The Door's Open ~ Part II

           

            Mason sat on the stool, cushioned in the atmosphere of his favorite bar and giving himself time to take it in. Take him in, that is; your average five-foot-seven, brown-haired Danny Burke. Mason sided himself for having expected anything special. He saw the extra wrinkles and crow’s feet he had expected. The man’s dull brown eyes though… couldn’t he look a little more excited?

            Maybe he’s cautious. Mason reasoned as the bartender set a frosted mug and an unopened bottle in front of them. We at least have that in common.

            Danny reached for his mug instantly. “I’m glad you’re old enough for this. Might not have been able to face this meeting without a cold one.”

            Mason watched Danny take a swig. He grabbed up his own bottle and worked out his nerves by busting the cap on the edge of the bar. As Mason tossed the cap, he felt Danny eyeing him. “I… I’ve got questions, but I’m not sure…”

“Let’s start with why now?” Mason eyed him back, hard. His eagerness- dare he say hope- wasn’t blinding him to the anger and resentment he harbored. Danny caught both in his tone, lowering his glass. “It was by accident really. An article on your motorcycle shop, your mom’s maiden name caught my eye and… well, I got curious.” 

That didn’t satisfy Mason. He threw back his first swig, savoring the rich burn down his throat. “Did Mom make you leave or you think it up all on your own?”

“All your questions come with this much disdain?”

Mason shrugged. “Better to get all the angst out.”

Danny looked him over a minute. “I choose to leave. In my eyes… life had certain expectations. You and your mom didn’t fit them.”

“A wife and a kid,” Mason put it bluntly. “Lots of people do it, I hear.”

“Not me.”  

“I oughta split your head right on this bar.” Mason massaged his fingers around his bottle. “But I’m kinda impressed you admitted it. Mom would never admit to anything.”

Danny watched the lights on the jukebox to their left. “She was hard on you too, huh.”

That was one way to put it. “The state took me when I was seven. I haven’t seen her since.”

Danny kept his eyes on the jukebox. “Foster care, huh? At least it was food and a roof.”

Mason’s stomach tightened, turning his beer sour. Yeah. A roof to hide all the monsters inside.   

“It looks like you’re doing okay for yourself.” Danny offered Mason a smile.

“I finished at the community college last year.” Mason threw in, not eager to mention the Rivers. “Majored in engineering. Started up the shop with a couple of the guys who graduated before me. A collection of Harleys really draws the eyes of tourists and guys dealing with mid-life crisis’.”

“Good,” Danny gave a chuckle. “I’d say you’re set for life.”

Silence and sipping followed, Mason trying to believe that this was real. “Your turn.”

“Contract jobs in architecture.” Danny stated. “From building and foundation to historical restoration. Most were local, some down in Virginia and the Carolinas. I vacationed out to Colorado and Idaho a few times. I like to hike in the mountains, clear my head.” He paused and stretched his collar out. Mason caught sight of the taught pink edges of a scar along the top of his shoulder. “Courtesy of a rock slide four years ago. Thankfully missed my skull.”

The scars on Mason’s legs warmed, along with the cigarette burns to his back and arms. How would Danny react to their narration? “Bounced around in foster care until I was fourteen. Then the Rivers found me.”

“And?”

That inquiry put Mason on guard. “To say they pulled me out of the gutter is an understatement. Anything I tell you is going to be an understatement of the hellholes I bounced through. And I’m never going to get over the fact that I could’ve avoided it if you’d been around.”

Danny took that barb rather graciously. “So, why meet with me?”

Question of the hour, old man. Mason looked at Danny, hunched toward his mug, knuckles working the handle. “Cuse everyone else knows where they come from. I don’t.”

Danny tapped the rim of his mug with his thumb. “Ok then. Order another round. We’ve got plenty to talk about.”

(*)(*)(*)(*)(*)

            “Wow.” Mr. Burke placed his palms on the table, giving a satisfied grin. “Now that was good!”

            “I’m so glad you liked it.” Pam smiled, taking the plate Gideon handed her. “Couldn’t have done it without my girls through.”

            Claire blushed, helping to clear the dishes from the table. They’d moved out into the living room along with the card table to make room for Mason’s dad, Danny Burke. Gideon was glad that he’d been planning to come home this weekend. He’d been keeping Mason in his prayers these last few weeks; it was nice to put a face to the prayers. A relief, if he was being honest.

            “Hunter is still ignoring him,” Mom had updated him on their last call. “But your father’s working on him. Getting him to see the positive effect it’s having on Mason.”

            “So you think this guy’s appearance is for the better?” Gideon had questioned. Mom’s long silence hadn’t been an encouraging answer. “I’m praying that God uses him for the better.”

            That was Mom, the spiritual glue of the family. It wasn’t like the arrival of Mason’s dad was anything to be tense about. It was a common occurrence in foster care. Danny Burke hadn’t shown any signs of causing trouble, and Mason was beyond the age of a custody battle. So why did Gideon feel a string of tension going about the table?

            We just want it to work out for Mason. Gideon reasoned. He deserves that.

            “…if you’re up for it.” Dad’s chipper tone caught Gideon out of his thoughts. He spotted Dad eyeballing him as the family started to dissipate. “Gideon, you care to join us?”

            Join what? Gideon’s puzzlement was satisfied when Dad had him get his box of Cuban cigars down from the top corner of the French cabinet. The only breath-taking piece of furniture he and Mom owned, passed down from her great-grandfather. Dad’s love of cigars had likewise been passed down from his grandparents. And he was inviting Gideon to have one with him!?

            Does this mean I’m now a man? Gideon wondered as he carried the box out after Dad and Mr. Burke.

            “Mason won’t be joining us?” Mr. Burke glanced back into the house.

            “You don’t argue with Pamela when it comes to washing the dishes.” Dad said, a half-smile on his face. They situated themselves on the back deck with Gideon placing the cigars on the rail beside Dad, then leaned back against it.

“That’s the way things work around here, I take?” Mr. Burke ventured with a stretch in one of the twin plastic chairs. Gideon eyed him, while Dad didn’t even look up. “What way?”

“The kids doing the work. There’s a lot of both, so I’d understand your need for it.”

Gideon wasn’t sure if that remark was made in earnest for not. Nor was he sure he liked it either way. This guy was putting his family through a lot, even if he didn’t realize it. Mom continued to fret while Hunter continued to stew, leaving Brittany to be the peacemaker, Claire the comic relief, and Shelby the constant prayer support. Gideon thought that if they were to roll all their reactions into one big bouncing ball, they’d finally get Mason’s attention about how much he mattered.

Dad merely opened the cigar box. The cutter gleamed out first, followed by the rustic-brown tobacco. Mr. Burke eyed them hungrily. “A limited opinion, I know. But one that matters to Mason.”

“True.” Dad agreed.

“And Mason matters to us.” Gideon had to throw in. Mr. Burke looked up under slanted eyebrows. “You might wanna let the adults talk this out. Might not like what I have to say.”

“Gideon’s an adult.” Dad stated, holding one of the cigars out to Gideon. “His choice, what he sees and hears.”

Gideon forced himself not to smirk and took the cigar with a newfound dignity. Their exchange put Mr. Burke’s focus back on Dad. “I’m not trying to sound rude. Only to wrap my head around it all. Ya know, what the angle is.”

Oh, it was that old song. Gideon gave the cigar a twirl through his fingers.

“The angle was our kids needed a home.” George broke out his lighter. Mr. Burke leaned in, expecting the light for his own cigar. “And you needed… what?”

Dad struck the lighter and lit his cigar first. Gideon bit back the urge to shout ‘Burn!’.

“Your wife says that happened six years ago.” Mr. Burke gestured with his cold cigar to Dad’s wheelchair. “All that money from the state probably helped with that.”

Gideon pushed himself off the rail. “You-“

“Gideon.” Dad stopped him from the ungodly words that singed the tip of his tongue. Dad remained as calm and collected as ever, puffing out a blue-gray shaft from his mouth. “My wife and I both work, Mr. Burke. And we’re level-headed enough to save what we earn for a rainy day.” He hit his cigar against his wheel to clean the ash off the end. “Or in this case, a downpour.”

Mr. Burke looked thoroughly embarrassed now. He twirled his cigar, but had to stop as George finally extended the lighter. “Suppose it wasn’t really my place to pry-“

“It wasn’t.” Dad chuckled. “But I learned something about you.”

“What?” Danny asked.

“You’re nosy, suspicious, and cynical.” Dad nodded at Danny. “Just like Mason.”

(*)(*)(*)(*)(*)

            “This’ why lip-reading is such a vital skill.” Brittany whispered next to Hunter, fogging the edge of her glasses. And giving Hunter a nauseating whiff of her breath. He was unpleasantly pinched between Britt and Claire, facing the open screen of his room’s window. It hovered above the back deck- and whatever Dad, Mr. Burke, and Gideon were discussing. A position that made Brittany’s comment about lip-reading totally pointless.

            “Personal space.” Hunter batted them both off, their nearness and his close-throated hoodie doing nothing for his claustrophobia. Besides, who wanted to know about Mason’s dad anyway.

            “Ugh, this’ useless.” Brittany pulled back, blowing her hair out of her face. “Besides, Mason sees us doing this-“

            “He’ll break the screen with our heads,” Claire finished, tapping her own mass-braided hair. “White-boy crazy. Never go near it.”

            “Yeah,” Hunter muttered. “Just share a room with it.”

            Both girls giggled at him, making their way for the door. Hunter lingered at the screen, then slumped over onto his bed. “Hey, Claire.”

            She looked back, her face already bored with the topic. Hunter's wasn’t. “You and Mason-“

            Claire waited. “Yeah?”

            “You guys were in the same home.” Hunter got to it. “What was he like?”

            “Angry.” Claire answered, stepping back in. “No direction or focus. At least when he came here, George and Pam were able to give Mason outlets for his anger. I’m hoping that with his dad here, some of it can finally go away.”

            “Or his dad can just go away.” Hunter made the callous suggestion.

            “Ugh, enough already,” Claire threw a pillow, only to sit beside him. “You’re just jealous.”

            “What?!” Hunter pushed the pillow back at her. “You’re crazy!”

            “No, I’m right.” Claire insisted, gripping the pillow. “I’m jealous too.”

            Hunter jerked his head to stare at her. “Why would you be-“

            “I’d give anything for my dad to come crashing back into my life.” She deadpanned and Hunter’s face flushed with shame. He spied the jagged white lines that ran the better length of Claire’s left arm. A car crash that’d taken both her parents and sister… didn’t seem fair for it to only leave her scars. Hunter found himself having to learn a lot about God and the plans He held for them as individuals. It was hard when you were met with some of the harshest hurdles the world had to offer. And Hunter didn’t even know the half of Mason’s. He wondered if anyone other then Mason did. And then... then there was Shelby...
            Hunter pulled something out of his pocket, needing a distraction for his hands. 

            “I can’t offer you any key foster kid wisdom here,” Claire went on. “Only that I get why Mason would want to try… wait… Hunter!”

            “I’m listening.” Hunter promised, bringing the phone closer, up to its main page.

            “That’s not yours!” Claire cried. "How'd you even get Mr. Burke's phone?"

            “Dude left it on the counter,” Hunter bobbed his head at the window they’d been eavesdropping at. “It’s not password protected. I’m… looking after it for him.”

            “You’re the only person it needs protecting from.” Claire insisted, grabbing at the corner. Hunter pulled away. “What device doesn’t have a password? Ok, contacts-“

            “I’m not listening to this!” Claire sprung up and made for the door. “I’m gonna have plausible deniability when Mr. Burke presses charges-“

            Hunter rolled his eyes… almost missing the contact that freeze-dried his blood cells. “Claire.”

            “Uh uh.” Claire got ready to bolt; until Hunter grabbed her wrist. “Claire!”

            He turned the phone for her to see the display. Her brow drew up in puzzlement. “So?”

            “He’s got only six contacts. Look at the fourth one.”

            Hunter swallowed and waited for the recognition to reach her face. She shook her head. “Hunter… it’s just a coincidence. Lots of people have that name-“

            “You wanna take that chance!” Hunter asked her, his throat dry.

            Claire resisted the worry a moment, then shook her head. “If you’re wrong, Mason’ll-“

            “I’ll take that chance.” Hunter assured her. He could handle Mason being mad at him. He couldn’t handle his family being in danger.

~~ To Be Continued ~~