Page 7 of Survivor
Chapter Four
Taylor
Summer 2008
Blinking his eyes open, Taylor reached for his cell on the bedside table to see what time it was: seven in the morning. Rolling onto his back, he entered his password and pulled up his email. “Fourteen messages, damn.” One from his baseball coach with the practice schedule that started the week after they returned home to Dallas, a confirmation from Amazon that the new glove he’d ordered had shipped, and the rest were birthday wishes from his friends back home. He took a couple of minutes to at least replythank youto everyone before pulling up Facebook and scrolling through his feed. There were dozens of birthday messages on his profile page. Knowing he didn’t have the time to respond to each of those messages, he pulled up a status thread and typed out a quick note to everyone that had wished him a happy birthday, inserted happy face and wrapped present emojis, posted it, then exited Facebook and climbed out of bed.
Walking across the room, he stopped to pull back the curtains and push the windows open. The bedroom he always stayed in when they were at the cottage at Martha’s Vineyard was in the back corner of the house and with the windows open, Taylor could hear the water lapping at the rocks on the beach, listen to the seagulls caw as they circled in the air. He’d been coming to the Moores’ home on the island for three years now, and he could honestly say that being able to escape reality and his past back in Dallas, if only for a little while, had helped him cope with the horror of that night three years ago.
It wasn’t all gorgeous sunrises and singing birds, not at all. The better part of the first year after his parents were killed was filled with pain that quickly became anger, rage over what had been taken from him. And he’d taken most of it out on his foster parents, Valerie and Charles Stone. A then-thirteen-year-old Taylor wanted nothing more than to be left alone. He acted out, lashed out at anyone that wasn’t Frank. Sitting at breakfast one morning with his foster parents, exhausted from a sleepless night and still pissed off at the world, four little words changed everything.
“You’re not my mom!” he shouted at Valerie, shoving the bowl of cereal away from him with such force that it shot across the table and landed on the floor in a heap of milk, Lucky Charms, and broken glass.
Valerie didn’t immediately respond to his outburst, didn’t even flinch. Instead, she covered his small hand with hers and offered him a genuine smile. “No sweetie, I’m not. Charlie and I could never replace your parents. We wouldn’t even want to, Taylor. All we can do is the best with the hand we’ve been dealt and try to be a family.”
It wasn’t her words so much as the emotion he saw staring back at him when he met her gaze. Valerie Stone had the kindest blue eyes he’d ever seen aside from Frank’s and until that morning, Taylor had not held her gaze long enough to see the love and devotion in them as she smiled at him. As if she could see the wall he’d built up around himself starting to crumble, she gave the bricks one last push. “Your mom and dad are looking down on you from heaven every day, Taylor, and I’m certain that they are so proud of you. All Charlie and I want to do is to keep you safe and help you grow into the wonderful, caring, smart young man that your parents would want you to be. Will you let us do that, Taylor?”
A women’s shrill shriek snapped Taylor out of his memory and he looked down to the beach, seeing Caleb carrying Justine over his shoulder, smacking her ass as he walked in a circle. Taylor laughed softly, shaking his head. At first glance the six-foot-two, brown-haired, green-eyed man that was built like a linebacker seemed formidable. And he was, when the uniform was on. But goddamn if Caleb didn’t know how to whine like a pissed off toddler when he didn’t get his way. He’d give you the shirt off his back though, and he was fiercely loyal to anyone he considered friend or family. His wife, Justine, was barely five foot four and might tip the scales at one twenty if she were wet and had rocks in her pockets. Her curly black hair, piercing blue eyes, and lily-white skin made the woman look like a china doll. But fragile, she was not.
Taylor couldn’t hold in his laughter when Caleb stopped and set Justine on her feet, she wobbled a bit, legs unsteady and head likely still spinning. She swung at her husband who sidestepped her hand easily. A soft, familiar chuckle caught Taylor’s attention and, bracing his hands on the window sill, he leaned forward and looked down to see Frank sitting on the short wall that lined the path down to the beach. He was drinking a cup of coffee and laughing at the antics of the couple dancing around in the sand.
Watching Caleb and Justine stirred memories of the parents he’d lost. The thoughts were blurry and tattered around the edges but forever engrained in his mind. His mother humming softly while she washed dishes after dinner, the kitchen window open to let the slight breeze in. His father coming up behind her, arms slinking around the waist of the woman he loved. The two of them laughing and dancing around the kitchen while Taylor looked on. He missed them both so much, especially around this time of year.
“No, stop it, Taylor. This is your birthday and everyone is downstairs waiting for you; snap out of it.” He gave himself a slight verbal spanking, reaching up and pulling the windows closed then turning and walking to the bathroom to shower. He let the sharp sting of the hot water calm his nerves and wash away the tears, then thanked God he’d gotten to a point where remembering that night no longer left him catatonic, or pissed him off to the point where he destroyed things. He didn’t even want to think about how much time and money the Stones had invested in doctors, counselors, therapists, drugs, and furniture over the past three years in an effort to find a way for Taylor to cope with what had happened to him and his parents. Life wasn’t perfect, not by any stretch of the imagination, but with the love and support of the six people waiting for him downstairs, he’d come to a place where he was happy and content, most of the time.
~ ~ ~
Taking the stairs two at a time, Taylor grabbed the banister and swung himself around, charging into the kitchen and almost running right over Charles. “Whoa there, Son, no running in the house; we’ve talked about this.”
“Sorry,” Taylor apologized, looking into his foster dad’s eyes, seeing a hint of playfulness in them. Charles Stone was average height and build with calm brown eyes and thick blond hair that was beginning to gray around his temple. Laugh lines formed from years of chuckling, smiling, and talking started at the corner of his nose, running below his mouth. Hand on Taylor’s shoulder, he winked and gently pushed his son toward the kitchen.
Valerie and Justine were dancing around each other at the stove, making breakfast. “Morning, birthday boy!” they said in unison. He went over and gave them each a hug before taking a seat in one of the chairs at the kitchen island, grabbing the pitcher of juice and a glass, filling it with the freshly squeezed OJ. The two women could easily pass as mother and daughter, both having black hair and blue eyes. His foster mom was a few inches taller than Justine and tanned easily whereas Caleb’s wife was either white or burnt; there was no in between. And she was a couple of decades older.
The back door opened and Frank came through, followed by his dad, Hubert, and Caleb; the three of them argued playfully about something, the banter back and forth both comical and amusing. Frank turned and smiled, coming over and pulling Taylor’s upper body in for a hug. “Happy Birthday, Kid.”
Taylor went from happy to see the man to thoroughly pissed in a matter of seconds. He pushed Frank away and scoffed. “I’m no kid, Frank, I’m sixteen and,” he stood, crossing his arms and cocking his head to one side, “I’m taller than you.”
“Don’t be an ass.” Caleb sidled up beside Frank, grabbing Taylor and wrapping one of his thick, muscled arms around Taylor’s neck, giving him a noogie. He struggled to get free, but Caleb had a tight hold on him.
“All right you three, cut it out.” Hubert pushed his way between Frank and Caleb, taking Taylor by the arm and extricating him from Caleb’s grasp. Frank’s father turned Taylor around and pointed him back to the tall stool he had been sitting on, taking the one beside him and waving the two Neanderthals behind them away with one flick of his hand. “I don’t know ’bout you, but I’m ready for some banana and chocolate chip pancakes.” Taylor grinned. Banana and chocolate chip pancakes and red velvet cake were staples for his birthday every year as they were his favorite. Sneaking a glance over his shoulder, he saw Frank setting the table for breakfast and wondered if the man wouldeversee him as anything more than just a kid.
