Free Healing Sands by Stephen Arterburn, Nancy Rue Page A

the doorway to the studio and then back at me, eyes concerned. “Jake thought he heard somebody arguing.”
    â€œYou stay out of it.” I snapped myself past him.
    Jake was there, arms folded across his chest.
    â€œListen to me, son.”
    â€œNo,” he said. “I’m sick of listening to you. You have nothing to say that I want to hear, so just . . . just . . . shut up.”
    â€œExcuse me?”
    â€œJust leave me alone. That’s what you’re good at, isn’t it? Leaving?”
    For once I was too stunned to speak.
    â€œJake, dude, you might want to lighten up,” said the boy behind me.
    â€œIt’s okay, buddy.”
    The kid fell silent at the sound of Dan’s voice. I found mine.
    â€œDan,” I said through my teeth, “this is out of control.”
    â€œI think you’re the one who’s out of control,” Ginger said. “You come in here all—”
    â€œBag it. I’m going.” I turned and stabbed a finger toward Dan. “But we’re not done.”
    My heart slammed as I made my way through the ranks of the all-metal band, and so did the voice in my head. When did Jake go from monosyllabic grunts to a stream of obnoxia? How did that Ginger person insinuate herself into my boys’ lives? And when did I get kicked to the curb as the one to blame for it all? I was almost to my car and halfway to a stroke when an outside voice overtook me.
    â€œYou just stay away from him—are we clear?”
    I turned around in time to see Ginger snatch a piece of irrigation hose from the base of a soaptree.
    â€œWhat are you doing ?” I said.
    She brandished the hose at me. “I want you to stay away.”
    My anger teetered toward laughter. “I don’t know what you’re going to do with that—wait, let me get a garbage can lid so I can defend myself.”
    She looked at the hose as if she’d just realized it was there. She let her arm drop to her side. “I just can’t stand to see them all hurting like that. I get a little crazy.”
    â€œYa think? Does Dan know his girlfriend is a nutbar?”
    â€œThey’re so upset anyway, and then you come in here and stir everything up.”
    â€œIt needs to be stirred up,” I said. But I put up my hand. “I’m not going to discuss this with you, of all people.”
    â€œAll right, then, I’ll talk.” She took a step toward me, out of the shade, where despite her lowering her weapon, I could still see a trace of wildness in her eyes. “Don’t ever talk to my son again the way you just did back there.”
    My urge to guffaw disappeared, and a fire went up my backbone. “Jake is not your son.”
    â€œI’m talking about Ian.”
    â€œI don’t even know who Ian is.”
    â€œYou told him to stay out of it!”
    â€œOh—that Ian. He doesn’t have any part in this.”
    She took another step. “No, see, you are so wrong there. Ian is the only one who’s going to get Jake through this. He’s the only one Jake talks to—because he cares about him.”
    â€œWhat is he, seventeen?”
    â€œSixteen—and more mature than most grown men I know.”
    â€œI don’t care if he’s a child prodigy, lady—he’s not part of this family.”
    â€œAnd you are?”
    â€œOh, please.” I turned and clawed for the car door handle.
    â€œNo, see, you’re done here,” she said. “You’re never going to have a relationship with any of them, so why don’t you just let us handle Jake, the way we’ve been doing for the last—”
    â€œForget about it.” I yanked the door open. “I’ll be back.”
    â€œDidn’t you just hear a single thing I said?” With a heave she hurled the hose across the sculpture park, barely missing a metal monster strumming his ukulele.
    I slammed the door and fishtailed