I have received many messages in regards to the second chapter of Your Mess is Mine I posted yesterday. I wound up taking it down because I wasn't completely happy with it and I began thinking that it wasn't necessary.

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Chapter Twenty-Two. Pad.

Luke knew Beth had been young when she became his guardian, young when she had Hunter and adopted him and then had Abby. And he knew that Beth was still young compared to most of the other moms. Young and pretty. A lot of the other boys in his class insisted on pointing out to him that he had the hottest mom and if Luke told them to shut up, they just laughed and said it even more.

He had talked to his dad about it and in turn, Daryl had talked to Beth about it. Luke wasn't exactly sure what he said to her but whatever it was, Beth stopped making appearances at the school. Luke hated it because Beth was a good mom – a mom involved with her kids and what they did at school – but she stopped being as involved with Luke. But it didn't matter because the boys kept it up and Luke knew he couldn't punch all of them in the face no matter how badly he wanted to. His parents didn't exactly look well upon their sons fighting and Luke never felt like getting grounded enough to punch all of those boys in their mouths.

In eighth grade, Luke joined the art club – not because he really wanted to but his art teacher, Ms. Chambler, and then his mom, kept telling him that he would love it and after he finally gave into their nagging, he realized that he did love it. They met after school and talked about art and Ms. Chambler showed them slides and movies and they went through art books and it was a two-hour art class he didn't want to end. They were also putting together a field trip to the art museum in Atlanta next month that Luke spent some of his lunch periods on the computer in the library, visiting the art museum's website, looking at the collections and exhibitions and counting down the days until they would be going.

The only problem with being in art club – not that it was really much of a problem – was that Beth came to pick him up every week and she came into the school to do it. She would come into the art room while the kids were cleaning up and she and Ms. Chambler would talk and laugh over things and Luke could feel the tips of his ears turning red, just imagining one of the other kids saying something. And he hated that he was so embarrassed by his mom because there was no reason to be. Those other kids just wished they had Beth for a mom.

She was the best mom there was; the best mom Luke could ever ask for and he still had these mornings where he would wake up and lay in his bed for a few extra minutes, reminding himself that he was actually here. That his last name was actually Dixon and not still Ridgeway. That he had Daryl and Beth and not Mark and Valerie and he wondered why he still had these moments, even years later, when he had been with them so much longer than he had been without. He wondered if he would have mornings like that for the rest of his life.

And it just made him more pissed off at the boys in his class because he didn't want to be embarrassed by Beth. He didn't want her to not come around the school and not pick him up from art club and he didn't want to feel himself brace for when she came into the room, waiting for some offensive under-the-breath comment about her to be made by one of the others.

"Hey," she smiled at him as he came up to her, swinging his backpack onto his back.

Luke didn't say anything, suddenly very interested in how his shoes looked. He heard Beth say goodbye to Ms. Chambler and Ms. Chambler said goodbye to both of them before they turned and left the classroom. Only when they were in the empty hallway by themselves did Luke lift his head and look at her.

She was thirty-two and he was thirteen and she would have had to be nineteen if she was his birth mom and had actually had him. He had a drifting thought, wondering how old Valerie had been. Valerie had always seemed so old to him. All of the drugs and living such a hard life had aged her by years but not Beth. Beth looked as if she could still pass for nineteen.

"I said we would stop for some dinner on the way home. Your dad or me don't feel like cooking tonight," Beth said as they stepped from the school and began crossing the parking lot to where Beth had parked. "Do you have a taste for anything?"

"Not really," Luke replied. "We were learning about Claude Monet today and one of his favorite foods was stewed duck with roasted turnips."

Beth smiled at that. "You kids have never had duck before. Maybe your dad can hunt one this weekend," she suggested. "In the meantime, how about we go to the store and pick up some fried chicken?"

Luke smiled at her in return. "Yeah."

"Yeah," she echoed, her smile growing a bit bigger, and she put her arm around his shoulders, hugging him to her side.

And since they were outside of the school and no one was around, Luke let himself be hugged.

…

That Friday night, Daryl had hunted a duck the day before and now, after work, he sat on the back porch, plucking the feathers and dressing it. Beth had gone to their town's small grocery store but they hadn't had turnips so she bought a variety of vegetables – potatoes, carrots, parsnips and Brussels sprouts. They roasted everything and wound up eating outside that night at the table on their back deck that Daryl had just finished building onto the house the month before.

"Monet tried to kill himself by drowning in the Seine because his financial burdens were upsetting him so badly," Luke said.

"What is with artists always tryin' to kill 'emselves?" Daryl asked as he helped Abby cut her piece of duck. He then pointed his fork to Luke. "Don't you go and try to kill yourself," he then said.

Luke smirked. "I promise."

"How come artists kill themselves?" Hunter asked, his mouth full of potatoes. Beth gave him her stern look and he swallowed before smiling at her.

"Because people tend to not appreciate a lot of artists in their time," Beth said. "And many of them are so passionate about their craft, they feel underappreciated and that there's no point to it all."

"People are gonna appreciate Luke," Hunter then said with the utmost confidence.

"'course they are," Daryl agreed and Luke felt the tips of his ears turn red as he focused his eyes on his piece of duck in front of him.

After dinner, after everything was cleaned up, Luke went back outside with his sketchpad and found Beth and Daryl sitting on two of the lawn chairs, each with a can of beer and watching the sun slowly set in front of them. Beth smiled at Luke as he came to sit down on the step in front of them, also looking towards the sun.

"Thank you for dinner tonight," Luke said after a few minutes.

"Was nothin' to it," Daryl shrugged before taking a sip of beer.

"What should we do next? What was Rembrandt's favorite food?" Beth asked.

Luke smiled a little as he looked down to his sketchpad and didn't say anything.

He wondered about the boys he went to school with; if their moms would do something like this. He had met a lot of the other moms. Molly's mom was always so nice as was Mrs. Grimes and they seemed to be good moms to their kids. He knew Beth wasn't the only good mom in the world. He just sometimes thought that she was probably the best. She was so interested and supportive of everything. Him with his art. Hunter with his cars. And Abby wasn't really interested in anything yet except tea parties, playing with her dollhouse and watching Disney movies but Luke knew that whatever it was that Abby fell in love with, Beth would be right there, loving it, too.

He didn't really understand how Beth could do all she did and not get exhausted.

Luke reached into the pouch he kept his colored pencils in and took out the orange shade, looking to the sunset and beginning to sketch what he saw. He preferred drawing nature. He had tried people in the past but he had had trouble with noses. He could never seem to get the nose right. But with nature, he was able to sit there and take as long as he needed without having to worry about his subject needing to scratch or go to the bathroom.

He could hear Daryl and Beth talk quietly behind him. He didn't really listen. Sometimes, he would tune in, and hear Beth laughing about something that happened at the daycare center or hear Daryl grunting about work – either at the garage or in his woodshop.

"Dad!" Hunter suddenly shouted from inside.

"What?" Daryl called back.

"I cut myself but don't tell mom!"

Luke smirked to himself and kept sketching and Daryl stood up with a grunt, going to the house with Beth reminding him to clean it with the antiseptic first. There was a frog croaking nearby, hidden somewhere in the grass, and he wondered where Kyle was tonight because if that cat was anywhere near, that frog wouldn't be for long. He heard an owl hoot and the crickets chirp and the sun was almost gone now.

"We should go inside," Beth suggested.

Luke grabbed his pouch and his sketch pad and stood up, going to plop down in the lawn chair beside her that Daryl had been sitting in.

"What do you think?" He asked, holding the pad out to her.

Beth smiled, taking it from him. "It's beautiful. I always wonder where you get it from. I can hardly draw an orange," she said, still smiling, laughing a little.

And that was one thing Luke loved about Beth.

She talked like she had given birth to him; that she had helped in creating him and that everything he had and was, it came from either her or Daryl. There was never talk of Valerie or Mark or Ridgeway blood. There was only ever this. Being a part of the Dixon family and in Beth and Daryl's eyes, his life really didn't start until he was four-years-old and came to live with them. He didn't have a life before them and that was what Luke liked to think, too.

Luke watched her as she flipped through the other drawings he had in the pad.

"Did you always want to be a mom?" He asked her unexpectedly.

Beth smiled at the question. "I did," she nodded once and turned her head to look at him. "Maybe not as soon as it happened but I'm not sorry at all that it did happen."

Luke was quiet for a moment. "If you hadn't taken me home that day, do you think you and dad would have had a different life?"

"I don't think about it too much," Beth shook her head. "The day we took you home and the day we signed those papers, they were two of the best days of my life."

"Yeah, but still…" Luke kept pressing and he wasn't entirely sure why. And Beth was just looking at him, clearly waiting for him to continue and looking at him with curiosity, obviously not knowing why he was pressing, either. "What if I don't become an artist? What if I never make it? What if I wind up staying in this town and getting married and having kids and never going out and doing anything? Not that I think you and dad haven't done anything," he quickly amended and Beth smiled, laughing softly.

"Luke," she gently interrupted. "You can do anything you want to do – as long as it's what you want to do. And as long as it makes you happy."

"What if killing people and chopping up their bodies makes me happy?" He asked.

"Except that," Beth shook her head and he grinned. She reached a hand out and brushed some of his hair back from his forehead. "You're only thirteen, Luke. You're way too young to be thinking about things like this. Right now, the things most on your mind should be school and your trip to the art museum next month."

Luke was quiet, thinking on that for a moment, his eyes dropping down to the pad she handed back to him. "About that… Ms. Chambler was saying we still need a chaperone to come with us… do you think you'd want to come with us?" He asked.

Beth was quiet for longer than he was expecting and Luke finally lifted his eyes to look at her. "Are you sure you want me to come with you? What about your dad?"

Luke shook his head. "No. I think you should come. The kids in my class, they're always going to say things about you. I can't punch everyone in the world."

Beth reached a hand out again and touched the side of his head. "Well, you could try but I would really frown upon it." She leaned over and kissed him on the forehead. "And I would love to go to the art museum with you. If you want me there, I'll be there," she smiled at him.

Luke found himself smiling, too. "I want you there."

And the smile Beth gave him then – a bright smile of happiness and relief – made Luke really wish that he was able to draw people.

…

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