Promises to Keep, Nan Rossiter [feel good fiction books .txt] 📗

desk and thought about all the homework and drawings he’d done while sitting there, and then he reached over and clicked on the radio, and Kenny Chesney’s voice drifted out, singing “Back Where I Come From.” He pulled open the top drawer of the desk, lifted out an old drawing pad, and slowly leafed through it, smiling at all the animal portraits—they were still his favorite subject.

There was a quiet knock on the open door, and he looked up. “I brought you some fresh towels,” Libby said, putting them on his bed.

“Thanks,” he replied, smiling. “I can’t believe how many people came tonight—the line was all the way down the street. I think the whole county turned out.”

She nodded. “Your dad knew a lot of people and touched a lot of lives. Also, some folks have to work tomorrow, so they came tonight.” She turned and eyed Gus sprawled out across Cale’s bed, “I hope you’re comfy there, mister!” Gus opened one eye and thumped his tail, and she turned back to Gage. “Does it feel funny to be in your old room?”

“It does feel funny,” he admitted, loosening his tie. “It’s almost as if we never . . . I mean as if I . . .” And then he stopped because he didn’t know how to continue without making her think of Cale.

“I know,” she said, sitting on his bed. “I don’t think we meant to keep it the same, but I guess we just didn’t know what to do with all this good, solid furniture, and it’s not like we need the room for anything. I don’t come in here very often except . . .”

“To dust,” he teased, “because it’s not even dusty.” His eyes fell on the closet door, and she followed his gaze. “I don’t know if I even want to open that,” he said, laughing. “There’s probably old clothes of mine from high school in there.”

“There probably is,” she said, laughing. “I guess I better start going through some of these things and taking them to Goodwill.”

“I guess,” Gage mused, “except you’ve held on to it this long, and now you have ten growing grandkids . . . and two more on the way. They’ll grow into the clothes before you know it . . . and maybe they can use some of the furniture, too.”

“True,” she said, nodding. “The style of clothes is probably outdated, though, and the girls won’t be interested.”

“They’re all farm kids—they’ll be fine. Besides, jeans and T-shirts never go out of style.”

Libby nodded and then eyed her son. “I know I probably won’t get any grandkids from Chase,” she ventured, “but what about you? Are you still thinking of marrying Maeve? I thought you might bring her so we could meet her, although I know a funeral isn’t a very happy reason to bring a girl home . . .”

Gage nodded, but avoided his mom’s question by changing the subject. “You don’t know Chase won’t have kids,” he countered. “Lots of LGBTQ couples are wonderful parents—they adopt, use a sperm donor, or find a surrogate mom . . .”

Libby nodded. “I know, but I don’t think it’s an ideal situation. Don’t you think it’s a little confusing for a child to have two dads or two moms? Don’t you think other kids will make fun of him . . . or her?”

Gage smiled gently. “Not if the child is truly loved, Mom. There are a lot of heterosexual couples who shouldn’t be parents, but they are. Besides, I think Chase would make a great dad—he’s funny and caring and gentle. He’s also happy . . . and healthy. That’s all that matters. I’m sure it took a lot of courage for him to come out . . . especially to Dad.”

“That’s the understatement of the century!” she said, shaking her head. “Your father had a very hard time.”

“I heard.”

Libby smiled. “But he came around. He loved Chase . . . just like he loved you.”

Gage nodded, but didn’t say anything.

“You’re right about Chase, too . . . I’m glad he’s happy. I just worry about him . . . and Liam. The world can be so cruel—even in this day and age, and with all the traveling they do . . . I just don’t want them to run into any trouble.”

“Chase is very aware of which places are safe—that’s what his travel agency specializes in.”

Libby nodded. “Well, my dear, somehow, you’ve managed to change the subject. I was asking about you . . . and Maeve.”

Gage smiled sadly. “We broke up,” he said simply.

Libby frowned. “Oh, no! How come? I thought you were going to propose to her.”

“I was, but something happened.”

“You know you’re not going to get away with being evasive, so you may as well just tell me.”

Gage rolled his eyes. “I don’t know if you noticed, Mom, but I’m not sixteen anymore.”

“And I don’t know if you noticed, but I’m still your mom—who cares . . . and who has been through a lot lately . . . and who is still rolling with the punches, I might add.”

Gage nodded. “I’m sorry—you’re right.” He took a deep breath and slowly let it out. “Maeve has a son, and somehow, she never managed to tell me about him.”

Libby frowned. “I’m confused. How in the world, for two years, did she hide having a son?”

“He wasn’t part of her life. She had him when she was eighteen and gave him up for adoption.”

“Why didn’t she didn’t tell you?”

“She said she was ashamed of what happened and she didn’t know how I’d react.”

Libby nodded. “If you broke up, it doesn’t seem like you took it very well.”

Gage shook his head and frowned. “Mom, I’m not upset that she has a son, or how it happened. I’m upset that she didn’t tell me. I feel like she was keeping it from me. . . . And how do you build a trusting relationship on that?”

“Did he just show up without warning?”

Gage nodded.

“That must’ve been quite a surprise for her,” she mused, trying to imagine—as a mom—how she’d feel if a child she hadn’t seen since birth suddenly reappeared in her life eighteen years later. “It must’ve been amazing, too.”

“I wouldn’t know.”

“Gage, from what you’ve told me about Maeve, she sounds like a