Disclaimers: SE Hinton owns, Cursing, Long chapter

Clear Vision on Cloudy Days

OoO

I'm filling the horse's water bins when the Cowboy finds me. I turn the hose off as he approaches. "I'm almost done here and then—"

"I heard something from Rita," he says, his face all business. "Now I want to hear it from you, Ponyboy."

I curse inwardly; I shouldn't have told Rita about Hank Greer. I hadn't wanted to in the first place; she caught me wincing when I was wrestling with Goosey and had got it out of me. Saw the bruises. I'm beginning to think Thomas is right…that Rita really is a witch. She always knows what to say or do.

"What do you want to hear? She's right." I try to walk away from him.

"Who hurt you?" His voice is grave. The Cowboy reaches out, gently grazing my arm. Jumpy, I shake him off, taking a step away. He flinches. "Christ, kid, you don't have to be so defensive. I'm only trying to help."

I want to say I don't need his help, to throw it back in his face and hurt him but I don't. I can't. I'm not angry with him anymore. Lately, I'm finding I don't know who to be angry with. I'm just confused and in the middle.

"Sorry. I know you are."

"I thought the money took care of this."

"I thought so too. The guy's still pissed because I broke his rib."

The Cowboy chuckles, an even, mellow sound. "You did that?"

"Yeah. Believe me, I wish I hadn't. I would've taken my licks if it would have got him off my back."

"Something tells me that's not in your nature," he says with a proud smile.

I shrug it off. "Maybe. Maybe not."

"Forget about work today." The Cowboy claps a hand on my shoulder. "You want to go see a movie? Take out the 'Vette?"

It sounds fun. I start to say no but find myself agreeing instead. I try to ignore the guilty feeling creeping up and sinking down.

OoO

"Superman, hey…" Karen's gray eyes widen as she opens the door to a slit.

"Hey Karen. I hate to just drop by but is your mom home? I wanted to talk to her about something."

"Yeah…she is…" She pulls the door open; wide enough for me to step through and then it's shut again. "She might be sleeping but I can go check." She scurries throughout the living room, picking up ratty blankets from the couch and draping them across the back of it.

"Don't worry about it. You should see my place."

She raises a classic Two-Bit brow. "Shit, my brother tells me it's spotless. You ain't gotta lie, Darry. I'll be right back." With that, she bounds up the stairs.

I stay standing, arms crossed. The Mathews's house is dim, the shades drawn, a few cobwebs dangling from the light fixtures. There's a dusty smell to the air. A door closes somewhere in the house and then Two-Bit's walking out of a back bedroom. He's yawning.

"Darry, what're you doing here?" He scratches his stomach. "Do I owe you money or some—" His eyes shoot open. "Shit. Sorry. Phrasing."

"It's okay, Two-Bit. I'm actually here to see your mom."

"Why? You two have a hot date?" But the joke falls flat, Two-Bit looking uncomfortable instead.

"I saw her at the grocery store last week and she was saying some stuff about Ponyboy. I wanted to see if there was anything to it."

"Aw, Dar….Half the time she doesn't know what she's saying."

"Is she drinking again?"

"No…she just…let's just say she ain't all right upstairs." He taps his temple. "It's happening a lot, more and more…"

"Shit, Two-Bit…" I say, feeling like an ass. "I'm sorry, I didn't—"

"Hell, Darry, you ain't gotta worry about it. You didn't know." Two-Bit frowns. "So's the kid okay? What'd she sa—"

"She won't come down," Karen says, sneaking up on both of us. She looks at her brother and then me. "She's tired. Says she'll call you, Darry."

OoO

"Special delivery," Two-Bit drawls as he walks into the DX, Ponyboy tagging along beside him. My brother's scowling.

"Aw, c'mon, Pone," I give his arm a light punch. "I know you ain't too happy about this but it's the best way we can keep tabs on you."

"I ain't a dog, Sodapop."

I take in his gloomy face. "We just want to make sure you get home okay, is all."

"Look," Steve snaps, shuffling out of the back room, a wrench in his hand. "Would you rather have a babysitter or broken legs, kid?" When Pony doesn't respond, Steve says, "So stop your bitching."

I start digging the keys to the truck out of my pocket when Steve sticks a hand out. "I'll take him."

"You'll take him?"

"Yeah. I'm 'bout done with my shift anyways." I almost miss it, it's so slight, but his eyes flit to my brother. Pony shoulders his bag, stepping around Steve. He inches to the door.

Steve trades me the wrench for the keys. He gives Ponyboy a soft shove. "Let's go, you little shit." Pony rolls his eyes and then they're out the door.

"Whooooo wheeeee…" Two-Bit whistles. "Was that just a Twilight Zone episode? My mind is swimming right now. Boggled. Pinch me, Sodapop because I think I'm dreaming."

I scratch my head. "Man, I have no idea what the hell that just was."

OoO

"…you even listening to me, Darry?"

"What's that?" I blink, my thoughts falling away.

Josie asks,"Daydreaming again?"

"Daydreaming? No, that's Ponyboy's job." I run a hand over my jaw, stubble thick beneath my fingers. "No…just thinking."

"Worrying?"

"Something like that." Between Budweiser and Mrs. Mathews, I can't keep track of anything else. I worry about Ponyboy, keeping my brother away from Hank Greer; and I worry about what Mrs. Mathews wants to say but won't.

"You should be studying. We have finals in a week." Josie slides her notebook my way. As she points out the key things to study I can't believe my first semester is over and done with. Josie must see the look on my face because she stops talking and stares.

"You're still thinking," she scolds.

"Sorry."

Her lips purse. The waitress brings us our drinks and she plays with her straw before taking a sip. "You ever hear back from Two-Bit's mom?" Josie knows the whole story, she's someone I can talk to who won't argue with me or run either. It's odd to have someone who just listens.

"No," I say, frustrated. I've been calling the house and Karen takes message after message but I just can't get a word out of her. "She won't call me back."

"Maybe she knows something." Josie rests her elbows on the tabletop, her blue eyes sparkling with mischief. "Something big about that baby brother of yours."

I recline back in the booth. "God damn, I hope so. I really hope so."

OoO

"Get in."

"What?" I gawk at the Cowboy. He's in the red Corvette, sunglasses and hat on, windows down, waiting for me in the parking lot after track practice. "What—what're you doing here?"

"Came to give you a ride."

I toss my cigarette in the gravel. "It ain't Saturday."

The Cowboy raises a brow, moving his head slightly to the right. "You see that bike parked over there?" I glance over. "It's been waiting for you ever since I got here."

"Shit," I swear, recognizing Hank Greer's Harley. I scan the field but don't spot him.

"So what're you doin? Get in the goddamn car, son."

OoO

I don't talk to him until we're nearly at the house. Crossing my arms, I glance at the Cowboy's stern profile. "So why're you here?"

"Came to see you practice." He checks out his review mirror. "Saw this guy, put two and two together, and thought I'd stick around to give you a lift home."

"Swell," I mutter, as the slow, quiet roar of a motorcycle sounds behind us. Thomas Mercer turns onto our street. Spying Darry's truck in the driveway, I unbuckle fast, planning how I can get in the house without running into Hank or having Darry see Thomas.

Although, the way today is going, I figure now's about the perfect time for everything to spontaneously combust.

"Is that him? Is that the guy?"

The Corvette pulls up alongside the curb, Thomas cutting the engine. The roar of the motorcycle dies, Hank Greer stopping behind the car.

I twist in my seat, seeing Hank's ugly face through the back window. "Yeah."

"You sure that's the guy?"

"That's him. Darry's practically got me on lockdown…He's been hanging around all week, giving us—whoa, wait, what're you doing?"

Reaching around the back of his seat, Thomas Mercer unveils a single barrel shotgun. My eyes widen in disbelief. The Cowboy kicks his door open and in one fluid motion steps out smooth as can be.

"Just gonna have a talk."

"No…" Worried about neighbors and about a possible gunfight in the middle of our street, I crawl across the seat, following him, exiting from his driver's side. "No, no, listen Thomas…don't—"

"I'll take care of it, Ponyboy."

I try to snag the sleeve of his arm but miss. He's already walking. "God damn it…"

Stepping off his bike, Budweiser moves toward the bumper of the Corvette. Not acknowledging the gun he says, "I want to talk to the kid," and then there's Thomas's dry reply of "You do, do you?"

I stand on the curb, near the hood of the car, watching. My heart beats fast.

They talk, too low for me to make out. The Cowboy's calm, the shotgun loose in his hands, dangling like a cane. Greer's lounging back against his bike, a dangerous smile on his face. All looks civilized until Greer says something loud, straightens up and reaches for his waist.

That's when the Cowboy brings the shotgun up, high, high in the air, the muzzle facing the sky. Then just as swift he brings the butt of it down on Budweiser's kneecap. A sharp crack fills the air like a twig breaking. Hank Greer howls.

I cover my mouth, whisper, "Oh shit…"

Darry steps out onto the porch, roars, "What the hell is this?"

The Cowboy raises the shotgun, moves his face closer to Hank Greer. He says, "You touch him again, you go near him…you'll have to answer to me…"

A firm hand grabs me by the bicep, lifts me onto the grass. "Ponyboy, get inside," Darry orders, his eyes dangerous. He shoves me. "Now."

"But, Darry—"

"Don't argue with me. Now, Ponyboy."

Ripping my eyes away from the scene I'd rather watch, I slowly move for the porch as Darry barrels toward Hank Greer and the Cowboy.

OoO

My oldest brother can be really loud when he needs to be. I run back outside as soon as the motorcycle starts up and speeds away. How Hank Greer's steering I'll never know. "What were you thinking?" Darry's shouting at Thomas Mercer. They've moved onto the sidewalk now, no longer in the middle of the road. "What in the hell were you doing?"

"Darry…"

"You should be inside."

"If the cops come, let them come," Thomas says. "You didn't do a thing. I did. He'll leave Pony alone now." He gives me a grin. "A busted kneecap will do that."

"It's reckless!" Darry yells and I don't think I've ever seen him this mad. "You threatened Hank with a gun, Thomas! In the middle of our street – If the cops come – if he presses charges, the state'll be down here so fast…I swear to god Thomas if I lose hi—"

"I did what I had to do," Thomas retorts, his face darkening. "Anyone who lays a hand on my kid has got another thing coming. You're lucky he wasn't looking down the goddamn barrel when you walked out of the house."

I wince, knowing Darry's going to take offense at many things in that one sentence. And worried that my brother will end up slugging the Cowboy and then the cops will really be on our case, I take a step forward, gripping his arm, trying to remind him I'm here.

Shoving me back, keeping me at a distance, there's a long beat as Darry stares at the Cowboy, his jaw clenched and taught. Then, face red, Darry punches a finger in Thomas Mercer's chest so hard that the Cowboy sways. "Get the fuck out of there." Pushing past me, Darry storms up the porch.

With a tip of his hat, green eyes winking, the Cowboy strides towards his Corvette, not sorry in the slightest. He gives me a wave. "See you Saturday, kiddo." The corvette speeds off down the street. A slow smile spreads across my face.

OoO

"I should have let the cops come," Darry rants. "Get that son-of-a-bitch arrested. That'd take care of him pretty damn quick…" I listen to Darry complain about what's happened this afternoon. "I should've kicked his ass…"

"So why didn't you?"

"You know why." He glances back over his shoulder. Ponyboy's on the front porch smoking. When he looks back at me, Darry holds his thumb and index finger about an inch apart. "I was this close, Sodapop. This close."

OoO

It's been ten days since Thomas Mercer pulled a gun on Hank Greer in the middle our front yard and I'm beginning to breathe easy. No cops, no social services, no neighbors, have shown up and for that I consider Thomas Mercer a very, very lucky man.

He did me a favor. He took care of something Soda and I could never do without bringing the State down on our heads. But then again I'm not a fan of having Thomas Mercer take care of our family's problems. Especially when I can't.

I finish my first semester. Josie brings a bottle of champagne and we drink it in her car after our last class. We raise the white plastic cups and toast.

OoO

The gasp that goes up in the stands is loud as Ponyboy nearly topples over during the afternoon race. His last one of the year. Darry and I immediately stand, shielding our eyes from the sun, craning to see over the commotion. Pony rights himself and gets a burst of speed, propelling past the rest of the runners.

I give Darry a look. "What the hell?"

Sitting back down on the bleacher, Darry shakes his head, says, "I have no idea," and then proceeds to watch the rest of Pony's last track meet of the year with eagle-eyed intensity.

OoO

"What happened back there, kiddo?" Darry's asking as Pony slurps down a Coke. Pony takes his time finishing and when he sets it down he looks less than thrilled. He waves at track buddy entering McDonald's and then scowls at us, embarrassed.

"My shoelaces came untied. No big deal. I still won," he says, pushing his tray away.

"Yeah, I know you did," Darry says. "And that's—"

"Great," I finish for him. "Really, kiddo. We're proud of you." Reaching over, I steal a fry.

Pony smiles. Before Darry can say anything else, Pony's smile grows wider. "Should we give it to him, Soda?"

I grin too. "Sure."

"Give me what?" Darry asks, a suspicious frown on his face.

I laugh aloud. "Don't worry, Dar, it's nothing illegal. Or living."

Pony pulls a white, slightly rumpled envelope from his backpack and hands it to Darry. As Darry opens it, I watch his face. It goes from doubtful, to confused and then Darry softly smiles. He shakes his head. "You guys…"

I slap his back. "Congrats on finishing your first semester, Superman."

"You deserve it, Darry," Pony says, practically beaming.

"This is too much," Darry protests.

"We've been saving for a long time, so don't worry about it." I elbow him. "Plus, now you got someone to go with."

"Thanks," Darry says, his voice thick. It's a rare time when Superman's speechless. All Pony and I can do is just grin at each other.

OoO

"Shit!"

I glance up from my book in time to see Thomas Mercer barrel through the front door. There's a rag wrapped around his right hand and it's quickly turning red. I hop off the stool, leaving my studying behind.

"Glory, what happened?"

He's already at the sink turning on the faucet. "Aw, hell, cut my palm open on a piece of scrap metal in the shop…god damn son of a—" He cuts off, his green eyes winking.

"I've heard worse."

"I bet you have."

The Cowboy turns his palm over where a long bloody cut bisects. Reaching up and to the left with his good hand, he opens a cupboard and brings out a bottle of vodka. About the time I'm thinking it's a little too early for a drink, he's pulling off the cap with his teeth and sloshing the clear liquid across his palm.

I wince as he sucks in a breath. I suck one in too. He makes a fist with his palm, letting water fill it. "Here." I grab a dish towel and hand it to him.

Shutting off the faucet, he winds the towel across his palm and makes a fist. "Thanks, son."

I watch his face. I don't know how I feel about the Cowboy anymore. I don't want to feel gratitude – for helping out Sodapop, for taking care of Hank Greer, for not pushing me – but I do. One thing I'm starting to get – Thomas Mercer does what he wants; an admirable, yet brash, quality.

Shyly, I ask, "Are you okay?"

"A-okay." He braces himself against the counter. Whistles loud and then Goosey comes running. He gives me a grin. "What do you say we take care of this and then have some lunch?"

"Sure," I tell him, my stomach doing a flip-flop.

OoO

It's the first time I've been upstairs in the house. There's a long hallway, a bathroom, a smaller bedroom and then a larger one at the end of the hall. We go into the larger one and I see it's the Cowboy's. Dusty boots sit on the floor, a mangy dog bed for Goosey next to his night stand.

While he's bandaging up that's when I notice something familiar. At first I can't place it. It's like something out of a dream, foreign yet familiar.

I open the sliding back door and step out onto the balcony. The view takes my breath away. It overlooks the backyard and from the second floor you can see the pond, the barn and the horses, the Cowboy's Corvette. The best part is the rolling hills, sloping and dipping like a coiling snake. The sun shines bright, fluffy clouds floating above the horizon. I blink. There's movement behind me. Goosey bounds over to my side.

"She was here," I say to the Cowboy, remembering the photo I found of my mom. I don't turn around, instead looking out over the fields. "She stood here and had her hand up…"

"How'd you know that?"

I face him. "I found a photo of hers."

He smiles, slightly embarrassed. "So she kept that after all, did she?" Thomas Mercer shakes his head. "Lara hated that photo."

"Why?"

"Hell if I know…I thought Lara was beautiful. Especially then." There's a catch in his voice. "I'm sorry – I shouldn't be—"

"No. It's okay." As confused as I am with my mom, Two-Bit's words have stuck with me. "She made a mistake…I don't get it…I don't get why…but—but that's no excuse for…well…" I run a hand through my hair, say softly, "I don't hate her for it. I could never do that."

"I'm glad to hear that, kid. Real glad." A wind blows across the balcony, rattling the wind chimes. The Cowboy clears his throat, says, "You want to see some of her things?"

OoO

He tells me about most of it. How they met at the stables. How he fell for her. It lasted a short time – six months – but it was enough. Shows me the photos and the letters. All these years, he's kept them under his bed in a worn trunk. It's clear he still loves her, even after all this time. I swallow the gigantic lump in my throat and pick up a photo – the two of them at a party with friends.

We're sitting on the floor in the middle of his bedroom, photos and memories scattered everywhere. Reaching over, I pat Goosey and after a second hesitation, I finally ask a question I've been dreading the answer to.

"Why do you think she did it?"

Thomas Mercer sighs. He runs a thumb down his grizzled jaw. "I can't tell you why, Ponyboy," he says. "She never really explained it to me either. Lara was…well your mama was a wild spirit. I think life just became too much and good or bad, I was there. I loved her for it and never asked questions…"

I always knew her as just my mother but I can picture what the Cowboy means. She was always laughing like Sodapop and wouldn't hesitate if there was a joke to be played. Compared to my dad she was easy-going but when it came down to it she wouldn't hesitate grounding Darry or lecturing Steve on manners.

She'd stay up later, later than my dad, and play the radio. Before they met, she roamed. She didn't tell me much but I knew she had been to Texas and Arkansas. She got married and settled down and I didn't give the rest much thought. She was just my mom. That's all she was.

I eye the photo. "Until me."

"Until you. Ponyboy, I left town six months after you were born. Hell, I wish I hadn't but I did. It was the right thing to do by your mama."

"Do you think my dad knew?"

"You know, I don't think he did, Ponyboy. But I can't say for sure." He stares at the wall then meets my gaze. "She was never mine. She belonged to your daddy. We both knew that."

I bow my head, blinking fast. "Can I keep this?" I show him the photo.

"Yeah. Yeah, you can."

OoO

Pardon typos.

Please read and review and I hope you all are still enjoying the story.

XO,

Feisty