Spring Rain (16 page)

He grinned to himself. He didn’t think he’d ever seen anyone do the Frost Princess better than she’d done it last night with the young cop. And he’d deserved every icy breath. Clay could still see the avid curiosity with which Pete had weighed Leigh in some mental balance.

It just wasn’t fair that she had to be subjected to insolence like that, but then no one said life was fair. But it still galled him and aroused an unexpected urge to be her knight-errant riding his destrier to her rescue and becoming her protector. Don Quixote de la Seaside.

Careful, Wharton. Dangerous territory. You were there once before and look what it did to you. And her. You’re the last person who should ever consider rescuing her.

Trouble was, he saw no one else riding over the horizon to tilt at her windmills for her, to raise his emblem in her name.

It was funny how he still saw her as that innocent, pure girl in the white dress with the pink flowers and green vines embroidered around the hem. Why he did was a mystery to him. Billy was proof that she was anything but. Still, there was something about her, about the way she carried herself, the way she cared about his mother and brother, the way she obviously doted on Billy that moved him. She had always been without artifice, and he saw that same quality in her still.

No wonder he had rarely come home over the years.

He poured himself a cup of coffee from the carafe warming on the coffee machine. He took a swallow and choked. Vanilla! He should have known. The whole kitchen smelled of it, but he’d assumed his mother had been baking. Instead, she had been making corrupted coffee.

He’d always thought Mom a purist, what with her made-from-scratch baking frenzies and dinners to die for. That she, a wonderful and previously incorruptible woman, had fallen for flavored coffee was a sad sign of the subtlety of the moral decay in America.

He sighed and poured the mugful down the drain. He resisted by sheer strength of character the urge to dump the whole carafe. He went to the refrigerator. There sat a can of real coffee-flavored coffee. He pulled it out and made himself a pot. It tasted wonderful.
He was just finishing a bowl of Cheerios and some whole wheat toast with real butter when his mother came in the back door.

“Hi,” she said with a smile, fresh air eddying about her. She wore jeans, a blue plaid flannel shirt and sweater, and a red fleece jacket. She looked more like an older sister than his mother. “I’ve been walking on the beach.”

“I wondered where you were,” he said, smiling at the roses blooming in her cheeks.

She headed for the vanilla coffee and poured a cup. “It’s going to be lovely this afternoon, but it’s still brisk right now.” She shivered. “I’ve got to get warm.”

The back door slammed open, and Billy exploded into the room. Obviously he’d escaped before Leigh got him to brush his hair. He was wearing the same clothes he’d had on last night, a true ten-year-old boy with all the disdain for cleanliness that typified the age.

“Hey, Clay! Hey, Terror!” He dropped to his knees and hugged the dog who wiggled with delight at the attention. “Hey, Grandma Jule, did you hear about our visitor last night?”

“Someone besides Clay?” Mom asked, laughing as Terror enthusiastically kissed Billy.

“A vandal!” Billy swiped an arm across his face to wipe off Terror’s saliva and looked at her, waiting for her reaction.

Clay couldn’t help grinning at the boy. Now that order had been more or less restored to the apartment and the sun was shining, he was once again enjoying the excitement of this new adventure. Quiet little Seaside didn’t often offer firsthand mysteries, and his front row seat to this one obviously delighted Billy.

Mom didn’t disappoint the boy. “What? A vandal?” Her face blanched, and she put out a hand to grab the counter as if she needed help to keep standing.

The back door opened again, and this time Leigh entered. She was wearing jeans and a shirt and sweater just like his mother, but she reminded him of no one’s sister, older or younger, and certainly not his. Nor did he feel anything remotely brotherly when he looked at her.

“Billy, what have you been telling Julia?” Leigh asked, taking in Mom’s white face and strained expression.

“Are you all right?” Mom demanded, coming to Leigh and taking her hands.

Leigh kissed Mom’s cheek and smiled reassuringly. “We’re fine. Truly.”

“Yeah,
now
we’re fine. But last night there was mess and water everywhere! You should have seen it. Toothpaste all over the sink. Dirt all over the floor. Books everywhere. The kitchen floor was a little lake!” Billy was enjoying the drama, playing it with an over-the-top disregard for the sensibilities of his audience.

“That’s enough, Billy,” Leigh said in a firm voice. “You’re scaring Grandma Jule.”

“It’s all right, Mom.” Clay pulled out a chair for her. “Greg Barnes was here last night and took care of everything.”

Well, almost everything
, he thought. He looked at Leigh, and she nodded. She had reported the threatening call. She pointed to Billy and shook her head. The boy knew nothing about it. Clay inclined his head and wondered at the ease of their wordless communication. He hadn’t understood Emilie, the giver of Terror, even when she used audible words.

“How’s Ted this morning?” Leigh asked, changing the topic to the one guaranteed to distract his mother. Mom shrugged as she took the seat Clay had pulled out for her. “He seems very tired to me, even after a full night’s sleep.”

“Did he manage to eat anything?”

“He ate a couple of soft-boiled eggs with some bread mixed in, complaining the whole time about how tasteless they were.”

“The medicine makes things taste strange?” Clay asked.

Mom nodded. “Though I think it was more a case of not being able to put salt on the eggs. You know Ted. If he can’t bury it in salt, it isn’t worth eating.” She smiled. “I think his mouth is a bit better this morning. The stuff David gave him is helping.”

Leigh poured herself a cup of the vanilla coffee and added a spoonful of sugar. She took a sip and sighed. “Delicious. I just love this stuff.”

“You can’t be serious!” Clay shook his head. “It’s like drinking a hot milkshake. Now this is real coffee.” He picked up his carafe and poured himself another mug. “That stuff’s for wimps.”

“Well, now at least I know what you think of me.” She smiled to take any sting out of the words.

Mom looked wistfully at the almost empty carafe of vanilla coffee, and Clay felt suddenly guilty about the cup he’d poured
down the drain. She topped off her mug with the remaining coffee and rose to rinse the pot at the sink. “Ted and I had a lovely, lively discussion this morning about whether his bouts with thrush were worse than these sores. It’s amazing what becomes interesting fodder for contemplation in certain circumstances.”

“What’s thrush?” Clay asked. “Besides a bird.”

“A fungal disease that causes lesions in the mouth and throat,” Billy answered from his spot on the floor. “And on the lips. Very painful.” He glanced at Clay’s surprised face. “I’m going to be a doctor when I grow up, just like Grandpa Will.”

“You’re going to deliver babies?” Clay asked. “That means you have to deal with lots of girls, both grown-up and newborn. I thought you didn’t like women.”

“Girls.” Billy grimaced. “I don’t like girls. And I said a
doctor
like Grandpa Will, not a
baby
doctor like him.”

“Ah, a broad stroke assumption of his mantle, not a specific one.”

Billy looked at him and frowned in confusion. “What’s a fireplace got to do with anything?”

“Not much.” Leigh smiled at her son. “I think I’ll just go up and say hi to Ted. I’d take him a mug of vanilla coffee if there was any left. He happens to have good taste.”

“It figures he’d like it,” Clay muttered as Leigh went upstairs, Billy following.

He forced himself to look away from her retreating figure and found his mother watching him, her eyebrow cocked.

“What?” he said with a deplorable lack of good humor.

“She’s wonderful, isn’t she?” Mom spoke with obvious pride. “I’m so delighted with what she’s become.”

“Yeah, she’s great.” To change the tender topic, he leaped on the first thought that came to mind. “Mom, why’s Ted failing so fast? I thought they’d made great strides in the treatment of AIDS.”

She stared into her cup. “They have, but often there comes a time when a patient develops a resistance to all the available drugs. Then even the sophisticated medical cocktails can’t hold the encroaching infections at bay. It’s just a matter of time until some infection like pneumonia gets hold and can’t be pried loose.”

He reached across the table and took her hand. It was cold in spite of the fact that she’d had it wrapped around her cup. He
didn’t say anything because he didn’t know what to say. He wasn’t surprised when he saw tears running down her cheeks.

“Oh, Mom.” His heart broke for her pain. As if it weren’t bad enough that she’d lost his father, now she was going to lose Ted.

“I’m okay,” she said. “I just can’t help it every so often.” The pain in her eyes was devastating.

Clay squeezed her hand and struggled to push his anger at Ted to the back of his mind lest she see it in his face. “I’ll be here for as long as you need me, Mom.”

“Indefinite compassionate leave? I didn’t know the navy was that understanding.”

He shook his head. “I resigned my commission.”

She fell back in her chair, floored. “You’ve left the navy? I thought you loved military life.”

He shrugged. “I guess I did at one time, but civilian life has been calling for a while.”

Mom made a wry face. “You know, there was a time when I actually thought I knew you two boys.” She gave a short, humorless laugh. “Just goes to show you how easily a mom can be fooled.”

“I don’t think a change of jobs is that big a deal, certainly not big enough for you to worry about.”

“You’re not planning on being one of those kids who moves back home and never leaves again, are you?” she asked, looking anxious. “I’ve got a kid upstairs, another over the garage, and a grandkid. I’ll never have an empty nest!” She turned a woeful face to him.

He laughed. “Don’t worry. I’m visiting. I’d never be mean enough to stay.”

She smiled her love to him. “You know I’ll enjoy you for as long as you choose to stay, don’t you?”

He nodded, thinking how much he admired her for the grace with which she’d handled life’s adversities: her widowhood, Ted’s life choices and imminent death. He’d known about Ted’s secret life years before his parents learned about it. While still in high school, Clay had assimilated the fact of his twin’s gayness clue by clue, not even aware of what he was learning most of the time. When it finally all coalesced in his mind, telling his parents had seemed wrong, like tattling. Shocked and angry as he was at Ted, he still wanted to protect him, his twin, his other half. And he
wanted to protect his parents from the pain they would undoubtedly suffer.

Ironically, when the truth did come out, they handled it better than he ever had.

Sipping his coffee, he leaned his elbows on the table. “How did you learn about Ted?” he asked gently.

His mother looked out the window, staring at the blue spring sky. “Show us your shoes.”

Clay stared. “You’re kidding.”

Mom shook her head. “I was watching the Miss America parade on TV the year after he graduated from college and you from the Academy. Ted was living in Atlantic City and had a good job at one of the banks. You were stationed in Hawaii. Your father and I were so proud of you both.” She sighed. “How often since then have I thought about pride being one of the seven deadly sins.”

Anger at Ted struck Clay again. “Mom, being proud of your kids isn’t wrong.”

“Maybe. Maybe not.” She held a hand out and waggled it back and forth to show her uncertainty. “But I’ve discovered that what I was really proud of was my outstanding job as a mother. I’d raised two of the finest boys I knew. Since you two turned out so wonderfully, I must have done a great job.”

“You did.”

She raised an eyebrow, questioning his conclusion.

“Mom, you’re not responsible for your sons’ choices.” She shrugged.

“So everyone tells me. Too bad my heart doesn’t always agree.”

Feeling helpless in the face of her sorrow, Clay got up and began pacing the kitchen.

“Sit down,” Mom ordered. “You’ll drive me crazy if you keep that up.”

Clay grunted and forced himself to stand still. He leaned casually against the counter. Terror raced into the kitchen, and Clay put his cereal bowl on the floor. The dog inhaled the remaining milk, his tail wagging the whole time.

“You know,” Mom said, watching the dog with an abstracted expression. “I almost wish they’d find a brain chemistry cause or genetic cause for homosexuality if only to exonerate your father. I’ve grieved and still do for what people might assume about him
based on standard psychological profiles of gays’ families.”

“Mom!” Clay stared at her. “Anyone who knew Dad knows he wasn’t an absentee or a dictatorial father or any other perversion of the role.”

She glanced up, a sudden impudent grin on her face. “Of course they’re not too nice to mothers in those studies either.”

“Mom!”

She waved her hand at him. “Take it easy, Clay. You’ve got to learn to see the humor in this situation, or you’ll turn into a prune.”

He looked at her in wonder. “You’re amazing.” He came to her and gave her a quick kiss on the cheek. He picked up his cereal dish from the floor and gathered his others from the table. He rinsed them and put them in the dishwasher. “So you were watching the Miss America parade?”

She went back to her story. “The contestants from all the states were being driven down the boardwalk in convertibles or on floats,” she continued, “and for once the weather was wonderful. As usual the local gay community was there to enjoy the glitz and glamour.”

Clay knew what was coming, and the thought of what it must have done to his parents made his stomach teem with acid. The little show-us-your-shoes ritual was a regular feature of the parade.