Owen

Owen

Chapter thirty-two

By Roy Reinikainen

Bea was silently crying on Daniel's shoulder as Jonah and Owen approached. "Mama," Owen managed, nodding thanks, as the doctor stood aside, allowing Owen and Jonah to envelop their mother.

'It's strange,' Doctor Johnson said to himself. 'Neither young man is crying. They don't seem to be in any great pain.' He looked up when Owen touched him on the shoulder, welcoming him into the family hug.

"You're family, Daniel," Owen said, when the doctor appeared about to protest. "You'n Mama need one another." He placed the doctor's hand on top of his mother's, kissed his mother's cheek, squeezed the doctor's uninjured shoulder, then stepped aside for Jonah to do the same.

"Be good to her, Daniel," Jonah murmured, in a subdued voice.

"We'll leave you here, if that's okay?" Owen asked. "I don't think there's much either of us can do, and I really would like to get as far away from here as possible." He looked at the still shape of his father on the floor, knelt over by a court employee who was sadly shaking his head, then began slowly walking towards Lucas' rental car. The state appointed attorney was conferring with Bea's attorney, allowing him to lead her down the aisle and through the courtroom's front doors.

When the attorneys left, Lucas and Sam slowly approached. "I'm so sorry for your loss, Bea," Lucas said, holding the older woman as he would his mother, kissing her on the cheek.

"Me, too," Mrs. Carver," Sam said. "I think what he did for Owen must have been one of the best things he ever did in his entire life. I know he saved Owen from a lifetime of 'what ifs, and why didn'ts'? Now, he knows that his father, in some deep spot, unaffected by whatever was wrong with him, loved him, and admired him. I don't think anyone realizes how important those few words are going to mean to Owen over the years." He glanced toward his friend and nodded, some silent communication passing between them. "I know Owen realizes what it all means, I'm not sure Jonah does yet." Sam glanced toward where Jonah was leaning his back against the car. "I'd better go to him."

Bea hugged Sam tightly. "Thank you for being friends with both my sons, Sam. Without you, I don't know what either one would have done." She kissed his cheek, then watched in silence as he approached Jonah and gave him a hug, patting him on the back.

"And you, you little charmer." She smiled, turning toward Lucas and welcoming him into another embrace. "You have no idea how much I owe you, for keeping my boy safe and happy while he was away." She kissed Lucas' cheek, just as she had Sam's.

Everyone turned as two men, bearing a stretcher, entered the courtroom and went to where Jonathan lay. They spoke with the two officers who had been guarding the body, then proceeded to roll him onto the stretcher.

Owen seemed to steel himself, as he crossed the nearly-empty courtroom. The men tending his father looked away from their work at his approach.

"He was my father," Owen explained. "May I have a moment, please . . . to say goodbye?"

"Certainly, son, and our condolences." The two men set the stretcher down and stepped away, turning their backs to give the young man a bit of privacy. Owen knelt and brushed the strand of hair away from his father's brow.

"Bye, Pops," he murmured, as he rested against his heels. "No matter what you did, I always loved you and hoped that . . . someday . . . I would hear you say that you loved me, too. Today, you gave me my fondest wish. You not only told me that you loved me, but that you were proud of me. You called me your son." Owen sniffed. "I'm sorry that things weren't different between us, and I hope that wherever you are, you're in less pain than you were here." He kissed his hand, then pressed the fingertips to his father's lips. "I'll always love you, Pops, and will always try to do the right thing, so you will continue being proud . . . of . . . your little boy." He bowed his head, then stood and retraced his path through the rows of courtroom chairs to where Lucas was waiting for him at the door to the small lobby.

"Are you okay, Cowboy?" Lucas asked, holding the car door open. Owen smiled.

"Actually, I don't think I've ever been better. Pops is in a place where he's not torturing himself or others. Mama and the doctor can now be friends. I've got you in my life, and," he said, looking to the backseat where Sam and Jonah sat, hand-in-hand. "my brother and my best buddy are together. Truly, Lucas. Losin' your father can never be easy, but I think Pops chose when and how he wanted to go. I'm just glad he and I had a chance to say a few words." He sank in the seat of the rental car and leaned his head against the backrest.

"For real?" Lucas murmured, over the car's engine and the sound of the wind through the open car windows. Owen reached for Lucas' hand and smiled. "Truly."

"Whose car is that?" Sam asked from the back seat of Lucas' rental car. "Sorta flashy, I'd say."

Lucas and Owen looked at one another and laughed, speaking at the same time. "Bailey's here!"

"Huh?" Jonah asked, turning to Sam. "Bailey?"

"A guy from college. One of Owen and Lucas' friends," Sam explained. "I met him at Christmas."

"They're back!" Art smiled, looking up as the car carrying the four men pulled up in front of Millie's where he, Millie, Bailey, and Corey were having lunch.

The moment Owen got out of the car, Corey leaped from his chair, and took two steps toward his friend before he stopped. "What happened?" His glance flicked from Owen to Lucas then back. " Something terrible?" he asked, embracing Owen, then Lucas, before shaking Sam's hand and giving Jonah a distracted smile.

"Come," Art offered, scooting some more chairs closer to the table he'd been sharing with Bailey, Corey, and Millie. "Sit," he offered, as Lucas introduced Jonah to Bailey and Corey. "How'd everything go? You all seem subdued. Is everything okay? What about Bea and Daniel?"

"Art, Millie," Owen turned to each in turn. "Pops is dead."

Everyone froze. Corey, after a quick glance in Owen's direction, closed his eyes, while Bailey's lips tightened. "What?" Millie asked, echoed by Art's incredulous.

"Dead?"

"He seemed to have some sort of . . . fit or something in the courtroom, then keeled over and died," Jonah explained. "Mama and the doctor stayed in Evanston to take care of whatever needs to be handled. "Right now, Mama's lookin' like she's had a lot taken out of her, and since the beating, there wasn't too much reserve. I'm glad the doctor is with her."

Millie sat back heavily and stared into the distance, her spindly cafe chair creaking beneath her weight. "Oh . . . my," she murmured.

For his part, Art seemed equally stunned by the news. "I'm so sorry things played out this way, boys," he murmured.

Corey reached across the table and touched Owen's hand, glancing up at Lucas, as if for permission, while Art spoke to Jonah. "Owen, can we walk for a bit?" Corey asked, in a low voice. "I'd like to talk with you about something . . . something we talked about back at school." Lucas nodded once, in understanding, as Owen stood and slowly left with Corey at his side.

Bailey spoke, responding to Art and Millie's puzzled expressions. Each seemed to wonder why Corey hurried Owen off to talk by themselves. "When we learned that Owen and you, Jonah," he smiled at Owen's brother, "were having family problems, all Corey could talk about was getting here as quickly as possible. I persuaded him to wait until mid-term exams were complete, but the minute they were finished, we headed out." Art and Millie still did not appear to understand Corey's behavior, so Bailey continued.

"You see, since Corey is a country boy, he thinks of Owen as something like a long lost brother. He tells me that he and Owen speak the same language, and, since he's had his own family issues, he thinks that if Owen needs to talk . . . well . . . he'll understand, and wants to be here, just in case."

"Corey's a country boy?" Art asked, causing Bailey and Lucas to laugh.

"As country as they come," Bailey laughed. "He says all Southern boys are full of stories." Bailey's fond smile and flick of a glance out the door to the shop, spoke of his growing depth of feeling for Corey. "If having stories to tell is a gauge of one's Southern-ness, he's about as Deep South as it's possible to be." He held up a finger. "Just don't ask him to tell you about his grandmama." He tilted his head back and rolled his eyes. "He's got more stories about that woman!" Millie smiled brightly and scooted forward in her chair.

"I love Southern stories. Y'all might not know it, but I'm a Southern girl."

"No!" Lucas teased, with a sparkle in his eyes. "I would never have guessed," he grinned, winking at the large woman who blushed under his attention.

Millie playfully slapped his hand where it rested on the table. "All you Northern boys are charmers, I tell you." She fanned herself with a hand. "I don't know how I'm going to get through the day, what with all the work needin' to be done, surrounded by a bunch of handsome young men." She looked from side to side, as if making a mental to-do list. "I'm gonna be as busy as a funeral home's ceiling fan in July," she concluded, with a forlorn expression.

"Don't overdo it, Millie," Art muttered. "In the minds of a true Southerner, being from Missouri does not make you a daughter of the Confederacy."

"Why, Art," she slapped his hand, her infectious good humor bringing a smile to everyone at the table. "You promised you'd never tell. Besides, the South is a state of mind, isn't it Mr. Bailey?"

"Bailey's my first name, Ma'am. My last name is Wilkins, and I wouldn't know about Southern states of mind. I can hardly figure out my own state of mind much less someone else's. I do know that I sometimes have no clue what Corey is talking about though. What's coming out of his mouth sounds like English, but," he shrugged, "I often have to ask him to interpret for me." He leaned forward and grinned. "I think he enjoys keeping me confused."

While everyone laughed, Lucas sat dumbfounded. 'Is this the same man I grew up with? Where is the man who would primp and strive to attract attention by throwing his money around? Where is the man I would do anything to avoid? Hell, I like this man. Everyone likes him.'

"Well, folks," Sam said, standing and touching Jonah on the shoulder. "I'm thinking Jonah and I should head back to the house and let the Southern boys outside, and the Northern boys," he grinned at Lucas and Bailey, "talk to their heart's content. I'm exhausted." He shook his head. "High drama, ugh. Besides, I think we should be near my home phone in case the doctor or Mrs. Carver call."

Jonah accepted Bailey's condolences as they shook hands, then he and Sam left, waving once in Owen's direction.

"Poor Jonah," Millie said, shaking her head. "He and Owen have faced so much; I guess they'll both be able to handle this, but still . . . it's a shame. I won't speak ill of the dead, but . . ." She tightened her lips, as if forcing herself not to say things she would like to have said. Art patted her hand in the uneasy silence.

"Well, us Northern boys," Lucas tried to smile, emphasizing the words, "will get out of your hair, so you two can visit. I'd like to show Bailey around a bit."

Bailey stood and shook both Art's and Millie's hand. "It's been a pleasure," he smiled. "Thank you for the meal, Millie, and the soft drink," he nodded toward Art. "You're absolutely positive I can't pay for the food?" he asked, obviously continuing an earlier conversation. Millie shook her head and waved the suggestion away.

"It's been a pleasure, Bailey," she said, her eyes twinkling. "And it's always nice to see you, Lucas," she added, with a wave.

After they had walked a short distance in silence, Bailey stopped. "Well," he smiled, his eyes alight as he held his arms out to his sides, and faced Lucas. "How am I doing? Am I making progress, or am I making progress?" Bailey laughed. "I can't begin to tell you how wonderful it is to not have people laugh at me, or make fun of me!"

Lucas smiled broadly, barely catching a glimpse of Owen and Corey sitting side-by-side on adjoining swings in the park across the main street. "I wouldn't have recognized you! You're looking great." He leaned close. "Where'd you stuff the old Bailey?" he asked, as he backed off enough to focus on his friend's face.

"Oh, he's still here," Bailey sobered, pointing to his head. "Sometimes, he escapes. If I try and think about everything I say before I say it, I'm normally able to control my old self, but sometimes, I . . . revert." He frowned. "It's damned frustrating, having to plan everything I say or do in advance. But, the longer I work at it, the less the things I'm saying and doing seem to feel like an act, and more like me. I'm not nearly so tense all the time, worrying that I'll embarrass myself or Corey. And, when I do act all stuffy, for some reason, I can usually say or do something to make everyone, including myself, feel more at ease. I still enjoy the finer things in life," he half-apologized, "though I'm trying not to be obsessed by them. Corey has grown up with so little, I don't want him to feel as if I'm rubbing his face in the fact that I was born into . . ." he hesitated, "a family who didn't have to struggle to make ends meet."

Lucas slapped Bailey on the back, a freedom he would never have taken with the person he grew up with. "I think you're doing wonderfully. I hope you're as proud of yourself as I am of you. You have every right to be. And, I wouldn't worry about trying to suppress everything about your old self. I mean, that person had some good qualities, too."

"Thank you, Lucas. You've endured much because of me over the years. I appreciate your understanding, and your kind words."

"Nonsense!" Lucas made a throwaway gesture. "You're my friend. I'm happy you're doing well." Bailey ducked his head in thanks, still unsure how to handle a compliment, especially from Lucas, a man who had seen him at his worst behavior.

The two men wandered down the sidewalk, pausing from time to time while Lucas pointed out things Owen had shown him during some of their walks through town.

"Lucas," Bailey paused, turning to look at his friend as they walked into the center of the small patch of greenery, shaded by two enormous oak trees fronting the building Owen had called, City Hall. "Is everything okay with Owen? I mean, really, other than the sad death of his father, of course?" he asked, following Lucas toward a pair of wrought iron park benches. "Corey thinks he's covering up a lot of grief, and it's only going to take some small event for him to snap. Also," Bailey asked, obviously puzzled, "I thought Owen and Sam were a couple, but Jonah and Sam certainly seemed pretty close. Does that mean that you . . . and Owen . . ." he trailed off.

Lucas flopped down and stretched his legs out in front of him, the bench creaking beneath the sudden weight. Bailey gave the seat a quick brush with a handkerchief, then sat, turning an apologetic smile in Lucas' direction. Lucas grinned in understanding.

"I'm not breaking any confidences by telling you any of this," Lucas began. "Owen has been carrying a lot of emotional baggage regarding his father. The man treated his entire family badly, especially Owen and Beatrice, Owen's mother. Owen's always dreamt of a perfect father, one who would tell him, at least once, that he was loved, and that he was proud of his son, but he never expected to have that happen.

"He went to court today, fearing seeing his father again. He didn't know what to expect, other than it would most likely be bad." Lucas sighed. "Well, it was bad, but not for the reasons Owen and everyone else expected." Bailey quirked an eyebrow. "Jonathan, that was Owen's father, apparently was suffering from some sort of severe mental problem." Lucas shook his head. "It wasn't pretty, Bailey, but in the course of everything, he seemed to have a few lucid moments, and did his best to let Owen know that he was proud of him, and that he loved him. Those few sentences were something Owen had never expected to hear. Of course, he's sad that his father is dead, but, at least, he heard the man say that he loved him, and that he was proud of him."

Lucas chewed on his lower lip, then continued. "Owen's father was screaming at . . . something. It looked as if . . . something . . . kicked him off his feet. When he fell, he hit his head, jerked a few more times, then died." Lucas shook his head, unable to shake the sight of Owen's father battling his unseen demons.

Bailey sat back and stared into the distance, then glanced in the direction of the park where Owen sat with Corey. "Damn." His voice lowered. "Corey was sure Owen had . . . problems . . . with his father, but," he licked his lips, "I'm sure he didn't expect anything like this."

Owen gestured toward the park, across the street, as he and Corey left Millie's store. "We can talk over there, if you like," he grinned. "There doesn't seem to be any children around, so we won't have to share the swings."

Corey smiled in agreement, looking around as he and Owen crossed the street and approached the playground equipment, shaded by the ever-present oaks which draped a dappled blanket of light over the swings. "Tell me about it, Owen," he asked, as they settled themselves onto adjoining swings. "Tell me about the things you didn't want to talk about that time in the cafe, remember?" Owen nodded. "What happened today?" Corey continued. "How are you handling everything?"

Owen bowed his head as he told Corey about his childhood, his father, and his dreams of being told, at least once, that he was loved. All the while, Corey remained silent. For all that he could tell, Owen was speaking about someone other than himself, as he recounted the past with such dispassion. As the story wound to its conclusion, he paused, and it was once again Owen who was speaking. "I'm so proud of him," he began, turning to look at Corey. "I had no idea he was suffering like he was." Owen's lips were pressed into a tight line. "It must have been awful for him, fighting off . . . whatever was in his mind, to . . . to say a few kind words."

"Words?" Corey coaxed.

Owen nodded, then huffed a small laugh and took a ragged breath. "He," Owen swallowed. "He told me he was proud of me, and . . . and that he loved me."

"Ooooh, Owen," Corey smiled, blinking back the sudden moisture in his eyes and wishing he and Owen were anyplace other than a public park. He wanted to take Owen in his arms and hold him close. "That's wonderful! I take it he'd never told you those things before?" Owen shook his head.

"No, never." Owen pivoted the swing to look at Corey. "Today, he seemed so . . . diminished . . . standing there in that courtroom, speaking to Mama, Jonah, and me like we were the only ones present. It was as if he was being eaten away from the inside, and fought to spend the last little bit of goodness he had left within the husk of what he used to be, to . . . tell me . . . what he did."

"And you? Were you able to say the things you needed to say to him? Surely you had something you wanted to say?"

Owen nodded once. "I told him that I missed him when I was away at school, and that I loved him." Another huff of a laugh. "In my family, no one ever spoke of love. All we had the strength to do was endure." Owen studied Corey. "I'm guessing you can relate to that."

Corey nodded, then looked away, remembered pain etching his normally smiling face.

"I'm still figuring things out," Owen went on, when Corey remained silent, "but I never realized the depth of the . . . anger that I felt because of him and how he treated me n'stuff. After hearing him say those few words, and seein' him suffering like he was, I told myself that I needed to forgive him . . . or, at least, try'n understand some of why he did the things he did; not only to me, but to my whole family."

"Forgive?" Corey blinked, casting an incredulous look in Owen's direction, his fist clinching in automatic response to his long-held anger. "After what he did to you? After all those years of suffering? After all the pain, the hatred, the fear that you endured?" Owen's eyes widened slightly at the strength of Corey's questions. "You can forgive living in constant fear of what he was going to do next, cowering, breaking out into a cold sweat and wanting to hide every time you heard a door slam, because you didn't know what was going to happen? What about the long months of being ignored, treated as if you were no more than a painting on the wall, or even less than that!"

Corey's voice rose. "Can you forgive them for telling you they wished you had died at birth, or for never holding you? What about the lack of support from your brothers and sisters the times you cried and they ignored you. The pitying looks of the townspeople, or those of your teachers. Yet no one helped!" Owen's offer of a comforting hand was ignored.

"What about the worn out clothes you had to wear that belonged to your older brothers, never having a single thing in your life that hadn't been used by someone else before you got it? Or, of crying yourself to sleep at night because you felt so alone, and confident no one understood what was happening to you, or if they did understand, they didn't care?

"No one cared, Owen! No one. For over fifteen years of my life, no one cared if I lived or died. How could you forgive that? Those memories gnaw at me daily. I'm waiting for Bailey to begin feeling the same way my folks did. I'm afraid that, eventually, he'll move on and I'll be left alone again. I am in constant fear, Owen! I want to hide every time I hear someone shout. I keep telling myself that I didn't deserve being treated like I was. I mean, deep down I know I didn't deserve it, but I wonder if I might have. I can't help but wonder, when I'm lying awake at night, staring at the ceiling, with Bailey breathing softly at my side, if I did something to cause everything I experienced, to happen, and that if I did, might I unwittingly do the same thing, and cause Bailey to hate me for it, or worse yet, begin treating me like they did?"

Corey flung himself out of the swing, took a couple steps away from Owen, then turned, his hands held out to his sides. "How can you forgive that?" he asked, his voice rising before he dropped his hands and turned away, bowing his head. In the distance, Owen saw Art and Millie look up, both at the sudden movement, and Corey's raised voice.

"Corey," Owen urged, in an understanding voice. "Come and sit down. Everything's goin' to be fine."

Corey crossed his arms, the muscles of his broad back flexing through his tight t-shirt. He shook his head. "Everything's not going to be fine, Owen. You saying it will be, does not make it so." He shook his head in disbelief.

"What?" Owen asked.

"I just cannot understand you! Don't you have a vindictive bone in your body? Don't you sometimes want to . . . to . . . lash out because of what was done to you?" He turned toward Owen and sighed when he saw the answer written on Owen's face. He held up a hand, intent on making a new point. Owen grinned in invitation.

"I can understand you forgiving what your father did to you. After all, as you learned today, he was suffering from something awful. Someone could probably make an argument that he wasn't actually responsible for what he did, that his behavior was caused by his illness. But," Corey huffed a disgusted breath, shaking his head from side to side in disbelief. "Damnit, Owen, you were deprived of a normal childhood, because of his behavior. He stole part of your life! That I don't think I could ever forgive."

Owen stared into the distance then rubbed the side of his nose, acknowledging the argument with a wry smile as Corey slowly lowered himself onto the seat he'd so abruptly left a few minutes earlier. "You're right, I didn't have a normal childhood. Neither did you. But," Owen leaned forward, resting his elbows on his flexed knees, "what purpose does it serve for me to moan and groan about what I never had? After all, I never had a television, or a computer, or . . . or . . . money, like Lucas and Bailey. Maybe my life would be better today if I'd had those things, same as it might be better if Pops had been a normal father. But, I didn't have a television, or access to books, or a computer, or a normal father.

"Corey, both of us were dealt a rotten hand. In cards, we could give up on the bad hand and wait for the next deal. But we're not playing cards. We don't have a next deal. We have only this one. We can do one of two things. We can learn to live with, and make the best of, the hand we've been dealt, or we can cash in. We can give up. I don't think you're the sorta guy to just give up. If you were, you'd still be back in the small town you came from, sitting on a park bench, living off welfare, in a trailer with no indoor plumbing."

Corey's wrinkle-nose expression caused the corners of Owen's eyes to crinkle. "I'm glad you're not back there livin' like that, 'cause if you were, I'd never have had you as a friend.

"I do have to tell you that I'm luckier than most people like myself. Even though I didn't have any support other than m'brother, while I was living at home, since leaving, I've been surrounded by supportive people. Lucas has been more than wonderful, as have his parents and sister. I've met you and Bailey, and some outstanding folks at the library. Since comin' back to Riverton, I've discovered that lots of people here are bein' supportive. Like I say, not everyone . . . probably most people, in fact, are as lucky. But," he held up a finger. "You, Corey, are not one of 'em. You are sittin' in a pool of support. Let people help you. Talk to 'em. Talk to Bailey. You don't have to spend a lot of effort tellin' people what happened to you, just don't shut out those folks who want to stand by you, just like you would want to stand by them in their time of need." He reached out and touched Corey's knee. "Just like you traveled half-way 'cross the country, so you could be here if I needed you." He smiled. "That's so cool of both you guys to do, by the way.

"Especially, talk to Bailey. He needs to know about your childhood. Let him hold your hand if you need to cry. Let him cry with you. Go ahead, shout and carry on. Don't feel as if you're takin' advantage of your friendship. You're not. Standing by one another is what makes friends. Bailey'll understand if you shout and be angry. Make sure you tell him though that you're not angry at him, just angry at . . . circumstances. Get it all out of your system, then try to forgive the people who hurt you. You may not ever really accomplish total forgiveness, but give it a try. It can't hurt, and it could help, both you and Bailey."

Corey silently studied Owen for a long moment, then tilted his head back and took a stuttering breath.

"Damn," he sighed, aware Owen was calmly watching him. He searched for the slightest hint in Owen's gaze of being patronized, and found none. As always, Owen was exactly what he seemed. Here was one of the few people who actually understood what he'd been through, because he had been through something similar. He wasn't asking Corey to attempt something he himself was not attempting. This was the man who, in one meeting, had set Bailey on a new course. Bailey had accepted the challenge; could he do no less?

'Owen'll change the world before he's finished,' Corey thought to himself, trying to hide a grin. "I'm sorry," he apologized. "I just get so worked up when I think about it all."

"I understand." A moment of silence threatened to stretch unbearably, until Owen finally spoke.

"Today, when I saw Pops all battered down by his own demons, I realized that that is what can come of hate and anger. I don't want to end up bein' that sort of man, any more than you do. I'm no saint, Corey. I can be angry. I can shout and scream, and stomp up and down having a tantrum. I try not to do those things, but that doesn't mean they don't happen. I'm nothin' special, so don't think I'm such a great guy, just because you haven't seen me act that way." Owen leaned closer and spoke in an urgent voice.

"Give it up, Corey. Let it go. Let the past be the past." He made a chopping motion with one hand. "It's over and done with. I'm not askin' you to head back to where you grew up so you can kiss your folks and be good buddies; all I'm asking is for you to try to understand what caused them to act the way they did.

"We have to do our best to put our past behind us. That's all anyone can ask. If we do our best, I think we'll both be happy. Both of us have been holdin' on to our hurts as if they were some sort of . . ." he grasped for a word, "some sort of trophies. In their own way, those hurts, as awful as they are, were comforting. It's like we were sayin' to people, 'Look what I've endured. I know what pain is all about.' We hold on to our pain and silently tell those people, 'you don't know what it's like.'" Owen grinned. "But we don't know what sort of life those folks have led. Our pain may seem like nothing compared with theirs. We've been spendin' so much time thinkin' about a past neither of us had any control over, that we've ignored thinkin' about the future. And that is a thing we do have a hand in shaping. Don't let them, your folks, your brothers or sisters, or anyone else, rule your life any longer. When what they did no longer affects the things you do today, you've won."

Owen smiled brightly. "Both of us have to remember one thing." Corey cocked an eyebrow, one corner of his lips twitching in suppressed humor he found impossible to ignore. Owen continued, pleased with the slight smile. "You'n I have to remember that life isn't about how fast you run, the obstacles you've overcome, or how high you can climb, but how well you bounce."

Corey studied Owen for a brief moment, noting the twitch of amusement at the corners of Owen's lips. "You've been waiting your entire life to say that, haven't you? I mean, geez, Owen! Bounce?" He hesitated, his eyes losing focus for a long moment, as his brow furrowed.

Owen cocked an eyebrow and waited.

"You're right, of course, but damnit, Owen. I wish you were wrong . . . once in a while . . . just to give me a little comfort." Owen grinned, as Corey continued. "Here, I thought I was coming to Riverton to help you, and wham . . . I'm in town less than an hour and look what you've done for me! You've given me a homework assignment that's gonna take years to finish. You don't do anything by halves, do you?" Owen's smile was radiant, his perfect teeth flashing as he threw his head back and abandoned himself to the sensation of feeling good.

'I never realized,' he thought to himself, even as he laughed, 'how much Pops affected how I felt about everything. Now that he's dead . . .'

Unaware of Owen's moment of self-realization, Corey continued. "Bailey once told me that visiting one-on-one with you is like walking through a fire barefoot. It can be pretty uncomfortable seeing ourselves as you see us, but, damn," he smiled, "a person sure feels good afterward."

Bailey shielded his eyes from the sun and peered into the large window of one of the buildings Lucas had been telling him about. "Very grubby," he murmured, brushing his hands together before turning to Lucas with an apologetic smile. "I'm sure they can be made to sparkle, though." He backed up a couple steps and looked upward. "I imagine there are some nice spaces on those upper floors. My loft, back home, would fit perfectly in one of those spaces, I'm sure." He turned back to Lucas.

"What are your thoughts? What are you planning on doing?" He suddenly looked concerned. "Are you planning on staying in Riverton? I mean, permanently? Is that why you're so fixated on these buildings, handsome as they are?"

Lucas nodded once. "I've not told anyone, not even Owen, but I'm thinking that I might." He leaned his back against the wall and crossed his arms. "Bailey, have you ever felt that, no matter what you do, you'll never be able to escape your father's shadow? The older I get, the more I've been feeling just that." He held up a hand to forestall the comment he could see forming. "Dad told me that he didn't have any expectations, but, even so, I want to do something on my own." He lovingly ran a hand over the carved stonework at the building's entry.

"These three buildings, and a couple other things I have in mind, might just be the things that will allow me to do that. I've got the money for the buildings, and Dad has told me that whatever business venture I come up with, no matter where it is, he wants in on it."

He smiled and pushed himself away from the first building and moved on to the next, pointing out some of the features, as Bailey followed a step behind. "I want to do something on my own. I want to make a profit, of course, but at the same time, I'd like to help out a few people, and together, we can turn this town around.

"Look at these buildings," Lucas urged. "They were built in a time when the people who lived and worked in them had a dream. Many of those same people are still here . . . but the dream has faded. I'm like Owen. I'd like to see the dream restored. Without knowing it, Owen encourages everyone he meets to realize their dreams. Sometimes, he has a tough time managing to do that for himself, but he never gives up. Now that I have an idea, I don't want to give up either. I'd like to help Owen restore Riverton's dream, and at the same time, realize his own. I'd like to see more opportunities for the folks who live here.

"They're good people, Bailey."

Bailey gestured, first at the building they stood next to, then, more expansively, to the town in general. "You plan on doing all this single-handedly? I agree with you about the people. I've only met a few, but I have enjoyed meeting and talking with them." He looked toward the upper stories of the three buildings, then down the street to the mere patch of a park in front of the City Hall.

"Corey would like it here," Bailey mused. "He was half in love with the town before he ever saw it. Now that he has seen it, I'm not sure I'll be able to get him to go back to school." Lucas followed Bailey's gaze to the opposite side of the street, and the large freestanding building, sporting a squat entry tower and large porch, wondering at Bailey's contemplative look. Two climbing pink rose plants seemed to be attempting to cover the porch, their profusion of fresh blooms standing out in contrast to the porch's peeling white paint.

"I must admit that the town is better than I thought it would be." Bailey chuckled, absently wiping his hands on his handkerchief. "That flashy rental car does look a bit out of place though, doesn't it?" He nodded to the sparkling car parked in front of Art's Barber shop, and joined Lucas' laughter. "Still," Bailey continued, rubbing the back of his neck, "I don't think I'd ever be able to become accustomed to a pickup truck."

"You'd . . . consider . . . moving to a place like Riverton?" Lucas asked.

"No," Bailey said, instantly. "I'm not thinking of moving to a place like Riverton. If this is where Corey wants to make a life, I think perhaps, I will consider moving to Riverton. It would be a challenge I'm not sure I could manage, but, at the least, I could try. I have to figure out what it is I can do though." He made a face. "No matter how enchanting the place is, I have no intention of crawling around on the ground, getting my hands dirty, planting . . . things, or tending animals," he made a face, "or other rustic pursuits." He made a face and shuddered. "You may not have noticed, Lucas, but I'm not an outdoorsy type of fellow."

Suddenly, Bailey's eyes widened, as they returned to the rose-festooned building.

"What?" Lucas asked, turning to look in the direction Bailey was facing.

"I've just had an absolutely wonderful idea!" Bailey laughed aloud, pointing to the building across the street. "Absolutely wonderful. What was that building? Do you know?"

Lucas shrugged. "I think Owen said it was once some sort of office building, or something. If I remember correctly, there was a four room school attached to the back. I don't remember, for sure. It's abandoned, now, since the town's children all go to Evenston to go to school. Why?"

"Just wondering," Bailey said, a smile lighting his face, causing his eyes to sparkle. "I like it. It'll be perfect."

"Mama!" Corey looked up at the unexpected shout to find Owen waving an arm at the slender woman who was opening a car door for a man with a broken arm strapped to his chest. Both looked up at Owen's shout. "C'mon." Corey joined his friend, trotting alongside him to where Bea and Daniel waited, shielding their eyes from the late afternoon sun.

Owen hugged his mother, then briefly the doctor, before turning to Corey, reaching out a hand for him to move closer. "Mama, Daniel, two of my friends from college decided that Lucas and I weren't the only people in need of a vacation, so they came out to join us for a couple days. This is Corey. His friend, Bailey, is off lookin' at the town with Lucas."

"Mrs. Carver," Corey said, taking her hand in his, and resting his other on top of hers. "I'm sorry to hear of your loss. I wish it were under more happy circumstances, but nevertheless, it's a pleasure to meet Owen's mother. You must be very proud of him." He turned his attention to the doctor, who had been watching.

'The boy collects friends like a squirrel collects nuts!' Daniel thought, a moment before returning Corey's greeting and firm handshake.

"Is everything okay?" Owen asked. "I mean, has everything been taken care of? Is there anything I need to be doing?"

Bea returned a wan smile, brushing a strand of hair away from her forehead. "Daniel and I handled all the loose ends, with the folks in Evanston." She heaved a deep breath. "No wonder, we're both exhausted. Daniel and I were plannin' on getting something to eat, then we're both heading home. I have to tell the girls about their father."

"Where are you and your friend staying, Corey?" Daniel asked, hoping to break into Bea's melancholy mood. "I imagine Sam has run out of bedrooms.

"Honestly," Corey grinned, looking over the doctor's shoulder to where Lucas and Bailey were approaching. "I don't have any idea. Sam and Jonah went back to the house quite a while ago. I kind of got the impression they wanted some time by themselves. Jonah looked like he needed to talk some things through." Bea glanced in what must be the direction of Sam's house, wearing a worried expression.

Lucas gave Bea a brief hug and kiss on the cheek, then rested a companionable arm on the doctor's shoulder, briefly, before he introduced Bailey, who, once again, amazed Lucas with his newly acquired social skills, expressing his pleasure at meeting Owen's mother and offering his condolences, then shaking the doctor's free hand.

"Owen told me," Bailey said, "how you came to his mother's rescue and hurt yourself." He glanced from the doctor to Bea. "She's awfully lucky to have someone like you looking out for her welfare." The doctor seemed to be doing his best to not blush, while Lucas blinked, continuing to be surprised at his friend. Owen and Corey watched Bailey with pride.

"Doctor Johnson asked where we're staying while we're here," Corey said, shifting positions with Lucas, to stand at Bailey's side. "I was just saying that we hadn't planned that far."

"It's Daniel, men," the doctor grinned at the two newcomers. "I was asking because I know there isn't room over at Sam's place. I didn't realize Sam and Jonah might want to be alone, but," he turned to Owen, then Corey, "if you guys don't mind sharing my apartment, I've got a couple spare bedrooms. They're not large, but the beds are comfortable, and they're clean."

Bailey smiled, holding up his forefinger. "Clean! You just sold me!" he laughed. "On Corey's and my behalf, I accept!" The doctor turned to Owen.

"What about you two?" he asked. "Besides, after Bea and I get some dinner, I need a shower."

"Um," Owen temporized, while Lucas snorted back a laugh, the corners of his eyes crinkling at Corey and Bailey's curious expressions. "I've been helping the doctor out, cause' of his broken arm," Owen explained. "He's had a tough time showering, and keepin' his cast and stuff dry, so I've been helping him out."

"It's not what it sounds like, men!" Daniel laughed uneasily, feeling his face flush, suddenly aware how his comment about needing a shower might be taken by a group of gay men. "I like women." He flicked a glance at Bea, then cleared his throat, feeling as if he were digging himself a deep hole, pleased with Bea's blush.

"My father says the same thing, about women," Lucas responded, in a deadpan voice.

"As does mine," Bailey murmured, trying to control his smile.

"I'm told many men do," Corey added, not wishing to discuss his father.

"Yes, well . . . uh."

"We accept, Daniel," Owen broke in. "Thank you for the offer."

Jonah snuggled back between Sam's long legs and felt the muscles of his body relax as Sam held him close. They had left Art and Millie and had walked home, largely in silence, took a shower, and were now sitting on the big bed in Sam's parents' bedroom, the late afternoon sunlight draping across their bare feet, and the white sheets, which lay in disarray at the foot of the bed.

"I told myself that I could never care for that man," Jonah said, into the silence. "That he'd hurt me, and everyone else so much, that he didn't deserve to be loved, but . . ." Jonah lapsed into silence.

"But?"

"But, I'm finding that me working to not love him serves no purpose. He's not gonna be hurt because of what I feel; I will. That's not the way to live, workin' to keep an old hurt alive, just so you can feel like you have a purpose." Sam felt Jonah huff a brief laugh. "So . . . that leaves me feelin' nothing but pity for him." Sam nuzzled the hair at the back of Jonah's head, and smiled to himself at the answering touch of Jonah's hand on his leg.

"I guess I'm happy for Mama. She's no longer havin' to fear Pops, and it seems she's happy bein' around the doctor; so that's cool. I'm happy for Owen, 'cause he's finally been told that Pops loved him, and I'm feelin' good because, Pops said he was proud of me and Abigail and Opie, as well as Owen."

"Were your father's words as important to you as they were to Owen?"

Jonah sighed and shrugged, as he turned his head and kissed Sam's cheek. "Not so much as they were to Owen, I'm thinking. He suffered more'n any of us kids."

He shifted slightly. "Could we not talk about Pops any more tonight? I want to cuddle." He rolled onto his side, pulling Sam with him. "D'you think it's disrespectful to the dead to be horny?" he asked, amusement tinting his voice. "I mean, I've got a naked man on top of me n'all." Sam chuckled and reached out to turn off the nightstand lamp. As he did, Jonah pulled him closer and buried his face in the hair of Sam's armpit.

~ to be continued ~

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

My other work maya be found in the Prolific Authors section of Nifty. As always, I invite comments about all my stories.

Roy Reinikainen roynm@mac.com