The Haunted

so as not to disturb his father, waiting patiently until he was noticed.

Julian popped in a disk and saved what little work he’d done this afternoon, swiveling around to face his son. “Hey, James.”

“I’m sorry to bother you. …”

“Knock off that craziness. Just be normal.”

James smiled, moving next to him. “Okay. Sorry.”

Julian took out the disk and switched off his computer, standing up.

“Dad?”

“Yeah?”

James looked at him with utter seriousness. “Is it okay if I don’t like sports?”

That had come out of nowhere. But it was obvious from the expression on his face that it was something that greatly concerned the boy, and Julian, touched, put an arm around his son’s shoulder. “Of course,” he said. “What would make you ask something like that?”

“Megan said you think I’m a wuss and you’re ashamed of me. She said it’s because I don’t like to play sports.”

Julian suppressed a smile. “Don’t listen to your sister,” he told James. “You know she just says things like that to annoy you.” He turned the boy to face him, putting one hand on each shoulder and looking him straight in the eye. “You are who you are. And whatever you like or don’t like is fine with me. Everyone’s different. As my grandma used to tell me, ‘It takes all kinds to make a world.’”

James looked relieved.

Julian smiled kindly. “You’re my son. I love you no matter what.” His smile broadened. “Besides, if I didn’t know by now that you hate PE and like playing video games, I’d be a real moron.”

James grinned. “Well …”

He gave his son a hug, grateful once again that the boy still allowed him to do so.

“We’d better go downstairs,” Julian said. “Your grandma and grandpa will be here pretty soon.”

“Can I just stay with them tonight? I don’t want to play with Mike and Terry.”

Julian understood and sympathized. Like their father, James’s cousins were wild and obnoxious. But as he explained to his son, he was closer in age to them than Megan, and a boy, and since they were coming over to his house, it was his job to be a good host and entertain them. “Tell you what, though,” he said. “You don’t have to stay in your room with them. I’ll let you guys hang out in the living room and watch TV. Put on anything you want. Cartoons. That should keep them occupied.”

“And Grandma and Grandpa can stay with us!”

“If they want to.”

That seemed to satisfy him, and the two of them headed downstairs together.

Their guests began arriving soon after: Claire’s parents first, then her sister’s family ten minutes later. As always, they ended up separating into groups, women in the kitchen, men in the living room, and Julian saw James shoot him a look of anger and betrayal as Claire herded the kids upstairs. He vowed to make it up to his son after dinner and rescue him, allowing James to hang out with the adults and letting the bratty cousins fend for themselves.

Claire’s dad criticized the furniture arrangement, then complained about the comfort level of the chair he settled into, and Julian turned on the television, switching to an Albuquerque newscast, hoping the weather or sports or whatever was on would lead to a more general discussion. He would much rather have been in the kitchen with the women—their conversation was sure to be more interesting—but he was stuck here and knew he had to make the best of it.

On the television, a reporter was standing in front of a pueblo, talking to a Zuni spokesman about recent vandalism at one of the tribe’s sacred sites.

“Don’t even get me started on those Indians,” Rob said.

This was not a subject Julian wanted to pursue, but Claire’s dad took the bait. “What happened?”

“This college boy who’s working for us found some pieces of pottery with his backhoe, so he went and told someone, and now the entire site’s shut down for two weeks until they can dig up all that Indian crap. Meanwhile, we got a whole crew’s not getting paid.”

“Yeah,” Julian said. “Those college boys are nothing but trouble. People should never try to get a higher education. It only leads to problems.”

Rob’s face turned red, though from anger or embarrassment, Julian couldn’t tell. Claire shot him a warning glance from the kitchen doorway, and Julian knew he’d better keep his opinions to himself for the remainder of the evening.

Which he did, as hard as it was.

After dinner, Megan immediately went back upstairs to hide in her room. Diane told her two boys they could go play, but before James could finish pushing out his chair and dejectedly follow them, Julian told his son that he could stay if he wanted or watch something in the living room. James shot him a grateful look that made it almost worth putting up with everything else.

Almost.

Luckily, everyone left early, with mutual assurances that they’d had a wonderful time, and after putting the kids to bed, Julian helped Claire with the dishes and both of them retired to the living room. “Long day,” Julian said, settling onto the couch and flipping through channels on the television. He stopped on a rerun of the original Star Trek.

“Thank you,” Claire told him, sitting down to his left.

“For what?”

“Putting up with them.” She patted her lap, motioning for him to lie down and use it for a pillow. It was something they used to do a lot but had done less and less frequently over the years. When they were first married, they would watch movies this way, Blockbuster rentals, and sometimes, after a hard day at work, he would even fall asleep with her running her fingers gently through his hair, although, generally, it was a prelude to sex.

Laying his head on her lap now, he could smell her arousal, a heavy, musky odor that permeated the crotch of her jeans. The scent of her made him aroused, and he turned his head to the side, pressing his face into her and breathing deeply. Neither of them had to say a word after that. Julian sat up, then stood, and both of them walked down the hall to the bedroom, where they closed the door, locked it and got undressed.

He was already naked when Claire took off her panties, rubbing them gently in his face. He could feel their dampness.

“I bet your mama doesn’t know you do that,” he said.

“No one does.” She bent over the side of the bed, presenting herself to him, and he took her roughly from behind as she screamed her pleasure into the thick quilted comforter so the kids wouldn’t hear.

Seven

Robbie wasn’t talking.

The two of them were sitting on the field in the park, drinking Slurpees, while Robbie’s younger brother, Max, practiced baseball with his Little League team. Robbie’s dad was the team’s coach, and he was having the kids take turns batting. James had just asked his friend about the night he’d stayed over, about why he’d been so desperate to leave. He was hoping to hear that Robbie had felt the same thing he had, and the reason he hadn’t brought up the crying was that he didn’t want Robbie to get all defensive. He wanted an honest answer.

But Robbie wasn’t saying a word.

James changed the subject, talked about the latest episode of a Cartoon Network show they both watched, asked about the day camp where Robbie had spent the past week, complained about his annoying cousins who’d come over the other night, wondered about whose class they’d be in this year at school. But then he brought it back again: “How come you wanted to go home so bad?”