No Such Thing as a Perfect Family (23)

"Rusty…?"

Perhaps it was the fatigue causing her to be slow on the uptake, but Sharon couldn't quite register how her brother's words, his ominous attitude, and her foster son all fit together. She forced her confusion back and admitted:"I don't understand."

"Sharon, I looked into this boy's…situation... "

Her eyebrows arched slightly. "His situation?"

"As a material witness in a state criminal case," Paul clarified. "And his… previous circumstances," he added somewhat uncomfortably. "And I don't understand how you're involved in all this."

Sharon's fingers drummed slowly on the back of the empty chair across his desk. "I'm Rusty's legal guardian. He lives with me."

"Yes, that I know," he nodded, "but I don't understand how that came to happen, or… " He frowned. "I was hoping you'd be able to explain to me more clearly what's going on here."

A moment passed before she replied in a soft, matter-of-fact tone: "That happened because Rusty needed a place to live and he had none. I had a spare bedroom and the capacity to provide the adult supervision that his position as a witness required." She paused for a second. "So we agreed on an arrangement that's been working out very well for everyone involved." More or less everyone.

"That's not what I was told," her brother countered, and one of Sharon's eyebrows arched involuntarily again.

"What you were told…? Paul, I'm not sure that you –" She cut herself off as she realized that she was getting irritated, and her eyes softened. "I'm sorry about all the trouble you've gone through because of my… circumstances, this week," she said instead. "I didn't mean to force you to change all the plans at the last minute, and go to all that effort to –"

But he shook his head. "It's not about that, Sharon. That doesn't matter."

"It does," she argued gently. "I realize that it was so much more than you should've had to deal with, and I'm so sorry that I created that situation for all of us, and that I would've … that I could've missed Dad's funeral," she swallowed hard, yet finished in a firm tone, "but none of that was Rusty's fault."

"I know that," Paul acknowledged. "I told you, this has nothing to do with Dad or the funeral."

It was Sharon's turn to shake her head. She didn't like where things were going at all, and anxiety had began to swirl anew in the pit of her stomach. "Paul –"

"It's the boy, Sharon," her brother said. "To my understanding, he's in the middle of a very controversial case, and I don't know if you're aware of all the … issues… with him, but – you shouldn't be involved in all that. His situation –"

"I'm perfectly aware, Paul, he's been living with me for a year," she replied more crossly than she'd meant to, "and honestly I'm not sure that discussing this is entirely appropriate – especially since as far as I know, Rusty's 'situation' isn't a matter of public record."

He might have waved off her pointed comment, but her look changed his mind. "I asked one of my JAG contacts to ask around the local DA's office," he answered her silent inquiry, "that's how I got most of this. Sharon – the boy is –"

"You asked someone to check him out?"

"Just to ask around for some information – what did you expect me to do, Sharon?" he demanded at her scandalized expression. "You say you can't make it home for Dad's funeral but you don't explain why, your kids are throwing apocalyptic scenarios at me, and then I get a call at six a.m. from Kate, asking for seats on a military plane for her and your so-called foster son, who didn't even have any documents." He scowled. "I couldn't put him on a plane, on my responsibility, without at least knowing who he was."

"You should've called me!" she erupted. "And you shouldn't have put him on that plane at all! You should've called me, Paul, and told me what was going on, instead of assisting my children in that…that reckless scheme, and then…" Her eyes welled up abruptly, and Sharon averted her gaze.

The unexpectedly strong reaction left Paul at a loss.

"I – Sharon. Wait. Don't."

She turned away, arms wrapping around herself, and took a step over to the window, and he lowered his head for a brief moment.

"Don't be upset. That's not what I wanted." He walked around the desk, stopping a few feet behind her. "I only brought this up because I'm trying to look out for you."

Her back was turned to him, but after a few seconds he saw her shoulders rise and fall in a soft breath. "I know," she said in a gentler tone, and when she turned back to face him, her gaze was understanding. "And I appreciate that. Only… in this case, I'm not the one who needs someone looking out for them."

Paul sighed. "So the boy stays with you until the trial," he concluded. His gaze turned graver at her quiet nod. "For how long? These things take time."

Sharon looked away, her head turning toward the window, her gaze lost somewhere in the distance. "Another year, maybe two…"

"And then?"

"Then…?" she repeated neutrally, and Paul pressed his lips together.

"Sharon – then what happens? When the trial is over and the boy is no longer constrained by his position as a witness, are you planning to, what? Keep him?"

She gave him a look. "He's not a pet, Paul."

"You're right," he frowned. "But that's not an answer."

Sharon sighed. "That's a very long time from now. Rusty will be of legal age by then, and he'll have his own agency."

And her brother sighed as well, because that still wasn't an answer. He'd forgotten how she did this. "Sharon…"

The phone on his desk went off, and he reluctantly turned his attention to it for the few seconds it took to press a button and silence the ringer. When he turned back around, she was standing there, hands in the pockets of her fleece sweater, watching him expectantly.

For a moment Paul saw her just as she'd been throughout her entire childhood and teenage years too, when she'd wait just like that, patiently, trustingly, for whatever he had to say or do next, and he'd felt that he could do no wrong in her book.

He took a step closer to her.

"It wasn't my intention to imply that you don't know what you're doing. I know you do," he said, serious. "I trust your judgment, Sharon."

And she bit her lips and gave him her affectionate smile. "I know that. Thank you."

They let a moment pass in silence, then: "And I didn't mean to get upset." Sharon sighed. "This just… happened very fast, and I don't think I was as prepared to answer these kinds of questions as I thought I was."

"I understand."

He could have said more to make sure things were alright, but it wasn't easy to find so many words; so he nodded shortly, instead, and he squeezed her shoulder, and she let her fingers rest on top of his hand for a few seconds, and he squeezed again, and Sharon smiled.

Then she shook off the contemplative air and waved in the direction of the door. "I should get Ricky and Rusty," she said, "we need to get going if we want to walk back while it's still light out."

"Should I give you three a ride?"

Another smile, and this one looked almost amused. "That's alright, thank you. I'll see you at dinner in a little while?"

He nodded. "Be careful walking back."

"We will," she assured, then opened the door. She paused with her hand on the door handle, and he saw her hesitate. "And yes."

"What?"

Sharon stepped over the threshold, then turned back to him. "The answer to your question." She dipped her head, thoughtful. "To the extent that it will be my call…and it very well may not be, but if I can... and as far as it's in my power to do so, then…yes. I... plan to keep him." Her expression betrayed some surprise at her own words, as though she couldn't quite believe that she'd heard herself say them.

And Paul had no idea what to say in return, so he just nodded and replied "I see," in a solemn voice. She gave him an anxious sort of smile and retreated, leaving him with the beginnings of a headache and a lot of worrying to do about what his little sister had gotten into, because he might have only gotten a vague and disparate notion of the issues and circumstances surrounding Rusty Beck, but it was plain that whatever else, keeping the boy certainly wasn't going to make Sharon's life easier…

Sharon returned to the kitchen to find Mary-Anne seasoning the meat in the oven, and Rusty seated at the table with his hands around a large glass of Coke. One eyebrow lifted at the latter: "How much of that have you had today, exactly?"

He pulled the glass an inch closer. "You sound like Lt. Flynn."

"Well, then he must also be very preoccupied that your stomach will soon start digesting itself," she returned, and was amused at his revolted grimace. "Switch to something else at dinner, please."

For a second, he was ready to present a protest, but he let out a long-suffering sigh instead. "Okay…"

From her position kneeling by the oven, Mary-Anne glanced over her shoulder, and she and Sharon exchanged a smiling, commiserating glance. "For what it's worth," Paul's wife provided, "I did also offer club soda or apple juice."

It was very telling that Rusty's expression looked more disgusted at the mention of apple juice, than at the earlier point about slowly digesting oneself from the inside out.

A glance at the wall clock showed that it was nearly six p.m. "We should start heading back," said Sharon. "Unless you need any help…?"

Her sister-in-law assured that she didn't. "Thanks again for the pump. Hopefully that'll get the basement sorted out before there's any permanent damage." She smiled at Sharon. "Are you sure you don't want to ride back with us? We'll head over in half hour or so."

But Sharon waved off Mary-Anne's offer just as she had Paul's. Not only did she want the extra time with Ricky and Rusty, but truth be told she'd always enjoyed these outdoors walks, and the odd remote murder scene notwithstanding, there weren't a lot of opportunities for any of the same back in L.A. It had been years since she'd had the time to go on a leisurely hike.

And a walk through the crisp evening air might have worked to clear her head a little, which was something else she needed very badly.

Rusty flashed her a cautious glance as he finished his glass of Coke in one long gulp. She smiled at him, eyes studying him with a serene gaze that concealed the way her thoughts whirled in disarray behind the quiet, contemplative façade.

Two days. That's all she had before they went back to L.A.. Less than that, even. And then they'd have to deal with the aftermath of what Rusty had done, whether they were ready for it or not – and Sharon wasn't ready. She didn't have a plan. She didn't even know where to start making a plan, or if there was anything, anything at all, that she could do this time.

She tried not to let the anxious thoughts color her mood on the way back, although it was an effort. She led the boys on a slightly different route, taking the chance to point out the old church tower to Rusty, and to try an old shortcut that she could only half-remember through the far end of a neighbor's orchard. They paused for a minute, there, to pick an apple each; Rusty managed to find the one lonely plum tree and looked quite proud of his discovery.

They ate the fruit as they walked on – Sharon having received surprisingly identical looks of disbelief when she tried to warn them not to spoil their hunger – and reached her parents' back yard just as the last of the apples was finished.

"Rick!"

They'd taken about five steps across the yard when a familiar voice came from the kitchenette window. A second later, the back door opened and Katie bounced over to them. She made a purposeful beeline for her brother, looking like she had a very specific thing to say, but paused to smile at Sharon, and then got distracted noticing the apple core in Ricky's hand. "You went through Chris's orchard!" she said half-accusingly to him. "And I don't get anything?"

"We have a whole bag of apples in the kitchen!" protested Ricky.

"But they're not freshly picked apples!"

He rolled his eyes, and Sharon suppressed a smile, because she'd noticed Ricky picking an extra apple in the orchard, and sure enough after the eye roll he put his hand in the pocket of his jacket and made a great show of extracting the fruit and offering it to his sister.

"Fine. There. Happy?"

Katie grinned and snatched it from his hand. "Thank you little brother."

"You mean, best brother," he corrected, causing Sharon to give him a sympathetic look: he'd clearly forgotten that his sister had rushed over with an obvious bone to pick with him, and he'd just given her the perfect opening to bring it up.

Katie scrunched up her nose. "Well…'best brother'… do you by any chance remember when I asked you to buy frozen sweet peas and tomato paste? You know, like, a couple of hours ago?" (One of her eyebrows went up.) "And again right before you left for the grocery store?" (The other followed). "And when I texted to remind you? Well guess what was missing from the bags you brought home."

Ricky grimaced a universal 'oops' face, and Katie send her mother a long-suffering look; Sharon again tried very hard to suppress a smile.

"Sorry," the young man sighed. "We had a long shopping list."

His sister tilted her head and asked sweetly: "What do you think a good brother would do in this case, 'best brother'?"

Ricky narrowed his eyes. "Nice try," he told her. "But I'm not going back to the store. We just walked all the way to Uncle Paul's and back!" he protested at her expression. "I still have to shower before dinner! I brought you an apple…!"

The two of them began to walk toward the house, Katie continuing her guilt-tripping and Ricky his attempts to deflect her; a few steps behind, Rusty gave Sharon a surreptitious glance to gauge her reaction, and saw that she was smiling with undisguised amusement.

" –can't have my delicious signature side dish otherwise!"

"Okay but… just because that's the only thing you know how to cook –"

While Katie (or anyone, really) being annoyed with Ricky was perfectly understandable, other than that Rusty was kind of in the air. Siblings were weird. It was also really hard to tell which way victory was leaning.

" – please have another side dish? I'm sure no one will mind."

"That's my special recipe and it works great with Julie's steak!"

"So do a hundred other things – with ingredients that we already have in the house!"

"But people like my pea dish."

"Okay, Kat, if you can find one single person who says they'll mind if we skip it –"

"I like peas," said Rusty.

His words were followed by a surprised silence, as Sharon's children turned to look at him.

Katie crossed her arms with a victorious expression.

Ricky stared in disbelief.

Sharon gave a startled cough and turned her head away.

And alright, maybe his words hadn't been the exact, full truth, if one was going to be all semantic about it, but peas were fine, whatever, only slightly gross, and, you know, he was just trying to help out Katie.

And if there was any sort of personal satisfaction involved (Rusty flicked absently at the traces of dog drool and grass on his jacket), well it was only like, the tiniest bit.

"Come to dinner, Mom. We'd all like you to be there."

Her words bounced dully off the walls; all warmth seemed to have seeped out of the master bedroom. With the curtains drawn and half the bed painfully untouched, it was a quiet, shrunken replica of the room that Sharon remembered.

"I can't. It's… I'm not hungry."

The hoarse whispers were punctuated by sorrowful pauses. Lying down on top of the covers on her side of the bed, her mother had never looked so small and old, the lines in her face deeper than Sharon had ever seen them, her skin white against the all-black clothes.

Sharon shifted slightly, one hand coming to rest on her mother's knee. "Are you feeling sick? How's your blood pressure?"

"I don't know. I haven't checked..."

"Why don't we do that now, then." She got up from the edge of the bed, moving over to the nightstand to look for the blood pressure cuff. In the dim light, it was an effort to sort through the packs and bottles of medicine in the drawers.

"Leave it, Sharon," said Elizabeth. "I don't… I don't feel like I have high blood pressure…"

But Sharon had pulled open the last nightstand drawer, and finally finding the cuff, pulled it out. "It would make me feel better if we just made sure," she said softly. "Here, give me your hand." She caught her mother's left hand in one of hers, and with the other she pulled up the black sleeve of Elizabeth's sweater.

The older woman placed her fingers lightly against Sharon's palm. "Your hands are cold."

Sharon smiled quietly, trying to figure out how to fasten the cuff. "I was just outside. We walked over to Paul's house."

"How is he?"

"Good. They're coming over for dinner, too. Mary-Anne made a roast chicken," she added somewhat absently. "Alright, here goes," she warned, and pressed the 'start' button on the blood pressure monitor.

They waited in silence for the half a minute or so that it took the device to do its job. Sharon lightly stroked her mother's palm with her fingers, listening to the beeping that came from the cuff in rhythm with the woman's heartbeats. Soon the cuff loosened and numbers flashed on the little screen.

"This looks good." Sharon checked the display again to make sure, then gently tapped her mother's wrist as she undid the cuff. "Your blood pressure's okay." At Elizabeth's nod, she urged again: "Come to dinner, Mom. Just for a little while."

"I'm tired."

Sharon nodded: she felt it, too. All day she'd been trying to slowly go back to normal, but couldn't figure out quite how to do it; the effort was leaving her exhausted. "We won't sit down to eat for another while yet. Why don't you rest a little bit? I'll come get you when everything's ready."

"No…" The protest was half-hearted, this time. "You go eat. I'd just…rather…"

"Mom, you have to eat, too." She couldn't keep the worry out of her voice; they'd been through the same with breakfast. "I don't want you to get sick. Please…"

But Elizabeth shook her head. "I'm not sick. I'm … it's…" Her eyes welled up, and when she closed them, tears trailed down her withered cheeks. "God… I can't…"

Sharon leaned closer, her fingers lightly caressing her mother's temple. "I know. I know…" In all her life she'd seen Elizabeth cry twice. Over the past couple of days, however, it seemed that her mother couldn't stop; Sharon didn't even know where all the tears came from.

There was nothing for her to do except sit there, one hand holding her mother's, the other stroking the older woman's hair, while she murmured whatever comfort she could think of, which was painfully little. Her own heart beat irregularly, feeling too small in her chest.

"I don't want to do it. I won't be able to do it. I can't – I can't…"

Her mother's throat seemed to close up, and Sharon made a soothing hush sound. "It's okay..."

"I don't know how to be without him."

Elizabeth's quiet admission echoed in the silent bedroom, and somewhere in the house a pipe creaked mournfully.

"I don't know how, Sharon," the older woman repeated in a small whisper. "It was too long ago. And now… what am I going to do now? I don't remember how to be alone…" Her voice broke again, and Sharon closed her eyes briefly, her hand squeezing her mother's with more force than she'd meant to.

"You're not," she whispered back. "Mom, you're not alone at all. I promise."

And she felt her mother's frighteningly thin, papery fingers clench around her own just as tightly.

A/N: Thank you for reading!

As you know, I'm wary of making predictions with regards to this story since it's a stubborn thing with a life of its own... but I'll venture to say that we've got two more chapters left in Minnesota,during which Sharon's family might wonder about Rusty a little more, Rusty might come to some scary conclusions, there might be more hugs and Sharon might finally let her kids know how she feels about their little runaway scheme.

I love hearing your thoughts more than Provenza loves his glasses!