No Such Thing as a Perfect Family (22)
Maybe 'great' had been a bit of an overstatement.
Ricky showed up wearing a black jacket that fit him a lot better than Paul's old one fit Rusty. "Okay – ready!" He sighed as his mother pulled up the zipper a little more, and okay, Rusty could sympathize with that. Kind of. "Are we going around the Martins' property, or cutting through the forest?"
Sharon looked up at the now-clear sky. "It's probably too muddy after last night's rain to try the forest. We'll go around the Martins'. They're old friends of my parents," she explained for Rusty's benefit, "who own a house just about half a mile away. You might have seen them around."
"They came by right after breakfast this morning," added Ricky.
Rusty nodded; he remembered the elderly neighbor who'd picked him and Katie up from the airport, and the small, white-haired lady who had patted his head absently at breakfast. "Uh, yeah, I think I know them. So… are we like, stopping by their place to say hello…?" he asked uncertainly as they began to move toward the end of the yard.
"Oh – no," Sharon adjusted her pace to his, and Ricky followed suit, on her other side, "we'll just be passing through the far end of their property. My brother lives a few miles away by car, but if we cut through back yards or through the woods, it's just about a mile."
"And the neighbors don't mind…?"
She smiled. "It's a small community, Rusty. Everyone knows each other, and most of them have lived here for a very long time." A flash of sadness crossed over her face, but it was gone in a second. "They're close and generally very friendly; no one will give it a second thought to see us cutting across their back yard."
"Oh."
Another knowing smile. "It's a little different from living in a big city like L.A."
"Sounds like it," he murmured, still processing the fact that you could just wander onto people's property and no one thought anything of it.
There were no fences or anything, but he thought they'd reached the end of Sharon's parents' yard by the way the grass changed from the short, green and well-groomed to wilder and taller; when he looked back, the house was about a hundred yards away already.
"That's the Ryan's property," Sharon waved a hand somewhere to her right. Just beyond the small patch of wild grass and shrubs, he could see another well-tended yard. "They moved here with their children about twenty years ago… Mr. Ryan owns a small chain of burger places in the area," she added with a pointed look, and Rusty couldn't help a small grin in response.
"I didn't know they had burgers in Minnesota," he returned.
Ricky gave him a funny look, but Sharon's lips curved in an amused smile. "They do," she confirmed. "And while I can't personally vouch for their taste, I know someone –" (her gaze slid to Ricky on her right side), " – who could be considered somewhat of an expert on the matter."
It was Rusty's turn to flash her son a doubtful look, as if to say, 'really? this guy?', but luckily Sharon didn't notice. He tried to school it before Ricky noticed, too, but wasn't sure that he succeeded; in any case the young man didn't comment, smiling instead at his mother:
"They're pretty good," he said, "but if you want the real expert here, that would be–"
But Rusty never got to hear who the real burger expert was, because a large shape rushed into them, black and furry and totally unexpected, accompanied by a low rumble as it began to make its way around their legs.
The boy backed up in a panic, and when the large dog let out a sharp, resounding bark, he jumped and tripped and would've ended up flat on his back had Sharon not grabbed his arm in time.
"It's okay," she said urgently, pulling him slightly back, "it's just the Ryans' dog, Rusty, he won't hurt you. Pilot, go away," she got between them and pushed the dog's muzzle down as it tried to sniff at the edges of Rusty's jacket; the dog just nudged her hand and pushed its large body further into the two of them. "No. Off. Ricky – you call him."
It wasn't until after Ricky had clapped his hands together a couple of times that the dog finally gave up on trying to make friends, and trotted over to Sharon's son. She waited a second to make sure he wasn't planning to dash back for another attempt, before turning to the boy: "Rusty, I'm sorry. I got caught up in our conversation and forgot to tell you about Pilot." Her brow furrowed in concern. "Are you okay?"
He fixed the animal with a wary stare, waiting for his heart to stop pounding in his ears (or maybe stop altogether, which also felt like an option). "That's a – that's a really big dog, Sharon! Can I have like, some warning next time?" he sputtered.
Her eyes softened in sympathy. "I'm sorry, honey." And Rusty let out another truncated breath, and he couldn't understand why Ricky suddenly flashed him an irritated glare.
"He's harmless," Sharon's son said pointedly as he scratched the dog's ears with both hands. Which Rusty found tremendously unfair, because how was he supposed to know and it was a huge hairy dog that had just jumped him and his heart was still at three hundred beats a minute!
"He doesn't look harmless," he retorted, "what is he, like, half-bear or something?"
"He's a Newfie mix," said Ricky, and was that even a real word? "And he was just trying to be friendly." At the boy's disbelieving huff, Ricky instinctively crossed his arms in dissatisfaction .
Which of course was the wrong move to make.
No longer motivated to stay in place, the dog promptly did a one-eighty and bounded right back over toward Sharon and Rusty. The boy backpedaled a few steps in quick succession, the dog waved his tail wildly at this exciting new game and followed eagerly, and before Sharon could stop him he reached his target and successfully tangled himself between Rusty's legs with surprising ease for a hundred-plus pound ball of fur, and sent the boy to the ground with a loud thump.
"No – Pilot!" Sharon grabbed the fur on his neck and interrupted him halfway through gleefully sniffing Rusty's ribcage. "Off, I said! Get off!" There must have been something in her tone this time, because the dog listened, retreating obediently a few steps and watching her with his head cocked.
"Come here, boy," Ricky winced at the sharp glance from him mother. "Sorry, I – forgot…to hold him…"
Propped on his elbows in the soft grass, Rusty rolled his eyes.
"Hold up." Sharon put a hand on Rusty's shoulder when he made a move to get up properly. "Did you hurt anything?"
Only his pride. "No," he muttered in embarrassment. Sitting a few feet away by Ricky's leg, the dog wagged its giant tail and sent a cloud of dust right into his face.
Rusty sighed.
"Are all dogs like this one?"
Sharon's expression wavered for a moment. "Some," she answered eventually. "Pilot is a little… friendlier than most. Dogs his size are generally a little more sedate, but he's always been very… enthusiastic."
"And he's old now," added Ricky. "You should've seen him when he was a puppy. I took a few tumbles running around with him, myself." He grimaced a little uncomfortably when Rusty met his eyes. "Sorry," he offered in an honest tone, "I should've kept a better grip on him."
Yeah, sure, Rusty bet he was real sorry.
The boy suppressed a second eye roll and gave a half-shrug instead. "It's fine…" Getting back to his feet with as much grace as he could (which wasn't a lot), he glanced at Sharon, then at the dog, then back at her with a somewhat questioning air.
She was still giving him that soft, concerned look. "It's alright," she assured again. "He won't hurt you. He really is a very good dog." The floppy ears perked slightly at the phrase 'good dog', and the tail that was about the size of Rusty's arm brushed a couple more times against the grass, and okay, maybe the dog didn't look that threatening.
"Ricky, take him back to the house and see if Mr. Ryan can restrain him for a few minutes until we're gone. I don't want him following us all the way to Paul's house."
Which were words that echoed exactly how Rusty felt, too – only not about the dog.
It wasn't until a few seconds after Ricky had taken off in the direction of the neighbors' house, one hand resting casually on the back of the Pilot's neck, that Rusty realized that the young man hadn't asked Sharon to wait, or made sure that she knew not to leave without him.
The observation filled him with the same indefinite, diffuse sorrow that he'd felt before around Sharon's son.
Rusty had always made sure to ask his own mother to wait, whenever he had to leave for even a brief time, like when he went inside a pharmacy, or stepped out of the car at a gas station to get a snack from inside. He'd always explicitly ask her to wait for him, sometimes half a dozen times before actually leaving, and even so he'd still be anxious that it wouldn't be enough to ensure that she'd be there when he came back (and in the end, it hadn't been).
But Ricky hadn't asked and Sharon wasn't going anywhere, she'd only taken a few steps away and was watching the gently rolling hills with a pensive expression.
And Rusty suddenly wondered what he'd have done in the same situation, with Sharon. He even tried to remember if they'd ever experienced similar circumstances, but he pretty much never went anywhere without her, except school and inside the police station, and so there had never been a reason to leave and ask her to wait for him to return… but… would he?
If he'd been the one returning the dog to the house, would he have made sure to ask Sharon to wait?
He didn't think so.
Would he have spent the entire time worrying that she'd have gone on without him by the time he was back?
Rusty rubbed his hands against his arms and ducked his head.
No, he didn't think that, either.
He'd half-turned away from her, but he gave her a sideways glance, and she must've noticed because she turned and smiled a little sadly and he felt the same mixed emotions he'd been feeling a lot over the past few days.
He didn't think he'd ask Sharon to wait for him, because he didn't think he'd need to. Because she wasn't going anywhere.
Wasn't that why he was in Minnesota to begin with? Because she wouldn't leave him?
He hadn't really thought about it that way, before.
"I'm sorry, Rusty," she said, and it took him a moment to realize that she was talking about the dog incident, because he'd become so lost in his thoughts.
And then he realized, now that he'd heard the words from her for the third time, that she might have actually been apologizing, rather than just saying 'sorry' in commiseration.
"It completely slipped my mind to warn you about how people give their pets a lot more freedom here." She sighed, and the air of lightness she'd been wearing through the walk so far faded somewhat, so Rusty could once again see traces of the sadness and fatigue beneath. "I'm sorry you were frightened."
"It's fine, Sharon, really," he felt bad about the whole thing now, it wasn't worth her worrying and why on Earth had he flipped out over a dog? It was just a dog. He said as much to Sharon.
"A really, really large dog," she repeated his earlier words, with an understanding half-smile. "It's alright, he does make a scary sight. I'd have been startled, too." And oddly, hearing that did make Rusty feel a little better, even though he knew she was just saying it to appease him, obviously.
"Are you kidding, you'd have probably scared him," he countered, and was relieved when that surprised an amused huff out of her.
"You've been spending too much time with Lt. Provenza, young man."
He smirked at that, because it really had sounded like something Provenza might say, hadn't it? "Seriously though, Sharon," he said again in a quieter voice, "it's no big deal. I … well I didn't exactly get to play with a lot of dogs in my life, so I didn't know… I … "
"I know," she nodded.
"It just took me by surprise. I'm sorry I… overreacted." Not a word he'd ever used before for himself, because he didn't overreact, other people overreacted – but at the moment it seemed like the appropriate word choice. Right behind 'spazzed out like an idiot'.
"You didn't," Sharon said seriously. "That was a perfectly normal reaction to something you weren't expecting that was frightening. You don't need to apologize."
"Well, neither do you," he sighed.
Her lips compressed into that almost-smile of hers, that was somewhere between sad and sympathetic and warm. "Alright, then," she said, the faintest note of humor in her voice. "Why don't we just file this under 'all's well that ends well', in that case."
"Deal." The boy paused for a moment, then cleared his throat. "But like… are there any other…pets…I should know about?"
Sharon hummed. "The Martins only have cats," she assured him, and Rusty pressed his lips together and gave her a long look:
"Regular sized…? Or like… Minnesota-sized?" The way her eyes crinkled at the corners at his only-half-joking question made him feel inexplicably lighter.
"They're plain old house cats, as ordinary as can be," she confirmed. "And in the interest of full disclosure, I will tell you that we might also see some wild rodents on the way. Also regular size," she finished all business-like.
"Okay.' He nodded seriously. "I can handle that."
Sharon tilted her head and gave him a warm smile and Rusty stuck his hands in his pockets and hunched his shoulders a little self-consciously, and he may have had mud on his palms and grass stains all over and he was pretty sure that was dog drool on his jacket, but he felt better than he had in days. Because this was normal, and normal was great, and he'd been so worried, no, scared, terrified after seeing Sharon over the past week… but he was so immensely relieved that they could still do normal, after everything. Even if just for a little while.
It was only about another fifteen minutes to Paul's house (Sharon had picked up the pace slightly, and Rusty assumed it was to make sure they got back in time for dinner), and they passed without incident. Sharon pointed out neighbors' houses to him and told him a little bit about the people who lived in them, and Rusty got the general impression that they were all very adult and rich and did a lot of amateur carpentry and home baking. She also talked about the general area, and the mountain and the woods, and winters and snow, and he thought that if he ever grew up and had his own life, he'd come to Minnesota again and see it all just as she described it.
They didn't run into any more errant pets (though there were plenty of rabbits and squirrels, all of them regular size indeed), and even Ricky was bearable, supplementing his own comments to his mother's anecdotes here and there, which always made her smile, so Rusty could find nothing to fault him for.
Almost nothing – as they'd prepared to leave the Ryans' property, Ricky had asked Sharon if he could carry the tote bag that she'd brought along, and Rusty had felt unreasonably annoyed because he could do that, too! If he'd thought about it…! Sharon didn't take her son up on his offer, though.
By the time they got to Paul's house, Rusty kind of wished she had, because she really was looking too tired, and he'd noticed that she was breathing a little harder and her voice came out a little more effortful, and they hadn't walked for that long! Even with the lively pace, he didn't think it should've taken that much out of her. It dampened his mood somewhat, this reminder that Sharon was still not okay and she'd gone for so long without rest and she was still barely eating anything and… he just wished he knew how to make it all better for her.
It was a relief when they reached the house and she knocked lightly on the back door, then opened it without waiting for a reply.
The door opened into a kitchen (also regular size – unlike Sharon's parents' mansion, Paul's was a slightly more normal-looking house), and he noticed that Sharon deposited the bag on the nearest chair before calling out to announce their presence.
'Aunt Mary-Anne' appeared in the doorway a few seconds later, confirming Rusty's strong suspicion that she was indeed Paul's wife. She didn't seem surprised to see them; Sharon had probably called ahead to let her know they were coming. She waved friendly greetings to him and Ricky and hugged Sharon, then offered them all coffee or tea, which everyone politely refused.
"We really just dropped by for a second." Sharon pointed to the tote bag on the chair. "I brought the pump, and the connector for the wider hose…"
"Oh god, thank you," Mary-Anne let out a relieved sigh. "I don't know what we did with ours, we haven't had our basement flood in years… I couldn't believe it when we noticed today, it didn't even rain that much last night and then to have that pipe crack…and just now, of all times…" She shook her head in exasperation. "Thanks for bringing your parents' pump over," she said again.
"Do you need some help setting it up?" offered Ricky, and his aunt smiled in appreciation.
"That'd be great. I think Paul wants it set up and running before we go over for dinner… maybe we can even finish getting most of the water out by then, I don't know, I can't really tell how much of it there is." She sighed. "If you don't mind taking the pump downstairs and figuring out where to place it and everything… I'll find your uncle and let him know, he's on the phone in the office right now."
"I'll let him know," said Sharon, pulling out a thin folder from the bag. "I need to give him copies of the probate paperwork, and have him sign a couple of things anyway." She smiled tiredly at Mary-Anne. "Office, you said?"
The slightly older woman nodded, her gaze softening as she took in Sharon's appearance. "Are you sure you don't want some tea? Jamie brought me a whole fancy box with all sorts of exotic flavors that sound like they should never be made into tea…"
Sharon smiled. "I don't think we'll stay for that long," she refused again, "but thank you."
"Well… I'll bring some over with me and we can have it after dinner," Mary-Anne decided. "Give me a minute to make sure I didn't do anything awful to this turkey, I threw it in the oven then completely forgot about it when we noticed the basement…"
"I'll go drop these off with Paul in the meantime," Sharon suggested, and after making sure Ricky and Rusty would both be okay for a few minutes, she left the kitchen in search of her brother.
Mary-Anne sighed again in her wake, then glanced at her nephew. "How's she doing?"
Ricky shrugged tiredly.
Rusty shifted his weight on his feet, hands clenched tight on the back of one of the kitchen chairs.
Sharon knocked quietly on the door to her brother's office, then waited a second before opening it and slipping in. He looked up when she did, and the frown he'd been wearing eased momentarily into a small smile, before he went back to listening to whoever was on the other end of the phone line.
Unlike their father's study, which was all old wood and worn leather and exuded the air of a small private library, Paul's home office was well lit and airy and held all the tools of the modern world, from a printer/scanner by the white-painted wall, to a wide-screened iMac on the glass desk. It was neat and functional and spotless, very much in-character for her brother, but Sharon also noticed the small touches like the tiny vase on the window sill or a crystal bowl filled with jelly beans (of all things!) on top of the office cabinet in the corner. Mary-Anne had clearly contributed those to the décor as a way of reminding her husband that he wasn't to take himself too seriously.
Noticing the direction of her gaze, Paul looked to the jelly bean bowl as well, and lifted one shoulder in a stoic shrug. Sharon's lips curved affectionately.
Within a few moments, he'd dispatched the person on the phone, and he hung up to give her his full attention; the first thing he did was notice the slight flush in her cheeks and the way her hair looked a little out of place and the stray bits of grass on her pants, and he frowned.
"Did you walk here?"
"We did," she acknowledged. "Ricky and Rusty are with me, as well. Actually – Ricky wanted you to know that he's going to start setting up Dad's Simer pump in the basement. Hopefully it can be ready by the time you and Mary-Anne come over for dinner."
Paul nodded, but didn't make a move to get up and go help; instead he regarded her with a thoughtful expression. "I heard you booked your flight back for Monday morning."
That elicited a soft sigh from her. "Yes, it's just after eight…we'll probably leave the house around six or so." The thought of having to leave was accompanied by all sorts of bleak feelings. She didn't want to think about it too much, or about what was waiting for her back in L.A., either.
"Are you sure you don't want me to get you a private flight?"
Sharon's eyebrows arched involuntarily. "Oh god, no. No, thank you." She offered a somewhat shaky smile: Paul had never done that in his entire career, it wasn't exactly easy, she imagined, or entirely above-board, and yet here he was offering it twice in one week. "It's … we're fine flying commercial. Please don't worry. Thank you."
He nodded and dropped the matter, taking instead the folder she'd brought and looking through the papers. "These are what Dawson dropped off this morning?"
She suppressed a grimace at the mention of the obnoxious lawyer. "I thought you should have a set of copies, as well – if you don't mind returning the originals when you're done. A couple of them also need your signature, according to Mr. Dawson, since you're the one who filed the first set of papers with the county registrar…"
This time, he heard the note of disdain in her voice, and glanced up sharply. "Did he give you any trouble?"
And Sharon couldn't help a small smile, because this was the sort of thing Paul would ask her when she was seventeen, and hearing it at the current moment was both poignant and endearing. She didn't even bother to answer, because of how ridiculous the question was in truth – but she smiled at him and he gave her a quick once-over and again dropped the matter without pressing further.
"I'll make copies and return everything to its place," he confirmed after a few seconds, having finished his quick browsing of the papers.
"Alright," she smiled still, because his gruff manner and the way he was so sparing with words were just so him, and exactly the reason why Mary-Anne put jelly bean bowls in his office in the first place. "We should start heading home," she added after a moment, taking a step toward the door. "I'd like to walk back as well, and we don't want to hold up dinner. I'll see you in a little –"
"I want to talk to you about something, Sharon," Paul said suddenly, somberly, and her smile faded somewhat at his stony expression. He looked as though he was bracing himself.
Her head cocked slightly, an uneasy feeling starting to swirl in her stomach. "Oh?"
The man said nothing for a moment, but his shoulders squared and his gaze turned, if possible, even more serious, and Sharon felt a stab of panic run through her.
"Paul, what is it?" Her voice came out hoarser than intended, and her heart had picked up automatically. "Is something wrong with you? With Mom?" Tears began to pool in her eyes, because she didn't think she could handle more of the same…
"What – no. No. No," he said again, and he actually stood up from his chair. "It's nothing like that. It's – that was poorly phrased. This has nothing to do with me or Mom." Her expression had grown only marginally less panicked, so he added: "Everyone's fine – as far as I know," he qualified.
Letting out a shaky breath, Sharon shook her head. "Then…?" She had no idea what he was getting at. By his expression, it didn't look like good news, but if everyone was fine…
"It's about the boy."
She looked at her brother in complete confusion. "The boy. What boy?"
Paul gave her a grave look. "The boy who came with you. Rusty Beck."
A/N: Well now that the finale has aired and we are no longer dealing with the soul-crushing suspense, I feel less bad about ending this on a cliffhanger! (speaking of - THAT FINALE. SO MANY FEELS.)
Thank you for reading :) you know that I love to hear your thoughts!