Rough Canvas (Nature of Desire 6)

She pursed her lips, looked down at their joined hands. "I know that, Thomas. I know you love God. You've always had a very loving heart. " He nodded. "I try. I'm worried about what I'm about to say to you, but I really need you to hear it. I consider Marcus my family, the way I consider you, Les and Rory my family. The way Les' boyfriend will become our family if they get married. Marcus has no family, nothing but me. I want to give him all of mine, because I can't imagine a better family for him to be a part of. If I can only give him myself, so be it. But he doesn't just need me, Mom. I think he needs all of us. " He took a deep breath. "If you can't accept that, then I'll integrate you both into my life, but I won't turn my back on Marcus anymore. You understand?" She did free her hand as he expected, but to cup the rosary in her hands, stroke the base of the wooden cross with her fingers. Thomas had made it for her in shop in seventh grade, learning how to make the round beads, sanding and smoothing the small cross piece, carving it out of one piece of wood. He'd chosen a pretty piece of oak for it.

"I need you to say something, Mom. " Closing his hand into a tense fist at his side, where she couldn't see it, he tried to keep his tone mild. "Or, if you don't want to, I can walk you on home. "

"You were always so articulate, so well spoken. Quiet, but when you spoke, you had your thoughts in such good order it was like poetry at times. Whereas Rory still trips over his tongue around girls or even my friends. " She smiled, though there was a wistful sadness to it that made him want to put his arm around her. "He was right," she murmured. "I did always know. It wasn't even in those things, because Martha Wingfield's child is. . . like you, and he's as rough as a fence post. But it was a clue for me, I guess. "

"Mom, what. . . who's 'he'?"

"Your friend Marcus told me something once," she said abruptly. "That time he came down here to talk you into going to the Berkshires. " At Thomas' expression, she shook her head. "He didn't tell you about it. Neither did I. I guess the both of us said more than we should. I didn't pay attention to it, but sometimes. . . " She glanced back up the steps at the face of her church, her eyes lingering on the stonework on the front. "There are those who hate Catholics. For no reason other than we're different. It's that way for a lot of people, I know. But I've been thinking that it's not the differences that frighten people. That's not the root of it. It's that we can be different and yet be so much the same.

"It didn't sink in then, what he said to me that day. And I don't think what I said sank in, either. But the odd thing is I think it did later for both of us, on almost the same day. That day he

got the call about his father. Like so many things that God tries to tell us, we have to do it the way we think is best before we try doing it His Way. And sometimes he sends us reminders if we stray too far. That's how much He loves us. "

"Mom. " Thomas put a hand over hers again and found it colder, so he caught both of them and sandwiched them in his, warming them along with the rosary beads that dangled off the side of his palm. "You're confusing me. " She smiled. "So much of what goes on in your head when you paint, that's a universe beyond my understanding. But when it's like this, the day to day, you've always been a person who likes plain speaking. That day, when he was so angry about what I did to your painting. . . " She took a deep breath. "The look on his face. There was nothing more important to him than protecting you, protecting your happiness.

"Sometimes, when you're desperately, foolishly in love with someone, you find out what they keep in the shadows of their soul has nothing to do with you or how they feel about you. Sometimes they're afraid if they let that out, let go of what they've been trying too hard to handle a certain way for so long, things will change. They don't realize that's what love is about. Being willing to open up and change the way they do things, do it together. Be different, in the new way. "

"Marcus isn't desperate or foolish. "

"Oh, Thomas. When it comes to you, he's quite both. " She freed a hand and ran it down the side of his face, stroked through his hair. "This is getting curly again. You should visit the barber. Rory's is getting long too. Maybe you could go together. " She sighed.

"I didn't want to see it, because it confused me. How could I see the same things I felt for your father, and he for me, in the way the two of you are together? Not the kissing and touching, or the things you say. It's deeper than that. The way you look at each other, even in the most casual moments. The way the air around you just seems right when your loved one's in the room, in the house. " Her eyes were distant, soft. Sad. "The way you finish each other's sentences, think of thoughts the other one has a moment earlier. The way you laugh and smile easily with each other, at jokes that if other people said them, it wouldn't be the same. And still, none of that comes close to describing it, you know? It's this feeling so much a part of you that you don't have to feel it. "

Thomas nodded, struck speechless, held still by that gentle, maternal touch on his hair.

"I thought. . . it was easy when I thought it was sinful, something to do with the flesh. But what I'm seeing is more than that. It's love, and love isn't a sin. So how can God be so cruel as to give that feeling to two men or two women if it's a sin? I've always believed God to be compassionate. Loving. " A tremulous smile touched her face. "This is very hard for me, Thomas. Can you help me understand?"

It was the first time he'd been invited to talk to her like this. Thomas wasn't certain how much would be too much, but grasping the resolve that brought him here, he knew he wouldn't take the risk of it being too little.

"You're right, it's not just about. . . " She colored some, looked away and Thomas had to bite back a grin despite himself. He squeezed her arm, drawing her attention back to him.

"I mean, he's hard not to think about that way because he's overwhelming. And I guess at first I thought I was just like anybody else. Hormones, etcetera. But I think about other things, want other things with him as well. Like being with him every day.

Figuring out dinner, what to watch on TV. He has this thing when he's on the phone, I can tell if he's pleased or getting pissed just by the way he twists a pen in his fingers. To hold onto his temper, or to focus, he doodles, does weird Celtic stuff like a tattoo artist on paper.

"When he took me to the Hill farm, Mom. . . it was there. Like he'd stepped into my mind and figured out what I wanted the most, even before I knew it. It's like he's the one who holds the book of my life, and I'm waiting with all this breathless excitement to see him turn the page. I can see us being there, close to you, going back and forth to New York when we're needed, but renovating it, building a home there. "

"You didn't fall in love with New York?"

"I fell in love with Marcus," he said simply. The first time he'd ever said it so easily to his mother. The first time he ever thought he could say it. "New York was home because he was there, the way this is home because you, Rory and Les are here. If that's where he wants to be, and as long as I know you're okay, I'll be happy there. But there's something about here, North Carolina. . . there's a peace, a steady constancy to it. "

"Out of all my children, you've gone the furthest away in distance, as well as in your hopes and dreams. " Elaine nodded, her eyes as steady and thoughtful. "But your heart, the core of you, has always been about home, family. And I think that's where the puzzle falls into place for me. "

He raised a brow. "How so?"

"We may not always act like it as we should, or deserve it, but there's something instinctual that makes us want to love our family unconditionally. That's why we're called a family. And you said that Marcus doesn't have that. He would have found it in various places, with friends, but that's not the same. It was you who called to him. He knew you epitomized everything that family is about. Loyalty, sacrifice, no matter the personal cost. "

She laid her hand on his stomach then. He shifted, but she made a noise, holding him still. "Love and joy. Laughter. He couldn't have made a better choice. And because he was smart enough to seek it in you, he may be a finer man than I gave him credit for being. "

"Mom. " Thomas' throat was tight as she curled her fingers into the front of his sweatshirt.

"And you may not listen to Marcus, but you'll listen to your mother. You're having an appointment with Dr. Lassiter next week or I'm making it for you. You're going to get a complete physical. If he says you've got something like an ulcer going on, you're going to do whatever he says to make it better, even if that means you cut back on your hours at the store. "

"But we've got the planting rush about to - "

"My eldest son happens to be a very important artist who makes boatloads of money. We'll be hiring some help. And Rory. . . what you did before you left, it was good for him. You're right. We were wrong to treat him as if he were helpless, as if he deserved our pity. He's still a man, and he deserves to be treated like one. He'll be the general manager of the store. Your father left me in charge of operations until I say otherwise, and I'm demoting you. You're holiday help and part-time grunt only. " He looked away, this time at the church. "Mom, are you okay with. . . this?" She turned to look as well. As she did, she leaned back against him, putting a hand up along the side of his face. It encouraged him to put his arms around her, squeeze her tight, until she made an "oof" noise that made him grin, even as tears stung the back of his eyes.

"I don't know, Thomas," she said at last. "I know what the Bible says. I know what I've been raised to believe. But I've always turned to the church in comfort during the hardest times of my life because I believe He's about Love at the root of everything.