No Such Thing as a Perfect Family (24)
For the past few days, Rusty had felt unaccountably anxious and concerned each (rare) time that he'd seen Sharon. But when she walked into Paul's old bedroom shortly after dinner that night, he felt another, almost refreshingly familiar kind of apprehension. The 'am I about to be in trouble again' kind – and sure, it was a step up from the stomach-churning anxiety of not knowing how to talk to Sharon anymore, but… it was still not exactly good news.
He wasn't sure if he was in trouble or not.
Sharon still looked tired, and the fact that he'd gotten used to seeing those dark circles under her eyes wasn't a good thing. There was still economy to her movements and just a touch more effort to her breath – but Rusty didn't think any of that would prevent her from delivering one of her lectures, if she thought he needed it.
Which, everything considered, she probably did. She was definitely wearing that kind of look as she walked in, the one that always made him want to jump and defend himself even though the wisest course of action would've been to use his right to remain silent. (Only it turned out, in those cases he didn't have the right to remain silent. It was a Sharon thing.)
He swallowed hard and tried to preempt her: "Uh – Sharon." Her eyebrows arched expectantly. "Ah, how do you call that thing when, like… someone innocent gets punished twice for the same thing? Which I hear is illegal," he hurried to add.
A knowing smile curved her lips. "There's no such thing."
"Yes there is!" He'd seen it in on TV, and he was sure they must've mentioned it in the murder room at least like, once… right? "Yeah, no, I'm pretty sure that's a thing."
"No..." She leaned against the dresser and gave him an amused look. "There's someone innocent getting punished for a crime they didn't commit," (her expression made clear that that did not apply to him), "which we call a miscarriage of justice. Then there's someone getting tried or convicted twice for the same crime, which is a different situation, and it's called double jeopardy."
Right! That was it. Double jeopardy. "And that's illegal, correct?"
"Mm. It is," she acknowledged. "Then," she continued in the same casual tone, "there's the more common case when someone's actions lead to nothing more, or less, than fitting consequences," she arched her eyebrows at him again, "and I believe the technical term for that would be 'just reward'."
Rusty sighed. There was a queasiness in his stomach that protested that there had been nothing just about the consequences she was referring to, and they definitely hadn't felt like a reward.
They'd felt like peas and kale and possibly socks.
The tiny, very small, barely-there bit of personal satisfaction from his earlier stunt with Ricky had been enough to curl the corners of Rusty's lips into a smug smirk, right up to the point where they'd sat down for dinner and Sharon had very pointedly passed him the bowl of Katie's pea dish.
Of course she would.
Under her deceptively serene gaze, he'd given a martyred sigh and voluntarily scooped out a generous helping for himself, because what else had there been left to do, really? Plus, yes, peas were a little gross but it was still a small price to pay to have seen Ricky's face when he'd been outvoted. Yup. Totally worth it.
Rusty had firmly held on to that opinion until about halfway through chewing the first forkful, and then … oh god.
Turns out Ricky hadn't forgotten to pick up those peas. He'd left them off the shopping list intentionally. Probably for the good of mankind.
Rusty was very grateful to Sharon that she hadn't made him finish all of it on his plate, because she could've and he would've and… Emma would've probably been really mad to lose her material witness to a pile of mashed greens.
His stomach rumbled fearfully at the memory, and he heard Sharon's long-suffering sigh.
When he chanced a glance at her, there was almost sympathy in her expression, an 'you brought this on yourself' kind of sympathy, yes, but still. "You're still hungry," she said in that question-that-wasn't-a-question way of hers.
"Err..." Yeah he was – sure, soup and bread and appetizers were fine, but he'd skipped most of the main course since everything after the first bite of Katie's dish had tasted like peas (and kale. and socks). But he cleared his throat and shrugged: "Uhm…no, not really…"
Because he didn't want Sharon to think that he hadn't enjoyed dinner or anything.
(well – he hadn't exactly, there had been too many people and then the peas! But it also hadn't been the worst, and seated between Katie and Lt. Flynn, across from Julie and one of Sharon's old uncles, he'd felt not-too-awkward, and Sharon had been right next to Katie and… yeah, it had mostly been okay. Except, peas. And now he was kind of starving again.)
She sighed. "Rusty," her tone was soft and only a little exasperated, "if you'd like some more food, there are plenty of leftovers in the fridge. There is also fruit, and some dessert, in the kitchen." She arched an eyebrow at him. "Don't go to bed hungry." 'Just because you're an idiot', that sentence went on in his head.
At least she didn't sound mad at him over the whole thing.
"Do you think Mom's mad at me?"
Her brother's question came out of blue, and Katie had no idea what about the process of rinsing dishes to put them in the dishwasher could possibly have prompted it. Still… "If you need to ask, the answer's probably yes," she imparted. "What did you do?"
"I'm serious." Ricky turned the water tap off so they could hear each other better. "Do you think she's mad because...because I don't visit more often? Like, since I got this job…?"
Katie paused halfway through stacking the set of clean plates that had just come out of the dishwasher. "You got the job three years ago. Now you're worried that Mom's mad…?"
"No, it's…" He shook his head. "I'm thinking maybe… I don't know, maybe she's been mad for longer, and she didn't tell me."
Her eyebrows lifted. "This is still Mom we're talking about, right?" If they'd learned one thing growing up, it was that when their mother was mad at them, they knew.
"Yeah, okay, yes, but… do you think it's possible? I mean, she was really angry when I first moved cities, remember that?"
Katie snorted. "She was angry because you did zero research and moved into the first place you found, which was a dump, and then you let that nutjob friend of yours crash on your couch for three months for free – what was his name, Jimmy? Jolly?"
"Jacko."
His sister rolled her eyes. "Of course. Jacko the wacko. Didn't he bring a coyote home once?" She shook her head. "Of course Mom was angry. I would've been angry – I was, actually! You were an idiot. I'm surprised Mom didn't drag you out of there at gunpoint."
"So you think she's still mad at me over that?" Ricky asked miserably, and she stared at him like he'd grown a second head.
"That was almost four years ago, why on Earth would she be mad over it now?" Suspicion crossed her face. "You're not letting that guy live with you again, are you?"
"What – Jacko? No! I haven't seen him in years –"
("He's probably gone back to the mothership," muttered Katie.)
" –this isn't about that. It's just… maybe I didn't take Mom's hints and…now that I think about it she's said some things over the phone…" He passed a hand through her hair, looking genuinely distressed. "I don't know, Kat."
Her gaze lost its teasing note. Katie abandoned the stack of clean dishes and walked over to him. "What's on your mind, little brother? Mom's not mad at you," she reassured, "she's just… sad, over grandpa, and…stressed. She's…having a hard time. I'm sure if she said anything to you, she didn't mean it."
"It's not that, she didn't say anything. I just…" He tapped a hand against the edge of the sink. "It's… I don't have time to go home that often and maybe I didn't call her enough, and now there's this kid living with her…"
"Rusty?" There was confusion in her tone.
Ricky nodded.
Katie's expression grew more thoughtful. "Are you trying to say," she spoke slowly, "that you think that Mom offered to foster Rusty… an underage witness in some major criminal case… because she was mad at you for not calling?"
There were a few seconds of silence, then Ricky grimaced. "Okay, it sounds a lot more stupid when you say it."
A soft sigh escaped her lips, and Katie leaned her forehead against her brother's shoulder. "It sounds stupid," she muffled, "because it is stupid."
Ricky looked down at the top of her head. "But…you're seeing it too, right? It's not just me."
Her smaller frame shuddered slightly with another long, slow breath.
"It's not just you," she confirmed into his shoulder, then pulled her head back to meet his eyes. "I don't understand what's going on, either. Or why Mom didn't tell us anything. But… now's not the time to ask her."
It was his turn to sigh. "No…" But he sounded as ambivalent as she felt.
"So, uh…" If Sharon wasn't mad at him, why had she come to the room to see him? Not that he was complaining. It was … nice, seeing her more often. It silenced a lot of anxieties in a way he couldn't even describe.
She smiled and stepped away from the dresser she'd been leaning against. "Tomorrow, there's going to be a special service at the local church. For my father." Her momentary lightness faded just a little as she said that. "Our old family priest, Father Connelly, came back specifically for the funeral, and he's staying to give Sunday mass and hold a special commemoration. You don't have to come if you'd rather stay home," she added softly, "but since we'll all be there tomorrow morning, I wanted to let you know what was happening."
"Uh – okay, sure." Church wasn't so bad, St. Joe's pretty much made them go to mass all the time anyway so it wasn't like he wasn't used to it. "Yeah, sure, I'll uh, go. If you – I mean if you don't – I mean, unless you don't want me to… like, if you want to be with your family, I don't mind or anything…"
His words changed her in expression into something that he couldn't decipher. "I'd like it if you were there," Sharon said quietly. After a second she added: "But only if you're comfortable with that."
And he gave a series of hurried nods. "Yeah, no, that's – sure. That's fine." He shrugged. "We go to mass all the time at school. No problem."
She gave him a small smile and stayed silent for a few seconds, before finally nodding. "Good. Alright."
"Sharon – " She'd been about to leave the room but she turned back, and again the words got stuck in his throat. "Thanks … for uh, telling me."
The same vague smile fleeted across her lips. "Don't go to bed hungry," she reminded him one final time, and then she left and Rusty wondered why, when all of him wanted nothing more than to tell Sharon – something, he could never find any words.
"I don't know if she sees it."
The somewhat out of the blue statement threw Katie off for a moment. "What…?"
"Mom," Ricky clarified. "I don't think she… sees it. The way she is with him. I'm serious," (because his sister had adopted a doubtful mien), "I don't think Mom really sees it. I think that's why she hasn't said anything to us beyond the whole legal guardian thing."
"If there is a 'beyond the whole legal guardian thing'."
"If, yeah," he agreed. "You know, people were asking about him yesterday."
"What people?"
Ricky shrugged. "I don't know… people. At the after-funeral gathering. Mrs. Dawson. Father Jameson. Neighbors…"
The local busybodies could always smell blood in the water; the mess with moving the funeral would've set off a frenzy. "What did you tell them?"
"That Mom knows what she's doing and to mind their own business, mostly. But…"
He didn't have to go on, she knew just what he meant. But.
This whole thing was just…
"Complicated," her brother said after a few seconds.
"Complicated," Katie echoed with a sigh.
In the silence of the next few seconds, she absently passed him another plate to rinse, and Ricky turned the water tap back on. As they worked together on getting the next set of dishes into the dishwasher, they both silently pondered how much easier the world would be if parents would always just listen to their children.
They'd gone to church the next morning, a small, well-lit church with a large cross on top and oil paintings on the ceiling, larger than the chapel at St. Joe's but not by much. Shortly before ten, people had been filing in slowly, many of them greeting Sharon's mother as they saw her. Some of them Rusty had seen at the after-funeral gathering; others were complete strangers. He definitely recognized the old priest wearing purple, who stood by the altar ready to give mass.
Sharon's family had made their way to the front pews. A few elderly folk had already been seated there, and they'd all nodded to Elizabeth and said things in hushed voices, things he'd assumed were renewed condolences. Everyone in church had seemed to know about the death of Sharon's father.
Elizabeth had let Paul lead her to a seat by their neighbors, the Martins, and the rest of the family had followed suit; too numerous to all fit in one pew, they'd filed into the next one as well, and the one behind that. Rusty had found himself sitting next to Sharon: she'd absently patted Katie's knee, then she and Katie and Ricky had all scooted over to create enough room at the end of the bench, and witnessing that maneuver had tied a knot in his stomach. He couldn't remember the last time that someone had moved over to make room for him; possibly, it had never happened before. No one had cared or wanted him near enough to bother.
No one but Sharon.
He'd suppressed the urge to shift closer to her; she didn't need him crowding her, and the church felt a little claustrophobic already, with so many people. But he couldn't help glancing at her, staring almost, until she'd turned her head and asked him if everything was alright, and he'd stopped fidgeting then. Everything was alright, technically, only…
There was a nervousness to him, something he couldn't place exactly.
Mass had gone off uneventfully. It had sounded more or less like the services at St. Joe's, maybe a little longer. At the end, the old priest had spoken briefly of Sharon's dad, good things, of course, things that one was supposed to say about dead people, but the words had sounded honest and not forced and Rusty could easily believe that the two men had been friends for a long time. He'd felt Sharon shift next to him while the priest spoke, her arms crossing, chin lowering a fraction, but she'd gazed determinedly ahead and hadn't turned her head when he glanced over. Still, his own body started to fidget in response as she grew more and more restless.
At least a dozen people came up to Sharon's family after mass to express their regrets and support, yet even after hearing it a dozen times over Rusty couldn't figure out a way to express the same to Sharon.
Then they'd walked over the short distance to the cemetery, and there was Sharon's father's gravestone, and Elizabeth had walked up to it with hesitant steps and placed a withered hand against the cold, grey marble…
Rusty felt terrible for thinking it, but he was happy that he hadn't gone to the actual funeral, because a few minutes of watching Sharon at her father's grave had been about as much as he could handle, and she hadn't even done anything, but…
It frightened him, a little, how badly he wanted to fix things for her. He'd have given almost anything for a way to make her feel better, and that he couldn't was filling him with a familiar sense of powerlessness.
There had been someone else in his life who'd made him feel this way. Someone else for whom he'd wanted so badly to fix things, all the time. The parallel made him sick to his stomach in more ways than one, first of all because it was totally unwarranted, and second because it was just plain wrong, and also because Sharon was – Sharon, and this wasn't the same thing at all, at all.
But mostly because in some ways, yes, he knew it was totally different, but in other ways it was starting to feel very much like the same thing, in the good ways, the ways that he'd barely been able to remember anymore. Somehow just being near Sharon did that, and that might have been what frightened him most of all.
He'd stayed a few steps farther away from her, after that, not that it made much of a difference. If he could've covered his ears to block out his own thoughts, he would've. But he also couldn't bring himself to stop looking at her, not when there was that tightness around her mouth and her hands hid in the pockets of her long coat, and so he just kept himself away and followed her with an anxious gaze and mostly felt like he was about to be torn in half from the inside.
There was just no way to reconcile everything in his head.
It was like trying to put together a puzzle, only half the pieces actually came from a different box. Things just didn't fit together in any sort of clear way. And then to make it all even more confusing, there was an overwhelming – something, some sort of emotion, and he felt it every time he looked at Sharon and yes, he knew what most people would call it, only Rusty happened to think that that word was thrown around too easily.
Really, it had only taken hearing it from his johns a couple of times in the backs of their vans or behind the bushes in some park, their voices thick and tired, and he'd gotten over the whole thing pretty quickly.
And even before that, he'd heard the words plenty of times and it hadn't done him a whole lot of good. No one who'd said it to him had meant it, obviously. Not for a very long time.
No one but Sharon. Again.
Rusty had never said this out loud to anyone, and often enough he forgot it, but he really did know how lucky he was. Sometimes, it just hit him out of the blue. Then he'd forget about it again, until the next time.
But really, he knew. Even when he didn't remember, he knew.
And he knew how he felt about Sharon, too. Even if he'd avoided thinking about it for the longest time, now that he finally faced it, it was just… there, same as before he'd thought about it, really. And it didn't matter that he wasn't crazy about the wording, that didn't change the truth of it, either.
Unfortunately, none of it changed anything for Sharon. She was still there, standing by her father's grave, and no matter how Rusty felt about it he couldn't change that. His head hurt from so much thinking, and his stomach was all queasy from the range and intensity of emotions, but at the end of the day all of that did absolutely nothing for Sharon.
She'd lingered for a few seconds by the grave, after her mother had turned to leave.
The rest of the family had begun to slowly walk away, and Lt. Flynn, Paul's son and Mary-Anne had already left to pull up the cars, but Sharon had taken a step closer to the gravestone once the others had cleared out, as though she wanted a moment there alone.
A majestic old tree stood near the plot, and she slowly reached up on tiptoes and pulled one of the small, white flowers on a lower branch, then she bent one knee to place the flower on her father's grave. Her fingers hovered lightly by the base of the stone, then she let out a soft sigh and smiled a small, wistful smile. When she moved to get back up, her knees felt a little shaky.
From where he'd been watching her a few yards away, Rusty found himself crossing the small distance before he even knew what he was doing, grabbing her elbow to steady her as she stumbled slightly.
Sharon curled her fingers around his arm, her other hand coming to rest on his shoulder. "Thank you honey." She dislodged the heel of her shoe from where it had sunk into the soft, damp ground, but didn't let go before giving him a quick squeeze.
"Sharon…" One hand still holding her elbow, Rusty looked up at her, and forced the words past the knot in his throat. "I'm very sorry about your father."
It wasn't nearly enough, he knew, but his own fingers clenched a little tighter around her arm as he spoke, and he really hoped that maybe some time soon he'd be able to find more words, better words, and maybe they'd even be words that didn't make him want to jump out of his skin or throw up from anxiety.
She simply smiled at him, the same affectionate note in her gaze that he'd seen a hundred times before. "Thank you, Rusty."
He didn't move yet, in case she wanted to hug him again or anything, but she didn't; instead she took a cautious step back, careful not to get her heels stuck again, and he tried not to be disappointed. A second later Katie and Ricky were there too, having also waited behind for their mother, and as the four of them made their way to the car Rusty made a conscious effort to be honestly nice to Ricky, as well…which, given that they were just walking, amounted at most to not-monosyllabic small talk and a moratorium on eyerolls, but still. And he thought that maybe for the first time ever, Sharon's son didn't look at him as though he were a ticking time bomb…and that felt kind of nice, too.
A/N: Okay, this chapter went from mostly-light-and-fluffy to mostly-not-light-and-not-fluffy, and that wasn't entirely intentional but, boy, you try to stop Rusty when his brain goes into overdrive...! At least...no cliffhanger...? :) Thanks so much to everyone reading this story, and thanks to those of you who are adding it to your favorites or following it, and of course huge thanks to everyone who reviews. It really does make my day to read your comments.