Page 140 of When Ben Loved Jace

“Me too.”

“Oh good. I think Samson would enjoy having a brother. Even though you aren’t as furry as him.”

Jason laughs. “I’d like that too.”

My husband sure has a way with kids. That just leaves me. I don’t feel like I’ve made any progress. We need some common ground. I scan the room and notice something propped up in the corner.

“You’re learning guitar?” I ask.

Jason scoffs. “What do you meanlearning?”

“Okay. I take it you can play?”

“No, I keep it in here as a decoration because it gets me laid. Of course I can play!”

“Then shut up and prove it!”

Jace gives me a look, but I’m already getting tired of tap-dancing around a teenager’s mood swings. As nice as it would be to help out an older kid, I’m more convinced than ever that we need to start with someone younger. That way we’ll have time to grow fond of them before reaching this miserable stage.

Jason pushes himself up. He trudges to the guitar, grabs it around the neck, and sits back down on the corner of his bed. Then he begins plucking without a hint of insecurity or hesitation. Almost instantly, I can understand the source of his attitude. The guitar is an extension of himself, just like my voice is for me. Thenotion of having “learned” to sing is ridiculous. In the same way I don’t remember learning to use my arms or any other part of my body. It all runs on instinct. I’m already impressed. This is much more than technical perfection. Jason is playing that old folk song about country roads, which is usually upbeat and full of sunshine, and yet he somehow fills it with yearning. I can feel his sorrow—the need to return to a far-away place where he actually belongs. I think of my childhood home, summoning up homesickness for a time I can never return to, and begin to sing. Jason’s fingers are a blur that don’t miss a note, even when he looks up in surprise. I sing the whole song. When he stops playing before the end, I finish the final refraina cappella.

Jason runs a hand through his hair while considering me, revealing two intense blue eyes that have seen more than their share of hard times. Otherwise he wouldn’t be capable of infusing his music with so much soul. He’s a fighter all right. A survivor. We stare at each other, as if reassessing, and to my complete surprise I already kind of love him.

“That was nice,” he says.

“Yeah,” I reply after a swallow. “It was.”

He plucks out a few notes. “Wanna do another?”

“Sure.”

Jace scoots over, making room. Michelle smiles from the doorway as we negotiate what the next tune will be. Jason strums his guitar. I open my mouth and sing, making music with the young man who might someday become my son.

Chapter Thirty-four

The next stage of welcoming Jason into our lives is a supervised visit out in the community. We’re currently sitting with him at a table in a rock-themed restaurant. Framed instruments decorate the walls, as do autographed photos of famous musicians and their gold records. The menu items have ridiculous names like Fretboard Flatbread and Hi-Hat Hummus. All of this gives the impression of trying much too hard. Which is highly appropriate, since I desperately want Jason to think we’re cool. Michelle suggested a trip to the zoo or a day out at a theme park. Not good enough. After dinner, we’re taking him to a concert. His first ever! Jason seems genuinely excited by the idea. We’re not getting nearly as much pushback as we did at that initial meeting. Although heisproving himself to be rather mischievous.

“So,” Jason says, dipping a chip in some Slam-Dance Salsa. “Has Michelle told you guys what exactly you’re signing up for? You won’t be my first foster family. Not by a long shot. I’ve left a trail of carnage in my wake.”

I look to her for an explanation.

Michelle raises her palms. “Hey, I’m simply a silent observer. Pretend I’m not here.”

“That’s very convenient,” Jace says, nudging his sibling playfully before returning his attention to Jason. “Okay, what’s the story?”

“None of my placements last long. I always make sure of that. Some of us actuallylikeliving in an orphanage.”

I love that he calls it that.

Jason leans back with a smug expression. “Take for instance foster family number seventeen. They were super-controlling about the clothes I wore. Like it was a big production every morning. There was actually anapproval process. For real. I never passed it, so they started choosing my outfits for me.”

“We expect you to wear a uniform when you live with us,” I tease. “One of my own design. I don’t want to ruin the surprise, but sequins are involved.”

Jason grins. “You better hold that thought until you’ve heardthe rest of the story. I got so sick of being bossed around about what I wore, that I went home early from school one day so I could cut the crotches out of all their clothes. And I really meanallof them. Pants, dresses, shorts…”

“What about underwear?” Jace asks.

“Yup, although those are harder to do without them falling apart. And they could have put them on backwards, so I ended up cutting those into pieces, just to be safe. And yeah, before you ask, I took care of the bathrobes too. Those I shortened to waist-height, so there was no chance of covering up. I made sure to put everything back and cleaned up the mess. My foster parents didn’t notice when they got home. I waited until they were asleep and cut the crotches out of the clothes they’d worn that day. The next morning…” Jason starts laughing so hard that he struggles to continue. “You should have seen their faces! They kept running around, trying to find something I’d overlooked. The absolute best part was when one of them ran to the kitchen for the apron, but I’d done that too!” He’s snickering now, tears pouring from his eyes.