Never Alone-Chapter 10

Jim would not hide from Frank. This was his mother's house, not Frank's, and he refused to spend the next five months until graduation living in fear. That Wednesday, when Jim walked through the door, Frank grunted. Jim gave no response. This was a new rule: If Frank didn't bother Jim, Jim wouldn't bother Frank. This was easier when his mother was present because Frank tended to behave when Winona was around. The oaf must realize that if he was caught tormenting Jim, he would be out of the house before he could say "beer."

So far all was good. Frank was subdued, and Winona had left a note taped to the door of his room informing him she had gone out to visit old friends. Jim had the feeling he wouldn't be seeing much of her during her brief stay, and at the moment he didn't care. He showered, combed his hair, brushed his teeth, and was ready to leave by five-fifteen. Spock would not be late, and Jim wanted to make a good impression.

Like clockwork, an older blue sedan rolled into the driveway at five twenty-nine. Jim was at the front door before Spock had reached the steps. He took extra care to slam the door shut as he left.

"Hey Spock, right on time!"

"Indeed." Evidently Spock did not overlook Jim's stunt with the door, oops!

It was ridiculous, but once inside the car Jim began to feel nervous. He had already met Spock's parents months ago at the hospital and it wasn't as if he and Spock were dating and he was searching for parental approval. He looked over at Spock's hand resting on the gearshift, and thought about taking it, wondering what Spock would do. Now was not the time for raging teenage hormones, he told himself. Thankfully, the ride was mercifully short.

Spock slipped out of his shoes as they stepped inside the house. Jim, noticing the small collection of footwear by the door, copied him. Spock's house was, like Spock himself, neat, clean, and organized. It was also huge. At first it seemed almost hollow, like a display home never lived in, but then subtle details said otherwise. Each room had fresh flowers (from Mrs. Grayson's garden, Spock explained), and there were family photos lining the walls. There was a Christmas tree that had to be at least seven feet high and a grand piano in the living room. It occurred to Jim that being an ambassador must pay very well. Jim stood in the doorway taking everything in, but he didn't have enough time to absorb it all before Mrs. Grayson enveloped first Spock and then him in a warm hug.

"I should have warned you that my mother is not as reserved as my father," Spock apologized.

Mrs. Grayson patted her son gently on the arm. "Someone has to breathe a little life into this house, right Jim?"

"Yes and you only live once right? Might as well make the best of it."

"That's right, now come in, come in. Oh, Spock, please let I-Chiya in. I put him outside so he wouldn't jump on poor Jim when he walked in."

"I-Chiya?"

"My dog. He is a bull mastiff and quite large, but extremely friendly."

Large was an understatement. The dog was probably taller than Jim, but he was very friendly. It was a good match really: large house, large dog. Spock rubbed the dog's ears fondly as it sniffed Jim's legs before running its large tongue over Jim's entire hand.

"I guess he likes me."

Spock nodded. "He has a very good sense for people."

Jim wasn't entirely sure, but it sounded as if Spock had just complemented him. He couldn't help but smile like a goofball.

Mrs. Grayson had returned to the kitchen to finish preparing dinner and her voice carried into the foyer where Jim and I-Chiya were becoming acquainted.

"Spock, why don't you show Jim around? Your father should be home soon, I told him we were eating at six."

It was difficult to see the resemblance between Spock and his mother. Where Spock was reserved, quiet, and somewhat awkward, Mrs. Grayson was a social butterfly with the gift of gab. One exception, however, was their eyes. They both had the same warm chocolate-brown eyes.

Jim followed Spock up the stairs to his bedroom, which Jim noticed, had its own bathroom. Everything was in perfect order, which wasn't unexpected.

He gazed longingly at the full bookcase along the wall beside Spock's desk. Time in the hospital had turned Jim into an avid reader. His gaze was pulled away from the books by a chess set sitting on the desk. Each piece looked hand-crafted. Spock's gaze followed Jim's.

"I acquired that in France. We visited for about two months four summers ago while Father was working in the area. Would you like to play?" Jim nodded and they set the board up on Spock's bed. I-Chiya was not happy when he was forced off the bed onto the floor. They had only a few moves before Mrs. Grayson called them for dinner.

"We could finish after dinner, if you want?" Jim suggested.

Spock agreed and led him back down the stairs to the dining room. At Jim's house, even on holidays when his mom was home, they always ate in the kitchen. Mostly, Jim ate in his room once his mom had started working for the cruise line. He silently prayed there wouldn't be six different types of forks around his plate like in movies, but thankfully, there was only one knife and fork. And to Jim's delight Mrs. Grayson served veggie lasagna, something he knew how to eat and was not allergic to.

"It's perfectly safe for you, Jim. Spock wouldn't stop pestering me about your allergies. Believe it or not, I have dealt with children with allergies before."

"I'm sure it's wonderful. I'm sorry if I caused any trouble."

She laughed. "You, dear, are fine," she served him a large helping, "it's my son who is causing trouble." Jim noticed Spock's father raise his eyebrow. It was obvious who Spock took after.

"Jim, tell us about your parents. What do they do for a living?" It must have been a diplomatic move to spare Spock from his mother's teasing, or maybe Mr. Grayson only wanted to see the kind of company his previously friendless son kept. It was probably a bit of both. Either way, Jim was grateful they didn't question his previous absence.

"Well, I told Spock my Dad died when I was small, but my parents met while they were in the navy. Mom's no longer serving though; she works as a navigator for a cruise line." Mr. Grayson nodded in what Jim recognized as a very "Spockish" gesture.

"That must keep her away from home a lot."

Now it was Jim's turn to nod. "She usually has a six month contract, then comes for a few weeks and then goes out again. She's home until Saturday right now. She really enjoys it, though. I guess she isn't one for dry land." He laughed, but no one else joined in.

"You live alone most of the time?" Amanda questioned in alarm,

"No, well I could, I'm emancipated, but I live in Mom's house with Fra-my step-dad." The entire family was staring at him in bewilderment. Spock was the first speak.

"You are an emancipated minor?"

"Yeah, I wanted control over my own medical decisions when Mom isn't around since I don't really see eye-to-eye with my step-dad. Mom helped me find a lawyer and I've been a legal adult since I was fourteen."

"I see."

"Well, that is interesting. What do you like to do with your free time?" Mr. Grayson prompted. He may be a stick-in-the-mud, but he was definitely a diplomatic genius at saving awkward conversations and moments of silence. The rest of the dinner went smoothly.

As Mrs. Grayson brought out desert (homemade chocolate cake worth dying for), Jim asked, "Who plays the piano?"

"We all do, but Spock is the real musical genius. He never mentioned it to you?"

"No," said Jim turning to Spock was a mischievous smile, "he didn't."

"Spock why don't you play for him?" Mrs. Grayson encouraged.

"I am sure Jim doesn't want to listen- "

Jim cut him off before he could finish. "I would love to hear you play, Spock."

If looks could kill, Spock would have been sentenced to forty-to-life.