Page 71 of Summer Lessons

“We were glad to do it for our friend, ma’am,” Skip said. “We’ll come back and help him any time.”

Terry squeezed the bridge of his nose and then looked at Skip and nodded. “Thanks, Skip,” he said gratefully. “I don’t know how to pay you back.”

Richie’s almost inappropriate laughter seemed to break the spell of horror that had settled upon them. “You said it yourself, Jefferson—monsters in the damned trees. You owe us Halloween cleanup for the next five years.”

Skip slapped his arm—“Richie!”—but Terry’s face lit up with joy and relief.

“You hold me to that,” he said softly. Then he turned back to his mother. “Now, let’s get you inside before you can scare them away. Mason bought pizza. There’s leftovers for dinner.”

“Wait, Mason? Isn’t that your—” She took time to sneer. “—friend?”

“Yeah, Mom, but forget about—”

Mason, leaning heavily on Skipper and Richie, had pushed himself up to balance precariously without his crutches.

“Ms. Jefferson?” he said politely. “I’m Mason Hayes. It’s, uh, a, uh, experience to meet you.”

He would have thought he’d totally blown it, but Terry was standing next to his mother, nodding and holding a thumbs-up. “Experience?” she asked, arching her eyebrows. “Not even going to try ‘nice’?”

“You gotta earn nice,” Cooper—Wyatt—said from his spot in the circle. “Mason fed us today—if he doesn’t think you’re nice, we’re all behind that.”

There was some general noise about how food was good, and they were all about food, and Mason got some pats on the back.

“You all are easy,” he said, just softly enough to elicit several smirks and a few snorts. Oops. Accidental dirty joke during a tense moment—he had a new thing to add to his FML list of stupid things to say while adulting.

“Whatever,” Terry’s mom said, crossing her arms.

“I might try a little harder if I knew your name,” Mason lied.

“Julie Jefferson. What do you care?”

“I just want to know the people important to Terry,” he said in complete sincerity. “Terry talks about you all the time.”

She snorted. “Bitches about me is more like it.”

“That may be true,” Mason said, “but maybe if you said nice things to him, he’d say nice things about you.”

“God. This is my life? A bunch of idiots in my driveway and some fag telling me how to raise my son?”

“I just really would like you not to hurt my boyfriend,” Mason said, allowing some of his own temper to show. “He’s perfectly functional until you open your mouth.”

Julie gaped a couple of times, and Mason turned back toward his chair. “Guys, wanna help me fold this up again? I’m thinking it’s time to pack it up.”

By the time they got the chair in the back of the SUV and rounded up the cage lights, Dane and Carpenter had come out of the house, followed by Terry, who was apologizing profusely, sounding young and destroyed.

“Guys, I’m sorry. That thing she said, that was horrible, and I just hate that you all came over and—”

“Stop,” Mason said, his heart hurting too hard to even put words to it. “Terry, c’mere.” He swung around in the passenger seat so he was facing outward from the car door, his feet braced on the runner. Terry moved between his knees without question.

“I’m sorry,” Terry said, near tears. “It’s so stupid. It was… I mean, it was horrible, but it was a good day. You all came over and helped and I was….” He took a shuddery breath, and Mason met Skip’s eyes over his back.

That quickly, the guys all disappeared to their cars. Skip’s last words were “Meet at Starbucks—hot chocolate on me!”

The cars all pulled out, and Dane leaned on the driver’s side of the car, giving Mason and Terry some privacy.

By the time everyone had disappeared, Terry was crying softly against Mason’s chest.

“Sh….” Mason kissed his hair. He understood. For a day, Terry had been independent, capable, and accepted. Mason had wanted to be like that his entire life. For a moment, Terry had held the keys to the adulthood castle, and then the one person who should have built up that castle for him had ripped the keys from his hand and stomped the castle to splinters.