Date: Tue, 27 Oct 2009 13:24:13 -0600
From: Roy <roynm@mac.com>
Subject: Owen, Gay College Section, chapter 32

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