Spring Rain (21 page)

“Only when we want to make him mad.”

“Then don’t let people call you Billy.”

“My full name is William Clayton Spenser. I was named for Grandpa Will.” Billy spun and pointed. “Hey, Clayton. Clay. Just like you.”

It was decidedly jarring to hear his name belonging to another. “Yeah, I’m William Clayton Jr.”

“Then I’m the third.” Billy’s eyes sparkled.

A deep green Acura drove into the driveway and saved Clay from a response. It was a good thing because he didn’t know how he felt about this imp of a boy sharing such a personal thing as his name. It was a little too father-son. So the kid’s mother was driving him crazier every time he saw her. So he hadn’t felt so emotionally rattled in years. That was a long way from wanting some boy to adopt a III after
his
name.

“Hey, Dr. Traynor.” Billy waved to the tall, handsome man climbing out of the car in the turnaround.

“Billy,” he acknowledged.

“Bill,” the boy called. “I’m Bill now.”

“Sounds good to me. How are you, Bill?”

“Doctors always ask that,” Billy said to Clay
sotto voce.
“It’s a doctor thing. Your father always asked too.” He smiled at the doctor. “I’m fine, thanks. You here to see Ted?”

Dr. Traynor, looking anything but professional in jeans, a long sleeve black T-shirt, and a tweed blazer, smiled and said, “Partly.”

“And partly to see me, right?” said Billy, grinning.

“Absolutely.”

“Yeah, right.”

“Dr. Traynor.” Clay stuck out his hand. “I’m Clay Wharton.”

“Obviously,” Dr. Traynor said. “I’m glad to meet you.”

“David.” The quiet voice from the back door brought a smile to David Traynor’s face even before he turned.

“Julia.” His voice was deep and warm, very warm.

Clay felt a chill as he watched his mother blush. The chill intensified as Dr. Traynor climbed the steps to the house, pausing to put an arm around her shoulders. She in turn rested her head momentarily on his shoulder.

“No one told you about him yet, did they?” asked Billy with a knowing look. “I mean,
that
way.”

Clay didn’t answer, just stared at the closed back door.

“He’s nice,” Billy said. “We all like him.”

Like that made it all right for his mother to go out with another man, to rest her head on his shoulder, for crying out loud! Clay turned and barked, “Go get whatever we need to build a castle. There’s not a lot of time left before dark.”

Smiling with much too much understanding, Billy went into the garage.

“I’m going out for a while this evening,” Julia had told him that morning. She’d stood at the foot of the stairs, a mug of that vile vanilla coffee in her hand, ready to go spend some time with Ted. “I thought about canceling, but since you’re going to be here for a while, I decided not to.”

“No, no, don’t cancel,” he had said as he pulled on his sweatshirt preparatory to going to the beach. “Go. Have fun.”

“Yes.” She smiled. “I will.”

He’d pictured her meeting some of her women friends for a movie or dinner. He’d never in his wildest imagination thought of her going out on a date!

He was still stewing when his mother came outside with David Traynor. Traynor’s hand was resting in the small of her back as he guided her to his car, and she was smiling at him over her shoulder. She looked happy and beautiful in gray slacks, a bright blue sweater, and a dark blazer.

“It’s okay.” Billy, arms full of beach paraphernalia, came and stood beside him. “He really is nice, and he’s nice to her.”

“He’s not my father,” Clay muttered, amazed at how betrayed he felt when Traynor’s car backed out and drove away.

The boy reached over and patted his arm like a little old lady might. “It’s hard not having a dad, isn’t it?”

Clay felt a giant hand grab his heart and squeeze, and he laid his hand on Billy’s shoulder. There was such sorrow and longing in that little voice. And such understanding. Clay had to clear his throat several times. He slid his hand gently up to Billy’s head and tousled his hair. “Let me tell you, Bill. Any dad would be proud to have a son like you.”

Billy glanced up at him, then sighed. “Maybe. Mom says I need to remember that God is my Father.”

“That’s true.”

“Yeah, but God can’t play catch with me like you did. And he can’t help me with my Pinebox Derby car. And he can’t go to the father-son dinner at Awana.”

“I’m sorry that it’s been so hard for you.” Who was the louse, he raged silently, who left Leigh and Bill alone?

Billy shrugged. “I had Grandpa Will and Ted. Grandpa Will went to lots of stuff with me when I was little, as long as nobody had a baby and he had to go to the hospital. And Ted came to lots of my Little League games before he got so sick. He’d even bring Matt with him. Matt was a bit loud, always yelling for me.” Billy grinned a sad, lopsided smile. “He was almost as loud as Mom. I was sad when he died. So was Uncle Ted.”

“I bet Ted gave you lots of good tips about playing. He was a great pitcher. I don’t know about Matt.”

“Yeah. Uncle Ted was good, very good. For an uncle.”

Clay stared out toward the water and tried to imagine what his life would have been like without his father, without his love and encouragement, his example of a godly man, his repetitious lectures on the issues of life that had made him and Ted roll their
eyes.
What would I have become without all these things?
Even now, a grown man of twenty-nine, he missed his dad with an ache that never quite went away. Many times he started to reach for the phone to ask his father’s advice about a problem only to be brought up short with the painful realization that there was no help from that source anymore.

He took a bucket and a pair of putty knives from Billy. “Yeah, not having a dad’s hard.”

“But at least you knew yours.” Then as if embarrassed that he’d said too much, he started for the beach, swinging his bucket as he went. In his other hand he clutched a collection of sand shovels.

“Why these?” Clay held out the putty knives.

“For smoothing,” Billy explained. “And for making sharp cuts.”

They walked to the packed sand in silence.

“First a big pile,” Billy said. “Just a big pile.”

Clay got down on his knees and began to dig. It had been a long time since he’d built a sand castle or anything else in the sand for that matter. A flood of memories of him and Ted creating masterpieces filled his mind. One of their favorite projects had always been burying their father until only his face showed and sculpting a sand body for him with impossibly big muscles and hair like snakes and feet like a clown’s.

He needed to remember these fun times when he saw Ted. It would defuse a lot of his own antagonism, and then maybe Ted wouldn’t be so defensive.

Lord, do you think we can ever learn to love each other again?

LOVE YOUR ENEMIES.

He’s not my enemy.

LOVE ONE ANOTHER. THEY WILL KNOW WE ARE CHRISTIANS BY OUR LOVE.

Yeah. I get the message.

HER TOO.

Yeah. Her too.

Billy dropped to his knees and began sculpting like mad. He took a bucket and climbed onto the jetty. He lowered the bucket into a trough between two rocks, filling it with swirling seawater.

“It’s easier that way than taking my sneakers off and wading in.”

Clay nodded. “Especially when the water’s still so cold.”

The two worked companionably for several minutes. A castle began to take shape if one had a good imagination.

“Why don’t you like Ted?” Billy asked as he plopped another bucket of water beside the castle.

“What?” Clay was shocked at the question. He glared at Billy who kept his attention on the sandpile. This kid was too smart for his own good, and he had no inhibitions about going where wise men feared to tread. “He’s my brother. I love him.”

“Yeah, I know that. But you don’t like him.” Billy looked up from his squat. “Why?”

Clay looked out over the water. How could he explain to a kid the resentment he felt over the pain his family had suffered because of Ted’s gayness?

“Is it because he’s gay?”

Clay grunted noncommittally.

“Are you embarrassed?”

Clay shook his head. “No, I’m not embarrassed. It’s not that simple.”

“It’s because he hurt Grandma Jule and Grandpa Will, isn’t it? It’s because he made them cry.”

Clay looked at Billy with respect. “You’re a smart kid.”

“Yeah. I am.” Billy took his shovel and with a slashing move made a ragged wall straight. “You’re his twin. Did you ever think gay?”

“Come on, Bill! Where do these questions come from?”

Billy looked up. “It’s a good question. Did you?”

Clay used his putty knife to cut crenellations in the top of the wall and grinned in spite of himself. This kid was a keeper. “No, I never thought gay. I’ve liked girls my whole life.”

Billy looked skeptical. “Even at ten?”

“Well, maybe not at ten. That’s antigirl time. But even then, when I couldn’t stand to be near them, I knew they were special.”

Billy nodded. “Me too. I mean, I don’t like them, you know? They’re yucky. But they’re very interesting in a strange sort of way.”

“Very interesting,” Clay agreed.

“Do you think my mom’s interesting?”

Clay blinked. Now there was a question. “Of course. Anybody with a brain would think your mom’s interesting.”

With a satisfied look at their glorious castle, which they could
now barely see through the fast falling dusk, they collected all their implements and walked slowly back across the dunes.

They had just come into the yard when movement caught Clay’s attention. His eyes narrowed as he watched Leigh come outside in a flowing red dress, a soft white sweater draped across her shoulders. She looked absolutely lovely, and apparently he wasn’t the only one to think so. A tall, burly man with a set of shoulders that would have done Arnold Schwartzenegger proud followed her. He had his hand on her arm as he guided her to his car. Nervy.

“Who’s that?”

Billy glanced up. “That’s Eric.”

Clay eyed Eric suspiciously. “So who’s he?”

“He’s a teacher at Mom’s and my school.” Billy took the putty knives from Clay and carefully placed them in a bucket. “He teaches fifth grade. He’s real nice.” He glanced at Clay innocently. “I think he wants to marry Mom.”

Clay blinked. “You’re kidding.”

Billy shook his head. “He’s not the first, you know.”

“He’s not?”

“Of course not.” Billy put the bucket down and pulled a sneaker off. He turned it upside down and watched the sand pour out.

“Of course not,” Clay agreed. He had to swallow to dislodge the lump in his throat. It came right back.

“I mean, she’s very pretty, don’t you think?” Billy turned his highly intelligent eyes to Clay.

“Very pretty,” he mumbled. “Beautiful, in fact.”

“Yeah,” said Billy. “Beautiful.”

They watched Eric’s car disappear down the street and around the corner.

“You should have seen all the guys who came around when we were in college.”

Clay’s head snapped around, but the boy was bent over, tying his shoe. He must have imagined the verbal taunt he heard buried in that comment.

“Uncle Ted kept telling her not to trust any of them. They all had only one thing on their minds.”

Clay stared at Billy’s bent head, having no trouble imagining what Ted was imagining.

Billy looked up with a sudden smile. “They all wanted to kiss her!” And he rolled his eyes.

Clay frowned. He couldn’t decide whether he was more upset about guys wanting to kiss Leigh or Bill’s subtle suggestion that he knew they wanted a lot more than a kiss.

“Did—” Clay swallowed and hated himself, but he couldn’t stop asking. “Did she kiss many of them?”

Billy giggled. “Uh-uh. I was always around. Or Uncle Ted. Or Grandma Jule or Grandpa Will.” He looked proud and pleased and smug. “We all made sure of it.”

Clay almost swallowed his tongue at the thought of that gentle conspiracy. “Don’t you want your mother to marry?”

“Sure. Sometime.” Billy looked at him. “Don’t you?”

“Don’t I what?”

“Want her to get married. I mean, she’d be awful lonely if she never married anyone. I’ll leave home as soon as Mike and I get our band contract—I really think we can make it even if we’re nice—so she’ll need someone.”

“Um.”

Billy shrugged. “She could do worse than Mr. Wilde.”

“Mr. Wilde?”

“Eric.” Billy waved in the direction Leigh and Eric had disappeared. “I’m not supposed to call him Eric. I might forget and do it at school, and that would be bad.”

“I can see that. Kids can’t call their teachers by their first names. Disrespectful.”

“Can you call a teacher Dad?”

Clay shuddered. “Has he actually asked her to marry him?”

“I don’t know. She doesn’t tell me everything, you know.” He looked thoughtful. “Maybe I’ll wake up some morning and have a dad.” He raised those wide brown eyes, magnified by the glasses, to Clay. “Do you think she’d do that?”

“Your mother’s too smart to do that.”
She’d better be too smart, Lord. After all, it wouldn’t be fair. To Bill.
He noticed his stomach was starting to ache just like it did that morning when he’d made her cry.

“Of course maybe she’ll decide to marry Hank. I don’t think I like him as much as Eric. He wheezes when he breathes. Asthma. What if they gave me a brother or sister with asthma?” He shook his head. “It’d be too hard. He or she’d keep us awake all night.
But asthma’s probably better than moving. That’s what Mr. Henderson says we’d need to do.”

“Who’s Hank? And Mr. Henderson?” Clay beat down the feelings of panic that kept kicking up a fuss beneath his breastbone.

“Hank’s the head guy at the bank on Twentieth Street. I think Uncle Ted introduced them. Mr. Henderson—he’s old. He’s got gray hair!”

Clay could swear he felt his own hair turning gray as a result of this conversation.

“He owns all those pizza places on the boardwalk. He’s rich. He drives a neat little black Miata. What do you think of old men driving little sports cars? Does it mean they’re unstable? I’ll tell you, though, I wouldn’t mind owning a car like that. He took me for a ride once. It wasn’t a long ride, but anything’s better than nothing in a case like that. I think he wanted to get back to Mom.”