Jake got the grand tour of Mr. Scott’s house and yard. There was only one word he could think of that encompassed the place fully: comfortable. It wasn’t fancy, it wasn’t too large or small; the decor wasn’t too posh or froufrou, nor shabby nor neglected. It was a medium-sized, three-bedroom home on a quiet residential street that seemed to be a great place to live.
Mr. Scott being a bachelor, Jake hadn’t known what to expect. Some men were neat freaks, some slobs. Mr. Scott seemed to be in the middle. The house wasn’t cluttered, wasn’t messy, but showed that someone lived there. Jake’s impression was, okay, I could live here.
The house was close enough to the school so Jake could either walk or ride a bicycle. Not having to take a bus was a plus in his eyes. You never knew what life would be like on a school bus, especially when you were a new kid.
What most caught Jake’s eye was the back yard. This was the beginning of September, but only just, and with the current warm weather, everything was still green and lush. The yard showed more attention than the living spaces. The spreading lawn looked about ready for mowing but certainly wasn’t in dire need of it yet. There was a covered patio one stepped onto from the back door that was large enough for outdoor furniture and a table. Flower beds adorned the sides and ends of the patio and also lined the side of the detached garage that adjoined the yard. Neatly trimmed bushes and decorative trees were spaced for visual effect.
He was reminded that this was Eastern Washington State. Land in New York City in Manhattan could be valued at $2,000 a square foot or more. In the Bronx it would certainly be lower, but was still high enough that housing costs were through the roof. Here, quite obviously, land wasn’t so valuable or so expensive. Mr. Scott’s back yard was large. A kid could play catch, football even, or croquet or badminton. He could even play with his dad, if he had one.
Jake pushed that thought aside and continued looking around. What really caught his eye was the swimming pool. The water was a beautiful turquoise, the pool bottom sparkling white, and the surround was dark burgundy tile. The pool was situated along the side of the house and the patio and was large enough for a pool party and for swimming laps.
Jake was staring at it, and Mr. Scott came outside to stand beside him. He laughed. “Oh, did I forget to say, we have a pool?”
“We?” Jake asked.
“Yeah, you and me. Oh, and usually, all summer long, when Jeremy mows and does incidental yard and gardening work, he swims afterward. A benefit of the job. And occasionally I’ll have friends over for a pool party. Only once or maybe a couple of times during the summer.”
“Jeremy keeps the yard like this?” Jake took his eyes from the pool and again looked at the yard and greenery, at how well groomed it was.
“Jeremy likes doing it. Also, he needs the money, and I’m happy to help him out in that regard. His parents . . . well, best I let him tell you about his circumstances if you’re interested.”
They went back into the house. Jake had already seen his room and stowed his rather meager things there. Mr. Scott told him what time dinner would be ready and that he could do as he wished till then.
That was easy for Jake. The pool had looked very inviting, and it was still a warm enough day to make it even more attractive. There was only one problem. He went to find Mr. Scott who was sitting reading a newspaper on the patio, a glass of iced tea next to him on the table. He’d changed into more comfortable attire: shorts and a polo shirt.
“Hey, Uncle Greg,” Jake said, feeling the name on his tongue and noticing the slight embarrassment it caused him. He decided to minimize using the man’s name in the future. He plowed ahead so the feeling wouldn’t linger. “I was thinking of taking advantage of the pool. But I don’t have a bathing suit.” Then he blushed. Partly it was from using that informal name with an adult who was still mostly a stranger, and partly because he was asking for help. He hated doing that.
Mr. Scott’s smile defused Jake’s discomfort. “I’ve got a few you can choose from. All sizes and styles. I’ll show you.”
He got up and took Jake into the house and to the hallway off which the bedrooms were located. There were cabinets and built-in drawers. Mr. Scott opened one of the drawers and showed Jake the bathing suits that were stored there. While Jake began thumbing through them, Mr. Scott said, “Jake, I usually don’t wear one when I swim. You might not have noticed, but the shrubs around the yard are high enough that the neighbors can’t see in when they’re in their back yards, and their houses don’t look down on the pool, so it’s not visible to them when they’re inside. I wouldn’t have had the pool put in otherwise. I love the feeling of freedom I get swimming nude. I’m also not all that body shy or uncomfortable in my own skin. I’m just saying this so you know. I expect you’ll see me swimming nude as that’s what I’ll be when I get in the pool. I’m not going to let the fact you’re here now change that.
“However, you can and should wear a suit if you want. If you don’t want to wear one, that’s up to you, too. Entirely your choice. But until you get more used to me, I can certainly understand any reluctance you might have about not wearing one. So, help yourself.”
With that, Mr. Scott turned and went back to the patio. Jake looked at the suits in the drawer, thinking. Then he looked up as Mr. Scott returned. “I should have thought of this, Jake. There’s a robe in your closet. If you do choose to swim without the suit, you might want to do what I usually do: wear the robe out to the pool, then wear it after drying off before returning to the house. It’s silly, but somehow wearing a robe makes me feel less like I’m an exhibitionist, even though no one’s here to look.”
Then he nodded at Jake and returned to the patio.
It was several minutes later that Jake walked out of the house wearing the robe he’d found in the closet. The robe was hanging open, and Jake was wearing a bathing suit. Mr. Scott looked up at him and smiled. “Didn’t think you could do it! Not on the first day. Not till you’d seen me doing it at the very least.”
Jake grinned. “I couldn’t,” he said. He’d had to choose between a Speedo-type or trunks, and he’d chosen the trunks.
Mr. Scott’s head was back in his newspaper. “Good choice,” he said, still smiling, but not looking at Jake, either. “But either choice you’d have made—wearing a suit or not—would have been a good one, because it would have been yours. One thing you’re going to have a lot of here is freedom to do what you want. You’ll be making your own choices while living here. You told me that’s who you are, the way you are, and that’s fine with me.”
Jake felt the water with his toe, then smiled and dove in. The water was warm enough that he hadn’t felt the need to hesitate at all. It felt like velvet against his skin.
He swam and dived off the board at the deep end for a half hour. When he was done, he got out and found Mr. Scott had gone inside but had laid a towel out for him on a patio chair. He started to dry off, then looked around. He could see what Mr. Scott had meant; there were no houses overlooking the back yard or the patio or the pool. He didn’t know where Mr. Scott was but guessed he was probably in the kitchen, looking after dinner. It was time for that, way past time for someone who’d been in New York City earlier that day. Feeling a little rash, and maybe sexy, too, Jake slipped off his suit and felt what it was like to be naked outdoors. He also could dry himself more easily and thoroughly without the suit in the way. He put the robe back on before going inside.
= = =
Mr. Scott had in fact been in the kitchen, constructing a meatloaf. Asparagus and potato salad and some cut-up fruit would be good accompaniments, he thought. He’d gotten out the potato peeler when he had a thought, a thought about how he’d stressed good communication between him and Jake. Here he’d been about to make a dinner he himself was very fond of—comfort food was what he considered it—but wouldn’t it show Jake something if he took the trouble of asking the boy’s opinion? What if Jake detested asparagus? Some teenagers did, he knew. Or onions? He loved onions in potato salad and always used them in his meatloaf, but maybe Jake didn’t; he knew kids who hated onions. No, the obvious thing to do to get this relationship off to a flying start would be to bounce dinner plans off Jake.
Having decided that, he walked through the nook off the kitchen that held the washer and dryer and a small half bathroom and into the short hallway that led to the back door and the patio. He was about to open the outside door when he caught sight of Jake through the window. He was standing nude on the patio, drying himself. Mr. Scott took a deep breath. He hadn’t watched him swimming and had actually turned back to his newspaper as soon as Jake was pulling off his robe. He’d thought that was the polite thing to do, but doing it meant he hadn’t seen Jake in just his bathing suit. Now he could see him in his birthday suit and was surprised. Maybe even shocked. He’d expected Jake to look like he did when clothed: very slim, still waiting to fill out, in the early stages of physically maturing. What he saw was a much more muscular physique than expected: defined biceps, a strong neck tapering into a well-developed chest, and a narrow waist supported by strong, sturdy legs. Not at all what Mr. Scott had thought he’d look like. Physically, Jake was a very impressive mid-teen.
He waited till Jake had put his robe back on, then moved back into the kitchen so that would be where Jake would find him. He’d ask him then about his food likes and dislikes with special reference to that night’s dinner.
Jake was very appreciative of the dinner Mr. Scott had made for them. He thought the highlight was the potato salad with plenty of minced veggies, especially onions.
= = =
After the meal, Jake helped Mr. Scott clean up. He hadn’t been asked, but he remembered Mr. Scott talking about them being housemates, and this seemed to be a good time to start sharing the duties. He was feeling more and more comfortable with Mr. Scott. He hadn’t known what to expect, and his default position was always caution and reticence, but so far, he felt nothing but sanguine about Mr. Scott. It had been a bit disconcerting to learn he was gay and that they’d be living together alone in this house. But there’d been no vibe at all of the man having any sexual interest in him. Living the way he had for the past year, Jake was attuned to men having that vibe toward him. He knew what that felt like, and he didn’t sense it here.
Mr. Scott was washing the dinner dishes, and Jake grabbed a dishtowel and began drying and stacking; he’d have Mr. Scott show him where everything went when they were done. While drying, he asked why no dishwasher. Mr. Scott explained. “I live alone, I don’t use many dishes, and it takes me nearly a week to have enough dirty stuff to run a load, and by then the dishes are pretty encrusted.
“Besides,” he said, “washing them by hand is rather relaxing. It’s the kind of work where you can think of other things while getting something done that needs doing. With you here helping, it’ll give us a chance to talk while our hands are occupied, and a sense of togetherness accomplishing a task.”
Jake knew what he meant. It felt very cozy, working with Mr. Scott. There was an atmosphere of gentle hominess that Jake couldn’t ever remember feeling before.
As they worked, Mr. Scott started chatting about his job at the school and about some of the kids Jake would be meeting. But then he quickly changed the subject. His tone of voice became more serious. “Jake, Jeremy’s coming over on Sunday. He likes to come here, and I like his being here. But after considering it, I thought it might be better if you knew what to expect first. So, I’d like to tell you about him. I could see by your body language when you met him that he didn’t make a very good first impression. Before your judgment of him is set in concrete, maybe it would be good if you knew a little more about him.”
Mr. Scott took a deep breath and scrubbed the meatloaf pan a little harder than he needed to. When he realized what he was doing, he stopped. “Let’s sit down,” he said and dried his hands before moving to the table.
He leaned forward with his forearms on the table and looked into Jake’s eyes before beginning. “Jake, I’m very fond of Jeremy. He’s had a rough time, and while he’s maintained his spirit, it has to have affected him. I was going to let him fill you in on all this, but I think it’s better if you know in advance. What I’m going to tell you about him, well, you’ll think I’m revealing confidences, but I’m not. Jeremy is one of the most open kids you’ll ever meet. He faces life head-on, rolls with the punches, and forges ahead. What I’m telling you is common knowledge, at least with anyone who’s taken the time to get to know him. He won’t mind that I’m speaking to you about him; he might even be proud that he was important enough to be spoken about.
“Jeremy’s only been here a short time. He showed up at our school at the beginning of second semester this year. That means he’s only been here what, seven months? He was thrown out of his house and ended up here, a couple of states away from where he’d lived with his parents. He’s now staying with his aunt. She’s old and living on an inadequate pension, but she took him in when he had nowhere else to go. She’s a very nice lady and tries hard, but the money’s short and she’s old and not really equipped to care for a teenage boy. But for Jeremy, it was either here or the foster system back where he’d been living; she stepped up to the plate, and it is what it is.”
Jake could see the emotions in Mr. Scott’s face and hear them in his voice. The man really did care about Jeremy, he thought. And perhaps he felt that way about any kid whose circumstances weren’t the best. Maybe that had something to do with why he was living here himself.
“Jeremy doesn’t keep secrets,” Mr. Scott continued. “That may be because of his medical problem. He’s ADHD. Do you know what that is?”
Jake shook his head. “I’ve heard of it but no, not really. Something to do with acting like he’s high all the time?”
“Sort of.” Mr. Scott smiled. “The letters stand for Attention Deficit and Hyperactivity Disorder. He has problems concentrating and keeping still. He’s restless and fidgety and has trouble sitting and listening to a lesson, even paying attention to the teacher. As you must know, teachers resent that. They don’t like their lessons being interrupted; they like their audience enthralled by their eloquence, not distracted by someone moving around even if it’s in his chair. Jeremy’s incapable of sitting still.”
Mr. Scott took a deep breath and let it out. “He’s not your normal teenager. You heard him talking to us in the cafe. That’s who he is, how he is. Sometimes worse, sometimes better. But he talks a lot, talks whenever he can, can’t really help himself, and maybe that’s why he often disrupts a class. Being so voluble might have something to do with it not occurring to him to keep some things private. If he thinks of something, he talks about it. I’ve heard some of the kids say he has verbal diarrhea. A lot of the kids at school aren’t real nice to him. He’s a little different, and kids mistrust different. There are lots of disparaging remarks thrown in his direction. Probably some physical stuff, too, but he hasn’t said anything. As I say, he rolls with the punches.”
“There must be some medication he can take to help him,” Jake said, frowning.
“Sure, but he hates it. Says it makes him feel nervous, more nervous than he already is as he’s new here and not making any friends. Sometimes it makes him dizzy, and he has trouble sleeping. I’ve spoken to his doctor here. He said these side effects are common with Ritalin, the drug Jeremy’s taking, and he’s going to try him on a different med. He says there are several, and that he’s not in love with Ritalin, but he needs to go slowly because all the drugs recommended for this condition can have possibly harmful side effects.”
“Jake, I’m on Jeremy’s side, and maybe I’m the only adult in the school who really cares about him. He’s a disruption in most classrooms, and when teachers show they have problems with a student, quite often the other kids will pick up on that and treat the outcast accordingly. I do what I can for him. I see him every morning before school just to talk. I also see that he takes his meds. They start to wear off in the afternoon. How you saw him today is about half of how he gets if he’s not medicated at all.”
“Is that why he got kicked out at home, because of the ADHD?”
Mr. Scott shook his head. “No. He told his parents he thought he was gay because he got excited by boys at school and not girls. They were a bit older than most of the parents in his age group, and from what I’ve been able to determine, somewhat stuffy and very aware of their status and standing where they lived. That seemed more important to them than their own child, who was an embarrassment. They were unprepared to deal with a kid like Jeremy, and there’d been friction in the family for some time because of how he acted. Learning he was gay was the back-breaking straw. So they threw him away. He ended up here.”
Mr. Scott got himself a glass of water and looked quizzically at Jake, who shook his head no. Back at the table, Mr. Scott continued. “He and his aunt have very little money to live on. I pay him to do yard work here, more work than really necessary, but he needs an outlet for his energy and to be around someone who can be positive to and supportive of him. Also, a boy that age needs his own money, too, and earning some is good for his feeling of self-worth, which he needs.
“I guess he mows a couple other lawns in town. He enjoys the work, says the routine of it calms him down. Jake, he’s a really nice boy with a cheerful disposition even if it comes across as an over-eagerness. He helps out when he sees someone can use assistance. He doesn’t ask for anything. He’s just a sweet kid. But he doesn’t have any friends because of his medical condition and maybe because he announced straight away that he was gay. So you bring in a new kid in the middle of the school year, he acts a bit unusual, and he’s gay. You can just imagine how lonely he is.”
Mr. Scott sat back in his chair. Jake remained silent. Mr. Scott shook his head slightly. “I’m not asking you to get all chummy with him, become pals—what do the girls call it, BFF?—but just being nice and trying to be patient with him would be a great help for him. And it’s not like you have a ton of friends yourself.”
Jake’s expression never changed, but after a moment Mr. Scott laughed. “That was a joke, Jake. I guess not a very funny one.” Then he waited for Jake to speak, which he finally did.
“All right, I’ll tour the town with him Sunday. We’ll just have to see how that goes.” He paused a moment then said, “Look, as I said, I’m a loner, as opposed to being alone. He’s alone and probably doesn’t like it. Me, I don’t mind it. But, up till not that long ago, before I was a teenager, I was like every other kid you know: lots of acquaintances and a few close friends, socially with-it. I was happy back then. Now everything’s changed. But I’m not against giving Jeremy a try.”
Mr. Scott stood up. “That’s great, Jake. I just hope it comes to something. If nothing else, you’ll know why I’ll be unhappy should you join the crowd that gives him shit.”
Jake opened his eyes wider, then sat back in his chair. “I guess I shouldn’t be surprised you might think that’s a possibility. You don’t know me at all. When you do, you’ll realize how unlikely that is. I hate bullies. I dealt with some myself when I was younger. I saw things when on the streets that turned my stomach. No, you don’t have to worry about that.”
Mr. Scott sat up straighter, too. “You were on the streets? I mean, living on them?”
Jake’s face shut down. He sat still for a moment, then said, “I’m kind of beat. It’s one in the morning for me. I’m going to bed. Thanks for dinner. It was great. Good night.”
Then he got up, shoved his chair back to the table, and left the room.