Keeping Promise Rock (48 page)

Amy showed up at the second meeting with a new member of the family. Miss Lila Lisa Levins was small, wrinkled, and greeted with enthusiasm by everybody—including Parry Angel, who was convinced that ‘bee-bee’ was her very own personal doll and got to come home with her.

Miss Lila Lisa wasn’t the only new family member to start showing up at the meetings. Jeff showed up at the second, after he’d been a regular 324

at the family dinner table—and not just on family night either—for a couple of months. Officer Shane showed up at family dinner as well—

although he and Jeff took pains to sit far away from each other. The entire family agreed that once Shane outed himself by looking at Jeff in disgust and saying, “I won’t bite you, I like my guys more butch,” he seemed entirely less awkward and creepy, and family dinner relaxed considerably.

And still, it came down to a cold, clear night on the first of February when Deacon couldn’t make himself vote.

“We’re so close either way,” he said to the circle of expectant faces.

“We’re so close to making money and not losing it… but damn. We’re so close to not having anything to spend on a future if we decide to leave.

Guys… I can’t do it. This is my….” He couldn’t look at them. Couldn’t even look at Crick, who would understand more than anyone.

“I’m this close to voting we move, just because that’s what I think is best for all of you, and because I want to stay so bad.” And with that, he turned around and walked barefoot out of the kitchen to brood in the wet cold.

It had been milder this year—in fact, it had been too mild. People were predicting a drought, especially after the heat wave of the summer before, and Deacon stood out there for a good half an hour, bouncing on his numb toes. He had gained weight back—enough to keep the family from nagging him, but not enough to keep his shirt from flapping around his lean stomach in the foggy breeze. A particularly ambitious gust of wind had just flown up his shirt and made him think about picking his bare feet out to the stables when Shane pulled into the driveway so quickly he almost skidded off the drive and into the muddy dirt by the workout ring.

The stern, introverted young officer didn’t even wait for the engine of his beat-up black GTO to die, which was good because sometimes that took a while, before he was squelching across the land far too quickly for safety in the slick mud. He went down once but bounced up on wet and muddy knees and was pounding up the porch before Deacon realized that a slight, muscular young man was following him at a more sedate pace.

“Don’t vote! Deacon—don’t vote! You can’t vote yet—I’ve got news! Dammit, did they vote yet?”

Deacon had to smile at the guy. Usually Shane was just silent.

Sometimes he’d break the silence by bursting out with something outrageous but sensible or awkward or simply odd—but he was never effusive and never, ever this excited.

“I don’t know yet,” he replied, feeling his tension build up in his stomach. “I’m not… I took myself out of the vote.” Shane nodded excitedly and then interrupted him by screaming,

“
Don’t vote! Guys, don’t vote yet
!” into the house, and Deacon’s eyes bugged out, even as the young man caught up to them, climbing up the front porch diffidently with his hand extended.

“He’s very excited,” the guy said in slightly accented English. “I’m Mikhail Bayul—I’m….” His delicate, Slavic features flushed in the dim light of the porch. He was wearing a fleece-lined denim jacket and a knit hat over his curly blond hair, but his hand was still a little cold as Deacon took it.

“Shane’s boyfriend?” Deacon supplied, wondering how three such socially inept people could actually end up in company together.

“Yes. Shane’s boyfriend. We have some….” They both looked behind Deacon because Shane had rushed into the house, and the screen door slammed behind him with a big, fat smack. Mikhail laughed sweetly, his gray eyes looking adoringly to where two hundred and ten pounds of graceless goodwill had just disappeared. “We have some news. Shane has talked of nothing but your family for months. I dance the fair circuit—

Renaissance Faires—all over the country—you know what I mean?” Deacon nodded, surprised a little. Benny had actually convinced Andrew to take her and Parry to one in Fair Oaks that June. She’d come back chatty and excited, with some clothes that Deacon was fairly sure could only be worn at other Renaissance Faires, and generally with a glimpse into an entire world of merchants and dreamers that Deacon had sort of admired.

Mikhail smiled, apparently relieved that he wouldn’t have to explain.

“There are horses—jousting horses—at the fairs. We get to know people, the regular attendees, you know?”

Deacon nodded, hearing Shane’s bass rumble in the kitchen, probably explaining the same thing with less grace and more weirdness.

“Anyway, those horses are special. They’re trained for sweetness and strength—they have to be. They have big men in armor on their backs, and lots of noise and clanking and play-fighting. They need to be broken very carefully, and the stable that tends them is going out of business. We need another horse breaker who uses weapons.” 326

Deacon blinked, and Mikhail swore. “My English is usually better, I swear,” he muttered. “I’m nervous,” he said at last, bluntly. “This is as close as he’s ever let me to anyone he considers family. He doesn’t really like most of his other one. You’re important.” And there it was, the terrible blush, and it seemed to catch, because Mikhail was blushing too. “We’re not good with people, are we?” he asked, and Deacon shook his head no.

“So you meant the lances and stuff they use on the back of the horses—that takes a special sort of breaking. You say the stable that breaks them is going out of business?”

“The owners of the business are older—it’s hard on the body.

They’re ready to retire. Shane—he stepped up for you. They’re ready to have you show them your technique, and then they’ll give you their clients if they’re all agreeable.”

Oh Christ—it was a dream job, dropped in his lap because Deacon and Benny had been willing to give a guy the benefit of the doubt and the guy had fallen in love with their kitchen table.

Deacon’s hope couldn’t be contained in his chest—it spread to his face in a goofy grin that Crick might have recognized, but no one else.

“’Scuse me,” he muttered to the bemused Mikhail, and then he pushed past him and sprinted into the house.

“Don’t vote!” he said breathlessly. “Shane’s right… don’t vote!” Crick caught him bodily with his strong right arm, practically picking him up around the middle and setting him to rights on his feet.

“Calm down, Deacon—of course we voted to stay here and keep hoping.

Now we just get to say we told you so!”

Deacon grinned from the bottom of his toes. “It’s a dream job, Crick.”

Crick nodded, his eyes gleaming. “Yeah, Shane told us. See. I told you—ask for more in life. Sometimes it delivers.” Deacon sobered. “What have you gotten lately?”

“Same thing you got, Deacon—us and home.”

It was more than enough.

THAT April, they had a picnic at Promise Rock.

Crick made Deacon dress up—a nice western shirt, new boots, a little bolo at his neck, and Crick wore the same. Benny bought a new sundress in sage green, and Amy too, and if the dresses seemed to match, well, Deacon thought they’d just shopped together. He was pretty sure the fact that Parry Angel and Lila matched in a complementing lavender was on purpose—but it was damned cute, so he smiled at Lila in her little car seat and carefully helped Parry dangle her chubby little feet in the shallows, shrieking with her when it was too cold.

He didn’t catch the rather wry look of conspiracy between his nearest and dearest—but then, it wouldn’t have been much of a conspiracy if he had.

Benny’s little sisters couldn’t make it. They were living with their grandmother now, and she didn’t approve of Crick and Deacon, so that was that, and it did make the day a little less bright. But Amy’s parents were there and Patrick brought his sister, and that was wonderful. Shane brought Mikhail, and Jeff brought… no one. Deacon had remarked quietly, in a private moment, that Jeff’s eyes were as sad as Crick’s had been in Iraq, and Crick had been surprised to realize he was right.

Whatever reason Jeff had for not bringing someone, it was private and painful, and Deacon resolved again to keep an eye on their favorite PT

genius.

But today was all about celebrations. Andrew set up the sound system across the creek from the truck, and they’d set up a refreshment table under the oak tree, and Jon showed up wearing a….

“What in the hell are you doing in a suit?” Deacon asked, flummoxed. Jon wore jeans to court unless he was working for Deacon for free.

Jon smirked. “You really think this is just a family picnic, don’t you?”

Deacon shrugged. “Okay—we’re signing some papers. That’s why we decided to have the picnic, right? To celebrate the papers?”

“Oh, and that’s it? That’s all she wrote?”

“It’s your anniversary,” Deacon said in disgust. “I gave Amy the chocolates, what else is there?”

Jon shook his head and raised an eyebrow at Crick, who was standing over his shoulder. “He’s gonna kill us all—we should get started so he gets all choked up and manly before he gets the chance.” 328

Crick nodded, trying hard to contain his glee. “Yeah. It’s your barbecue, hoss—you’ve got the legal documents.” Jon nodded, flipping his movie-star hair out of his eyes and gesturing at the small gathering of good friends and beloved family to gather around. Amy came running to his side with a legal folder and some pens, which she laid out on the refreshment table, and Jon began to speak.

“All right folks, it’s time to proceed. We ready, sweetheart?”

“When you are, baby!” Amy chimed. She had Lila on her hip and little rocks on all the papers to keep them from fluttering away in the April breeze.

“Good to go then. Okay, folks—you all know why we’re here.

We’re going to make a few things official today, and you all are the people we want to be witnesses, you all know that, right?” Everybody nodded, and Jon went on, ignoring Deacon’s grunt, because dammit, the guy was just being damned dramatic.

“So there are two documents over there—”

“Two?” Deacon interrupted, and Jon threw him a droll look.

“Shut up, Deacon. Crick said it’s my barbecue, let me cook.” There was some laughter, but mostly, Deacon got the feeling that everyone else knew something he didn’t, and that made him damned uncomfortable.

“So,” Jon continued, “one of those documents you all know about.

It’s the document that makes Crick an equal partner in The Pulpit
,
and since that’s a big deal, and since this hunk of drought-ridden rock is finally in the black after some fucked-up years, I think that alone is some celebration, right folks?”

Deacon grinned at the cheer that came from their little circle. Parry Angel, who was happy in Andrew’s arms as he stood by Benny, gave a happy little squeal for the excuse to clap her hands.

“And the other one… Benny, you want to talk about this one?” Benny smiled and stepped into the center of the circle. Her hair was bright butter yellow this month, and it looked good with the dress. So did the maturity that seemed to sit naturally on her now that she was nearly eighteen.

“Okay, you all know that the one thing Deacon wasn’t giving up—

even when things looked hella crappy for us—was my college fund, and you all know I’m going off in the fall and that my guys are taking care of my baby for me while I’m gone.” She teared up a little—as she might. It Keeping Promise Rock

had been a hard damned decision for her, and she and Deacon had sat up for a lot of nights hashing it over. What it had come down to in the end was that she wanted a good life for her baby—and a mama Parry could be proud of.

“So, the thing is, Deacon keeps having to explain to people who he is to my little girl, which isn’t fair, because”—sniffle—“no one’s been a better father to her than my brother’s boyfriend, right?” Everyone chuckled except Deacon, who blushed. “So what we’re signing today is a custody agreement. It gives Deacon rights to my baby—because I know that he’ll never abuse it because, you know, it’d be like watching an eagle turn into a pile of buffalo crap while it was in the air. Deacon just doesn’t hurt people, and he deserves the best. So the best is my baby, and until she’s old enough to piss off her parents like everybody’s kid, he has the right to visit her, the right to weigh in on her future, and just generally the legal right to be in her life. And you’re all signing it, so the whole world will know that nobody can tell him he’s not really a part of my baby’s life.

And Deacon stop blushing—how could you not be real to her….” Benny started to cry in earnest then, and Deacon held out his arms and let her cry on him. She got his pretty tan dress shirt all goopy with mascara, but he didn’t care, because he was a little bit choked up himself.

“Thanks, Shorty—that’s a real nice surprise,” he said softly, and the sly look she gave him through her tears and her make-up was enough to make him blink.

“That’s just your wedding present, Deacon—that’s not really the surprise.”

Deacon rolled his eyes, but nobody else did. “This isn’t a wedding, it’s a picnic—but if Jon doesn’t shut up, we’re all going to starve to death.”

Jon cleared his throat. “Actually, Deacon, what we’re doing here is a legal reformation of your immediate family, with witnesses, in front of the people who love you, with vows, entertainment, and refreshment.”

“You don’t look like a preacher,” Deacon said drolly, and as Jon stuck out his tongue, Crick took his arm and said, “He doesn’t have to be, Deacon. He’s just our master of ceremonies. But think about it—

everything he said, that’s a wedding, isn’t it?” Deacon blinked, feeling thick. “This is a wedding?” The family nodded back at him, and he frowned. “Holy shit—you’re serious.” 330

Crick’s half-smile was half-sly and all vulnerable. He took a deep breath and pitched his voice so everyone could hear him. “Okay, so here’s the thing. Three years ago, Deacon and I….” Crick blushed really hard, so hard Deacon could smell his aftershave, could see the sweat popping on Crick’s forehead in spite of the mild day in the middle of the wildflower fields in the shade. Crick turned toward him, and now they were in the center of the circle of their friends, hands clasped, and Deacon had the sudden, very real awareness that, yes indeed, this was a wedding.