from Cody’s frequent trips down that hall. She leaned back against the wall, waiting to see where the conversation would lead.
“Well, did you?” Dylan said.
Long Dark Hair snorted. “No. Who gets suspended on purpose?”
Dylan chuckled. “Some of us have done that. So I can sympathize.”
“What do you know about our lives, man?” Cobain Fan scoffed. “What’d you do, skip a class? Blow off an essay?”
“I was a lot like you guys. One of those angry kids who thought he knew better than any adult. Now I—”
“Let me guess,” Cody said. He had pushed the hoodie off his head. He had the same mop of dark brown hair as his little brother and his father, except he wore his long on the top and shaved on the sides. “You grew up, got a good job, bought a sweet house in the suburbs where you mow the lawn on Saturdays and crap like that. Matt’s right. You don’t know anything about how tough our lives are.”
“I’m not claiming to be an expert, even if you all think I’m too old to understand,” Dylan said. “Just someone who has made my fair share of mistakes.”
“Doesn’t mean you know anything about us,” Matt—previously known as Cobain Fan—said.
“True. But it doesn’t hurt to talk about your lives, does it? Maybe I can learn a thing or two from you guys, too.” Dylan shrugged. “So let’s talk.”
Cody cursed. “Talking doesn’t change jack. Waste of time.”
“Hey, I get it that you all don’t really want to sit here and go on and on about your lives. I’m not exactly Mr. Conversation myself. But I don’t think sitting around here—” Dylan waved at the motley set of battered sofas “—pissed at the world is going to change anything. And I’m betting every one of you has something he wants to change about his life. So let’s talk.”
Abby couldn’t have been more surprised if Dylan had stood up and started singing “The Star-Spangled Banner.” She never would have imagined—given his appearance—that he would be so smart and intuitive with how he handled these kids. There was color in Cody’s cheeks, interest in his eyes—
Two things Abby hadn’t seen in a long, long time. Abby clutched the paper cup so hard it crumpled, praying her son would open up, stop shutting himself off from the world.
“Whatever, dude,” Cody said finally, then got to his feet, flipping the hoodie back over his head as he rose. “I’m not here to have a Dr. Phil moment with some guy I don’t even know. I’m just trying to survive.”
Then he headed out the door, snagging a basketball from the bin as he went. The door shut behind him with a solid thunk.
Abby looked at Dylan. She could see the same disappointment in his face that she felt herself. For one brief second, Abby had felt like she had an ally.
And that was a dangerous thing to depend on, Abby reminded herself. She knew full well how a man could let her—and more, her sons—down. So she went back into the office and went back to work, doing the only thing she knew how to do, to—
Survive.
Dylan straightened the sofas, replaced the cushions and pillows and picked up the empty soda cans from the scarred coffee table. The rest of the teenagers had headed outside after Cody, a sort of group mutiny. Dylan could hear the ping-ping of a basketball hitting the pavement.
Well, that hadn’t gone too well. He’d hoped maybe he could connect with the teenagers, have an open discussion, maybe warn them off from making the same mistakes as he had. But so far, his batting average at being a teen group leader was pretty close to zero. For the hundredth time, he wondered why Uncle Ty had thought he could be good at this.
The little kids had finished their craft project, and were sitting in a circle on the carpet while Mavis read them a story about a lost kangaroo. Maybe that was the age when Dylan should be telling them to stay in school. When they still thought books and stories held magic, and when they weren’t scarred by the world.
Uncle Ty came over and picked up a cushion that had fallen on the floor. “That went pretty well. I liked how you handled them.”
Dylan turned to his uncle. “Really? They all walked out on me.”
Ty waved that off. “It happens. The last thing teenagers want you to know is that they’re listening to you and agreeing with you. The first time I led a teen group, it lasted maybe ten minutes before the whole lot of them walked out the door. I didn’t have the basketball court or the game stations then, so they all went home. Your group lasted a lot longer than that.”
“Maybe. But they still left.” Dylan sighed.
“No, they’re still here.” Ty pointed to the boys outside the window, shooting layups and teasing each other between shots. “Getting teenagers to listen is like turning a cruise ship. You don’t yank the wheel hard to the right. You nudge it, a little at a time, so the passengers don’t even feel the turn.”
Dylan chuckled. “Covert counseling?”
“Exactly.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.” Talking to the teenagers had been like talking to his former self, if he could have done that fifteen or sixteen years ago and with better results. Of course, Dylan hadn’t listened to anyone back then, not even his uncle. Dylan had been so angry at the world, so ready to leave Stone Gap. Maybe if he’d listened years ago, his path wouldn’t have been so rocky, and he wouldn’t be thirty-two and still trying to figure out what he wanted to be when he grew up.
“Don’t worry so much. You’re doing great.” Ty looked around the room and let out a long breath. “There’s so much to do here. I put everything on hold when Virginia got sick because I kept thinking she’d get better and I’d have time, but...” Ty shook his head. “I need to repaint. Replace that carpet. Repair a few of the chairs and sofas, fix the kitchen cabinets, replace a chunk of countertop that rotted when we had a water pipe burst. One of the toilets is leaking and there’s a hole in the roof, two broken windows, a big hole in the hallway wall and another over there. That’s just the big stuff, not to mention all the little things that need to be done around this place. I don’t even know where to start.”
He could hear the stress in Ty’s voice. The center was, indeed, in need of a major overhaul. Major overhauls—of buildings at least—were something Dylan could do. He draped an arm over his uncle’s shoulders. “It’s like steering a cruise ship, Uncle Ty. One thing at a time. Show me where the tools are and I’ll start on the repairs today.”
Gratitude eased the worry in Ty’s face. His uncle looked tired, worn down by the last few weeks. “I’ll get my toolbox. I have a list as long as my arm of things I need to buy at the hardware store—”
“Give it to me. Go home tonight, let me lock up. The center’s only open for another hour, and I’m sure I can handle things for that long. I’ll run over to Ernie’s hardware store in the morning and start the repair work tomorrow.” It was the least he could do for his uncle during his time here. And, it would keep Dylan busy, which would also keep him from running into his brother. Or think about what he was going to do next, after he was done in Stone Gap. He had a job offer from his boss to manage a construction project in Maine. It was a multiyear commitment starting in the spring, for a slew of new housing. His boss had taken Dylan under his wing a couple years ago, even paid for Dylan to take the contractor’s exam, to make him official. Jay was a good man, who had a similar history to Dylan’s, and they’d hit it off from the start. It was the longest Dylan had ever stayed with one job, and most of that was due to Jay’s support.
Dylan had put off the decision, telling Jay he needed to go to Stone Gap first. Be there for Uncle Ty and then...
Dylan