WAKE (Wattpad edition)

59. Put up with me.

Soundtrack: 'Psalm 126' featuring Molly Pardon.

{Pete}

Leaves skittered ahead of Pete on the sidewalk as he walked, scanning the street for his van. He felt unmoored and wind-tossed as their dry, curled shapes. Was he lost? Hadn't he parked the van right here?

He shivered in the wind cutting around his ears and ducked his head to go back the other way. The familiar feeling of failure was heavy on his shoulders and he went over everything he had said to find something he could have done differently to reach Cary over the well-deserved wall of his defenses. The wind felt like a hand on his back, pushing him steadily up the street in spite of his burden.

His feet slowed beside his van. Of course—here it was. When he pulled the door shut beside him, his ears were instantly warmer. He exhaled and closed his eyes, folding his chilled fingers on the wheel of his van as if it were the back of a pew. Something weighty spread over him—a quiet that was at once peaceful and alive. He heard you. The words were so clearly pressed on his heart that it was as if the Lord had spoken out loud. Well done.

Pete caught his breath, overwhelmed that after months of silence on God's part and failure on his part, these words were among the first he would hear. Opening his hands, he held them up. "I surrender," he whispered, and thought of the wind pushing him forward, making that picture his prayer. "Move me where you will, Lord. I'm not you."

Something broke and Pete shook, out of words, as all the emotions he'd bottled up to keep going released, as if his heart had tipped and poured them out at Jesus' feet.

When he could see again, he fumbled a wad of napkins out of the glove compartment and dried his face. He felt light and empty, as if God's spirit had lifted and carried him, tugging him forward. He had his hand on the key when a knock on the window startled him and he turned.

Cary's scarred knuckles withdrew from the glass, his eyebrows lifted and his eyes wary. Quickly, Pete rolled the window down and Cary shoved his hands in his pockets, looking at him sideways. "I'll take you up on that room, Mr. White. If it's not too late."

Pete's smile lit his face, and he smoothed his hand over his moustache like the beam of his grin might scare Cary away again. "It's not too late," he said. "I'll meet you at home."

Cary nodded and turned without another word.

Pete's eyes stung, watching that young man walking away, limping a little but with his head up and his shoulders straight, knowing Cary was walking back into their family—hopefully for a good long time. Mel is going to be so happy. He laughed to himself through tears. He turned the key and the van coughed to life.

{Mel}

Pete burst back into the house, later than she'd expected, but lit from within, all the weight of tiredness and grief seemingly lifted off of him in the space of a few hours.

"Set another place," he said, his voice jubilant. "Cary's coming home."

The girls made a happy din behind her, getting the table ready while she waited at the window of the front room. Her heart leapt when the car pulled up and Cary got out, hanging back like he might have the wrong address. She couldn't wait any longer.

Hurrying out the front door and down the steps, and laughing through her tears, Mel said, "Come in already. Dinner's ready and there's a place for you."

He was taller than she remembered, and his face wavered with emotion as he looked at her. She stayed an arm's length away, opening her hands. "Can I give you a hug? Would that be okay today?"

His shoulders curled smaller, like she'd touched a place that hurt him. "Yeah, you can," he said in a low voice. She stepped in and wrapped him in her arms, feeling him take a big breath and hug her back, hard. It was all the words she needed.

{Cary}

He had barely any words, but the White family talked so much he hardly needed them. They enfolded him completely, making a place for him at their table like he had always belonged in the seat between Jon and Bea. Bea's happy chatter at his elbow, and Mel's glowing expression as she glanced at him across the table, made his eyebrows relax up his forehead.

He watched Jon and his dad working together to serve the girls' plates and clean up for the meal, relaxed and considerate of each other—no hint of anger or impatience between them. The iron band around his chest creaked open, one turn of the screw at a time, and he breathed more easily than he had in weeks.

When dinner was over, Jon nudged his shoulder. "Come kick the soccer ball around with me."

Cary shook his head. "Rolled my ankle." The words came out softly—he couldn't get his volume setting to turn up just now, and Jon waited until they were both outside on the deck to ask, "Doing what?"

Cary shook his head without meeting Jon's eyes. He wasn't ready to look at the hole open in his chest where his heart stuttered to keep beating and his lungs fought for breath. He ducked his head and lit his cigarette, as an excuse to not answer. "The weekend go okay?" he asked, the words smoky and blue.

A whole series of emotions crossed Jon's face, and he nudged the soccer ball in the grass with his toe. "Yeah. A lot better than I thought. I told Dad I'm gay."

Cary held still, watching him.

Jon took an unsteady breath, touching his fingers to his stomach. "It wasn't terrible. He said he loves me. And, um, Jesus said he loves me." His ears were pink as he flipped the ball into the air and bumped it off his knee, once. "I feel pretty great, actually. About that." He tapped the ball and chased it in a looping figure eight across the grass, his limbs loose and light.

Cary let out his breath and his mouth curled up in a smile. Jesus-God, thank you. He'd wanted that for Jon, so bad. For one of them to have a relationship with their dad that didn't hurt later, when the numb wore off.

After a few minutes Jon dropped on the deck next to him, sweaty and out of breath. "How long are you staying?" He sounded like he was trying hard to be casual.

Cary rubbed the cigarette out on the grass, palming it to throw away when they went back in. "How long you want to put up with me?" His mouth was crooked, glancing at Jon.

Jon shrugged, leaning back on his hands. "Twenty—30 years? I guess we could renegotiate when we're 40."

Cary huffed a laugh, his chest loosening a fraction. "When we're middle-aged."

"Yeah. I'll probably be used to you by then, so."

Cary laughed softly again, then folded his arms on his knees, looking out at the yard. He'd never thought much about turning into an adult—all he'd been able to do was survive one day at a time. If he'd ever tried to picture the best possible outcome, it just included him making it out of his house in one piece and never looking back. He was surprised how normal it felt to think about growing up with Jon—as his family. To have a future that included people who saw him and cared about him.

He closed his eyes, his throat tightening. "You okay to share your parents with me?" It came out rough and his breath stopped, waiting.

"Course, " Jon said quietly. "There's enough to go around. They're not perfect—you know that. But they're pretty good."

*What a long journey--we got Cary out like I promised! What did you think of the imagery of adults in our lives being like a wobbly North Star - not perfect, but good enough to find a way by if we're aware of the wobble?

Time to dig in to face this trial... Thanks for the reads and votes, lovelies!*