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He shook his head. “Two years later, she died of cancer of the pancreas. I always thought the shock and loss of Caleb did it. It took her down in a different way.”
“Is that when Joseph ran away? To Charleston?” She saw his mouth turn into a slash.
“Yeah. My father needed us by his side, but Joseph ran away.”
“Was Joseph like you?”
“No, nothing like me. He was lazy. My father and he got into constant battles with one another. My mother was always defending Joe.”
“Sounds like a pretty stressful family situation.”
Mace looked up at her. “I guess it was, but you know? At the time, I never realized it. I do now. I know enough guys in Special Forces, and they all talk from time to time about their families. I realized later that our family had a lot of dysfunction going on.”
“A lot of emotions, too?” Sierra asked softly, watching him. Mace’s eyes grew darker, and she knew it was a sign of his feelings rising. He never gave voice to them. Not yet.
“Yeah. Caleb was sweet, like mom. I took after dad. Joe was a rebel. Always was. Still is…” Mace replied, his voice rich with bitterness.
She continued to paint, glancing up at him every now and then. “And, where is Joe now? Do you know?”
“Last I heard from Dad, he was in jail. The ATF did a drug dragnet in Charleston, where he’s at, and he got caught up in it, and arrested and charged.”
“Does Joe talk to you? Or your dad?” She saw Mace look angry for just a moment, and then it was gone.
“No. My dad found out about it because Joe wanted bail money and the bail bondsman called him to ask for it. My dad refused. I was glad he did.”
“Have you ever talked with Joseph since?”
“Never.”
The word was snapped out like a trap shutting. The hurt, the tears, the confusion was in Mace’s expression. Sierra was slowly beginning to see him trust her with other parts of himself. He didn’t try to hide from her as much. “You said your dad was sick?”
“Yeah, rheumatoid arthritis. He got it ten years ago. Had to sell the family farm and moved into Charleston.” Shrugging, Mace said in a low tone, “Ever since that happened, I’ve been sending half my monthly paycheck to pay for rent on a small apartment for him. I didn’t want him to become homeless.”
“The medical bills ate up the price he got for your farm?”
Mace shook his head, his voice hard. “Damned medical doctors took advantage of him. He’s a simple man, Sierra. You probably found that out when you talked to him.”
“Yes, but he was very respectful to me. He really appreciated me calling him and telling him how you were. I thought he was going to cry… I mean, it was obvious how much he loves you.”
“He’s a good man, Sierra. I love him with my life.”
Her heart felt so much sympathy for Mace. It was the first time he’d said something emotional about his father. Mace seemed to step around emotions as if they were landmines planted to kill him. “I know his son,” she offered gently, giving him a kind look. “He’s an incredible man, a hero, and a good person.” She saw ruddiness come to Mace’s cheeks as he avoided her gaze, pushing his brush around in the paint can. Reaching out to his forearm, she moved her fingers up and down his skin, feeling the ropy muscles beneath respond. She watched his mouth begin to relax. He calmed whenever she made contact with him. She’d seen it in Peru. And here, as well.
“You were fourteen when Caleb suddenly died. It must have left you spinning, Mace.”
Shrugging, he muttered, “I blamed myself. I was the oldest. I should have been watching him more closely. I was responsible for him.”
“But I thought when you got home from school, you had to go out into the field with your dad and plow?”
“I did,” Mace said. He shifted over on his butt to the next picket. “I wanted to do both things, but I couldn’t.”
Sierra finished up painting her side and moved over opposite him again, dipping her brush in the can. “Then how could you have been more responsible for Caleb than you were? He was in grade school. You were in junior high at the time. You weren’t at the same school, were you?”
“No, opposite sides of town.”
“Then how can you blame yourself?” she asked quietly, holding his pain-filled gaze.
Shaking his head, he muttered, “I was a kid then, Sierra. I just felt responsible. I felt bad. My father was crying. My mother was hysterical. Joe ran to the barn because he couldn’t take it. I felt it was my duty to stay and help.”
