Eric told Laine about everything in great detail, sent pictures of every event, even the progress on the beachfront houses on the hill between Cooper’s bar and the town. He told her about every dent he pounded out, every piece of news about their friends, her friends, the town at large. And she kept him apprised of every detail of her life, which was now filled with doctor’s visits, medical tests, attempts to find the right home health-care people and get-togethers with her family.
And as the time seemed to crawl by, in what felt like a year, it had been a month.
He loved her rented house and loved the deck with its view of the bay, but going home at night, waking up there alone in the morning, was killing him. He saw her everywhere. He would come home and for a split second there would be the aroma of soup in the house...then it would disappear. He’d sit on the deck at night when a storm was rolling in and feel her snuggled against him, sitting between his legs on that chaise, and it could be so real he’d want to kiss her neck. He dreamed of her, reached for her, tasted her in his sleep. He loved her like he’d never loved a woman in his life and she was completely out of his reach.
He blamed some of this on time zones. All those sweet whispers he wanted to hear and utter, the erotic and blissful murmurings he craved—they just didn’t work into the world they were now living in. These private things weren’t easily said while he was digging around in an engine, or she was sitting in a doctor’s office. By the time he woke at 5:00 a.m. it was already eight in Boston and Laine and her father were in full swing. Not an optimal time to ask, “Tell me what you want me to do to you....” Late at night, when he was finally done killing time for the day, it was far later in Boston and Laine, exhausted from her day, was asleep. They could exchange I-love-yous and I-miss-yous, but those deep and sexy utterings...? It just didn’t happen.
What he’d begun to think of as one of the greatest romances in the history of man had become all business and local news and Eric felt like he was drying up. As each day passed by he felt she was getting further and further away.
He covered his grief with work. And with every breath he longed to touch her again.
* * *
Al Michel had found the month of May to be mostly torture. He, along with Eric and Scott Grant, vowed to make sure the Russell boys were looked after for a few weeks until they could finish the school year. Sally Russell went to a full-care facility just south of North Bend, an hour from Thunder Point. A foster home had been found for Kevin and Danny, in Grants Pass, at least a three-hour drive from Thunder Point. As soon as school ended the boys had been relocated. And Justin, who now had two full-time jobs, was left behind.
The men, Al, Eric and Scott, were present every day right up to and including that day that Justin had to give up his brothers. They watched over him, their eyes sharpened for any signs that he might be falling apart, that he could be in trouble or despondent. But, Al observed with some pride, the boy was not only strong, but also vigilant.
Justin arranged his schedule—days as a stock boy in the grocery store and nights at the gas station—so that he’d have Saturdays and Sundays free. Those days he got in his van and motored over to Grants Pass, picked up his brothers and took them to see their mother. He drove for hours and hours on those two days. On at least one of those days he worked at Lucky’s in the evening. He put in eighty hours a week. All he did at home, where he lived alone, was bathe and sleep and clean his clothes. He didn’t complain, he didn’t ask for favors. He was quiet, which he always had been. But he was cheerful to the customers at both businesses.
“I don’t know how you’re holding up, kid,” Al said.
“Look, all I can do is get to eighteen, show I have an income and can pay the bills and get the boys home. This isn’t forever. And this is the only choice there is.”
“I just don’t want you to work yourself to death before you’re twenty,” Al said.
“With you breathing down my neck all the time, I won’t be able to,” Justin said. “Besides, you work more than forty....”
“Yeah, but I’m one guy. You’re three guys and a sick mother.”
“I got this, man,” he said.
On a couple of Sundays Al was able to convince Justin to let him take him to Grants Pass to pick up his brothers and take them all to the nursing home. It gave him a little peace of mind to be there, to see the three boys together. The house they were living in wasn’t much better than the one Justin was holding on to in Thunder Point, but it didn’t seem like a bad place. And the younger boys weren’t thrilled with it but they were making the best of it in hopes that Justin would soon be able to gather them back together.
It was a very busy town through the month and Al was included in much of it, but he never failed to check in with Justin on a daily basis. He watched the kid’s weight, marked whether or not there were circles under his eyes, took it upon himself to make sure Justin was eating as well as could be expected under the circumstances.
He had Ray Anne during this time and could acknowledge, though privately, he’d be lost without her. She sympathized, made him laugh, entertained him. She insisted he attend some of the local celebrations her friends were having—graduation, for one. Not only did she love showing him off, but it also took his mind away from the Russell kids, separated by fate and doing everything they could to remain a family.
“Is your real estate business suffering because of me?” Al asked Ray Anne one night.
“Why would it be?” she countered.
“I ask a lot of you,” he said.
She laughed at him and said, “You never ask for anything from me!”
“I ask you to wait up late for me when I work, late enough so we can be together when you should sleep for the next day’s work. I crave that rooftop when I have a night off and I want you to show me the best places to eat. And I impose on you all the time because when you take your clothes off for me, I’m in heaven. A heaven I’m sure I don’t deserve.”
And she just smiled and said, “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”
He was so grateful to hear her say that. He was also thankful that no one ever asked him, given that he was so concerned about these boys, why didn’t he take it upon himself to become the responsible adult, the foster parent. He had no reasonable excuse and would be so ashamed to have to admit that he wasn’t good enough for the job. He wasn’t educated, could barely read, had no experience with kids, held his own life together by the weakest thread. They should have a parent who could manage money and save for their futures, who could help them with their studies and guide them as they looked for further education. And the one chance he had at a family, he’d failed them. Those Russell kids had had more than their share of challenges. He’d just be one more.
Then came the day it all fell apart for him. He drove Justin to Grants Pass to pick up the boys. Danny and Kevin came outside to get in the car and Kevin had an enormous black eye under the rims of his thick glasses.
“What the fuck?” Justin said.
“Never mind,” he said. “It doesn’t matter.”
“Who did that to you? When? Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Forget about it. It’s nothing.”
“Tell me,” Justin insisted. “Danny, what happened to him?”
Reluctantly, with great trepidation, Danny said, “Ernest, the father, whacked him. With his fist. He told him to get in the kitchen and clean it up and take out all the garbage in the house and when Kevin didn’t get right up, he shook him and then plastered him. Kevin was doing something and didn’t jump on the chores. There’s three of their kids and three fosters and only the fosters do the work. And Ernest drinks.”
“That’s not going to happen!” Justin said, getting out of his van and storming toward the house.
“Whoa,” Al said, running after him.
But Justin was on the move. He crashed through the front door, Al right on his heels. There was a woman in the kitchen, a real pleasant-looking woman in a pair of jeans and T-shirt, and three kids lying around the family room—one with an iPad, one texting on her phone, one watching TV. And those kids, Al quickly observed, looked at Justin and Al with sneers on their faces. He couldn’t guess their exact ages—roughly the same as Kevin and Danny, somewhere between ten and sixteen. Two boys and a girl.
“What’s this?” the woman asked.
“What the hell happened to my brother, Evelyn?” Justin demanded.
She wiped her hands on a towel. “Oh, that eye bruise? That was just an accident. Sorry about that. He was messing around and caught an elbow. You know boys!” And then she smiled.
“He said Ernest slugged him because he wasn’t fast enough on the chores!”
“What kind of story is that?” she asked, laughing. “And who is this man?”
“Where is he?” Al asked. “Your husband?”
She put her hands on her hips. “He’s gone out to the lake. Fishing. Now what is this about?”
“It’s about the black eye,” Al said evenly.
“It was his own screwing around,” one of the kids from the family room said.
“He said Ernest was drunk,” Justin said.
“There’s no liquor in this house,” Evelyn said. “He’s making that up so he doesn’t get in trouble for it. You’re going to want to drop it right now before you make more trouble.”
“Liquor doesn’t have to be in the house for a man to come home drunk,” Al said. “I expect child services will want to know. Don’t you have to report injuries?”
Evelyn stepped toward them, throwing down the towel. “You best think on this,” she said, and she no longer looked at all pleasant. “First off, if child services pulls that boy out of here, there’s no place for him to go except emergency housing and half the time they stick ’em in a child haven or juvie. And they’ll only take the one kid, not both. And if I get my license pulled, those two’ll get split up and go to different parts of the state! There will be hell to pay. I put ice on it. It’s just a bruise. He’ll be all right.”
“I’m making a complaint,” Justin said.
“You complain all you want, you ungrateful little troublemaker. I was the only one willing to take both boys. If they make trouble for me, I’ll turn ’em back and they aren’t going back to you! That’s for sure!”
Justin ground his teeth against a rising rage, his eyes narrow and his fists clenched and Al thought, He’s a thread away from launching an attack.
“I have one thing to say to you,” Al said soberly, calmly. “You better be sure neither of those boys gets hurt again or there will absolutely be hell to pay and you’ll pay it to me. I hope you hear me, ma’am, because I’m not warning you again.” He put a hand on Justin’s shoulder. “Come on, son. Let’s go.”
They walked out of the house, got in the car and drove for over two hours to the nursing home. Through the whole ride all Al could think was, I can’t do this. I can’t watch this. I can’t see these young boys who have shouldered so much already be abused. This is way bigger than I am.
* * *
Scott Grant was kept very busy all through the spring. He was on call to Spencer Lawson, the high school’s football and track-and-field coach. Scott was the volunteer team physician. It was a pretty laid-back job, since not many injuries occurred in these organized sports, but it meant being available and being in town when there were meets or games. That meant no moonlighting in Bandon.
In addition, there were several people he was watching over, Justin Russell being one. And he had his practice, a new practice that was constantly growing. But this was exactly what he wanted—to be in a place where he was needed. A place where he was the medicine man of the town.