

"Hello, this is Lucas," the voice on the other end of the line answered. It was a soft voice, which hinted at an underlying sensuousness, with an accent subtly different from what Jonah was accustomed to. "Hello?" Lucas repeated. Suddenly, Jonah was speechless, overcome with emotions so strong he could barely breathe, much less speak. He cleared his throat.

"Um, hello, Lucas. This is Jonah Carver. Is my brother there, by any chance? I need to speak with him." Jonah pressed the telephone receiver to his ear as he crossed the room before pivoting and walking back to where his sisters and Sam were watching. He watched as Abigail swallowed and stepped closer to Opie, who was trying to keep up with the events of the day, but appeared ready to fall asleep.

"Yes, he's here. Are things okay?" Lucas asked, the sensuousness disappearing to be replaced by concern. In the moment's silence following Lucas' question, Jonah could hear Owen singing in the distance. 'Probably in the shower,' Jonah thought. Despite everything, he winced, barely able to keep from grinning, at Owen's inability to carry a tune.

"Jonah," Lucas repeated, capturing the younger man's attention. "Is Sam okay? Are you? What about your sisters?" Jonah mutely shook his head, his voice abandoning him. "I . . . I . . ."

"Your mother?" Lucas continued. "Is she okay?"

Jonah took a shuddering breath, thankful for Sam's comforting touch on his arm. "Nooo." He gulped a breath of air in an attempt to control his emotions. "Can I . . . I need to talk to Owen. May I? Please?"

"Of course!" Jonah could hear the telephone being set down, followed by Lucas' voice in the distance, shouting. "Owen! Shower later. It's your brother on the phone! He needs you . . . now!" The singing abruptly stopped. "Jonah?" Owen asked.

"Yeah! Hurry up. Skip the towel and get in here!"

The sound of Owen's voice in the distance was almost too much to bear. Jonah desperately wished his brother was already home. 'If Owen was here, he'd make things okay,' Jonah thought, just as a small child might, believing his parents could make anything work out well.

Owen rushed into the room, dripping wet. 'Something terrible has happened,' he thought, after seeing the grim look on Lucas' face. "Jonah?" he asked in a low tone. Lucas nodded once. "He's okay?" Lucas' answer was a slight shrug and a tightening of his lips.

"Something's wrong," Lucas answered. "He didn't say what." Lucas gripped Owen's shoulder in silent support of whatever it was his friend was about to face. In the moment it took Owen to compose himself and answer the phone, Lucas left the room and silently closed the door, leaving Owen alone.

The chill Lucas felt had nothing to do with the show flurries outside the apartment's windows. Like Owen, Lucas knew a call from Jonah could only mean something terrible had happened. Even though he'd never met them, Owen's family had become like his own. Many times, late at night, after their lovemaking, Owen would cuddle next to him and tell stories of his mother, brother, and sisters, and what it was like to grow up in a small town. Without him being aware of it, those stories spoke of Owen's unhappiness at being away from his roots. When the stories were told in the daylight, Owen would sometimes get a distant look on his face, as if seeing his home. He would finally realize he'd stopped speaking, and give Lucas a sheepish look.

Owen was torn, between his love of his family, and his love of the life he had begun to create at school, and, Lucas believed, the relationship he and Owen were forming.

'I'll bet that father of his did something!' Lucas paced back and forth in front of the living room windows, his arms crossed, his head bowed in thought. "That man needs to be locked away!" Lucas paused briefly to stare out at the bleak winter landscape - low grey clouds, and the seemingly constant snow flurries - before glancing toward the bedroom where he could hear Owen's voice. He turned back to the window and glanced at the nearby office tower, wondering if his father might be in his office. 'He'd know what to do,' Lucas thought, nervously biting a knuckle, wishing Owen would hurry up and let him know what was going on. He felt a tight knot forming in his stomach, various scenarios flashing through his head, each more dire than the last.

'I'm glad Owen's not going to have to face whatever it is, alone. Together, he and I can handle it.' Lucas licked his lips. "I hope."

"Owen." Jonah's voice broke, as he tried to speak. "Can . . . can you . . . can you come home? We need you," he almost wailed. He gulped a breath, and leaned into Sam whose arms circled his waist. "Please." Jonah gulped for another breath of air. "Pops . . . Pops . . . he went berserk and attacked Mama. She's all bruised up. Abigail and Opie are okay. They're standing right here. We're over at Sam's. When everything started, they ran off and managed to find the doctor. He ran over to the house and tackled Pops, stopping him from doin' Mama more harm. In the fight, the doc broke his arm pretty badly though. Ol' Scott McKenzie told us that both the doctor and Mama were taken to the hospital over in Evanston, and the Evanston cops hauled Pops off, kickin' and screaming.

"Abigail and Opie were great," Jonah added. Owen needed to how important their role had been in helping their mother, as did their sisters. Too often, both girls had been browbeaten by their father, who would often carry on about the worthlessness of girls." Jonah caught Abigail's small smile of thanks. "If they hadn't done what they did, no tellin' what would have happened to Mama." Even though she was half-dead on her feet, Opie looked up at her sister, wearing a smile, pleased with her brother's praise.

"Ol' Scott McKenzie showed up and saw most of everything that happened. I didn't see anything myself, 'cause I was out in the fields over at Sam's. Abigail phoned Sam from Art's place and told him what was goin' on, so Sam and me . . ." He paused, willing himself to slow down. "So Sam and I took off across the fields. But, by the time we'd gotten home, Pops, Mama, and the doc were already gone. The Evanston police had taken 'em all off . . . in separate cars. The only people left were Scott McKenzie, and some of the other men he'd rounded up to help out.

"Scott told me the doc tackled Pops, screaming like some sorta banshee; then, once they were on the floor of the dining room, pounded him with his fist a couple times." Jonah huffed a laugh. "I can't imagine the doc acting like that, but Mama told Scott that if the doc hadn't shown up when he did, she was sure Pops would have killed her." Jonah had to stop and attempt to compose himself. The thought of what his father had done to his mother caused another surge of adrenaline to course through his body. He wanted nothing more than to back the man into a corner and do to him exactly what had been done to his mother.

"We need you, Owen. I need you. Can you come home? Please."

Owen shook his head in disbelief, trying to take in all the news, all-the-while inwardly cursing his father. "I . . . I'll find a way." He rubbed his forehead, trying to think. "Have the girls stay with you'n Sam, okay?" Owen looked around the bedroom, wondering what he was going to do. He'd finally accumulated enough savings to buy Abigail and Opie the gift he'd promised them when he'd left for school. Now, it looked as if he'd need that money . . . and more, to get home. "I . . . I'll find a way, Jonah. You take care of yourself as best you can. Ask Sam to hold you. You sound like you're shakin'. Sam got me through some pretty rough times by holdin' me. He'll do the same for you, I'm sure." Owen hesitated, a thousand things claiming attention at the same time. "Tell . . ." he swallowed. "Tell Abigail and Opie, thanks for what they did, okay? I . . . I'll call you back when I've figured things out and let you know what I'm going to be able to do." He shook his head, running his fingers through his soapy hair. "Take it easy as you can, Jonah. You sound like you're at your wits end."

"Oh, okay." Jonah nodded. Bye, Owen," Jonah managed to say, his emotions barely held in check as Owen asked after his and the girls' welfare. "I miss you, so much."

Sam returned to the living room as Jonah slowly set the phone receiver down. While Jonah dealt with Owen, Sam had shown the girls to the home's extra bedroom. Opie appeared ready to drop from both physical and emotional exhaustion, and Abigail wasn't much better. Abigail had given him a brief hug of thanks, then told her younger sister that they needed to lie down for a bit and let Jonah and Sam work things out with Owen. Opie had nodded, her eyes still wide, not completely sure what was going on, but knowing her sister and brother would take care of her. Sam had slowly closed the door, leaving the girls in peace, and returned to the living room.

Jonah stepped into Sam's waiting arms. His mutter of, "I hate that man," ending in an attempt to choke back a sob.

"What about Owen?" Much like Lucas, on the other side of the country, Sam was anxious to learn the outcome of the telephone conversation.

"He's gonna figure out how to get home," Jonah answered, sounding exhausted and resting his head on Sam's shoulder. "I think he's needing a few minutes to take it all in. He's gonna call back when he's figured out a plan." He tightened his arms around Sam's waist. "I really want to be held by you . . . in bed. I . . . I'm exhausted, and . . . cold . . . but I've got to wait until I hear what he's going to do.

Sam kissed Jonah's cheek, feeling the younger man take a deep breath and begin to relax. "I don't need a bed to hold you, y'know?" Sam teased.

Jonah silently nodded, nuzzling Sam's neck, hoping neither of his sisters walked in on the two of them. 'What does Owen's coming home mean for Sam 'n me?' he thought to himself, as Sam began to slowly rub his hands up and down his back. He tightened his embrace, the pain of the day's events mingling with the anticipated bittersweet pain of having Owen home and not being able to be with Sam.

Owen slowly turned the bedroom dooknob, feeling more lonely than he could recall ever having felt. The distance separating him from his family had never seemed so great, now that they needed him. Jonah had always been so strong. His afternoon experiences must have been awful to be affecting him like they were. 'I can't feel guilty for not being there when they needed me,' he told himself. 'Still . . . I need to be there for them now. Not only Jonah, but Opie and Abigail . . . and Mama. The doc too. I need to thank him for all he's done. He's been checkin' on Mama for me, deliverin' my Christmas card n'stuff, and letting me know how she's doin'.' He slowly opened the door, wondering how he was going to tell Lucas what had happened.

At the sound of the door's opening, Lucas' head snapped up. He rushed across the room and took Owen's naked and trembling body in his arms as Owen took a shuddering breath.

"I'm needin' rescuing," Owen murmured, swiping a hand across his eyes. Lucas knew the toll those few words must have taken on the man who was loath to depend on anyone for help. The fact that Owen was willing to ask for help, told Lucas exactly how bad things back in Riverton were. Owen took a halting breath, pulling Lucas close, the warmth of his friend steadying him. "My father's just beaten-up on Mama. Jonah called to tell me that Pops finally snapped and began slamming her around. I guess she's hurt pretty bad." Owen took a ragged breath and tried to still his body's shivering. "The girls managed to find the town doctor, who ran all the way to our house and tackled Pops, preventing him from hurting Mama any more than he already had." Owen gulped. "Jonah says Mama told one of the neighbors that if the doc hadn't shown up when he did, she thought Pops would have killed her."

He took a shuddering breath, the shivering increasing. "Mama was on the floor, all bruised up, with cuts from broken glass. Her eyes were black, and were almost swollen shut, and her face was all bloody." Owen's voice failed him as he gulped back a sob.

"Your father did this?" Owen nodded, and sniffed. "The doctor and my . . . father . . . were wrestlin' around when Pops kicked out and knocked the doctor backwards, causin' him to fall backward over a chair and break his arm. The doc and Mama are a mess, but Jonah says they've been taken over to Evanston to be taken care of." Owen softly snorted. "Even though it's not a whole lot bigger n' Riverton, Evanston has everything; a school, a library, a hospital! Riverton . . . has nothing."

"You've got to go home to see what you can do," Lucas said, already making plans. "And, I'm going with you! You're in no frame of mind to cross the country on your own." He held Owen at arm's length. "I don't want any argument, understand? I'm going." Owen numbly bit his lower lip and nodded once.

Lucas turned Owen toward the bathroom and slapped his bare butt. "Go finish your shower; you still have shampoo in your hair; then throw some stuff for both of us in a bag and I'll make arrangements."

"The money," Owen began, looking over his shoulder, one hand on the bedroom doorframe. He was stopped when Lucas held up a hand to halt any protests.

"I said, no arguments! This is a fucking emergency! Call Sam or your brother, or whomever, and tell them we're on our way. We'll get there as soon as we can." With those words, Lucas ran out of the room, and Owen did as he was told.

Three hours later, both men were at the airport headed, via a roundabout route, to Riverton. But, at least, they were on their way. Lucas' folks had spoken with Owen for a brief moment on the telephone, expressing their hopes that everything would turn out okay, and telling him to make sure and keep them informed.

"Don't get so wrapped up in all that's happening, that you forget to call me," Olivia Horton had warned Owen, feeling as if she were speaking to a second son. "Neil and I are going to be worrying ourselves sick about all this until we learn that you, Lucas, and your family have everything under control." She paused. "Do I make myself clear, Mister?" she added, in a mock-severe tone.

"Yes, ma'am," Owen had responded. The sound of Olivia's tone of voice, so much like his mother's when she was giving orders, comforted him, immeasurably. "I'll call you myself," he concluded.

"You and Lucas have our love," Olivia added, as she hung up, leaving Owen feeling buoyed by her words.

"Things'll be okay," Lucas smiled, as they took their seats on the crowded airplane. Owen grimly nodded, buckling his seat belt, and leaned back, trying to relax, thankful that Lucas was at his side, watching out for him.

'What would I do without him?' Owen asked himself, desperately wishing he could hold Lucas' hand. 'How can I ever let him go?' He closed his eyes and hoped no one would notice him wiping away the tears, which rolled down his cheeks.

The numerous layovers, the long lines, the security checks, their lack of sleep, and the opportunity to hold one another, made the trip home long and tiring for both Owen and Lucas. At each stop, they called Sam and told him where they were, just so he'd know they were getting closer, and with Lucas along to badger or charm everyone as necessary, everything on the trip went smoothly. Owen merely stood aside and let Lucas do what he did best . . . persuade people to do their best to get things done.

After over two days of travel, and numerous layovers, they threw their bags into the backseat of the rental car and headed out on the highway, with Lucas at the wheel, following Owen's directions, and driving as fast as possible. Owen became more anxious the closer they got to Riverton, not only about what he'd find, but about concerns he'd told no one else. He couldn't help but think how much his life had changed since traveling the same road only months earlier. Gone were the boyhood dreams of seeing the world. So much had changed that he wasn't sure exactly where home was, any longer. Was it in the place he'd grown up, his personality shaped by the location and people around him, or was it in the cold place, which had allowed him to grow, and where he'd discovered a love he'd never expected. Choosing either place made him feel as if he were being unthankful for the other.

'Why does it have to be either, or?' he asked himself. 'Why can't I have both?' He looked to his left as he Lucas' took his hand and tried to return the comforting grin, welcoming the warm touch of his hand. The touch and the understanding smile tore at his heart. 'Back at school, everything seemed so easy,' he told himself. 'Now . . . being here, in Riverton, things aren't so easy any longer. I'm going to have to make decisions I don't want to make. No matter what I do, I will hurt someone. No matter what I do, I'll hurt.' He leaned his head against the side window, emotionally exhausted.

"Almost there," he said, as they sped over the flat landscape of fallow fields dotted with occasional trees, a white farmhouse, with obligatory windmill. The blue sky, streaked with wispy veils of clouds, stretched overhead, extending in the far distance to meet the earth. 'Why did I ever think of this place as godforsaken?'

'I've never seen such a beautiful wide open place,' Lucas thought, trying to concentrate on driving while taking in the landscape, feeling like Owen on his first visit to the city. 'This seems like a place full of possibilities . . . full of hope. This is the type of place where what I eat comes from.' He felt humbled, admitting to himself that he'd never considered the source of the food he ate. 'This is also the sort of place which produces people like Owen. Good people. Decent people.'

"I'm feelin' all full of butterflies," Owen murmured, interrupting Lucas' thoughts. He turned. "I was just thinkin' how much I've changed since I left. I wonder how much everyone else has changed." He could see the distant line of trees, which lined the river, and felt a pang of nostalgia.

'Oh Sam,' he silently murmured, thinking of the meadow the two of them often shared on the river's edge. 'What am I gonna do?' What would the meadow be like, now?' he wondered. 'Has Sam ever gone back, since I left for school?'

He bit his lip as he recalled the last day they had spent in their meadow, sprawled on the grass, surrounded by tiny yellow flowers, and the hum of dragonflies, searching for a meal. "I'll always love you, y'know?" Sam had murmured, looking at him with tear-stained cheeks. "No matter what, I'll always love you." Owen took a convulsive swallow.

'And I had said the same thing. At the time, I meant it.' He thought for a moment. 'I still do. I still love you, Sam . . . but . . . life has gotten so complicated.'

He pointed to his left. "Turn here," he directed. "We're goin' to Sam's place first. They left the paved road and turned onto a gravel drive, lined with dense undergrowth. Patches of sunlight, filtered through the leaves of the arching branches of trees, played over them, as the car crunched its way over the gravel toward the house. Around a gentle bend, set in a clearing, was a white-painted house with a pitched roof and front porch spanning the width of the structure. A yellow-haired dog barked once as they passed, then turned and walked away, its interest diverted by a sound in the underbrush. Tall oaks, with their spreading arms, shaded both the house and drive from the late afternoon sun. In the distance, through gaps in the trees, people moved about bare fields, which were awaiting spring planting.

'So different from home,' Lucas thought to himself, 'yet, after hearing Owen speak of it . . . strangely familiar.' He slowed to a stop, and before he'd turned off the engine, a person shouting Owen's name burst through the front door of the house, his face alight, Sam following a couple steps behind.

"Owen!" Jonah shouted, as he crossed the gravel drive, seeming to fly, his blue baseball cap blowing off in the breeze. In moments, he was in Owen's arms, laughing. "I can't believe it! You're home!" Both men tightened their embrace, as Sam joined Lucas, giving him a brief, welcoming hug.

"Thank you for bringing him," Sam murmured, for Lucas' ears. "I never realized how much everyone missed him."

Lucas nodded once, then tilted his head toward the two men who were laughing, and patting one another on the back, silently asking who the person might be.

"Jonah," Sam answered. "Owen's brother. He's been nothin' but smiles, ever since Owen told him he'd be coming home. I just wish their reunion could have happened under better circumstances. That father of theirs . . ." Sam's voice trailed off as he shook his head in disgust.

"I never would have guessed they're brothers," Lucas murmured, tearing his eyes away from the happy reunion, flicking a glance in Sam's direction.

"They're more alike than you can imagine from just looking at them," Sam replied. "Both of 'em hide their hurts way beyond what is healthy."

"Sam!" Owen shouted, reluctantly releasing his brother and holding out his arms. "I don't want to leave you out of this homecomin' greeting." Sam left Lucas' side and stepped into Owen's embrace, their lips meeting in a passionate greeting.

Lucas looked away, to find Jonah, an unreadable expression on his face, watching the two men with a wan smile. When Jonah realized he was being watched, a blush spread over his milky-white skin. He bowed his head, seemingly unsure what to do. One hand rubbed the side of his jeans, the fingers of the other opened and closed, as if grasping at something.

"Jonah?" Lucas asked, extending a hand in greeting. The younger man absently reached up to remove his cap; then, finding it missing, glanced toward the house, as if searching for it.

"If you're looking for your hat, I saw it blow off," Lucas grinned, as a flush colored Jonah's cheeks. Jonah was slightly taller than his older brother, but where Owen tended toward being muscular, Jonah was lean. His crisply pressed, blindingly-white shirt hugged his shoulders and chest, disappearing into the waist of a pair of faded jeans, tight enough to display every nuance of the anatomy beneath, as the fabric clung to his buttocks and the substantial bulge of his groin, the pant legs lovingly embracing each leg. One could almost imagine the muscles of his thighs flexing as he moved. The sleeves of his shirt were rolled up, exposing his muscular forearms. His long-fingered hands hung at his sides, as if unsure what they should be doing.

Jonah's long eyelashes framed startling eyes. 'Green?' Lucas wondered. 'It's difficult to tell in this light.' His lips parted in the smile of a young man, mature beyond his years. 'Those lips . . .' Lucas almost gasped. 'I know people who would sell their mothers into slavery to have lips like his.' Then, there was Jonah's skin, like his brothers, flawless, giving lie to the belief that being exposed to too much sunlight would damage one's complexion; and his hair, a light brown, cut longer than Owen's blond.

'What am I thinking?' Lucas chided himself, captivated by the person standing, not two feet away.

Jonah's smile was tentative as he flicked a glance toward his brother and Sam, who were continuing to embrace, speaking in voices too low to hear. "Hi." Lucas spoke into the charged silence, pleased he wasn't stuttering. He took Jonah's offered hand. "I'm Lucas. Owen and I are roommates."

Jonah's voice was a light baritone, similar . . . yet different . . . from his brother's. His grip was firm, dry . . . warm . . . sending an instant tingle throughout Lucas' body as the long fingers closed about his. "It's a pleasure," Jonah smiled. The two men held their handshake, finally releasing one another, each with a slight grin of embarrassment.

"The pleasure's mine," Lucas responded. "Owen speaks of you all the time. He misses you a great deal." Jonah's eyes widened slightly, and he visibly swallowed.

"He seems to think highly of you, as well," Jonah smiled, seeming to relax some. "You're about all he writes about in his letters. You and the weather, that is." Jonah grinned, trying to conceal another glance in Owen and Sam's direction.

"Yeah," Lucas sighed. "The weather is certainly not anything like this." He looked around. The scene was almost like a picture from a book. The white single story wood frame home with its porch appeared to be . . . embraced, by towering oaks with branches extending out to their sides for unbelievable distances, each claiming a particular space as their own, then, as a group, collectively claiming the house and its occupants.

Overhead, the late afternoon sun was tinting the sky a pale lavender, and in the distance a dog barked in excitement. There was no sound of traffic, no car horns, blaring their drivers' impatience to the world. Most importantly, there was no bitingly cold wind, no snow, no heavy sky, pregnant with the promise of another storm. The air was balmy, so unlike anything Lucas had ever experienced. It felt soft and moist, heavy with the scents of the earth.

Owen, wearing a radiant smile, walked over with his arm around Sam's waist, glancing first at Jonah then Lucas. "I see you and my little brother have met." He nudged Jonah with his hip, grinning. "I use the term little, advisedly." Jonah flashed a surprised look in his brother's direction as he blushed and lowered his eyes.

His shy smile displayed dazzlingly white teeth. 'He could almost be called pretty,' Lucas thought, hoping Jonah had not realized he had been staring.

'At first glance, I missed the dusting of pale freckles on his nose,' Lucas thought to himself, sure everyone must be staring at him.

He cleared his throat, wondering how to interpret Sam's expression. "When Owen spoke of his little brother," Lucas teased, attempting to fill the sudden lull in conversation and ease Jonah's embarrassment over what he'd taken to be a mention of his . . . size, "I thought he meant little." He held his arm at shoulder height. "Are you sure you're brothers?"

Jonah laughed, glancing toward Sam. "This man feeds me well."

Lucas couldn't help but notice the glance Owen flicked between Sam and his brother. What did that look of equal parts happiness and sadness mean? 'What is Owen thinking?'

He cleared his throat as Jonah turned to his brother and continued speaking. "Have you seen Mama yet?"

"No, we came here first. Are she and the girls okay?"

"Abigail and Opie are fine. Mama's been bashed around quite a bit, though. She's got a lot of bruises, some cuts, and has two black eyes. She and the doctor got back yesterday. They both stayed overnight at the hospital, for observation. Both of 'em look pretty bad, and, even though the doctor has a broken arm, Mama's been beaten up more."

Lucas hissed an indrawn breath, glancing toward Owen, who was reacting to the description of his mother's beating with a stone faced expression, the muscles of his jaw standing out as he ground his teeth together.

"She's also lost lots of weight since the last time you saw her," Sam added. "She's certain to be self-conscious of her appearance."

"Damn that man," Owen cursed his father. "I don't care what Mama looks like, long as she's gonna be okay." He looked around as if his mother would suddenly appear from behind the large tree trunks; then turned back, never removing his arm from Sam's waist.

"Lucas, could you drive all of us over?"

"Maybe I should stay here. After all, I'm a stranger." Lucas suddenly felt out of place. He wanted to be able to give Owen any support he might need in dealing with whatever he encountered at his mother's house, but now that Owen was home, Sam would be providing any support Owen might need.

"No." Owen's statement brooked no argument. "I want you with me. As far as I'm concerned, you're part of the family. Besides, I want you to meet Jonah's and my mother, and our sisters." It was rare for Owen to be so decisive, and it was interesting to watch both Sam and Jonah's reaction to a side of Owen they had rarely seen.

It was only a short drive to his folks' house, but it gave Owen an opportunity to view Riverton in a new light. "Everything looks so small," he murmured, turning to Lucas. "I remember thinking how everything at school seemed so big. Now, the opposite is true." His voice became introspective. "I've changed . . . maybe more than I'm aware of." He flicked a glance to his brother and Sam, sitting in the back seat, then lapsed into silence.

As instructed, Lucas turned down another tree-shaded gravel drive, which led to another white house, this one with dark shutters on either side of each window, and, like Sam's, a large porch spanning the front of the house. It was another picture he might have expected to see in a magazine; definitely something he would never have experienced back home. Long shadows lay in peaceful silence across the house, the leaves of the trees barely moving at the merest hint of a breeze. 'It seems so peaceful,' Lucas thought. 'It's difficult to imagine so much anger existing in such a beautiful spot.' He stopped the car, and Owen jumped out, followed by Jonah, then Sam, and lastly by Lucas.

The two girls on the porch looked up, and the youngest one screamed, tossed aside the book she had been reading. "It's Owen! Mama, it's Owen! He's come home!" She ran as fast as her short legs would carry her, followed closely by the older girl, their tears of joy joining their brother's as they embraced

"I've missed you so much," Opie cried, wrapping her arms around Owen's neck as he picked her up. "Say you're not gonna leave again." Owen held her to him with one arm while drawing Abigail to him with the other, after giving her a kiss on the cheek. He reached in his back pocket and pulled out a handkerchief, handing it to her to blot her tear stained cheeks, unaware the photograph of him and Sam, entangled with the handkerchief, had fallen to the ground.

Lucas watched Jonah stoop to pick up the piece of paper. When he looked at it, he glanced at Sam and his smile faltered.

'There's much more going on here, than either Owen or I are aware of,' Lucas thought, watching Jonah dust off the photograph, just as Owen reached to his pocket to replace the handkerchief and realized the photograph was missing. At his panicked look, Lucas nodded toward Jonah, who touched his brother on the shoulder and held out the glossy piece of paper.

"Y'dropped this." He did his best to smile as he handed his brother the photograph.

Everyone looked up at the sound of the screen door squeaking closed. "Mama!" Owen shouted, absently tucking the photograph into his back pocket as he set Opie down, and ran to his mother, who had stepped off the porch and was waiting for him with open arms.

"Sweetheart," she choked, alternately hugging him tightly then holding him at arm's distance to study him, soaking in his presence. "You're looking so good." She winced slightly as she dabbed at her eyes with a dishtowel she'd been carrying, suddenly conscious of her bruises and black eyes. "I can't tell you how much I've missed you." She rested her head on his shoulder and silently cried, something she had not done since coming home from the hospital. Her boy was home.

"Please try to forgive me," she spoke, loud enough for only him to hear.

Owen held her close and stroked her hair, his anger at his father rekindling. His mother had always been a very pretty woman. Since he had gone to school, she had been reduced to a ghost of herself, rail thin, black eyes, bruised . . . and crying.

"Shhh, Mama. Everything's in the past. We're all gonna start over on a fresh life." She sniffed and tried to smile, the corners of her mouth quivering with the attempt.

"Mama," Owen said, holding his mother with an arm around her too-slender waist. "I've brought my roommate from school to visit. Come, meet him."

"Oh, Owen. I've been crying. I look a mess, and my eyes!" She tentatively raised a hand to her face, stood straight, and put on a brave smile as she dabbed at her eyes with the dishtowel and, in an action which tore at Owen's heart, brushed a strand of hair away from her forehead.

"He'll understand, Mama. He knows what happened. Please come," Owen urged. "He's a wonderful person. You're gonna love him as much as I do." Bea's eyes flicked to her son, wondering if he realized how much of himself he was revealing, as she allowed herself to be led to where everyone was standing quietly, trying not to intrude on Owen's and her reunion. Sam and Jonah were standing next to one another, while another young man stood slightly apart, looking at the surroundings in wonder. At their approach, he returned his attention to Owen.

"Mama," Owen said, smiling and holding out a hand for Lucas to step forward. "This is my very good friend, Lucas." He held Lucas' hand, urging him to step closer. "Lucas, this is Beatrice, my mother."

Lucas took the hand she offered in both of his, ignoring the slight tremor from the too-thin woman. It bothered him more than he would have thought possible, that anyone would be treated as badly as this woman had been, by her own husband. He tightened his grasp, hoping to convey his sorrow, and was pleased to feel her return the pressure. "I'm very pleased to finally meet you, Mrs. Carver," he said, his warm voice, as well as his natural charm, enveloping her. "Owen has always told me, and everyone else he knows, what a wonderful mother he has."

"Really?" She turned to Owen who had bowed his head and was blushing.

Lucas continued. "Knowing Owen has been the best thing to ever happen to me. He's a wonderful man. You should be very proud of him."

Owen chuckled, turning to his mother. "He talks that way all the time," he said, putting an arm around Lucas' shoulder, missing the brief glance exchanged between Bea and Sam.

"And you must be Abigail," Lucas said, stepping away from Owen and enveloping her hand in both of his, just as he had done with Beatrice. "You remind me of my own sister, Allison. Owen tells me that you are responsible for seeing your mother wasn't hurt any more than she was," Lucas spoke, barely loud enough for her to hear. "Good for you! Owen talks about you all the time. I'm happy to finally meet you." He squeezed her hand, and smiled, before turning his attention to the youngest member of the Carver family.

He knelt, resting one knee on the gravel drive. "And this must be the talented young lady whose artwork Owen has hanging above his desk." He winked, causing Opie to squirm with delight. "Not only can she draw," Lucas continued, glancing over his shoulder to where Owen was watching. "She's a cutie." Lucas turned back to Opie and winked again, causing her to giggle and hide her face behind her hands. Lucas stood, gathering Opie close to him.

"Where are you boys staying?" Bea asked, glancing back to the house and wondering how she might accommodate her son and a guest. Since her husband had been hauled away, she had returned to the bedroom he and she once shared. It was wonderful to be able to stretch out her arms and legs all the way to the side of the bed, reveling in the smooth space, free of compromise, confusion, oppression, negotiation, and deference. During the past years, she had lost so much of herself she often feared there would be nothing left but the dried husk of the woman she'd once been. Now, with her husband gone, and her oldest son's arrival, she could once again begin to be the person she still saw herself to be.

"They're staying with me, Mrs. Carver," Sam stepped in, "but I'm sure they'll be over a lot."

"Well," she gathered her wits and linked arms with her eldest son. "Are you all hungry?" Bea and Owen turned toward the house. When she looked over her shoulder and invited everyone to stay for dinner, and smiled, Lucas could easily believe how pretty a woman she once was . . . and could be again, if Owen and he had anything to say about it.

"Surely, you'll all be able to stay for dinner." She was pleased she had calculated correctly, and Owen had shown up on the day she expected. 'In time for dinner too,' she laughed to herself. 'Just like him to not miss a meal.'

"That's the other thing Owen's always speaking of," Lucas added, as he, Opie on one side, holding his hand, and Abigail on the other, followed Owen and Bea, with Sam and Jonah trailing behind, toward the house. "He's always talking about his Mama's cooking." Bea laughed, a merry sound in the fading light of the evening, an incongruous sound coming from this shell of a woman.

'Oh my,' Lucas thought, catching his breath as Bea tried to hide the pain it caused her to climb the four steps to the home's porch. Owen noticed her difficulty, and steadied her, never saying anything. From the flexing of the muscles in his jaw though, Lucas knew that below the calm exterior, Owen was seething.

Owen looked at his mother and added in a dry tone, full of suppressed humor, unwilling to let his mother see his true emotions, nodding in Lucas' direction, "The man's also a charmer." She glanced at Lucas and smiled.

"I find that I am easily susceptible to charming young men," she laughed. "That must be why I'm surrounded by all you handsome . . . charming . . . men. You all make me feel like a fairy-tale princess, but I'm extra lucky. I have not one handsome prince, but four," she chuckled, as she led everyone into the house, heavy with the odors of a home cooked meal.

Lucas had been in Riverton less than an hour, and he already felt as if he was part of a loving family.

'It's so peaceful,' he repeated to himself, as everyone trailed Bea and Owen into the house, the girls laughing and jumping with excitement at their brother's return. Sam and Jonah, on the other hand, touched fingertips then separated as they moved into the brightly lit home.

Owen released his mother, allowing her to tend to dinner preparations. Lucas immediately offered to help set the table and, within a few moments, had both Abigail and Opie giggling. 'It's been too long since this house heard laughter,' Bea thought to herself. 'All of us feel almost drunk with the sensation of being free. She glanced at the forlorn heap of fragments of Owen's ceramic ashtray her husband had broken, and vowed that neither she, nor the rest of her family, would ever live in the shadow of fear again. 'This is how all my children should have grown up.' She looked up, smiling at a burst of laughter. 'This is how I intend for all of us to live.'

While he joked with Abigail and Opie, Lucas watched Owen give Sam a brief hug, then leave the house with his brother. Sam watched them go, wearing an unreadable expression.

"Are things okay?" Jonah asked, as the screen door squeaked closed. Owen grinned and laid an arm across his brother's shoulders.

"Never better." He stepped closer. "I want to have a special visit with you, away from anyone else."

Owen led the way across the expanse of gravel drive to a pair of slowly swaying swings, visible in the last light of the sun and the warm yellow light from the house. Owen recalled spending some of the happiest hours of his childhood, playing on those swings with his brother. He sat on the wide board, listening to the familiar sounds of the night, a dog barking in the distance, the sound of crickets calling to one another, and the sound of laughter coming from the house. 'Lucas working his magic,' Owen thought, smiling. 'It was the right thing to do, bringing Lucas to meet the family. Before the night is over, they're going to love him as much as . . .' He paused, struck by his thought. 'They'll love him as much as I do.'

He grinned distractedly as Jonah warily lowered himself onto the adjacent swing, his long legs extending in front of him. Owen looked past Jonah to the yellow lights of the house showing through the windows. He could see people moving about, and, from time to time, he heard an eruption of laughter.

"Y'know," Owen began, leaning forward, his elbows resting on his knees. He turned to his brother. "When I went off to school, I knew I was gonna miss Mama, the girls, and you, but I never realized how much." He grinned in the darkness; then turned toward his brother. "I missed everyone, just as I expected, but mostly I missed you."

"Missed me?" Jonah turned to face his brother, his long legs twisting with the movement, his boots scraping on the gravel underfoot.

"Remember how, when we were kids, we played on these swings every day?" Owen asked, lovingly running a hand over the rope. He looked upward, to where the rope disappeared into the leaves of the tree, far overhead. Jonah made a small sound of agreement, but refused to interrupt his brother's thoughts. "While I was away, I realized I had never, in my whole life, told you that I love you."

"You? Me?" Jonah stuttered. Owen pushed his swing closer and laid a hand on his brother's shoulder, squeezing gently.

"Yes, you. I also never thanked you for putting salve on my back-side after one of Pops' beatings, or holding me when I cried, or for bein' a wonderful brother in lots of other small ways, both to me, and to Abigail and Opie. You're important to all of us, Jonah, but I think you're especially important to me, for all the things we've endured together, and for you bein' there for me, all those times. No matter what I do, I'll never be able to repay you for that."

He leaned close and kissed his brother on the cheek. "Thank you."

Jonah touched the spot Owen had kissed, seeing his brother through a watery blur. "You have no reason to thank me, Owen." He sniffed, attempting to rein in the emotions he had barely held in check since his brother had arrived. The joy of seeing Owen again, mixed with the pain of seeing him in Sam's arms, hurt more than he could have expected. He told himself that Owen and Sam weren't doing anything wrong. They weren't intentionally trying to hurt him with their actions. Since he and Sam had become intimate, he knew the time would come when this would happen. 'I just never thought it would happen so soon.'

"What're we going to do with Pops?" he asked. After all, their father was the reason Owen had come home. His brother shrugged.

"It's out of our hands." Owen paused a moment, lost in thought. When Jonah turned to him, Owen's wan grin was barely visible in the light shining through the screen door and living room window. "I just wish . . ." Owen began before his voice faded away. He shook his head, as if refusing to finish the sentence he'd begun.

"You just wish Pops had given you a chance?" Owen's lips twisted into a crooked grin, as he nodded. Jonah sighed. "Surely, you know that was impossible, Owen. When you were livin' at home, he took all his frustrations out on you. Then, when you left, I became the target. After he kicked me out, Mama became the focus."

Jonah rotated the swing to face his brother, who was leaning forward, his elbows resting on his knees. "Owen, as much as you don't want to admit it, Pops' problems are his. They weren't caused by you, and I doubt, even with all your skill at fixin' other people's hurts, that you could fix his . . . even if he would have let you in."

"But . . ."

Jonah held out a hand, preventing Owen from continuing. "There aren't any buts. Y'see, I'm thinkin' Pops took out his frustrations on you 'cause he saw that you are everything he wished he was, but wasn't. Pops started off by tellin' himself that being the kind of person you are, and he wanted to be, wasn't important. But, deep down, he knew that wasn't true. So, he began to beat you, hoping you would change and become more like him. But you didn't. You wouldn't let him win. No matter what he did, you never let him win. You never let him see you cry. You always treated him with respect. And . . ." Jonah held up a finger. "You went on bein' exactly the person he wanted to be.

"Something's wrong with Pops, Owen. Something in his brain is screwed up. Maybe there was a time when he could have been cured, but I don't think it's possible now. After you left, there were times . . . brief periods, a couple minutes long, no more . . . when he was normal. I could see it in his eyes. He seemed puzzled by things, as if he didn't realize what he'd been doin' or how he'd been acting. Then, his eyes would change, and he became angry again." Jonah sighed.

"I could almost feel sorry for him. I'm betting that he's suffered as much or more than all of us." He shrugged. "I'm just wonderin' how long he can keep whatever little grip on sanity he has left."

"But . . ."

"Owen, I'll only say this once more, and I'll say it slowly, okay?" Jonah's voice, while serious, held a hint of playfulness, as he repeated the phrase his mother had used on them when they were young children. Owen's grin told him that he too recalled his mother saying those very words. "No matter what you did, you would never have been able to do anything which would make Pops change. Pops' problems are all internal." Jonah pointed to his head. "He's not capable of being the father you dreamt of. Until you admit that, you're going to be unhappy."

Owen finally spoke, his voice barely audible. "What if I have that same thing in my head, Jonah? Pops wasn't always . . . like he is now. Mama wouldn't have married him if he were. What if whatever his problem is, is also in my head, or yours, waiting for the right moment to take root and grow?" He turned a worried gaze on his younger brother. "I'm afraid of that happening. Whenever I get angry, I think it's starting.

"I'm afraid of gettin' really close to someone for fear of that."

Jonah shook his head in disbelief, and smiled. "I swear! Sometimes, I wonder where you're storin' your brains! If they're in your head, they must be asleep, or somethin', 'cause you are not making any sense." He held out a hand. "And, that is not a signal that you're losing your mind, only that you're not using it! If you're afraid of forming a relationship with someone, you'll have to come up with a better reason to keep from getting involved, 'cause that one just won't work."

Owen turned to his brother, seeing him in a new light. "It won't?" Jonah shook his head. "And you've become the family psychologist?" This time, Jonah nodded, his grin broadening. "And where did you get all this information?"

"Easy," Jonah laughed. "From my big brother. He's pretty smart, y'know. In fact, I wish all the time that I could be more like him."

"Boys!" Bea called, holding the squeaky screen door partly open and shouting for her sons, just as she had done countless other times. "Dinner's ready!"

"When Mama yells out the front door tellin' us dinner's ready, I know I'm really home," Owen laughed, standing and offering his brother a hand.

"Be right there!" he shouted back.

"I . . . I," Jonah struggled. "I love you, too, Owen. I've always thought of myself as lucky to have you as my brother, but never more'n now. If you stop to think a minute, you'll know I'm right 'bout Pops n'all. You're so full of love, it . . . it . . . sorta spills over. You think that because you love someone, they'll automatically love you back. Most of the time that happens. Look at Sam n'Lucas, for instance. But, not everyone is capable of feeling the love you give. Pops is one of those people. Once you really start believin' that, you'll stop worrying about being like Pops and start being Owen." He grinned. "Y'better listen to me, Mister, 'cause I'm smart." He nudged Owen with his hip, pleased to hear his brother's laughter.

"Y'know," Owen spoke into the companionable silence, as they slowly walked back to the house, side by side, their shoulders touching. "All my life I wanted nothing more than to get away from Riverton. I couldn't wait to leave." He huffed a gentle chuckle. "Funny thing is, now that I've been away, I can hardly think of anything but coming back." He nudged Jonah. "It's where most of the people I love, live."

"And, that's where most of the people live who love you, unless you've left a whole bunch back at school that I don't know about." The two men climbed the two steps and crossed the wood-floored porch.

Everyone looked up when they entered the house, both men positively gleaming with happiness. There was an almost imperceptible sigh from Bea and Sam. Abigail and Opie looked at one another with puzzled expressions as the tension, which had been hovering in the background, seemed to drift away.

Lucas grinned to himself. 'Something big happened out there,' he thought to himself. 'Something between Owen and his brother.' Lucas' smile faded slightly.

'I wonder how many people Owen has allowed to become close enough to witness his insecurities. It's difficult for him to lower his shields enough to let someone in.' A warm feeling suffused Lucas' chest, pleased beyond measure that he was one of those people. 'Ooooh, Owen, my wonderful Cowboy. How, I love you.'

Lucas was startled out of his reverie by a tentative touch on his arm. Abigail grinned. "You okay?" Lucas nodded once and smiled.

"Never better, Abigail. Never better." He held the chair for her as she sat, then took his own seat next to Opie. The young girl had insisted he sit next to her, giving everyone else instructions on where they were to sit.

"I like Lucas," she announced. "He's sitting next to me."

"Of course I am, young lady," Lucas smiled, touched by her announcement. "Anyone who'd want that chair would have to fight me for it." Opie beamed. No man, other than her brothers, had treated her so wonderfully.

"So, Lucas," Jonah smiled, as he sat at Sam's side. "I'm expectin' you have a couple embarrassin' stories you could tell about my brother and his stay in the big city." Owen leaned back in his chair and tilted his head back, looking to the ceiling. Abigail chuckled at the unlikely prospect of her brother doing anything, which might be called embarrassing. Bea merely looked on in maternal pride.

'It's so good to have Owen home,' she thought to herself, 'and to not have him and Jonah vying for Sam's attentions.' She glanced at Lucas, who seemed to have instantaneously become part of the family. 'A handsome young man,' she thought. 'Obviously, devoted to Owen. Both girls are half in love with him, already.'

Lucas grinned, knowing an invitation when he heard one. He filled his and Opie's plate with food; then passed the various serving dishes along as he talked. "You mean like how, the first day I knew him, he greeted the first guest to my new apartment, naked as the day he was born, and then . . . later . . . on the same day . . . mind you," Lucas chuckled, playing to his audience, "he greeted my sister wearing nothing but his underwear? That sort of thing?"

Abigail sputtered, "naked?" glancing at her mother for a reaction. Lucas nodded, as Owen sighed and shook his head.

"I always knew you were a show off, Owen," Bea teased, "but . . . what must Lucas' sister think? Not to mention that poor visitor!" She leaned forward. "Just why were you naked?"

"I was sleeping on the living room floor, and never expected Lucas would have a visitor so early in the morning."

Opie turned to her sister. "Does that mean he doesn't wear pajamas?" Abigail dismissed the question with a distracted flick of her hand. When Opie turned to her mother for an answer, Bea smiled and put a single finger over her mouth, asking her daughter to be quiet while Lucas finished his story.

"It wasn't early in the morning, Cowboy. It was after noon," Lucas added, around a mouthful of food.

"Cowboy?" Abigail mouthed the word, looking at her mother, who grinned and shook her head, as Owen rolled his eyes.

"Okay, one o'clock," Owen allowed.

"More like two," Lucas corrected, turning an unrepentant grin at Owen's exasperated expression.

"Okay, two o'clock. I'd had a long trip, cross-country n' all. You had kept me up late, movin' all those boxes in your living room, so I'd have a place to lie down. I was tired."

"But his sister," Abigail broke in, in a scandalized voice.

"I wasn't naked when his sister showed up, Abigail!"

"Okay, underwear, then."

Owen shook his head and rolled his eyes at his mother's amused smile.

"Oh, she loved it!" Lucas laughed. "We weren't expecting her to show up, and Owen really did make the best of the situation. He behaved as if he always greeted someone's sister in his underwear." Owen leaned toward his mother.

"He neglects to tell you that he was also wearing his underwear when his sister showed up, and his were a lot more skimpy than mine."

"Oooooh," Jonah smiled, turning to Sam, who did not seem to believe how relaxed Owen was. He'd never seen him behave like he was; not when he was growing up, or when they visited during Christmas.

Lucas dismissed Owen's description of his underwear with a flick of his hand. "She wouldn't even notice me, not with you in the same room. Besides, she's seen me like that millions of times. She was ready to take you home, you know."

"What!?"

Lucas nodded. "You're her type. I mean, she saw almost everything you had to offer, within about five seconds of meeting you!" He paused a second, then added, in a dry murmur intended to carry to the opposite end of the table, "Almost."

Bea tried her best to suppress a snort of laughter, while from the end of the table, Sam was less successful. Everyone looked in his direction. "I've told him he needs to wear something when he sleeps."

Owen turned to him. "You have? When?" Sam shrugged, and smiled. "Besides, I wasn't naked when Allison showed up," Owen added.

"Technicalities," Jonah interrupted. "You would have been, if you could have."

"You've experienced that too?" Lucas asked, barely able to contain his laughter.

"Oooooh," Abigail grinned, turning from Owen to Lucas. "I think these stories are fun! How old's your sister?"

"A couple years older than me."

"An old lady," Opie chimed in, applying herself to her dinner, without looking up.

"Opie!" Bea chided. Opie looked at her mother, her fork poised before her mouth.

"What?"

Bea could do nothing but smile and shake her head, amazed at how different this meal was from any other she'd experienced since living in this house. Jonathan had always had a snide remark to make, an angry look to toss in your direction, an unreasonable demand, or an angry laugh to mar every meal. It was so . . . refreshing . . . to be able to smile and listen to her children's laughter. Her attention was drawn back to the conversation as Owen responded to Lucas' story.

"There aren't any other embarrassing stories to tell," Owen said, sotto voce . "Are there, Lucas?" he added, in a warning.

"Well, not in the present company." Lucas grinned in Jonah's direction. "I'll tell you some more later on."

Jonah smiled. "I look forward to it."

Bea cleared her throat, warning the boys that there were young ladies present. She looked from Lucas to Owen and laughed as everyone took her subtle hint. "I have a new goal in life," she said with satisfaction, changing the subject. "All of you boys are entirely too thin. My goal is to add some meat to your sorry bones!"

"Y'know something, Mama?" Owen asked, tenderly touching her hand. "I love it when you laugh. I've not heard that sound nearly enough."

She rested her hand on top of his. "That's going to change, sweetheart. Truly. Now that my boys, and the men they care for, are all together, we all have a reason to be happy."

Lucas glanced around the table and grinned, a warmth suffusing his chest, once again feeling as if he had finally come home.

~ to be continued ~

Thank you for taking the time to read my work. I always welcome your email and enjoy hearing your thoughts. If you would like me to send you a pic of the character(s), please ask.

Roy Reinikainen roynm@mac.com