Chapter 41

Cole rode hard. He’d risen before sunrise, saddled Storm and they'd taken off. He'd bid goodbye to the chasm, to all of it. Thanked it for what he’d seen and learned. Perhaps it had only been a tired mind spinning, but he’d thanked it all the same.

Tabby was wrong, in this one thing. He did need the chasm. Call it whatever it was, the grey swirling in his head, in his spirit, had lessened there.

Storm’s hooves flew over the dew-drenched fields. He bent low over the horse, gripped with both hands, whispered into that thick, black mane. “Run, Storm.”

The call to his lawyer had been interesting. With everything that had been going on, they'd been very involved as of late, and the lawyer had answered his call immediately, hellishly early. But he'd listened, with the graces of a good friend. Offered a few comments, then left it all in Cole’s hands.

Which was good, Cole thought. He'd made up his mind. The 4:30 a.m. conversation with Dad had also been decisive.

Now, a few hours later, as his eyes scrutinized the scenery ahead, the pale stone building came into view.

The home for sick kids. A steadfast place for innocents who had chronic conditions. They’d been given this place in the country to live, where their ailments bothered them less, due to the fresh air, the quiet, and the peace.

Where Cole knew—thanks to another call he’d placed—Quinn would be this morning, visiting Christopher.

He reached the fence, tied Storm up, and scrutinized the house. A grand old house, set on its own in green fields. But he also saw something troubling. The telltale signs of water damage, as well as foundational issues. A pile of dirt and stone had been dug up and a big hole lay, open on one side. A tarp covered what looked to be construction materials in another heap, but he saw no workers around. Not good.

There was obviously a lot of work to be done around here, but no one doing it.

He strode inside, approached the information desk. “Christopher Raary’s room, please.”

The nurse—her badge said Summer Scriber—smiled easily. “Visitor?”

“I’ve come to see his father, Quinn Raary. I hear he might be…”

A troubled look came over her face. “Oh, he’s here. Comes every second day, every day if he can, usually early in the morning, as that’s the only time he can manage out of his busy day. He’s the most faithful parent we have here. That’s not to say the other parents aren't wonderful, but many are a long distance away. Mr. Raary himself has to drive almost an hour each way to see his son.”

Surprise landed, heavy. “He’s here that often?”

Her eyes dropped briefly. “He’s never accepted Christopher’s condition. It’s heart-breaking.”

This wasn’t the story he’d expected to hear. It did not jive with what he—or anyone—knew of Quinn Raary. He suddenly felt very awkward. “What is the boy’s situation?”

“It’s a very rare condition. The child is one of only a hundred and some children with the disease. His mind is completely intact. But he has intense sensory difficulties that can quickly disintegrate into life challenging scenarios at the drop of a hat. I could bore you with the name of it, and more details…”

Summer gazed at him in inquiry, but he quickly shook his head.

“Christopher needs round-the-clock care, and he’s monitored all the time. The monitoring is only turned off when Mr. Raary is here. He doesn't like being ‘on camera’, so we’ve found that works for all.” She sighed. “We don’t know what he’s going to do when the home is closed.”

“Closed?” Last he’d heard, it had been up in the air. “It’s a done deal?”

“Yes. It’s heartbreaking, really. But extensive repairs are needed, and there are certain new stipulations for the grounds themselves as well as amenities for some of our new wards, and none of the modifications have been put into place. The cost of the upgrades is prohibitive and unfortunately, the deadline to get them completed has passed. The province is dispersing the children across Canada. It’s not good.” Her lips were tight. It was obviously really affecting her as well.

Never a stranger to other people’s plight, Cole queried her gently. “Losing your job?”

“No.” She shook her head. “I’ll be relocating. But I'm worried about the kids, and to be honest, Christopher is one of my biggest worries. He counts on seeing his dad every day and a couple of times when Mr. Raary was ill and we wouldn't allow him entrance, the child went downhill, quickly. The man literally seems to be keeping that child alive with his presence. When they can’t see each other…”

She shook her head. “Thanks for your interest, but I'd better get back to work.” She seemed to roust herself from her sadness, pointed to a staircase behind her and to the right. “Christopher’s up there, one flight. Room 24.”

* * *

He almost felt like he was trespassing, the floor was so quiet. He strode on terrazzo floors, shiny clean. And there at the end of the hallway, was room 24.

Uneasiness plagued him. Should he really even be talking to Quinn here? He’d been in such an all fired hurry to get this done, to get it over with before he weakened. But now, he wasn’t so sure.

He slowed, craned his neck, peered in from a distance. Saw the man he was looking for in the room, and the child sitting on his lap sideways, his head turned toward his dad. Christopher, with his father. Heartbreakingly small for eight years old, the child didn’t take up that much space.

But the smile. The look on each one’s face as they faced each other. He stopped, and the breath caught in his throat.

Neither was of this world.

Quinn’s smile—Cole had never seen him look like that. Clear, intensely interested in the moment. Attentive to every movement of his child, every nuance of expression. But with an utter joy and peace that transcended the child’s condition, and where they were, in a care facility, with whirring machines and monitoring equipment.

And the little boy. Even now he reached for his Dad’s grizzled, lined face. Took a small finger and traced the depressions gently, carefully. Stared at his dad’s face, almost in wonder, and then smiled, here and there. The father allowed the touches, seemed to savor every gentle reminder of his son’s aliveness. His touch.

He found it absolutely mesmerizing, the play between the two of them. They were both in their own world, a world they inhabited alone, yet together.

But he also saw the other thing, tucked deep behind Quinn’s smile. Not in every moment, but a flash of it, here and there.

Fear. Hard and harsh. I may lose this child one day….

…and I can’t bear it.

The child finished his perusal. “Okay, Dad. I’m done. You’ll do.” A tiny laugh.

“Finished your inspection there, Son?" A good-natured smile, and Quinn let out a soft, long exhale. Cole realized he’d been holding his breath the whole time his child had been touching his face.

“Daddy, we have to talk about the thing.” There was a petulant, demanding air about the child now.

Quinn winced. “That’s grown up people’s affairs, Son.” He smoothed the thin wisps of hair back on his child’s head, and Cole marveled at the light touch of those work-hardened hands.

Achingly tender. Feather light. Gentle.

“Don’t bother that huge brain of yours about it, Tophey.”

Tophey? Cole’s brain flew. Oh. Christopher.

The child wouldn’t be dissuaded. Typical kid. “I want to know. Are you still doing the thing? The lawsuit?”

Quinn’s mouth set into a tight line. He obviously didn’t want to talk about it. “I told you, Tophey. I’m going after that land.” He worked to keep his voice steady, but it quivered for a second. “For you, Son.”

The child reached up, placed his finger on his dad’s cheek, held it there. Almost like a mini-indictment.

“It’s wrong.”

“But…”

The kid apparently wasn’t scared of his father. “You know, Daddy.”

“Son.” There was a touch of exasperation in Quinn’s voice. “You’ve always told me what you wanted, and I'm doing it. For you. Remember what you said?”

The child’s voice assumed a sing-song quality, and he nodded. “I want to see the horses dance. I still do, Daddy.”

Quinn’s face gentled. “Well, then, don't worry how things get done. I'll make sure you see the horses, anytime you want them.”

“No, Daddy. It’s wrong.”

Quinn was apparently done with the grilling of his affairs by an eight-year-old boy. “Let me worry about that.”

Christopher pursed his lips. “You’ll see!”

Quinn didn’t know what to say anymore, it seemed, so he simply parroted his little one’s words.

“Fine. I’ll see, Son. Leave it be.”

Out of the blue, the child sagged. “Tired.” The word escaped the boy’s lips, so softly. As if the child didn’t have the strength, suddenly, to do more than utter that one syllable.

Quinn’s response was immediate. “Okay, Son.”

Picking him up and holding his precious cargo close to his chest, he rose, bent over the bed, and lowered the boy gently onto it. Pulled the ultra-light covers up over him, his dark eyes roaming over his form. He watched—as Cole did too—the child’s body go limp. Tophey’s eyes closed, and suddenly, that little chest was breathing, up and down, the quick in-breaths of immediate sleep. A child incredibly depleted from hugs and love and touching his father’s face.

With the child’s escape into dreamland, Quinn let go, too. Abruptly. He sank into the chair. His frame crumpled, and he leaned forward, his face in his hands.

But Cole caught a view of the expression on that hard man’s face, as it twisted.

Wordless anguish. Hopelessness and pain. His frame bent from harsh reality.

Cole didn’t know what to do. He couldn't believe he’d witnessed this thing; this singular moment in the lives of the two Raary men.

But he sure as hell knew one thing. Now was not the time to talk to Quinn about anything.

* * *

He left quickly, quietly, incredibly moved by what he'd seen. Experienced.

Holy hell. He’d felt like he’d been in the very room with Quinn and his boy, and he couldn't bear it.

He thought he had trouble? Was that what hell was really like?

The nurse he’d talked to earlier, Summer, called out to him as he passed. “Good visit?”

But he couldn’t hide anything, suddenly. His defenses were gone.

“Couldn’t do it. They were…involved.”

She smiled gently. “Oh. The touching game?”

He looked perplexed. “You know about that?”

“Well, sure," she gave a short laugh. “They do it each time. Face, neck for sure. Sometimes gentle massages on Christopher’s limbs or tummy, etc. Does the child good. Doesn't hurt the father either, to be honest, though he’s not enrolled in the therapy.”

Probably should be, the immediate thought pistoned through him. He wisely kept his mouth shut on the topic. Here at least, Quinn Raary had one definite fan. And, he thought, maybe another one now, too. A new one. “It helps?”

“Sure. Touch is part of his therapy. Depending on his day-to-day condition and current sensory issues, any touch can really pain the child an incredible amount. But conversely, it’s also the cure. We haven't been able to provide caregivers to do it often enough, so that’s part of what Mr. Raary does when he comes. They’ve both come a long way.”

Again, that left Cole stunned. He didn’t know what to say.

“Thanks, Ma’am. And thanks for explaining it to me. Good day to you.”

She smiled, a gentle smile, full of understanding and compassion for his new pain. It looked like she saw it clearly, and was good with it. Knew it was appropriate. Come again.”

When he got outside, he was so glad to see Storm, to feel the fresh air. To be out of that place. He turned to adjust the horse’s saddle, almost bumped into someone. A man in a gardener’s uniform, raking. They nodded at each other.

Cole untied Storm, his eyes lighting on yet another issue with the foundation. “Hey, do you know anything about the renovations needed around here?”

The guy pulled together wilted leaves on the ground, fallen from a damaged tree. “Sure. Tons to do, no money to do ‘em.”

“Okay. But here’s the thing. If a parent…if someone in the community had a lot of money and wanted to donate, what would stop them?”

His troubled mind had been churning on that. Why couldn’t Quinn simply donate some cash? He had plenty of it. He was throwing enough of it around on his various business ventures.

“Government won’t allow it. Funding comes from predefined pots.”

Disbelief hit him. “Well, that’s stupid.”

“That’s government.” The guy bent, shoved the leaves into a bag with gloved hands. “Something to do with no interference, no appearance of collusion or bribery. Or nepotism. One bad apple hurt all the rest at some point, as normal, and now everything’s painted with the same brush. But I will tell you one thing.”

He leaned on his rake. “It’s the labor costs that are killing this repair job. If the province got the labor at a reduced price, it would be a go. But that’s not going to happen today, with the economy, and the need to keep up appearances.”

He shook his head. "Damn shame. All that’s standing between these kids staying here, where they’re comfortable and happy enough and at least it’s become home, is a bit of free labor. One hundred percent ridiculous.”

He flashed a disagreeable expression, got back to his work. Cole pulled himself up onto Storm, and they rode away from that mausoleum of lost hope.