{Cary}

"I'm home!" Jon called as he came in the door. He kicked his shoes to the side and dropped his bag on top of them. "I brought Cary with me."

Jon's mom was in the kitchen looking flushed. "Hi honey, hello Cary." She spared Cary a smile. "I hope you don't mind if supper is kind of thrown together."

Cary shook his head. He had neatly left his shoes in the bottom of the closet and he kept his jacket on.

Jon's littlest sister sat on the kitchen floor, her bare legs splayed in front of her. She waved a long striped sock. "Help please!"

Jon bent to tug it up to her knee. "Soccer tonight?"

His mom nodded. "Can you help set the table?"

"Jonee, where's my shoes?" Bea asked.

"I can set," Cary said. He washed his hands before he filled his arms with plates, navigating around Jon's mom with care.

Cary heard the front door open and Bea squeal, "Daddy!"

A man's voice said, "I'm home! Hey my little soccer princess."

Cary set the last glass and backed up against the counter.

Jon's dad came into the kitchen with Bea in his arms. He had a smile in his rust-colored beard. "Hey love, smells good." Jon's mom tipped her face for a quick kiss.

"Dad, this is Cary," Jon said.

Jon's dad came toward him and Cary barely managed to hold his ground. The kitchen suddenly seemed cramped and full of hard edges.

Jon's dad was smiling. "Nice to meet you Cary. I understand you and Jon have a project you're working on?"

"Yes sir."

"We're not in the army here. Call me Pete."

Cary's eyes widened and he ducked his head in a nod. New rules. He edged behind Jon's shoulder, keeping him close for cover.

Jon's mom flipped grilled cheese sandwiches onto a serving plate and set it on the table with a pot of tomato soup, and everyone scraped their chairs back to sit down. Pete held out his hands to his wife on his right and his son on his left. Bea held out her small hand to Cary, wiggling her fingers. Across the table, Tabitha frowned at him. "Take it silly. We're praying."

Bea's hand was feather-light in Cary's own and damp. Jon's father bowed his head and closed his eyes. Cary bent his head to hide his frown.

"Father, thank you for all the good things you have given us today. Thank you that Cary could be with us tonight. Bless him out of your love. Bless this food to our bodies' use and bless the hands that prepared it. Amen."

"Amen," Bea said and let Cary's hand go.

Cary watched Jon's father out of the corner of his eye. Pete was serving up his daughters' plates. Cary had never seen a father like Jon's except on TV.

Dinner at Jon's house was noisy: Jon's sisters and their chatter seemed to fill every possible opening. Jon's father turned his head from Tabby to Bea, doing his best to listen to both at once. Cary ate quickly, watching Jon's family for the cracks, the signs of danger he knew so well. He saw the shadow of sadness in Jon's mom's face. He saw the tired lines Pete's smile couldn't lift. But something was missing.

"Do you like your girled cheese sand-itches?"

Cary glanced sideways at Bea, startled that she had spoken to him. "Yeah, they're good."

"You should take some ketchup for them." She had to use both hands to lift the bottle. "That's how they're best."

"Thanks." Cary put a little on his plate. For a second he felt hysterical laughter bubbling behind his lips, picturing his mother serving a plate of grilled cheese sandwiches and ketchup for dinner. He glanced at Jon, who met his eyes with a questioning smile. Fear. That's what was missing. No one was afraid.  

///

When the meal was over, Cary slipped out to the back porch for a smoke. Tabitha and Bea found him on the step and sat down on either side. Tabby watched him put the cigarette to his lips.

"What are you doing?" she asked.

He glanced sideways at her. "Something for grown-ups only."

"Why?"

"Because it's bad for you."

"Is it bad for you?"

"Yes but I'm bigger." He saw her put her fingers to her mouth as if holding a cigarette and blow out. He caught her hands in one of his. "Don't do that." He immediately regretted his need for a smoke.

Tabby took her hand back, frowning at him. "I don't think you should either. My mom says cigarettes are dirty."

Cary lifted his shoulders. "Bug off then."

Tabby flounced into the house, but Bea attached herself to Cary's free arm. She unfolded his hand palm up like a fortune teller, the one she had held at supper. "Cary, you're hurt?"

Cary quickly closed his fingers. She concentrated, trying to open them again, one by one. After a moment, Cary let her, watching her serious expression as she ran a finger along the cuts.

"Owie," she said softly. She turned her palm up in his own. Her skin was smooth and perfect. "I scraped my hand when I fell off my bike. Daddy kissed it better and put Band-Aids on." She bent and planted a kiss in the middle of Cary's palm. "There. No more ouch."

Jon swung the back door open. "Bea, time to go, mom's waiting in the van for you."

She scrambled to her feet, throwing Cary a smile. "Bye."

Jon joined him, standing on the grass with his hands in his pockets. "Sorry about that. I didn't know my sisters were out here bugging you."

Cary closed his hand around Bea's kiss, frowning. "That's okay."

Dusk was falling, cool and dim. "How late can you stay?"

Cary looked up at him and realized he didn't want a reason to leave. "There's no one at my house."

Jon smiled. "You want to stay the night? My dad does pancakes Saturday morning."

Cary laughed, and then realized Jon was serious. "Sure." 

///

They found Pete up to his elbows in dishes.

"Hey dad, is it okay if Cary sleeps over?"

Pete looked over at Cary, smile lines crinkling around his eyes. "That okay with your parents Cary?"

"I'll see." Cary said. He went into the hall to check his cell phone. No messages. He frowned, then dialed his home number. No answer. He looked at the screen, about to do a search for the number of the hospital when Jon's angry voice stopped him.

"If I have to go to make the pastor's family look good then just say so."

Cary dropped back against the wall in the darkened hallway. All he could see was the lit rectangle of the kitchen entrance.

"It's not a question of appearances Jon." Pete's voice was quiet. "You made a commitment to that music team and now I want you to follow through."

That answer seemed to make Jon angrier. "The only reason they asked me is because I'm the pastor's kid. They don't even need a guitar player—Kurtis is twice is good. I am tired of trying to please everyone for you. If you want me to go, then make me."

Cary held still, measuring the distance between himself and the front door. In the silence he could hear sirens passing on the road behind the house.

"Jon. I'm not going to make you." Pete sounded tired. "Would you at least call Grant to tell him you're not coming."

Jon came in to sight. His face was flushed. He had a fistful of cutlery and a towel in his hands. "Fine," he said. He scraped the cutlery drawer open.

Cary took a breath and stepped into the kitchen. "They say it's okay."

Pete found a smile. It was like watching someone stand up under a weight. "Good. We'll have pancakes tomorrow morning."

Cary helped Jon finish putting the dishes away, stealing quick glances first at him, then at his dad. They moved around each other with unfailing politeness, not speaking, not touching.

When the dishes were done, Cary and Jon headed out of the kitchen. Jon turned back to his dad in the doorway. He said in a low voice: "I'm sorry I yelled at you."

Pete's shoulders were bowed as he stood at the counter. "Jon, I forgive you. I'm sorry."

Jon tried to laugh. "What for?"

"I wanted this move to be easy for you. It hasn't been." Pete looked at him, his hands spread on the counter. "I wish I could take that for you."

Jon's smile looked forced. "Dad, I'm fine. Okay? You have enough to worry about. Don't worry about me."

From the hall, Cary saw the look Jon's father gave his son as Jon left. Pete's face was naked, pain and longing and love right there in the open for anyone to see. Jon didn't look.  

///

"What does your father do?" Cary was on Jon's bed while Jon moved mountains of clothing and books into his closet to make room for Cary to sleep on the floor.

Jon glanced at him, wary. "He's a pastor."

Cary frowned. His mother went to church most Sundays. "Is that like a minister?"

"Yeah. He works for a church."

Cary couldn't imagine what Jon's dad did all day. Were there transactions to be made with God? Did that make Pete like a holy day trader? "So he talks to God a lot or what?"

"Yeah. He preaches on Sundays. And visits people. It's his job to take care of everyone in the church."

Maybe that explained Jon's persistent friendliness. "Is that what you want to do too?"

"No." Jon said it flat. "Bad enough to be a pastor's kid. When I grow up I want to live somewhere no one knows me and no one checks what I do every day for mistakes."

"Huh." Cary watched him sideways. "So you don't believe all that stuff about God."

He saw Jon's face crack with misery before he turned aside to cram the closet doors shut. "Yeah I do. I just don't always get it. Why he lets stuff happen."

Cary looked down at his wrists, crossed with scars under his jacket. His hands closed. "I think he's just not there."

Jon turned. He put his misery away to pay attention to Cary. "Really? You don't believe in God?"

"No." Cary agreed.

"Wow. I've never met anyone who didn't believe in God." Jon looked like he was trying to do a complicated math problem in his head. "I don't think I could do that. Stop believing that he's real. Stuff like space and our bodies..." He opened and closed his fingers. "The world is just too amazing not to be created by someone amazing."

Cary frowned, rubbing his fingertips over the cut inside the curl of his hand. It was already sealed. How did his body know how to do that? "That is weird," he said.

Jon laughed, almost surprising a smile into Cary's face.

"Weird. Thanks a lot."  

*Do you ever talk about the existence of God with your friends? Do you relate more to Jon or Cary here?*

1853 words.