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      	  Dusty and His Dads 
 by The Moo  

 Disclaimer: Whatever is needed to keep The Moo out of jail.

 Author's Notes: TYK beta Jean Tryon

 Story Notes: This F/V like The Simpsons is m/f. Part of the story but not
the main focus.

 

 1 / 40

 "Who knew there were so many same-sex couples in Chicago? They're driving
me crazy!" Ray had to grouse even louder than usual to be heard over the
din in the Vecchio kitchen.

 "Calling the kettle black, are we, brother dear?" Francesca gave him a
gentle slap on the top of his bald pate on her way to the sink.

 Ray ignored her. "They're all coming out of the woodwork and landing on
my head. I've had to put an extra man full time on . . ."

 "Don't mix your metaphors, Ray," Maria put in without turning around from
the stove where she was stirring sauce. Ray ignored her too.

 ". . . full time just on checking them out. They're coming out of my
ears!"

 "I thought they were coming out of the woodwork. Where else are they
coming out of? The closet maybe?"

 "What do you mean 'checking them out', caro?" Ma Vecchio inquired from
the other side of the table where she sat icing a layer cake.

 Ma was not to be ignored. Any comment or question of the family's
matriarch had to be acknowledged.

 "They got a new policy at Children and Youth Services. They're letting
gay and lesbian couples adopt kids. So when the couples apply, my
department has to check them out."

 "Your people have been doing that anyway, so what's the big deal?" Maria
wanted to know.

 Four years before Ray had transferred out of active detective work to an
administrative post. "I'm talking volume here," he explained to his
sisters, mother, and the assorted nieces and nephews that were around,
"They're all applying at once."

 "Well, they should save the babies for the women, if you ask me," opined
Francesca.

 "None of them are getting babies. They're getting older kids with
problems. Kids the agency can't find other homes for."

 "Well, I'm not sure I agree with the principle, but I suppose it's better
for the children to have a non-traditional family than no family," said
Benton as he entered the kitchen and circled around the table to kiss Ma's
cheek before sitting down between her and Ray.

 The adult occupants of the kitchen turned to Benton in surprise.

 "Wouldn't you want a child of your own, Benito? This way you and Raymondo
could give me a grandchild."

 "Michael's given you three, Maria two and Frannie six. Ma, that's not
enough?" Ray spoke for the group.

 "It's not the number, it's the distribution," his mother told him. "I'd
like to be able to say each one of you gave me a grandchild. You and
Benito aren't going to do it the normal way."

 Ray considered this. "We're probably too old. All the files I've been
getting to check have been couples in their twenties and thirties."

 "Ray! You wouldn't seriously consider this?" said Maria.

 "No, he wouldn't," said Benton, under his breath but Ray caught it

 "Now wait a minute, Benny. Maybe we should think about this. Don't you
want to be a father?"

 "You said it yourself, Ray. We're probably too old."

 "Maybe. But maybe they've got a really screwed up kid that they can't
place anywhere else? We could get him."

 "That sure sounds like a good plan," Francesca snarked.

 "Don't be cynical, cara. Two policemen for parents - that might be good
for a kid who has problems. You two should talk about this," Ma said with
a finality that brought the conversation to a close.

 2 / 40

 Ray still owned the old family house, but ten years ago when he and
Benton had declared themselves a couple, they had decided that it would be
easier all around if the two men took their own sleeping quarters away
from the nieces and nephews of the extended family. Uncle Ray and Uncle
Benny never denied the nature of their relationship but both were
old-fashioned enough not to want to burden Ray's sisters' kids with the
details.

 Ray and Benton drove the route from the big Vecchio house to their own
apartment several times a week, so Benton wasn't staring fixedly out the
window the whole drive home because of the scenery. Benny's in full
clam-up mode, Ray observed. He won't even talk about it. Which was a
shame. As much as he loved Benton, there was always a small part of him
that missed the traditional family structure: father, mother, offspring.
He had loved Angie then as much as he loved Benton now and occasionally
wondered what would have happened if there had been children in their
marriage.

 Well, Ma said we should talk about it, so that's as good an excuse as
any, Ray decided and took the bull by the horns when they were about
halfway home.

 "So, you don't think it's a good idea?" He began, not bothering to even
pretend he didn't know what Benton was musing about.

 Benton kept his gazed fixed on the familiar blocks of Chicago as they
drove. "I'm not sure this is a project I could undertake successfully."

 Alarm bells went off in Ray's head. Benny's detached wording meant he was
truly troubled. "How do you mean?" he asked, cautiously.

 "Raising a child is an enormous responsibility. Especially a child who
already has a troubled history. Handled wrongly, things could . . ." 

 Ray had to interrupt. "Hey, we're talking a little kid here. Not some big
federal project."

 Benton finally turned his head. "You seem to have a mental picture of
some pink-cheeked waif, climbing into your lap for a bedtime story. If
we're given any child, and I doubt it given our age, he will be older and
already beset with problems. I'm afraid to make a mistake and make things
worse for him or her."

 This was an angle Ray hadn't been expecting. "Benny. Nobody's a perfect
parent. Your dad, didn't he make a few mistakes raising you?"

 Benton harrumphed, "More than a few."

 "And you turned out okay. My pop was a lousy father. And look at how
great I am today," Ray smiled at his partner, hoping to get him to lighten
up, but Benton turned back to the window, still pensive and serious.

 Ray wasn't ready to let up. "Any stranger in the greater Chicago has a
problem and you have to go interfere. You solve everything with a speech
and a leap off a building or something. You telling me you'd turn down a
chance to have a permanent influence on some kid who needs help. Benny,
this is the ultimate interference. I'd have thought you'd jump at the
chance."

 Benton continued staring out the window as he answered. "Those are
one-time occurrences with people who are, as you say, strangers. If I make
a mistake and things don't work out, they're no worse off than before.
Total responsibility for the welfare of a child, that's . . ." 

 "Yeah, that's what?"

 Benton thought a little about how he should end the sentence before
finally saying, " . . .daunting."

 He has to be perfect or he can't live, Ray reminded himself. Mister
Mountie is not allowed any mistakes or the sky falls on his head. Ray knew
better than to try to get his partner to see that parenting and perfection
never went together. You just muddle through as best you can. Ray had
known Benton for fourteen years now, including ten years of being his
lover. Benny wouldn't be Benny unless he believed everybody but himself
had the right to make mistakes.

 "Let's just think about it for a while, okay? Like Ma, said, we'd be a
good influence on some kid."

 "I'm not so sure," Benton said to the line of houses they passed.

 "You mean we'll contaminate him? Like being gay is contagious?" 

 Again Ray's attempt at levity fell flat. Benton's answer was deadly
serious. "No, I think that is probably genetic. I guess I don't know what
I mean. I just have a bad feeling about the whole idea."

 Ray tried some rudimentary reverse psychology, "Well, if you don't think
you can handle it . . ."

 "Exactly," was the Mountie's answer. 

 3 / 40

 Benton surprised Ray when, ten days later, he remarked over dinner, "I
guess there's no harm in filling out an application."

 Ray looked up from his beef stew. "You mean it? You're considering doing
it?" 

 "It's important to you to have a family. I'd be wrong to deny you what
you want so much."

 Ray went back to shoveling food into his mouth. "Everything's right or
wrong with you," he muttered around a mouthful of meat and potatoes. "We
have to do this because we both want it."

 "Diefenbaker would have enjoyed looking after a child," Benton said,
absently.

 "You, Benny, you. Do YOU want a kid or not?"

 Benton just looked at him blankly. 

 "Well?" Ray insisted.

 Benton took the time to carefully convey a forkful of stew to his lips,
spilling not one drop in the journey and then chewing the bite thoroughly
and thoughtfully before answering. "I just don't know. But you DO know, so
that tips the scales in favour of going ahead."

 Ray felt himself tugged in two directions at once. Benny was plainly
playing martyr and Ray hated to be manipulated by the Mountie's polished
passive-aggressive tactics. On the other hand if he called Benny's bluff,
maybe Benny would warm to the idea later. What could it hurt to start the
process? Ray imagined a third face at their supper table, gazing at him,
wide-eyed and admiring. We'd be such great parents, me and Benny. He'll
come around. I just know he'll come around.

 "I'll send Mrs. Cardinal an application tomorrow."

 4 / 40

 The life cycle of an application for adoption began and ended on the desk
of Mrs. Lorraine Cardinal, chief of the Placement Department in Child and
Youth Services. First a hopeful couple filled out an application. Mrs.
Cardinal then perused it and if her first evaluation of what she read was
positive, she would pass it to one of the social workers on her staff to
check the references. Then came an interview in the couple's home and a
written report by the social worker was discussed in a weekly staff
meeting. If this gauntlet was successfully run, the next step was a fax to
Captain Ray Vecchio's office at the Chicago Police Department, Community
Liaison Branch. (It was a running gag with Ray and Benton that the bond
between them was so intense that Ray had to become a liaison officer.)

 Captain Vecchio, in his turn, assigned one of his officers to check the
prospective parents out thoroughly. The officer's report came back to Ray
and Ray, if he found that all was in order, signed the report and ordered
it faxed back to the secretary at Mrs. Cardinal's office, who passed the
fax to Mrs. Cardinal.

 At this point, Mrs. Cardinal pronounced final life or death of the
application. No amount of positive documentation could over-ride her
decision if her nose, finely tuned by twenty-eight years on the front
lines followed by five more years directing and correcting field workers
from behind a desk, scented anything the least bit off.

 Her secretary had long ago decided that the squad of social workers under
her command was so much deadwood. Mrs. Cardinal could just as easily sniff
out the good applications and save taxpayers' money by eliminating the
middle-persons.

 Mrs. Cardinal crinkled her nose at the application on her desk, trying to
focus through her latest pair of glasses. Damn these glasses, no matter
what they do with the prescription, I can't read properly. She gave up and
shoved the offending spectacles onto the top of her head. The name she saw
at the top of the form intrigued her and she wanted to be able to give it
all the proper attention.

 Captain Raymond Vecchio and Constable Benton Fraser. Imagine. Usually she
could tell someone's sexual orientation no matter how much he or she
dissembled but Captain Vecchio - he had her fooled all these years. Well,
well, well. 

 And this Constable Fraser, she'd worked with him several times - an eager
volunteer in setting up this or that community project. Handsome fellow.
She'd seen him and Vecchio together and hadn't caught the tiniest scent of
their relationship. Remarkable. She chuckled to herself. This gives a
whole new meaning to 'a Mountie always gets his man'.

 Captain Vecchio's a fine man, she thought. Let's see what we can do for
him and his partner.

 She considered on: two police officers. Of course they'd be cautious for
the sake of their careers. And yet they're going to come out of the closet
for the sake of having a child. Warning bells went off in her mind.
They'll have no distance, no sense of proportion. They'll be investing
huge amounts of emotion into this project. Raising a problem child
required a sense of humour and the ability to occasionally detach. 

 Maybe I'm reading too much into this, she thought. I've been working with
Vecchio for years. I can't fault him on any score. Mrs. Cardinal bypassed
her army and called Captain Vecchio to set up a home visit. She herself
would do the visit and if there were anything amiss with this couple her
thirty-three years experience would detect it.

 5 / 40

 Mrs. Cardinal sat looking around the Vecchio/Fraser apartment, studying
her surroundings, all the while aware that Constable Fraser was studying
HER. Well, she was used to that. Prospective parents usually tried to
second-guess her and from what she knew of Constable Fraser, he was a keen
observer.

 Two walls of the living room in which they sat were devoted to family
pictures. The wall with the larger available space was jam-packed with
assortments of couples with children, several of an old woman surrounded
by representatives from the other pictures, Vecchios and
Vecchio-derivatives all shuffled like cards and arranged in a jumble of
mismatching frames.

 On another wall, on either side of a window were two lonely photographs,
both very small. One was of a middle-aged Mountie, a head-and-shoulders
shot, but not Constable Fraser. The other showed a man, woman and child
all in shadow. Mrs. Cardinal studied the dim family, trying to make out
their features.

 "That's the only picture I have of me and my parents," Constable Fraser
said, following her gaze. "The other one is my father, taken about five
years before he died."

 "So young-looking," observed Mrs. Cardinal, "What happened to him, if I
may ask?"

 She and Benton had been sitting in the living room alone, while Ray was
in the kitchen preparing tea. It was always of interest to Mrs. Cardinal
to see whether same-sex couples took traditional male/female roles between
them. It had been Vecchio that went to the kitchen to prepare and fetch
the tea, but he had also announced, on his way to the kitchen, that
Constable Fraser had baked the cake that would accompany the tea. He had
also said, jokingly, "I'll leave you two to get acquainted," as he had
left the living room. So all she could glean on this subject so far was
that both men were capable of some level of domesticity.

 Now Captain Vecchio was coming back into the living room, carrying a tray
with a tea service. The tray was of pine, the pot, cups and plates all of
simple white china. The furniture in the living room was utilitarian and
medium-priced. There was nothing in the household she had seen so far that
wasn't perfectly ordinarily.

 "It's an amazing story - takes exactly two hours to tell," Captain
Vecchio said as he came over to where the others sat, placed the tray on a
coffee table and sat down on the sofa beside Constable Fraser. Mrs.
Cardinal was in an armchair facing them. "Benny first came to Chicago on
the trail of his father's killer."

 "Your father was killed? I'm so sorry!"

 "And my mother, but when I was very young. I was six when she was
murdered," Constable Fraser was saying in a purely conversational tone
while leaning over the coffee table to pour the tea. "Dad was out on the
trail a lot when I was growing up. Mostly my grandparents raised me. They
subscribed to the birch-rod system of child rearing." Fraser looked up
from his pouring, "I'm assuming you want to hear about my family history.
Would you also like to know my medical background? Heart disease seems to
run in the family. Most of my uncles and a few of my aunts have suffered
heart attacks. But in the case of my father, he was murdered before the
age when . . ."

 "Benny." 

 Constable Fraser ignored warning word from Captain Vecchio. "But Ray,
Mrs. Cardinal is going to want to find out all she can about us in order
to make the proper determination," the Mountie said, blandly. 

 Captain Vecchio only frowned and shook his head.

 "This isn't an interrogation, Constable Fraser, I'm just here to get to
know you a little better." She tried to move the conversation into more
mundane territory. "You certainly have a lovely home."

 Ray jumped in. "Actually, we've got two lovely homes. I own the house
where my mother lives with my sister and her kids. We spend a lot of time
over there. Our kid's going to have a big Italian family. There's my
sister and her six kids, my other sister and her husband and kids, and my
brother's family."

 "Captain Vecchio's brother is in prison at the moment," Fraser said
conversationally and handed a teacup to Mrs. Cardinal. Captain Vecchio
glared at him. 

 Constable Fraser is trying to make a bad impression and he's not being
very subtle about it, thought Mrs. Cardinal. Is he not committed to
adoption or is there something else going on? Whatever game he is playing,
I don't think Captain Vecchio is in on it. I'm guessing he's surprised by
what his partner's doing.

 Her evaluation was soon confirmed when Ray said, "Come on into the
kitchen, Mrs. Cardinal. I want to show you something."

 Mrs. Cardinal rose and Constable Fraser stood when she did. Captain
Vecchio motioned him to sit back down.

 Once in the kitchen, Captain Vecchio whispered to her, "I don't know
what's got into him. He's not like this. Can't you come back another day,
when he's more like himself?"

 Mrs. Cardinal tried to reassure him with a motherly smile. She was old
enough and experienced enough to pull it off superbly. Captain Vecchio
immediately relaxed.

 "Constable Fraser is behaving more or less the way adoptive children do
when they go to a new family. They misbehave as much as they can, show
themselves in the worst possible light to test if the new family really
wants them."

 "So, you think Benny's just acting up because he's insecure?"

 "It's possible. Rest assured I'm not going to take his antics at face
value."

 She pitied Captain Vecchio. What she hadn't told him was that she did
sense a very real problem here. This couple wasn't ready for adoption. On
the other hand there were so many youngsters in the group homes who needed
placements and she knew just the boy she wanted to send to Captain
Vecchio's care. She needed to think.

 "It won't be necessary to come back. I've seen what I need to see," she
said aloud, "But I would like to have a cup of tea and that cake does look
yummy." She touched Captain Vecchio lightly on the arm and allowed him to
escort her back to the living room. 

 Constable Fraser was sitting drinking tea and staring expressionlessly at
the far wall while he sipped. Upon hearing the other two come back in, he
got to his feet and stayed there until Mrs. Cardinal was safely seated
again. The three talked about the weather and various municipal projects
they had worked on together. All the while Mrs. Cardinal's was silently
casting about in her mind for the best solution to this situation.

 After a decent, distancing interval of meaningless conversation, Captain
Vecchio drew a deep breath and said, "Okay, enough of this small talk. Are
we getting a kid?"

 The usual answer was to tell the prospective parents that they would be
notified in writing after the deliberations of the staff committee but
Mrs. Cardinal, having made up her mind at last, raised her eyes to meet
first those of her colleague and then the Mountie.

 "Captain, Constable, I'm not approving you for adoption."

 She waited for the shock to register. Captain Vecchio threw himself back
heavily against the sofa and turned to through a brief poisonous look at
his partner. Poor Captain Vecchio was no doubt thinking that she had
betrayed him after getting his hopes up in the kitchen. Her tactic would
be to offer better news after bad news. 

 "Please let me explain. You're both police officers. I've had experience
with placing troubled children with police officers. It seldom works. The
policemen, it's especially the men, they expect too much of themselves and
too much of the kids."

 The look of pain on Captain Vecchio's face would haunt her for days. Time
to put the rest of the plan into action.

 "I have an alternative to propose, if you'd like to hear it."

 Captain Vecchio, his hopes dashed, shrugged sadly. Constable Fraser was
carefully suppressing any reaction. 

 "I'm going to suggest a long term fostering arrangement instead of an
outright adoption," Mrs. Cardinal said. "We place a child with foster
parents with the intention that he will stay until the age of eighteen. In
practice there's usually very little difference between this arrangement
and legal adoption, except that if things are too difficult for the three
of you, well, you'd have an out."

 There was still no response from Constable Fraser but Mrs. Cardinal gave
up on expecting any. Captain Vecchio, however, looked ready to consider
her alternative.

 "You're disappointed," Mrs. Cardinal tried to be soothing, "But I really
think that given your professions and your ages, this is a better way to
approach it. And, remember, a child will have the benefit of your love and
care no matter which way we do this."

 "And that's the most important thing after all. The kid's welfare. Not
what I want." Captain Vecchio grimaced. "You know, Mrs. Cardinal, I almost
forgot that."

 "It's understandable." Now was the time to get a commitment from these
two and secure a good place for young Dusty. She still wasn't sure about
Constable Fraser but it was worth the gamble. "In fact, I have a boy in
mind for the two of you already. May I tell you about him?"

 Captain Vecchio shifted nervously, and then said, "Could me and Benny
talk this over?"

 "Of course. You don't need to make the decision tonight if you're not
ready." She felt a little guilty, manipulating him like this, since she
knew Captain Vecchio would jump at the chance to get a foster child to
make up for his disappointment over being turned down for adoption.

 "We'll just go in the kitchen for a minute." He jabbed his elbow into his
partner's side. "Benny." Without waiting for the Mountie, he got up and
went through the door to the kitchen. 

 Constable Fraser stood and offered a polite, "If you'll excuse us for a
moment," before following him.

 Mrs. Cardinal tried not to listen to the sounds of angry whispers from
Captain Vecchio and the calmer responses of his partner. At length the two
men returned.

 It encouraged her that it was Constable Fraser who spoke for the two of
them. 

 "Please tell us about the boy we're going to foster."

 The die being thus cast, tension eased in the room. She could see that
both men felt better now that definite action was going to be taken. There
were certain things that just seemed to ride on the y-chromosome, whether
a man was gay or straight, and one of those things was a preference for
action over discussion. She helped herself to another piece of cake before
telling them more.

 "His name is Dustin Coldwell. Twelve years old. He's had some very bad
shocks in his life so far. Until he was three he lived with his single
mother. She had some drug problems and we believe it has had some
physiological effect on Dusty. He may or may not have an attention deficit
disorder. The doctors don't agree on it, but he does have trouble
concentrating sometimes and definitely has trouble sitting still in
school. He was on Ritalin for a time, but it didn't seem to help much."

 "You were talking about some shocks." Captain Vecchio said.

 "One day when Dusty was three, his mother didn't pick him up from the
baby-sitter's. She just disappeared. The baby-sitter and her husband were
willing to take care of him and undertook a fostering arrangement like the
one you are going to have."

 It was Constable Fraser who interrupted this time, "What happened to
them?"

 "Nothing happened to them, as such. They kept Dusty until he was eight,
but the problem was that the husband couldn't cope with the boy's
behaviour. Dusty was disruptive at school, always neglecting chores, rude
when he was frustrated, which was quite often. The man had a very bad
temper and I'm afraid he wasn't able to refrain from hitting the boy.
Often and hard. We found out about it from one of the neighbours and did
an investigation. One of my staff worked for over a year with them but in
the end we moved Dusty to a group home."

 Both men were frowning deeply now. 

 "It was a heart-breaking. The couple had to sit an eight-year-old down
and tell him he was not going to live with mommy and daddy anymore."

 Captain Vecchio's eyes began to moist up, she noticed. Constable Fraser
was pressing his lips together.

 "I don't want you to get the wrong impression. The husband had the best
intentions. He really did try to cope with Dusty, but aside from a violent
temper in general, he couldn't deal calmly with Dusty's misbehaviour
because . . ."

 "Yes?" breathed Captain Vecchio.

 " . . . he worked in a youth correctional facility."

 "Ah," said Constable Fraser. For the first time since she had entered
their apartment, Mrs. Cardinal saw his expression soften. "He was afraid."

 "Yes," she agreed.

 "Afraid of what?" 

 Captain Vecchio was left out of the loop, she saw. He didn't understand
what was clear to herself and Constable Fraser. Mrs. Cardinal was pleased
to have stumbled on the real cause of Constable Fraser's reticence. 

 Indeed it was Constable Fraser who answered his partner's question.
"Afraid his own child would grow up to like the youngsters he worked with.
Afraid Dustin would end up like them."

 "God, Benny! Now I see what you meant before!"

 "And here we are, two policemen. Are you sure it's in the best interests
of the child to give him to us, Mrs. Cardinal?" The Constable's previous
chill was gone. He's much more self aware than I've been giving him credit
for, Mrs. Cardinal thought. What's more, he and Captain Vecchio really do
understand each other. This might work.

 "Yes I do, and I'll tell you why. Dusty has been in and out of group
homes and foster homes for four years now. Over the last year he's been
saying he thinks he is gay."

 Two pair of policemen's eyebrows flew upward at that revelation. 

 "I'm not sure at this point whether this is a lifetime decision, but I do
know we have to acknowledge the possibility. If he is indeed gay, I'd like
him to have the right role models. I want him to experience life-style
choices other than the kind he sees in the media."

 "Two middle-aged cops," mused Captain Vecchio, "He'll learn that gay can
be boring. Well, it'll lose the shock-value for him, that's for sure." He
turned to his partner. "Well, Benny, what do you say? Do we need to go
back to the kitchen?"

 Constable Fraser didn't answer right away, but got to his feet and
started to pace. He went from window, to kitchen door and back a few times
before pausing beside the armchair where Mrs. Cardinal sat. Pensively he
rubbed his right thumb along his right eyebrow.

 Finally he spoke. "Mrs. Cardinal, I apologize for my behaviour this
evening."

 "Is that a yes, Benny?" 

 Constable Fraser smiled for the first time since Mrs. Cardinal had come
into the room, a tentative half-smile in Captain Vecchio's direction. The
Captain's eyes filled with tears, and so did Mrs. Cardinal's. "That's a
yes, Ray."

 She sniffed and reached down beside her chair to pick up her purse and
extract a handkerchief to wipe her eyes. "I'll start the paperwork
tomorrow."

 "We're going to be the greatest parents ever," Captain Vecchio announced.

 "And Ray criticizes ME for being a perfectionist," joked Constable
Fraser.

 "I promise you won't be the greatest parents ever," Mrs. Cardinal assured
them. "You'll just muddle along and I'll always be a phone call away if
you ever need me."

 6 / 40

 The kitchen of the group home was bustling in just about the same way as
the Vecchio kitchen. Adults and children came and went, there was banter
and bickering and cooking and washing up. An important difference was that
the resident children were doing the cooking and washing and the adults
were sitting at the kitchen table doing paperwork. Mark Vincent, the
home's director, had a roll of paper towels at his elbow to wipe the odd
bits of flour, from the pastry dough being mixed across the table, off the
weekly report he was composing.

 The kitchen window faced the street, and a girl of ten was peering
through it. "Red Bird Alert! Cardinal's coming!"

 "Mrs. Cardinal, if you please." Mark said, rising from the table and
heading for the front door to receive the social worker.

 "I wonder who she's coming for this time," said an eleven-year-old boy.
Mrs. Cardinal usually arrived with news that someone in the home had been
placed - and would be leaving soon to join an adoptive family or be sent
to a foster home.

 By the time Mrs. Cardinal arrived at the front door it was already open
and Mark was standing there with a half dozen children crowded behind him.
She greeted them all with a smile, and then the children all fell back as
she came into the house and moved directly into the renovated maid's room
off the kitchen that served as the group home's office. Mark trailed after
her and the children followed him. 

 Mrs. Cardinal stopped before entering the tiny room and turned around to
face them all. "Very well. It's not as though it's going to be any
secret." The children crowded around.

 "I've got a foster family for Dusty. Long term until he's eighteen."

 A short, skinny boy had his back slapped, his arms punched and his hair
tousled while congratulatory shouts filled the home. The eleven-year-old
boy shoved him towards the office, "Get in there, man. Get the lecture."
Mrs. Cardinal and Mark had to laugh. This was indeed the usual procedure,
to sit the child down in private and tell him about the family he was
about to join.

 The skinny boy had endured the barrage of well-wishing in silence. He now
stood his ground and made no move towards the office door. "Don't want no
fuckin' foster family. I want to stay here," he muttered.

 Mark and Mrs. Cardinal knew better than to dwell on this knee-jerk
objection. 

 "Come in and listen, Dusty. I think you'll find this interesting," Mrs.
Cardinal said, smiling and putting her arm around his shoulder. He
shrugged her arm away, but condescended to enter the office anyway and
Mark closed the door behind the three of them.

 Mrs. Cardinal settled into the largest and most comfortable of the
available chairs and reached over to pat the seat of the chair nearest to
her, but Dusty remained standing. There was also a desk in the room and
Mark dropped into the chair behind it. Then, thinking better of the
matter, he picked up the chair and moved it in front of the desk so that
he and Mrs. Cardinal were sitting side by side. With the third unused
chair, a rough triangle was formed.

 "I like it here. I don't want to leave." Dusty said, jamming his fists
into his jeans pocket and slouching as he made this announcement.

 "I know that, Dusty. It's been hard for you - living so many different
places. I've been working hard to find you the right family."

 "Mark's my family," said the child, "and Tina and Alfonzo and Tracy.
Don't want another home. Every time I have a home somebody sends me away."

 Mark and Mrs. Cardinal exchanged a look. The boy had pretty well summed
up his own life so far.

 "Dusty, just listen for a minute," said Mrs. Cardinal. "I'm placing you
with a same-sex couple. Two men in their forties."

 In spite of himself, Dusty was immediately interested. "Gay guys? Get out
of town!"

 "There are no other children in the house, which is good. You'll have
their full attention. Now, have you ever heard of the Royal Canadian
Mounted Police?"

 "Mounties. Sure, like Dudley Do-Right."

 "Constable Fraser is a Mountie. He's been working out of the Canadian
Consulate here for fourteen years now and isn't about to leave soon from
what anybody can tell."

 "Haven't I heard of a Constable Fraser before?" Mark asked.

 "Possibly. He's pretty well known. Benton Fraser."

 Mark got up and opened one of the filing cabinets. After fishing around
amongst some files for a while he extracted a very old copy of The Chicago
Guardian's weekly magazine supplement. He held it up for Mrs. Cardinal and
Dustin to see. "Is this the guy?"

 Mrs. Cardinal held out her hand for the magazine and Mark gave it over.
She and Dusty looked together at a picture of a handsome Mountie in his
mid-thirties, in full red serge uniform.

 Dustin emitted a low whistle. "That's going to be my new father?"

 "One of them," said Mrs. Cardinal. "I'd forgotten all about this article.
Look here, Dusty." She flipped open the magazine. "This tells about how
Constable Fraser and his partner saved Chicago from a nuclear disaster.
Now his partner is Captain Vecchio who's my contact at the police
department. He used to be a detective before he started working at the
community liaison office. I imagine between the two of them they'll have
some interesting stories to tell you."

 "No way! A detective!" 

 "Sounds like you'll be having a blast, Dusty," Mark offered.

 Suddenly the boy remembered he was supposed to be objecting to these
proceedings. "I still want to stay here."

 "I know you do, Dusty, but that's not an option," said Mrs. Cardinal. She
pronounced this with some finality but in fact all three of them knew that
it was within Dustin's power to cause so many problems to his foster
parents that very well might ask for him to be removed. If he played his
cards right, he would in fact stand a very good chance of returning to the
group home. It was a tactic he and many other children in his situation
had learned - one of the many ways to manipulate the system.

 "Dusty, please sit down here and listen to me carefully," said Mrs.
Cardinal. 

 Mark caught the boy's eye and inclined his head towards the single empty
chair. Reluctantly, Dusty sat down.

 "Captain Vecchio and I have been working together for years. I like him.
And Constable Fraser, I've worked with him too. They're men I think you'll
come to admire if you give them half a chance."

 "Yeah, yeah."

 "Well, you know the routine. I'll pick you up after lunch on Saturday and
you'll have the rest of the weekend to get acquainted. There's a school
within walking distance of Captain Vecchio's mother's house. He's going to
drive you his mother's house in the mornings and you'll be able to go to
school with his nieces and nephews. So you don't even have to be alone in
a new school."

 "Hey, you'll have a built-in granny and ready-made cousins. You lucked
out, Dusty. 

 "Yeah, yeah."

 7 / 40

 "Are you going to be on that computer ALLLLLLLLLL night," Ray whined. I
want to check my messages before I go to bed."

 Benton looked up from the screen to where Ray stood beside him, hands on
hips and frowning. 

 "What the hell are you doing? Surfing? You never surf."

 "Research, Ray. On Attention Deficit Disorder."

 Using Benton's shoulder to lean on, Ray bent down to kiss the top of the
Mountie's head. "Internet research? You? Didn't you read everything about
A.D.D. in your grandmother's library when you were three?" 

 "I couldn't read until I was four, Ray. And A.D.D. wasn't a recognized
disorder at that time. I need current research, but hardly any of this . .
." he waved contemptuously at the screen, " . . . is from creditable
sources. It's most disheartening."

 "You know, Benny, Mrs. Cardinal said he was suspected of having the
disorder but they're really not sure. Read between the lines - he might
just be difficult kid."

 Benton closed the search engine window and stood up. "Check your
messages, Ray. I think I've already found out what I want to know."

 "Which is?" Ray asked while sitting down in front of the computer.

 "Surveillance. Vigilance. Constant attention. These children have
difficulty tuning out distractions. One-on-one attention and direction
will keep him focused. You see it's not so much a question of these
children being deliberately disruptive, but they have trouble controlling
their impulses. You know, Ray. I'm beginning to think we might be able to
help this boy a great deal."

 "So, all it will take is paying attention to him twenty-four/seven to
make him a good citizen."

 "Well, Mrs. Cardinal did say he is only suspected of having this
disorder. The Ritalin didn't help him."

 "Meaning it's possible he's just a run-of-the-mill delinquent."

 "Not under my roof," said the Mountie, and left the room.

 Ray couldn't quite catch the expression in his partner's voice as this
parting pronouncement was made. He got as far as placing his fingers on
the keyboard, paused, let out a mild oath in Italian and got up again to
follow his partner into the bedroom.

 "Just hold it a minute, Benny," he said from the bedroom doorway, "We got
to talk."

 Benton took him literally, freezing in the act of stepping into his red
long johns. He stood naked, holding the underwear out in front of him,
balanced on one leg with the other leg poised to step into his sleeping
gear. It was a fetching pose, and Ray's attention was distracted.

 "Never mind those," he murmured as he approached. Ray lifted the long
johns from Benton's hands and tossed them on a chair. 

 Benton dove for the clothing. "No, I'm getting so out-of-shape. Don't
look at me."

 Ray chuckled while Benton slipped his legs into the long johns. Before
the Mountie had a chance to pull them over his chest and arms, Ray stopped
him. "That's all the modesty you get. I want to see your arms. You've been
wearing long sleeves all week and it's killing me."

 "Getting flabby," the Mountie protested, but without much insistence. He
held out his arm for Ray to come close and be encircled in them.

 Ray gripped his partner around the waist and nuzzled his face into the
inside of Benton's right elbow. "You smell so nice and Frasery in the
evenings."

 "You said you wanted to talk."

 "I changed my mind." 

 8 / 40 

 The two men in front of Dusty were tall, much taller than the people he
usually hung around with. The group home supervisors were mostly women
except for Mark, the director, and Dusty didn't have to look up very far
to look him in the eye. And of course Mrs. Cardinal was nothing but a
little old lady no taller than himself.

 But these gay dudes were tall. The one he recognized from the picture as
the Mountie had his right hand in Dusty's face. It took Dusty a few
seconds to realize he was inviting a handshake.

 Dusty stood in the doorway of the Vecchio/Fraser apartment flanked by
Mrs. Cardinal on one side and Mark on the other. He gripped one suitcase
in his left hand and his skateboard in his right hand. He realized he'd
have to drop the skateboard to take the Mountie's hand and, flustered, let
the skateboard fall out of his hand to the floor. Everyone flinched at the
clatter of the metal wheels hitting the parquet flooring, but nobody said
anything about it. 

 Dusty tentatively put his hand into Benton's hand. Benton squeezed it
firmly but not too hard and gave it a single pump before letting Dusty go.
Dusty took the opportunity to use his now freed hand to brush too-long
sandy coloured bangs out of his eyes.

 "Hello, Dustin," the Canadian said.

 The other man, the police captain, astonished Dusty thoroughly by
dropping to his knees in front of him, placing both his hands on Dusty's
shoulders and announcing loudly "Good to have you here, kid!" The captain
peered into Dusty's face. The boy shifted his gaze away, uneasy with this
direct eye contact. 'Hey, you got green eyes like me. Everybody's going to
think you're really my kid. This is going to be great," he teased.

 Fuck, a friendly one. That's all I need.

 Mark and Mrs. Cardinal were smiling and making moves to go. Don't leave
me with these dudes, Dusty appealed silently to them but knew better than
to think saying it aloud would actually do any good. He was stuck with
these tall guys, at least for the time being.

 The adults all said good-bye to one another, Mark promising to bring over
the rest of his stuff that evening. Mark and Mrs. Cardinal both gave Dusty
a hug, then they left and Dusty was alone with his new foster fathers.
They stood looking at him for a moment. Then the Canadian spoke.

 "Why don't you put that skateboard here in the front closet, Dustin? Ray
can show you your room and where to wash up while I make us a snack."

 "I'm Ray and this is Benton. You don't call him 'Benny'. Only I do that.
Got it?" The police captain told Dusty, who was already casting about in
his mind for the best way to start showing these guys a hard time.

 "Don't I call you guys 'Daddy'?" There, thought Dusty, that should get
one of them going. 

 Neither man took the bait. "Only if you want me to call you 'sonny' and I
don't think you want that, do you?" Ray said back, good-naturedly. "Come
on, kid, your room's over this way."

 Dusty followed after him and to the man's back said, "So, are you guys
going to let me watch?"

 "TV? Maybe later, I guess," said Ray. "I thought we'd just hang around
and talk."

 "No, I mean watch you two get it on."

 Benton, already on his way from the vestibule to the kitchen by way of
the living room, stopped in his tracks. Ray whirled around and stared at
Dusty.

 "Get. It. On?"

 "You know, doing it."

 Benton cleared his throat. "Dustin . . ."

 "Benny, let me handle this."

 But Benton wasn't listening. "Dustin," he repeated, "Are you suggesting
that Ray and I would let you observe us having sex?"

 Ah, this was working fine. The Canadian was starting to get into a snit.

 Benton came over to him and stood so close in front of him that Dusty
would have had to crane his head upwards to look him in the face. But
instead Dusty was glancing around nervously.

 "Dustin, look at me," Benton demanded.

 "Yeah?" Dusty said belligerently, but he did look.

 "Did any of your other foster parents allow you to do that? Watch them
being intimate?"

 "Hell no, but they weren't gay like you guys."

 "So, you believe the average gay man is in the habit of having sex in
front of children? What in your experience has led you to that
conclusion?"

 This wasn't the reaction Dusty was expecting. The Mountie dude was upset
but not with Dusty himself, it seemed. The boy cringed a little under
Benton's gaze but said nothing more.

 Ray once again dropped down face to face with Dusty. "Did any men ever do
that in front of you?"

 "Well, no. I just figured."

 Ray seemed to relax and got to his feet again. "You just figured wrong.
Come on. Here's your room and the bathroom's across the way. You can put
your stuff away and come into the kitchen as soon as you're ready." Ray
opened the door to a room that had been a study but a single bed and
dresser drawer had been squeezed in. "It's a little cramped right now but
we'll be getting some of the stuff out of here in a few days and you'll
have some more room."

 Dusty noticed the computer. "There's no joystick on that."

 "For games you mean? No, I guess not."

 "What about on the TV? Haven't you got any games?"

 "Sorry. Maybe we can get some. See you in a bit."

 Ray closed the door on Dusty. The boy stood looking around the room,
taking in the shelves full of books, the computer console, the pictures on
the wall of snow-covered mountains and one picture of the Queen of
England. This is going to suck, he decided.

 9 / 40

 Ray found Benton at the kitchen counter cutting cauliflower into small
florets, all of a uniform size. 

 He came up beside his partner, lifted the knife carefully out of his
partner's hand and placed the utensil on the counter. Then he gave the
Mountie's hand a brief brush with his lips.

 "Ray, not now!" Benton yanked his hand away.

 "It's okay, he's in his room, probably trying to figure out the next way
he's going to piss us off."

 "You don't suppose he was really ever exposed to . . .?"

 "I don't think so. Mrs. Cardinal would have told us. He's just trying to
get our goat. He had you going pretty good there. Just remember what Mrs.
Cardinal told us. They act up a lot at first to test you. To make sure
you're really committed."

 Benton resumed his kitchen work. He picked up the cauliflower bits and
dumped them onto a platter that already held baby carrots, sliced radishes
and strips of cut red peppers. Ray watched him arrange the vegetables in
neat spirals.

 "Crudits? That's your idea of a tasty snack for a twelve-year-old? Benny,
you were sooooo raised by old missionaries."

 "I wonder if we should take him for a haircut?"

 "Naw, leave him be. I like that look, clipped short in the back and
shaggy in the front. Makes me remember past glories," ruefully he ran his
hand over his own bald head. "It's not fair you kept your hair."

 "I'm grayer than you are, Ray. We're older than we used to be."

 "Everybody's older than they used to be. Right this minute we're the
oldest we've ever been."

 Benton conveyed the plate of vegetables to the table. There, he paused.
"I never thought of it that way. It's sobering." He looked at the healthy
snack in the middle of the table. "I've got English muffins in the
freezer. We could improvise some mini-pizzas."

 "Close, but no cigar," Ray said with a laugh. He went over and took down
a jar of hazelnut and chocolate spread from the cupboard over the sink.
"This is what we need here. Nutella."

 10 / 40

 On Monday morning, Ray dropped Dustin off at the Vecchio house where his
six foster-cousins were all finishing breakfast, washing, dressing,
gathering lunches, and stuffing homework into backpacks. The early-morning
chaos reminded him of the group home. He allowed the old lady, Ray's
mother, to shove him into a chair and sweet sticky cinnamon buns appeared
before him on the table. 

 "Eat. You have time before you leave," the old woman ordered and poured a
large mug full of milk for him to use to wash the pastries down. "You call
me 'Nona', like your cousins do," the old lady ordered him. 

 Dusty was just about to come up with some snarky response when three of
the six Vecchio children converged on 'Nona', hugged and kissed her in
turn, thanked her for breakfast and scooped up brown bags from the
counter. Dusty concluded that this wasn't going to be a good audience for
old-lady-hassling and resigned himself to pastry consumption - which he
discovered to be an activity almost as satisfying as the one he had
renounced.

 11 / 40 Dusty had been to many schools, some with larger classes and some
with smaller classes, some well equipped with computers and new books,
some crumbling, some with young teachers, some with crabby old geezers.
For Dusty what they all had in common was that people expected him to sit
in one place and be quiet. Sometimes he was allowed to talk while trying
to work, which made things only a little more bearable and only for a
short period of time. Inevitably he'd find he couldn't really stay
interested and became overwhelmed with the fidgets.

 As soon as he lost interest in whatever was going on, he did something
else. If there was nothing fun at his desk he was in the habit of getting
out of his seat and wandering to some part of the room that beckoned. It
was fun to see all the different ways different teachers tried to stop
him. Some were sweet and patient at first, others lost it right away. It
was far more interesting that anything the teachers were actually trying
to make him do. 

 Fore-warned, says the old expression, is fore-armed and Dusty's new
teacher was well warned to expect a possibly A.D.D. student and well armed
with volunteers to take him out of the class for special coaching.

 A week before Dusty's arrival, Mrs. Cardinal had arranged a meeting among
herself, Ray, and the principal of the Catholic school Dusty was slated to
attend. Francesca's six children all attended St. Monica's, so Dusty was
not going to be alone in his new environment. 

 "We have an unusually high level of parent involvement at this school,"
the principal had informed the captain and the social worker. "Many of the
mothers in the neighbourhood come in to volunteer. Miss Vecchio is here
herself three times a week," she said, with a nod in Ray's direction. "I
don't think there's another school anywhere in the city with so many
helpers. If Dustin needs special attention, I'll be able to assign
someone."

 The novelty of his new environment kept Dusty more or less interested
through the morning and lunchtime of the first day. By the time lunch was
over and a math lesson had begun, Dusty was at the end of his patience. He
fell back on his usual routine and got up and strolled over to the window
to see what was going on outside. The teacher said nothing to him but
lifted the receiver of the wall phone that connected the classroom to the
office. 

 Within minutes, there was a knock at the classroom door and a woman
appeared with a couple of books in her hand.

 "You can go with Mrs. Gondolfi now, Dustin," the teacher said casually.
"She'll bring you back here at recess time."

 Dusty paused and considered his options. Was going with this woman a
privilege or a punishment? He couldn't tell. Not that there was anything
going on in the class he worried about missing, but being taken out
usually only happened after the teacher had lost it. Dusty was confused.

 "New kid's in trouuuuuu-ble," a girl in the class sing-songed. Mutterings
of agreement arose from the other children.

 Dusty registered the fact that he was in trouble. At least it was a
familiar situation.

 "You don't need any books today, Dustin. You'll read what Mrs. Gondolfi
brought." The teacher inclined her head towards the door where the woman
still stood waiting. 

 The class was all silent and staring at Dusty. He was too uncertain of
himself to refuse outright but to give in at once was unthinkable now that
the terms had been defined. Although he hadn't conscious words for it, he
was out of context here. Being sent out of the room was supposed to happen
after a long tussle with the teacher. The tension that should surround the
situation was missing, but if he was indeed in trouble without having been
aware of getting there, he knew what to do. Still, it didn't feel right.
He tried a tentative "Don't fuckin' wanna go," to see what would happen.

 The response was instant and very satisfying. Everyone: students, teacher
and teacher's aide, all froze.

 "Yeah, fuckin' right," echoed another boy.

 "Give 'er hell, dude" said another.

 Mutterings at various levels of profanity rose up from the children. The
teacher and the aide exchanged worried looks. 

 "Don't you want to come with me, Dustin, dear?" said the aide, in that
sweet voice adults sometimes used, which always made Dusty cringe.

 "I'm sure you'll have a good time reading with Mrs. Gondolfi," said the
teacher.

 "Let's go now, dear," said the other woman, shifting but not quite
turning in the direction of the corridor.

 Having a choice confused the boy. If ordered to go, he'd know how to
handle it - protest if he thought he could pull it off, otherwise
acquiesce.

 The other children, however, were getting into the mood of vicarious
rebellion.

 "You stay right here, man!"

 "Yeah."

 "You show 'em!"

 The teacher wrung her hands and tried a tentative, "Class, be quiet,"
which impressed the pupils not at all.

 Dusty started to be lifted by the tide of audience support. 

 "Screw you," slipped out of Dusty's mouth and was greeted by cheers by
the rest of the class.

 "We should go," said Mrs. Gondolfi. She was now craning her neck towards
the corridor and escape, tears beginning to well in her eyes.

 "Dustin, I'd like you to go NOW, please." The teacher, having found
cajoling to fail and alarmed by the mood of her otherwise well-behaved
class, tried a sterner approach. It was unfortunate timing in that Dusty
had been confused until now and his objections, for all their profanity,
had only been half-hearted.

 Now, however, the teacher had taken the role of authority figure in
Dusty's eyes and he switched into "hassle-the-teacher" autopilot. He
turned to look out the window. "Lemme alone." 

 Mrs. Gondolfi couldn't pull off "stern" as easily as the teacher. She
added, "Dustin, come with me," but there was a pre-crying tremor in her
voice.

 "Bug off, bitch," was the boy's answer, delivered out the window.

 A sob broke out of Mrs. Gondolfi and she fled in tears into the corridor
and out of sight.

 The teacher breathed a heavy sigh, returned to the telephone on the wall
and after a brief conversation hung up again and addressed Dusty.
Meanwhile the class had fallen silent in anticipation. Dusty, deprived of
further input from them, had had his attention distracted by some robins
pulling worms from the lawn outside the window. 

 The teacher's voice startled him. "Dustin!"

 Dusty forced his attention back inside the room. 

 "Go to the office and stay there until recess." 

 A chorus of boo's rose from the children at this. But Dusty was on
familiar ground now. Being sent to the office was par for the course and
he could now strut out of the classroom proudly, a hero. 

 As he made his way along the corridor it occurred to him that although he
had been brought to the office with the Vecchio children upon first
arriving, he didn't remember where it was now. But he followed the sound
of a woman's crying, figuring that this must be Mrs. Gondolfi telling her
tale of woe to somebody in charge. His deduction was right and he found
the school office where he was greeted by the sight of Mrs. Gondolfi
sobbing into a handkerchief and talking to some other woman. 

 As Dusty came through the glass door that led to the outer part of the
office, Mrs. Gondolfi wailed "That's him!

 Within minutes, Dusty found himself seated at a desk and chair just
outside the office door, left to his own thoughts. He was in the same kind
of familiar trouble as in any other school but, as sometimes happened, the
other kids were a bunch of wimps and he had become a hero. He'd managed to
escape the boring classroom and that Mrs. Gondolfi had been shown who was
boss. Oblivious to any thought that actions might have consequences, he
enjoyed his glory for what would have otherwise been a very boring hour
until the recess bell rang. At the sound of the recess bell, somebody
stuck her head out the office door and told Dusty he could leave and go
out for recess.

 Dusty flung himself off the old wooden chair and out from behind the
cast-off desk that was kept near the office for the use of wrong-doers.
His skinny arms flapped as he trotted down the corridor towards his
classroom. 

 Most of the children were already outside and only a few stragglers were
still in the corridors, putting on jackets, chattering amongst themselves.
At strategic intervals teachers stood observing them or talking to one of
them. No one paid any attention to Dusty as he approached the hook where
his own jacket was hanging.

 Most days, getting dressed and heading outside was a conditioned response
to the recess bell, but since there was no teacher to usher him along it
occurred to Dusty that he might enjoy outwitting the powers that be by
spending recess inside. It was an intoxicating idea, but it had the
disadvantage of losing the opportunity of going out into the playground
and enjoying the adulation of his classmates. And getting out in the fresh
air and running around a little would also be nice.

 As Dusty stood by his hook considering these conflicting desires, he
caught sight of two larger boys leaning on either side of the door leading
out into the yard. The boys stood as though guarding the doorway, watching
each child as he or she passed by them into the schoolyard.

 At length, one looked over at Dusty and called "Hey, over there" to his
partner. Getting a better look as they both turned in his direction, Dusty
recognized them. One was the largest of Ray's sister's kids. Dusty dug
into his memory and found the name 'Artie'. The other boy was someone in
Dusty's class. Dusty hadn't noticed, but this second boy had not joined in
with the general enjoyment at the discomfiture of Mrs. Gondolfi, but had
sat frowning during the whole incident.

 The two larger boys exchanged a look, left their posts by the door and
came over to take position on either side of Dusty, glaring angrily at
him.

 "This is Tony," Arturo Vecchio introduced his companion. Arturo, called
"Artie" by everyone but Ma Vecchio, Benton and the priest, was named for
Ray's father and could be considered an argument for nature versus nurture
in that he had the same bullying ways as his grandfather. "Tony's my best
friend."

 "Yeah," confirmed Tony, being the more taciturn as well as the physically
larger of the duo.

 "I play at Tony's house all the time," Artie told his foster cousin.
Dusty wondered why this should have anything to do with him but before he
had a chance to ask, the two boys moved closer to him, each from the
opposite side. The only way Dusty could manage to avoid eye contact with
one or the other of them was to stare straight ahead. The boys took this
as an attempt to ignore them and it didn't improve their mood.

 "Look at me, asshole," insisted Artie. 

 Dusty did that, and quailed at the murderous look in Artie's face.

 "Mrs. Gondolfi is Tony's mama. I play at their house all the time."

 Dustin's head shrank down between his shoulders, which had begun to
quiver. 

 "You son of a bitch. You made my mama cry," Tony snarled.

 One pair of strong, meaty hands grasped each of Dusty's arms. Tony and
Artie yanked him the direction of the door. Dusty went limp but it did no
good, the larger boys were easily able to drag him out into the
schoolyard. The other children stared as they hauled him, half walking and
half sliding across the asphalt that surrounded the school and over to a
grassy area beyond. A line of hedges sectioned off a corner of the
schoolyard and hid it from general view.

 Seeing that he was being taken to an isolated place, Dusty recovered from
the shock of the sudden assault enough to start shouting for help. At
Dusty's first yelp, Tony walloped him across the face.

 Dusty buckled but the other boys held him firmly in place. Artie took his
turn, jabbing his knee into the smaller boy's groin. Dusty howled. A punch
in the jaw from Tony silenced him. With his arms still held fast, he tried
kicking but that only brought him a kick in the stomach in return. His
mind dimmed with pain, he could do nothing more but endure the beating.

 At last the words " . . . my mama a bitch again and I'll kill ya . . ."
swam through the buzzing in Dusty's head. Dusty knew from observing many
schoolyard fights that such a verbal threat usually served as punctuation,
signaling the end of the physical punishment. The boys let go of him and
he sank into the grass.

 12 / 40

 "He's been WHAT!?!?!"

 "Don't get excited, Benny. He's not hurt. No teeth missing. Nothing
broken. He's just got a stomach ache and starting one doosy of a shiner." 

 "Ray, our child has been assaulted on his very first day of school!"

 "Not exactly assaulted. Just a schoolyard thing. Not like somebody hit
him with an otter or something. I'm driving him home now."

 "I'm on my way." 

 "Benny, you don't have to leave work. He'll be fine." Ray lifted his cell
phone briefly away from his ear and turned to give a rueful smile to Dusty
who was enjoying a ride in a real police cruiser. "He's upset," he
explained to the boy.

 The Riv had long since given up the ghost and Ray usually borrowed a
patrol car when he needed a vehicle at short notice. The Canadian
Consulate had moved to a more suburban location three years ago, with an
actual parking lot, so Benton now drove to work. When Ray needed the car,
the Mountie reluctantly made use of one of the consular limos.

 Dusty grinned back. Ray had been pretty decent throughout the whole
thing. He had arrived at the nurse's office, collected Dusty with a
minimum of fuss and led him to a police cruiser with a real red flashing
light and everything. 

 "Benny'll be home before we get there. Wait and see," Ray told him as
they drove along. Ray's mood was actually buoyant at hearing Benton say
"our child". I guess it took somebody attacking him for him to go all
mother-bear protective, he decided. 

 Before picking up Dusty, he'd had a talk with the principal and learned
as much as the adults had learned: that parties unknown had beaten up
Dusty at recess. Neither Dusty nor any other child would divulge the name
of the assailant or assailants. And Ray was also told about the incident
before recess with Mrs. Gondolfi.

 That name tipped the ex-detective off to what had probably happened,
given that he knew his nephew, Artie, was good buddies with the son of Ray
and Francesca's childhood playmate, Sofia Gondolfi. 

 Artie would be dealt with at home, but Ray doubted any punishment his
sister dished out would make an impression on him. He was a bully like
Ray's father had been. As Ray and Dusty drove along Ray considered briefly
whether Dusty was in any danger from Artie in the future. Probably not.
Ray figured that Dusty had learned an important survival lesson about life
in a closely-knit Italian neighbourhood - be nice to EVERYBODY'S mother. 

 "You better get your story straight before we get home," Ray resumed
conversation with the child. 

 "Hunh?"

 "He's going to want you to tell him exactly what happened. And one thing
I have to tell you, when Benny wants something he doesn't give up."

 Dusty looked at Ray with alarm. Benton hadn't seemed the violent type.

 Ray caught the look. "He won't hurt you or anything. He'll just nag you
to death. Make you feel guilty."

 "Big fat deal." Dusty looked back out the window, unimpressed. 

 "Hey, you got in trouble the first day at school. You disobeyed the
teacher and you cussed poor Sofia, who happens to be my friend by the way.
Sorry, pal, but that qualifies as a big deal."

 "Whatever," Dusty muttered.

 "When Benny says to you 'Dustin, I want you to tell me exactly what
happened' what are you going to say?"

 Ray gave a tolerable impression of his partner and the boy giggled.

 "No, really, what are you going to tell him?" Ray pressed.

 There was a pause before the child said, "I don't remember." 

 "You don't remember what your story is?"

 "No, man. I don't remember who beat me up."

 Ray pulled up to a red light and took the opportunity to look at the boy
beside him. Slight, but wiry. Hair in his eyes. At once street-wise and
innocent. The boy's no dummy, Ray thought as he looked over the boy who
was peering back at him through scraggly bangs. He's knows he's safe as
long as he doesn't squeal. He's been around.

 "Well, if that's your story I guess you'll have to stick to it. But it's
pretty lame," Ray opined.

 Dusty considered this. "I'll say they hit me in the head and I lost my
memory." He looked to Ray for confirmation.

 "He'll never buy it. But if you stick to your guns I suppose he'll have
to lay off eventually."

 This has to be the last time I ever take sides with him against Benny,
Ray thought. We got to present a united front. But if Benny finds out the
truth there'll be hell to pay.

 "It'll help if you say you're sorry," Ray went on.

 "Like, I should bullshit him?"

 Ray sighed. "No, you should BE sorry."

 "Oh." 

 "And one more thing, Dusty. Language. Benny doesn't like swear words. Use
them at home and you'll get a lecture that you really don't want to sit
through. Okay?" 13 / 40

 Poor Dusty. I guess he didn't take me seriously when I warned him not to
cuss in front of Benny. Well, he's getting the lecture now, Ray thought as
he watched the boy who squirmed as he lolled on the living room floor.
Benton had been at him for half an hour already and was showing no signs
of easing off.

 Dusty, as his culminating tactical error of an eventful day, had
described his teacher as a 'cunt' when relating his version of the day's
events to Benton over dinner. Ray's warning in the car had been tossed off
too casually to make an impression on the distractible Dusty and the boy
was now reaping what he had sown. 

 " . . . and can you believe that word wasn't considered the least bit
profane, even as late as the 14th century." The Mountie was enjoying
himself hugely. The lesson on the history of bad language throughout the
ages would last until bedtime and Ray was sure it would serve as a better
deterrent to future foul mouthing than any scolding or punishment either
man could have dreamed up.

 Later that night, Benton lay on his back on his and Ray's queen-sized
bed, with his arms crossed under his head and watched Ray get into his
pajamas.

 "You stayed so slim," the Mountie observed. "I can't believe how out of
shape I've become."

 "I like you all squishy," Ray got onto the bed beside him and snuggled
his head on his partner's chest. 

 "It's not healthy, Ray. I bet I couldn't survive in the wild now if I
tried."

 Ray sat up and reached for the topmost button of Benton's long johns to
unbutton it. "Who's asking you to try? You're a city mouse now."

 "Ray, wait!" Benton took hold of Ray's hands and lifted them away. 

 "We can't do anything tonight. Dustin's just on the other side of that
wall," Benton continued, barely audibly.

 "Yeah. That's where his room is. So?"

 "Shhh, lower your voice. He's standing right beside the wall between
these two rooms, with his ear against a glass, listening to us."

 "What? Why, the little . . . How'd you figure that out?" Ray dropped his
own voice very low.

 "I haven't lost my hearing, Ray. I can hear him breathing. And, just to
be sure I looked at the wall in his room. Last night, Sunday night and
tonight, he asked for a glass of milk to take into his room at bedtime."

 "So, he did. I didn't think anything of it."

 "I did. I looked in his room earlier and saw the milk stains on the wall
where he's been holding the glass against it. If he holds true to pattern,
he'll listen at the wall again tonight until he thinks we've gone to
sleep."

 "He wants to listen to us 'get it on'," Ray declared, still in a whisper.

 "I think that's understandable, Ray."

 "Well then let's give the little snoop something to listen to," Ray
pounced again on the buttons of Benton's long johns. 

 Again, Benton pushed him away. "Ray!"

 "Okay, okay, I'll be quiet. See, I'm not saying a word," and with this
Ray kissed Benton on the mouth, only to be pushed off once again.

 "Ray, this is a critical time in our relationship with the boy. For the
time being I think we should refrain from sex."

 "What!" Ray cried out and Benton shushed him.

 "Parents have sex." Ray pointed out. "That's a fact of life. We're his
parents. He's has to get used to it like all kids do." 

 "I never had to," Benton countered, haughtily.

 "Your grandparents were old. Doesn't count."

 "Ray, it should only be for a short time. Once he realizes he isn't
hearing anything interesting he'll give up listening and go right to
sleep. Until then, I think we shouldn't - you know - at least when he's
home.

 "Well, of all the . . ." Ray groused, and flung himself onto his back on
the bed beside Benton. "I know one kid who's going to be sleeping over at
his Aunt Frannie's a whooooole lot from now on."

 After a pause, Benton said, soberly, "We'd better let things settle down
between him and Arturo first. They're going to see each other every
morning and afternoon on school days when they all go to school together.
Arturo probably won't bother him again, but it's not fair to expose Dustin
to more danger than is necessary."

 "Oh, you figured that part out."

 "I met the Gondolfi family a few times at the house. I may be losing
muscle tone in my old age, but I'm not losing my deductive abilities, Ray.
The thing is, what happened today just confirms the research I've been
doing about Attention Deficit Disorder. Dustin only acted up after he
first became bored, am I right?"

 "That's what it seems like."

 "Which only goes to show that he needs to be worked with closely to keep
him focused. A.D.D. children are easily distracted. But, they can stick
with their assigned tasks when someone works one-on-one with them to
direct their attention. He'll go with the teacher's aides from now on, I
would think. Arturo will see to that if the school authorities can't. And
starting tomorrow I'll work with him on his homework. I suspect Dustin
will prove to be very intelligent if we can just keep his attention from
wandering."

 14 / 40

 The next morning, while Dusty was out of earshot in the bathroom, Ray and
Benton discussed the wisdom of taking him back to the Vecchio's house to
walk with Artie to school. Ray argued that as long as Dusty refused to
identify who his attacker had been, he would be safe from Artie. Ray was
right. Dusty had sufficient playground smarts to know that it was in his
best interests not to name his assailants. 

 The morning started out with Dusty and Artie eyeing each other warily,
each wondering if the other would make public mention of the events of the
day before. When it became clear to Artie that Dusty was going to keep mum
and when it became clear to Dusty that Artie appreciated that reticence,
they relaxed with each other and by the end of the day there was no more
tension between them. Artie respected the smaller boy for not tattling and
after a few days became Dusty's buddy and defender.

 As Ray and Benton did, Francesca and her mother also deduced what had
happened. This raised the delicate question of whether Artie should be
punished. Francesca was left in an awkward position. She hated to let
Artie get away with beating up his foster cousin, but Dusty's silence
protected Artie. Her son already had a problem with bullying and this one
incident, Francesca sadly concluded, wouldn't have a great influence on
this tendency one way or another. Artie's belligerence was a long-term
problem.

 Dusty was distractible but not stupid. The drubbing he received at the
hands of his foster cousin taught him a valuable lesson and he took it to
heart. Any woman at St. Monica's might end up being the mother of a fellow
pupil and the fellow pupil might be larger and stronger than Dusty
himself. The boy determined to be extremely polite to all the adults, just
in case. 

 This resulted in Dusty finding himself in paradoxical situation. Unable
to concentrate for long, he lost interest in class work, interrupted and
wandered around the classroom just as he had done in his previous schools.
But he was verbally so sweet and accommodating, and went out of the
classroom with the teachers' aides so obligingly, that he developed a
reputation as a 'good child'. This was a novelty. For as long as he had
ever been in school he had been unable to sit still and remain quiet,
earning himself the label of a bad kid. He adopted a bad kid's persona -
acting out, cursing, outright disobedience. But at St. Monica's he
couldn't maintain his defiant attitude and remain excruciatingly polite at
the same time.

 Politeness won out, also, because it was reinforced at home. When Dusty
first learned his new foster parents would be two men - police officers at
that - he looked forward to a rough and tumble, earthy home life. A few
days with Benton and Ray showed him this would not be the case. Benton
rarely raised his voice and his politeness bordered on comical. Ray had a
stereotypical Italian temper but years of living with Benton had taken the
edge off his vocabulary. When he lost control, shouted or cursed, he
perfunctorily ended the outbreak with "Sorry, Benny." After a few weeks
with Dusty in the house he elongated that to "Sorry, Benny. Sorry, Dusty",
implying that Dusty was just another innately polite person in front of
whom Ray had to behave.

 Life with Benton and Ray fell into a pattern. Weekday mornings they rose
early and Dusty endured a healthy but uninteresting breakfast. Then he was
driven to the Vecchio home and dropped off there for a second, more sugary
feeding by Nona before walking to school with Francesca's six children as
escort. After school they all walked back home together. Upon arrival they
were all fed once again and then the Vecchio children did their homework. 

 In this, there was a bit of adjustment to be made. Nona and Francesca
always insisted that homework be done right after school but Dusty was
unable to concentrate when left to his own devices and there was no one
available at that hour to sit with him. It had been established that Dusty
did his homework after dinner back at Ray and Benton's apartment with
Benton sitting at the other side of the kitchen table, alternately doing
Consular paperwork of his own and talking to Dusty to keep him focused.
This worked well enough for Dusty but posed a problem in discipline for
the Vecchio children - why did they have to do their homework right after
school while Dusty did not?

 Nona resolved that issue by recruiting Dusty for cooking while the other
children studied. Just as Benton had suspected from his online research
about A.D.D. children, Dusty was able to work for longer periods of time
when he had one-on-one attention from some one else to keep him from
wandering. Nona kept up a steady stream of chatter (no hardship at all for
her) as she taught him to boil pasta, stir sauce, chop parsley, mix
biscuits and grate cheese. 

 All in all, Dusty's painful lesson at the hands of Artie left him no
long-term physical damage but served instead to steer him towards an
entirely new way of behaving. 

 15 / 40

 Ray and Dusty had their dinner alone at the apartment - cannelloni that
Dusty had made himself under Nona's watchful eye. For the fourth night in
a row Benton had remained at the consulate into the evening hours for
meetings.

 Dusty had his eye on the clock: eight . . .eight-fifteen . . .
eight-thirty. . . would Benton never come home? Dusty had a book report
due the next day and for the last three nights he had been unable to write
it without Benton there to move him along. Under the guidance of Mrs.
Gondolfi the book had been duly read and Dusty was eager to prove himself
by coming up with a top notch book report handed in promptly on the due
date - something he had been unable to accomplish in his previous schools.
Benton's guidance was necessary for the writing but he had been
unavailable to Dusty all week, and the boy was getting antsy.

 A little after nine thirty, Benton arrived. Dusty didn't notice that
Benton looked pale and tired, but Ray had been noticing Benton's condition
for the last two weeks, without commenting. Both Ray and Dusty did notice
the black satchel Benton had over his shoulder as he entered the
apartment.

 "That looks like a computer," Ray said as Benton put the object onto the
kitchen table.

 "I brought my notebook home. There are some reports I have to proofread
and I didn't want to stay any longer at the office."

 Dusty glanced at the clock. "It's getting late. What about my book
report? It's due tomorrow."

 Benton was unzipping the computer bag. "We'll work on it while I do these
reports," he said absently.

 "Now look, Benny. You started by bring work home from the office. Now
you're bringing the office home from the office. You're a public servant.
Act like one. Goof off."

 Benton ignored him. "We can work in your room," he said to Dusty. "Each
of us on our own computer. Won't that be fun?" He led the way to Dusty's
room to set up. Dusty and Ray exchanged a look.

 "He works late a lot. When I first came he used to stay home at night. I
guess he doesn't like doing homework with me anymore," the boy said,
sadly.

 In answer, Ray shouted "Benny! Front and centre. Leave the infernal
machine behind."

 Benton emerged from Dusty's room, empty-handed, as Ray had requested.

 "You're traumatizing this kid. He thinks you work late at the Consulate
so as not to have to spend time with him."

 "That's just silly, Dustin," Benton pronounced. He bent down to take the
boy by the shoulders and steer him towards a kitchen chair, then sat down
with him. "I'm short handed at the Consulate. My deputy is on maternity
leave and Ottawa won't send down a replacement. I'm swamped with meetings.
What else? The FBI is more paranoid than ever. They want three times the
paperwork I used to give them for any joint project. On top of all that,
Constable Parker can't compose a clear sentence to save his life. I have
to redo everything he writes."

 "It's tough being a cop," Ray said, dropping onto another chair to join
them.

 "You guys don't do any real cop stuff," Dusty complained, "You don't
shoot people or chase bad guys or nothing."

 At a sharp look from Benton, Dusty corrected himself "Or anything."

 "If we got shot, who'd take care of you? Come, to work," Benton told the
boy firmly, rising from his chair. He stopped, winced and rubbed his upper
arm. 

 "Maybe you should relax a little first. Have some of Dusty's cannelloni,"
said Ray.

 "After we finish our work. I'm really not hungry, Ray."

 "You look worn out, Benny," Ray tried again, "You could go to bed and
we'll write Dusty a note for his book report. Mrs. Marcotti will let him
hand it in on Monday if we ask nicely."

 Benton caught the look of alarm on Dusty's face. "I think it is a matter
of pride for us to finish our book report and submit it on schedule. Duty
calls, eh Dusty?"

 16 / 40

 "You may be right that I'm overdoing it," Benton said to Ray much later
as they were preparing for bed.

 "Did I say that?"

 "When I used to patrol the north I never remember being as worn out as I
am now."

 "Riding a desk wears you out worse than riding a dog sled."

 "Do I look very bad?" the Mountie asked.

 "There's a mirror."

 "No thanks, it's too depressing. These days when I look in the mirror I
see a middle-aged grey-haired bureaucrat looking back at me."

 "At least you still got hair. Benny, you need to take some time off. I'll
write you a note to give to the Queen so she'll let you take a vacation."

 "It's not a good time, Ray."

 "We could take Dusty up north."

 "In the summer, perhaps."

 "How about if I do Dusty's homework for a little while to give you a
break."

 "Ray, you're missing the whole point. I don't do Dustin's homework for
him. I keep him working on his own homework by giving him constant
direction. He does the work himself - I only provide him the means."

 "And I can't?" Ray asked.

 "You don't have the patience, Ray." 

 "That falls short of being a compliment."

 "It wasn't meant to be. Only a statement of fact."

 "Doesn't Dusty have to learn to do stuff himself some day?"

 "Perhaps. But not today. Or this week. Perhaps not even this year. He has
many years of bad experiences at school to overcome."

 "Like you'll live out the year," Ray muttered. "Benny, this isn't about
Dusty. You're fooling yourself if you think that. This is about you.
Remember what we talked about before he came - how you couldn't take it if
a kid of ours was a delinquent? This is about sticking with him every
minute of the day because if he misbehaves you wouldn't be able to deal
with it."

 "Ray, there are techniques that A.D.D. sufferers can use to keep
themselves functional. I've read up on this. At the right time we'll
introduce them into Dustin's routine. But for the time being, he needs is
a long period of time experiencing success at school and at home to give
him confidence."

 "Hey, remember who you're talking to here. I know you. You need Dusty to
be perfect and he's going to be perfect if you have to kill yourself to
get him that way."

 "Ray, lower your voice, he'll hear you."

 "Good! He'll hear his parents fighting. That's normal."

 Benton opened his mouth to answer but Ray forestalled him, "I know, I
know, your grandparents didn't fight. Dusty doesn't have old missionaries
raising him like you did. He's got one father that's Italian and that
means he hears yelling in the house."

 17 / 40

 Dusty's homework for the evening was done, packed into his backpack and
the backpack rested in the vestibule by the front door. Pinned to a
corkboard set up on the wall beside the door was a note, in Dusty's
handwriting, to remind the boy of all the things to have in his backpack
before going out the door the next morning. There was a checkmark beside
each of: science homework, geography project, memory stick, pencil case,
wallet, library book. Lunch and snack remained as yet unticked. Benton had
initiated this nighttime ritual of loading the backpack with all that was
required for the next day and ticking off the items once packed (all but
the perishables that would be loaded just prior to leaving). For the last
month, Dusty had been having the heady experience getting through entire
days without having to do without a forgotten item or explain to his
teacher why anything was missing.

 With Dusty's homework completed to Benton's satisfaction and the supper
dishes long since dealt with by Ray while they were at it, the household
settled into pre-bedtime, post-homework mode with all three of them
sitting down in front of glowing screens. Dusty retired to his own bedroom
to work on a Vecchio family website he was helping Artie put together. In
the living room, Ray snapped in a cassette of a basketball game he had
taped while at work. Beside him on the couch was Benton, not watching the
game, but tapping away at the notebook on his lap. Between them was a bowl
of popcorn.

 "I shouldn't really be eating this," Benton said, absently, as he dropped
a few kernels into his mouth.

 "Getting sloppy in your old age, Benny? Butter all over the keyboard?"

 Benton sighed. "No, I mean I really should watch the snacking. I'm
getting so soft."

 "We don't get enough exercise. I ride a desk. You ride a desk. Dusty's
right. We don't go running around after bad guys anymore. You don't even
stand outside the door like you used to."

 "Nobody stands outside the door as I used to. It never was a good idea
and I'm glad I did away with it." All the years that Benton had been
Deputy Liaison Officer he'd been required to spend hours a week standing
immobile outside the consulate door. First Inspector Moffat and then
Inspector Thatcher after him had believed it enhanced the image of the
consulate to have an officer in red serge standing like a palace guard by
the entrance. Benton endeared himself to his staff by discontinuing the
custom on his first day as Chief Liaison Officer.

 "But you did look kind of hot standing there. I used to love to drive up
in front of the Consulate and look at you." He reached for Benton's hand.
"Dusty's going to be in his room for a long time. He's stuck on that
computer. Don't you think we could go into the bedroom for just a little
while? He won't hear anything, he's got headphones."

 Benton squeezed his lover's hand, then released it and placed both his
own hands back on his keyboard. "I need to finish these review notes for
tomorrow."

 "Take a break."

 "Ray, we've discussed this."

 "No, we didn't ever discuss it. You just announced it. No sex while
Dusty's in the house. Except he's always in the house because you never
leave him alone."

 "I stay with him to keep him focused. You know what happens when he isn't
supervised. We're parents now, Ray."

 "Yeah, well I'm not buying it anymore. Just because I'm a parent doesn't
mean I have to go the rest of my life without being able to . . ."

 Dusty's voice interrupted Ray's nascent tirade. "Fuck!" He continued to
rant in his room, and Benton breathed, "Oh dear."

 Setting his computer aside on the couch, he rose and went towards Dusty's
room. With a quiet curse of his own, Ray got off the couch and followed.
They found Dusty seated at his computer, the apparent source of his
displeasure was the index page of the Vecchio family website.

 "This bites! I'm not doing this anymore! Everything I do goes wrong!"
Dusty lapsed into normal language for this brief series of statements and
then went on describing the situation in more colourful terms."

 "Don't talk like that, Dustin" Benton said, sternly.

 "Oh, yeah yeah. I know I was swearing." 

 "Benny means you shouldn't keep saying everything you do goes wrong.
You're doing great at sticking with stuff. You've been at the computer
working for more than half an hour and I bet you didn't even switch over
to your games once, did you?"

 "I didn't but I'm going to. This is just stupid. It won't save. It's all
crap."

 Ray squatted down beside Dusty so that his head was level with the boy's
and they were looking at the screen from the same angle. Benton watched
from behind.

 "What do you mean it won't save? Show me," said Ray.

 With a quick backward look at Benton first, Dusty described his computer
problem. Ray was the one being sympathetic and had asked the question, but
Dusty knew it was Benton that would have the computer expertise to help
him if either man could.

 "This is the index page of Artie's site. Here's where I put a link to a
picture of Aunt Frannie. See?" He touched the screen to show a line of
html coding. Benton recognized the layout of a common free website
software. He was about to protest against putting Dusty's putting his
finger on the screen but refrained.

 "And it looks fine when I test like this." With a few keystrokes, Dusty
demonstrated. Then he exited the software and went back into the site from
a search engine. "Now look! The link's not there. I put it in and I saved
it and it looks like it's there. Then we go back in I don't see it. It's
all gone. I'm not doing this anymore. It doesn't work."

 Ray turned and looked up to Benton for input.

 "It's not gone, Dusty. And it's not stupid. It just needs cleaning."

 "Yeah, yeah, I put my fingers on the screen."

 "No, I mean you have to clean your cache. The browser remembers sites
you've been on before and brings you back to them. When you call up the
web page, the system goes to the version you were looking at before,
because that's what it has stored. If we go over to another computer
you'll see the new version."

 Dusty popped up to run over to Benton and Ray's room, but Benton pressed
him back down. "Cache comes from the French cacher, meaning to hide. In
the north we would hide supplies . . ."

 "Benny."

 "Yes, Ray."

 "Computer lesson now. Language lesson later."

 "Thank you," Dusty mouthed silently.

 "Very well. I'll show you how to clear your cache. Then you'll see the
most recent version of the site. The one you just saved."

 Dusty tried to slide out of his seat yet again, to allow Benton to sit in
front of the computer. Again Benton pressed him back down. 

 "Open this list here," Benton said, pointing but not touching the screen.
He bent closer to look at the screen over Dusty's shoulder while the boy
followed his instruction. 

 Benton peered at the screen then said, briefly, "Dustin, would you leave
me and Ray alone for a few minutes, please."

 "What? This is my room. I want to see what you're doing."

 "I know it's your room. Ray and I gave it to you. Go and do something
else for a few minutes, please."

 Dusty looked to Ray, who inclined his head towards the door. Grumbling,
Dusty left the room and slammed the door. Benton took his place at the
computer.

 "What gives, Benny?" Ray whispered, impressed that Benton hadn't reacted
to the door slam. 

 Without speaking, Benton opened a word processing program and typed a
sentence for Ray to read. Then he placed a finger to his lips to enjoin
Ray to silence. Ray understood. Dusty was most likely listening at door.
Ray read the sentence.

 I want you to see some of the websites Dusty has been visiting before we
wipe out the history.

 Benton re-opened the part of the screen that showed a list of recently
visited web addresses. Ray touched the screen with his finger, to verify
that he was looking at the area Benton had in mind. Benton slapped his
hand away. He waited until Ray had taken in the names of the sites, all of
which seemed to indicate pornographic content.

 Then, Benton accessed one. Naked women in the most suggestive of poses
filled the screen. He closed it and opened another. The pictures here were
of men and women who had gone beyond the stage of suggestion. Benton
opened porn site after porn site, while Ray looked on. Then he brought
back the word processor and typed.

 What do you make of these?

 Ray typed a response.

 Our little boy is growing up.

 Benton typed

 I'm serious.

 Ray typed:

 It's no big deal. You were a kid once. I didn't think you were till you
showed me a picture, but it looks like you were a kid once.

 Benton raised his eyes silently in appeal to the Heavens then typed.

 Mrs. Cardinal told us that Dustin was questioning his sexual orientation.
All these sites are heterosexual.

 Ray typed:

 You're right. No question about what he's looking at.

 Benton typed:

 I always thought Dusty was too young to be considering such things.
Should we talk to him about it?

 Instead of typing, Ray shook his head. Benton looked questioning at him.

 Ray typed. 

 Not we. Me.

 Benton typed.

 ?

 Ray typed.

 Trust me on this.

 Benton nodded, then shut down the word processor and went to get Dusty
back.

 18 / 40

 Ray didn't have to wait long for an opportunity to be alone with Dusty.
Benton worked late at the consulate again the very next night. Ray and
Dusty stayed for dinner at the Vecchio house, then drove home by
themselves. Ray was finding that the enclosed space of the car was an
effective place for a tte--tte with his foster son, since there were fewer
distractions and the boy was out of range of the blandishments of
television set and computer.

 "So I guess you're wondering why Benny sent you out of the room last
night."

 Dusty needed a moment to remember what Ray was talking about. Ray could
actually see the boy's expression change as he thought back to the
previous night then suddenly the penny dropped.

 "Oh yeah, I forgot about that. So what was it all about?"

 "When we went into your cache we could see - well, Benny could see - I
wouldn't have thought to look - some of the sites you've been on these
days. The porn, I mean."

 Ray was pleased that the boy didn't try to deny anything, after having
been caught out. "Aw, geez, Ray. All the guys do it." He seemed genuinely
embarrassed. Ray found that all the more endearing. "Was Benton mad?"

 "No, not mad. He was young once too, you know. And so was I. We didn't
have the net when I was a kid. We used to have to sneak magazines. That
was tough, let me tell you. My old man used to keep . . ." Ray caught
himself wandering off topic. "No, Benny wasn't mad. But he was curious,
and so was I."

 "Curious? Why? You told me you used to be married. You could see anything
you want any time, right?"

 Ray refrained from chuckling. "I mean we noticed you only seemed to be
looking at women."

 "Well, sure. What else would I look at?"

 Ray cleared his throat. "Well, uh, guys."

 Without missing a beat, Dusty blurted out "Ewwwwww!" 

 "You think that's pretty disgusting, eh?"

 Dusty became contrite. "I guess you don't think it's disgusting, being
gay and all. Except, I don't really think about you and Benton being gay
anymore. You don't, like, act gay or anything."

 "You think it's all kind of gross, don't you."

 "Hmm." The boy grunted careful acknowledgement.

 "Which brings me to what we were curious about. One of the reasons you
got sent to live with us is somebody thought you weren't sure about your -
let's say - orientation - if you know what I mean. They thought it would
be good for you to see two guys in a stable relationship."

 "Somebody said I was gay?" The boy's sudden outrage seemed genuine. "Who
said that?"

 "According to Mrs. Cardinal, you said that."

 For the second time in the car ride, Dusty had to think back to
reconstruct past events. Finally he said, sheepishly, "Oh, yeah. I did
tell her that. But I was just yanking her chain. I always thought she gave
me to you and Benton because you were cops and I'm a problem kid."

 "But Dusty, you hardly ever lie. Why would you say something like that to
Mrs. Cardinal?"

 "All the kids tell the Red Bird stories. It's fun. She believes just
about everything we tell her."

 This made sense to Ray. He'd been a twelve-year-old boy himself and knew
that no child of that age would willingly admit to homosexual leanings.
But the urge to freak out an older authority figure, that he understood
very well. This explained the mystery, but he certainly wasn't going to
condone this kind of treatment of Mrs. Cardinal. He respected and liked
her.

 "It's cruel. Lorraine Cardinal is my friend. Not hang-around friend but a
work friend. She's a decent lady and I like her.'

 Dusty sat in chastened silence for a time before answering. "That's what
she said about you too. She said you were her friend and I ought to be
nice to you. I have been nice, haven't I, Ray?"

 Ray couldn't hug the boy while driving, but some gesture of affection was
needed. Ruffling the child's hair would have to suffice, so Ray did that.

 The turned into the garage and Ray parked. As they walked towards the
elevator Ray remembered there was something left over from the
conversation that hadn't yet been resolved. "What was that you called Mrs.
Cardinal? Red Something?"

 "Red Bird. All the kids call her that."

 "Why?"

 "Uh, I don't know. It's what the kids in the group home call her."

 "I bet I know why," Ray said. "I'll show you when we get inside."

 Once they were in the apartment, they went to Dusty's room where he fired
up his computer and, at Ray's instruction, called up a search engine. Ray
took over and after a brief search he found up a close up photograph of a
bird with bright red feathers.

 "Here, look at this."

 "It's a bird. So?"

 "It's red. This kind of bird has bright red plumage. It's called a
cardinal. Because human cardinals wear red robes." 

 "Human Cardinal. That some kind of super-hero or something?"

 Ray sighed. "Cardinals are very high officials in the Catholic Church.
One step down from the Pope. Really big shots." 

 "Oh, I get it. Cardinal. Red bird. Ray, I like it when you teach me
stuff."

 Ray noted the inflection - when YOU teach me. The kid couldn't be faulted
for a comment like that. Benny would have lectured him about ornithology
for God knows how long. Ray changed the subject.

 "I'd like you to be respectful to Mrs. Cardinal, Dusty. She likes you,
you know. She wanted you to have the best possible father," Ray grinned,
"which is me, by the way."

 Dusty smiled back. "You like me, don't you Ray?"

 "What do you think?" Ray was now enjoying himself hugely. This was the
kind of sweet moment he'd imagined having between himself and a child of
his own. He scooped Dusty up into his arms and clutched him in a bear hug.

 Dusty's next words destroyed the mood for Ray entirely. 

 "Benton doesn't like me."

 Ray dropped Dusty onto the bed, and then stood back, shocked. "How can
you say that?"

 "He doesn't like me," Dusty repeated.

 "Are you kidding? Benny spends every waking minute with you."

 "We're always studying or doing homework or talking about something to
make me be good. He doesn't spend time with me because he likes me, Ray.
He has to keep talking to me all the time so I won't be bad."

 Ray dropped down on the edge of the bed beside Dusty. The boy's
assessment of the Mountie's behaviour was a little too close to the truth
for Ray to deny outright. "Benny likes you. He just has trouble showing
it. I'll tell you a story about Benny and his own dad. We were hiding in
this safe house protecting a witness: There was me, and the witness and
Benny and Benny's dad - and while I was out checking the area the two of
them were talking about their relationship." 

 (Ray refrained from mentioning that at the time, Benton's father had
actually been dead for a year and Benton had this heart-to-heart with a
ghost.) 

 "Benny actually told me about this years after it happened. He told his
father that he loved him more than anybody but he never, ever could say
it. You know what Benny's father said? He said 'If you had said that, I'd
have hit you.' You see how that kind of thing could mess somebody up."

 The boy was unimpressed. "If you say so, Ray. Can I play my games now?"

 "Okay, but if Benny's not home by nine, you'll have to do your homework
with ME. Unless you want to try it on your own."

 "I'll try it on my own." he slid off his bed and bolted out of the room.

 19 / 40

 I hate being the go-between, Ray thought, as he got into bed that night
and Benton slid in beside him. I wish Benny would talk to the boy himself,
instead of just talking at him. 

 "Dusty thinks you don't like him," Ray blurted out, without preamble.

 Benton didn't look surprised. He did turn towards the wall that separated
Dusty's room from their own.

 "Never mind if he's listening. He already knows - he's the one that said
it."

 Nevertheless, Benton kept his voice low. "It's understandable he might
think that, Ray. He sees me as stern and demanding - the one who makes him
work and study. And he perceives you as the one to romp with. We're still
playing good cop - bad cop. After all these years nothing much has
changed."

 "You've changed. The Benton Fraser I first met got along great with
children. Seems like every time I turned around you had some little kid
under your wing. Made me crazy. But now we've got a child of our own,
you're a cold fish."

 "Those other children weren't my legal responsibility, Ray. I was just
helping them as best I could."

 "That's bull. You can show affection. I see you with Maria's and
Frannie's kids. You've got a special problem with Dusty."

 Benton started to sputter in protest but Ray cut him off. 

 "We talked about this before Dusty came, but I thought you got over it.
Dusty's got problems and you still think it's your personal responsibility
to make him behave."

 "I think that because it's true. I'm surprised you don't see that, Ray."

 "Benny, you can't stand over him his whole life. He's got to learn to
cope on his own. He's a decent kid and he's smart. He'll learn to manage.
We're not going to be around forever, you know. Especially not you, if you
go on at this rate. One of the reasons we got a kid is so that we could
enjoy him. You never loosen up and have any fun with Dusty. You lecture.
You teach. You plan. You supervise. You can play with the nieces and
nephews but you won't just relax and play with Dusty."

 "Dustin has plenty of people to play with. I give him structure and
focus. You're right. Someday he'll need to manage on his own. That's why
we need to help him develop coping skills now, while we still have him
under our control."

 "Our control! Do you hear yourself?"

 "Our influence, then."

 "And another thing. Nobody but you and the priest calls him 'Dustin'.
You've got to lighten up a little Benny. It'd be healthier for both of
you."

 "I'll try, Ray." Then, raising his voice, addressing the wall and the boy
on the other side. "I said I'll try." 

 20 / 40

 Ray and Dusty were diligently working through their weekday morning
porridge. Benton had somehow internalized the belief that children should
eat porridge for breakfast and Ray, in the interests of keeping his
resolution not to take sides with the boy against his partner, supported
the Mountie. But it only seemed right to Ray that he sit down with Dusty
and endure the same fare. 

 Between them, by trial and error, they had managed to come up with a
measure of the minimum amount of porridge they could put in Dusty's bowl
before Benton objected that it wasn't enough. Before school at the Vecchio
house, Dusty was assured of a second, much more palatable breakfast, so
the feeding at home became an exercise in how little he could get away
with eating.

 This morning, Benton's own bowl sat neglected at the table. He was taking
longer than usual to dress. As Ray and Dusty were finishing up he finally
emerged dressed in red serge.

 "Oh yeah, annual review time," Ray remarked casually, surprising Dusty by
making no other comment about Benton's bright red tunic, yellow striped
jodhpurs and high boots. Benton generally went to work in a business suit.

 Benton explained further to Dusty. "Every year an RCMP Inspector comes to
Chicago to inspect my operation and perform my annual review. I take the
occasion to have my staff wear dress uniform."

 Benton was about to sit down to his own porridge, then changed his mind.
"I can't eat a bite or I'll bust out of my tunic. I must have put on
weight since last year." He picked up his bowl, emptied the porridge in
the garbage and put the dish in the sink.

 Ray and Dusty exchanged a look. Had they but known Benton was going to
eschew his daily porridge, they would have had an excuse not to eat their
own. But it was too late now.

 "That's a cool uniform," Dusty said, watching Benton as he went to the
front vestibule and took a wide-brimmed hat with a leather band from the
hall closet.

 "Benny used to have to wear that get up every day. When I first met him,
he had a permanent hat-line in his forehead. That was fourteen years ago,"
Ray said.

 Dusty tuned out Ray's reminiscences, recalling memories of his own. He
thought back to the day Mark and Mrs. Cardinal told him that Benton was a
Mountie and showed him a picture of a red-clad man on the cover of the
Guardian. Since then Benton hadn't done anything to connect him with the
image of a Mountie Dusty had seen in movies and cartoons. "You look like a
real Mountie!" Dusty exclaimed.

 "I am a real Mountie," Benton said, settling his Stetson onto his head.

 "Aren't Mounties supposed to ride horses? How come you don't ride a
horse?"

 "He used to," Ray said. 

 Benton stood waiting by the door. While Ray and Dusty put their dishes in
the sink and fetched their lunches and jackets in preparation to leave,
Ray went on to give a brief account of Benton's daring horseback rescue of
Inspector Thatcher years before. "And he rode off with her on the back of
his horse just like a knight rescuing a damsel in distress. He was a
glorious sight."

 Benton, waiting for them by the front door, rolled his eyes. 

 "She was my commanding officer. I was obliged to see to her safety,"
Benton said as the three left the apartment.

 "Don't let him fool you, Dusty," Ray grinned. "Back then Benny had a
thing going with his commanding officer. I used to call her the Dragon
Lady."

 Dusty came to a halt in the corridor. "With a woman?"

 "With a woman," Ray confirmed. "Benny and I were both in thirties before
we . . ." Ray looked up and down the hallway before concluding ". . .
before we gave up on women."

 21 / 40

 When his superiors came down from Ottawa, Benton usually stayed late into
the evening entertaining them. Ray kept the car in anticipation of once
again picking Dusty up alone and the two of them spending the evening
wondering when Benton would finally come through the door. At least he
might be relaxing a little, not working himself to death, Ray thought from
time to time during that day. The brass would expect to be wined and
dined. So Ray was surprised when the Mountie called him around 4:00 in the
afternoon to let him know that any time Ray wanted to come and pick him up
at the Consulate would be fine.

 "What happened? Why aren't you staying to make nice with the higher-ups?"
Ray was tempted to be happy Benton was coming home but such a change in
the annual ritual didn't bode well.

 "Inspector Crothers dropped a bit of a bombshell on us all, Ray. He's
suggested, and I must say I agree with him, that all the liaison staff be
allowed to go home early to digest the news. I offered to take him out for
dinner as I usually do, but he declined."

 Ray had been slouching lazily at his desk when the phone rang, but at
this he jolted upright in his chair. "Benny, what happened?"

 "I'd rather discuss it later, Ray. I have some things to attend to. I'm
afraid Constable Parker is on the verge of hysteria."

 "Okay, Benny. I'll call you from the car when I'm on my way. We'll pick
Dusty up right after he comes home from school."

 " Fine. I . . ." here the Mountie broke off to address someone else, " .
. . of course nothing is going to happen right away. If you need a ride
home I can arrange . . . Ray, I'd better go. We'll talk about this when
the whole family is together. Call me when you're on your way." With a
definitive click, Benton was gone.

 Ray decided to backtrack to the Vecchio house to pick up Dusty before
driving out to the Canadian Consulate. Dusty wondered why he was being
picked up earlier than usual and asked Ray about it as they drove.

 "Something happened at the Consulate today. I want us to talk about this
a little before we pick Benny up."

 "What happened, Ray?"

 Ray glanced on and off at Dusty beside him in the front seat as they
drove. Despite Nona's constant feeding, the boy was as scrawny as the day
he came to them. His bangs had been trimmed at Benton's insistence but
they still hung down to Dusty's eyebrows and the child's most conspicuous
mannerism was to brush at them up ineffectually. Push as the boy might,
the bangs always settled like heavy curtains across the boy's forehead.
And he still fidgeted constantly. Ray had been away from active detective
duty for some years now, but he still had his investigator's skills. Ray
scanned the child's face and body for some physical sign of any change
that life with himself and Benton may have had on the boy, trying to see
him with a stranger's eyes, as though he didn't see Dusty every day and
every night. Despite the lack of outward change, Ray knew that the boy was
doing well in school, seldom swore and had given up any attempt to be
openly defiant. 

 Talking to Dusty before Benton got in the car was probably going to be
useless. Still, there was no harm in trying.

 "He wouldn't tell me, but I know it's not good news. Now, Dusty, you know
Benny works at the Canadian Consulate. Do you actually know what a
consulate is?"

 Dusty was secure enough with Ray to shake his head, causing his sandy
bangs to bounce about his forehead.

 "It's something like an embassy." 

 As Ray suspected, the boy's expression remained the same. This
information did not enlighten him. "They do official Canadian government
stuff there. In the consulate there's a particular department that Benny
is in charge of."

 "The li-ai-son office," Dusty supplied, pronouncing every syllable to
show Ray he could reproduce the word correctly.

 "And do you know what that is?"

 Dusty only grunted, "Something to do with Mounties, I guess," he
muttered, having exhausted his knowledge of Benton's professional
responsibilities.

 "Benny and his staff don't work with the rest of the diplomats and
consulate people. They're part of a department in the RCMP that
co-ordinates with our American police - the Chicago PD, the FBI, the CIA,
the Coast Guard - whatever. Whenever the Canadian police and the American
police have stuff they need to do together. Dusty, that can get pretty
stressful.

 Dusty considered this. "That's why he looks all stretched out sometimes."

 "All Benny told me so far is that something is going down, but he didn't
tell me the details. He wants the whole family to be together when he
talks about it. I know it's unfair to ask you to behave but . . ."

 Observant as he was, Ray couldn't notice the effect of his words on
Dusty. The boy tuned out what Ray was telling him for a while, thinking
over these words: he wants the whole family to be together. Ray had said
the words casually, but they pounded in Dusty's brain. The whole family.
Ray thought of the three of them as a family. 

 Dusty tuned back into Ray's lecturing in time to hear him say, "And if
for just a little while tonight you could maybe try to be quiet. I never
bug you about it, do I? But I have a feeling tonight's going to be rough.
If you don't settle down just a little, we won't be able to get him to
relax. And he's going to need to, Dusty."

 All his young life, Dusty had been hearing people talking at him about
his behaviour. It was usually a two-part admonishment: if you don't
behave, we can't go to the store. You have to be quiet or I can't take you
to the movies. If you don't settle down, we'll never get any sleep. Well
meaning foster parents, teachers and social workers phrased these things
carefully in order to convey to Dusty that what he said and did had
consequences. But to Dusty it was only so much nagging. The paired
messages never linked in his mind. He knew he couldn't be quiet, couldn't
settle down, couldn't fall sleep. All he absorbed was that he was kept
from store, or movie, whatever, because he was noisy, jumpy, bad.

 Neither Benton nor Ray ever said things like this. As he drove along with
Ray, Dusty became conscious of the fact that he actually had the power to
affect how Benton would feel. If he were good, Benton would feel better
and if he were bad, Benton would feel worse. Adult after adult had, in the
final stages of exasperation, had declared that Dusty was driving them
crazy, but the words had never signified cause and effect. It was only
something grownups said.

 Ray was still talking, and at a certain point he demanded "Are you
listening to me?"

 "Yeah," Dusty lied. He wasn't listening to the actual words but he was
absorbing a message. Ray and Benton were his family. If he were bad his
family would suffer. Dusty physically cringed under the weight of this
awful responsibility. Ray noticed him hunching down suddenly.

 "I shouldn't have dumped all this on you. Sorry. Tell you what, let's not
cook tonight. Let's pick up some barbeque. Did I ever tell you the story
about how me and Benny went around tasting barbeque sauce all over the
city? There was this stripper . . ."

 When Ray judged they were about five minutes from the consulate he halted
his tale, to which Dusty was not listening. Dusty had found the initial
reference to a stripper intriguing, but the story failed to be in any way
titillating so he quickly tuned out. Ray pulled out his cell phone to
alert Benton that they were nearly there. 

 The Mountie must have been watching on the Consulate's security camera
for them to arrive, Ray figured, because as soon as Ray pulled up in front
of the building, Benton burst through the heavy gates surrounding the
Consulate and poured himself into the back seat of the car with a groan.

 Ray sped off. None of them spoke for several blocks. Finally Benton said,
"It hasn't been a good day."

 Ray turned to give a last look of appeal to Dusty, who vowed silently
that he would be good for the rest of the night. No, for the rest of his
life. Benton and Ray, who were so sweet to him and called him family,
needed him to be good or something very bad would happen to Benton.

 22 / 40 

 There was no predicting what talking style Benton might fall into on any
given occasion, Ray had learned after years with the Mountie. In some
moods he would lecture in a professorial tone, which Dusty had learned to
fear as a punishment worse than a beating. At other times, particularly
when in a delicate situation, he would babble. In a stressful moment he
might put another person at ease by sharing a tender episode from his own
life, telling personal things easily and comfortably. At certain times,
Benton clammed up, his jaws clenched bulldog tight to keep any words from
escaping to tell what the matter was. Even after ten years as his lover,
Ray couldn't predict when one of these times would hit.

 This evening was a bulldog evening. Ray wasn't surprised. But silence
wasn't going to help the family situation so he pushed.

 "Let me guess. They're closing down the liaison office. Everybody's got
to go home to Canada," he said as they drove.

 He and Dusty waited.

 "Not entirely," Benton said, finally. "Headquarters wants to cut back the
number of people we keep in the States. According to Inspector Crothers,
so much is being done online these days that it's unnecessary to keep too
much of a physical presence. It's not the nineties anymore, he says."

 "Charming."

 "All the liaison offices except Washington, Chicago and Los Angeles are
going to be shut down within six months. Inspector Crothers is going to
stay in the States, evaluating these last three locations. My people and I
may be allowed to stay where we are. We may be redeployed to another
American city. We might be recalled to Canada."

 "It's going to be a fun six months then, while somebody else decides your
fate. This sucks, Benny."

 "It does indeed, Ray."

 They drove on in silence for a while.

 Then Ray said, "The thing is, we always had this hanging over our head.
We went into this knowing you probably wouldn't get to stay in Chicago
forever."

 "I don't think I'd want to stay in Chicago forever. I like to think that
some day I'll be home again."

 "Well, we always said we'd deal with the situation if and when the time
came. We'll figure something out. If I move with you to Canada we could
get married."

 In front passenger seat, beside Ray, Dusty twitched. Ray and Benton never
acted like a couple around him. For all that Dusty ever saw, he might as
well be living with two brothers. His foster fathers never acted
affectionately in front of him and he had long since given up listening at
the wall for the sounds of sex in their bedroom. Hearing Ray speak of
marriage was unsettling. 

 Even more unsettling was the talk about Benton's job. Dusty didn't
entirely understand what was going on but it was sounding something like
the Mountie might be losing his job. Having a foster parent put out of
work was nothing new to the boy. People got laid off, or fired, or they
just quit. When that happened people went on unemployment or welfare or
they just found money elsewhere: dealing, turning tricks. Rarely did
anyone send Dusty back, since foster parents got money for keeping him.

 Dusty had been told that the money Ray and Benton were getting for his
support was being banked for him in a something called a trust account. He
did recall hearing Benton one night declare that he wasn't about to accept
money from anyone in order to feed his own son. Dusty knew he wouldn't see
a dime until he turned eighteen, so he didn't pay much attention to the
details of the arrangement. 

 But, what was this about moving to Canada? This was nothing Dusty had
heard about before. He didn't even have a clear idea of where Canada was.
Would they take him along? 

 Then Benton came out with something even more alarming. "We never did
look into whether we would be allowed to take Dustin out of the country.
That was a grave oversight on our part, Ray."

 "Benny, there's time to talk about this. We don't have to sort it out
right now," Ray interposed. He could sense Dusty tensing up. They might
have some difficult decisions ahead. No sense in scaring Dusty too much
before it was necessary. Benny must be pretty shook up himself to be so
blunt in front of the boy, Ray thought. 

 "Inspector Crothers did have one suggestion, specifically for me. He
brought it up while he was doing my performance evaluation. He said it
might help me have more choice of postings if the Chicago liaison officer
were to be shut down."

 "Oh, and you were thinking of telling me about this when, exactly?"

 "Please Ray, I've had a lot on my mind. Inspector Crothers says that
given my experience, if I were to get a degree in police sciences I'd
stand a good chance of promotion to officer rank."

 "Geez, you'd surpass your father. Well, I'm here to tell you being an
officer isn't so bad. Christ, you might outrank ME one day. Now that would
be scary. The RCMP would give you time off to go to school, I take it."

 "Sadly, no. I'd have to do it on my own time. It would feel odd to
actually go to school."

 Dusty hadn't been following much of the conversation but at this he had
to interrupt. "You mean feel funny going BACK to school. You went to
school when you were a kid."

 "Not really, Dustin. When I was in Grade Four my grandparents lived in
Inuvik and I was able to go to a school. Most of the time though, I was
taught at home. My exams had to be flown in by bush plane."

 "You went to Mountie school, though," Ray pointed out. 

 "True. But in those days RCMP training didn't involve much classroom
time."

 "So you'll go to school, study, all at the same time while you're
figuring out how to dismantle your own department." And raising a problem
child, Ray added in his own mind.

 "According to the Inspector, Athabasca University is allowing experienced
police officers to sit challenge examinations in lieu of taking certain
courses. It's one of those 'distance universities'. I wouldn't have to
physically attend. It's in Alberta." 

 "Isn't that just too too high tech? You wouldn't have to go to the
school, just kill yourself studying."

 "I'm hardly likely to do that, Ray. Dustin and I could study together -
he for his tests and I for mine." Benton leaned forward as far as his seat
belt would allow, in order to be closer to Dusty. "Wouldn't that be fun,
Dustin?"

 "You're always saying stuff is fun when it's not," griped Dusty, glad to
have something tangible to use to express his displeasure with the whole
line of conversation. His home with Benton and Ray seemed to be at risk.

 "You and Benny can help each other," Ray said, turning to look at Dusty,
raising his eyebrows as he stressed the word 'help'. "Stuff's not so
stressful when you help each other."

 Dusty caught on, reminded of his pledge made only a moment ago, to be
very good and to help Ray protect Benton.

 Ray was already pulling into the parking garage of the building when he
Dusty reminded him he had promised fast food for their dinner that night.
"Oh, yeah, Barbeque, wasn't it?"

 "I don't think I could digest that, Ray," Benton said weakly.

 "It's not for you, it's for me and Dusty. You can have bark tea. Tell you
what. You two go on upstairs. I'll go back out and fetch something from
Moo-Moo Barbeque. It's just around the corner."

 "You could order it in," Dusty suggested. 

 "Too slow at dinner time. It's faster to pick up. My boy is hungry." Ray
turned the vehicle around carefully in the underground garage and headed
for the door. Once they were back out and on the street he dropped Benton
and Dusty off at the front door of the building then sped off.

 Benton lay a comforting hand on Dusty's shoulder. "Don't be too concerned
about all this, Dustin. Ray and I will see to it that our family stays
together. That's a promise." He ruffled the boy's shaggy sandy locks and
they went together into the building.

 23 / 40 

 As far as Dusty knew, Benton never lied and Ray would have been the first
to confirm that, if he had been with them instead of circling the block
around Moo-Moo Barbeque, looking for a place to park. 

 Even so, Benton's statement didn't quite reassure Dusty who started
imagining all manner of calamitous scenarios while the two of them crossed
the lobby and rode up the elevator.

 First Dusty pictured the big old building Benton worked in, the one with
the security cameras and high iron fence. At the doorway a gang of men all
dressed in those red jackets, puffy pants and high boots held Benton by
the arms, while Benton struggled to get free. They all tussled for a while
and then the largest of the other Mounties counted "one . . . two . . ."
At three they heaved Benton out wide wooden doors, laughing raucously when
he landed face down on the lawn. "And stay out!" the biggest Mountie
called. Benton crawled across the Consulate lawn towards the gate.

 More mental pictures formed: Benton tight-lipped, packed a suitcase in
the bedroom. With no job in the United States, he had to leave the
country. Ray sat in the living room, sobbing. Benton emerged from the
bedroom, carrying one suitcase and stopped beside Ray where he sat. The
two men exchanged a passionate kiss of the kind Dusty imagined but never
saw, and then Benton walked out the door. He wasn't gone more than a few
minutes when Ray, sniffing and wiping away tears, retired to his bedroom,
pulled a gun out from under his pillow, and blew out his brains rather
than live without the man he loved.

 No. That wouldn't happen. Benton would not leave Ray. He would take him
away to Canada, where all the cold weather came from, leaving Dusty alone,
at the mercy of the next set of foster parents. Ray and Benton, dressed in
matching fur-lined parkas, trudged through the hip deep snow, icicles
hanging from Ray's prominent nose.

 Wrong, wrong. Didn't Benton promise they would all three stay together?
Yes, but he didn't know whether Dusty would be able to leave the country. 

 The three of them stood in front of the airport security guards. Timidly,
Dusty held out his passport. He had never owned such a document, so in his
mind it was a thick sheaf of papers. One of the guards, huge and
threatening, leafed through these papers and then extracted one,
brandishing it in front of the others. On the paper was printed in heavy
black letters: Foster Child - Not to Leave the Country. "Take him away,"
ordered the guard and burly security men dragged Dusty off. Dusty kicked
and screamed. Shaking his fists, Ray shouted at them that he was a police
captain, and they damned well better bring his son back. But the guards
only laughed in derision as they receded with Dusty in tow.

 Dusty decided, as he and Benton stepped out of the elevator, that it was
his responsibility to prevent these disasters by being good. Had Dusty but
shared these thoughts, Benton would have straightened out this twisted
thinking, but Dusty held his own counsel, determined not to burden his
foster father with any upsetting conversation. They proceeded along the
corridor towards their apartment door while Dusty cast about in his mind
for just what he had to do to be good. 

 Benton unlocked the apartment door. Before going inside, Dusty
straightened up and made a silent pledge. Once I walk through this door,
I'm going to be the best kid in the world. 

 Benton went in ahead. Behind him, Dusty paused on the threshold, took a
deep breath, held it, and then, with great deliberation, took an
exaggerated step into the apartment.

 After putting his Stetson back in the hall cupboard, Benton spoke to
Dusty for the first time since they came into the building. "There's no
sense in starting our homework until you've eaten. I think I'll just rest
until Ray comes home."

 Dusty didn't notice that Benton was rubbing his left arm with his right
hand, and that his breathing was irregular as he lowered himself onto the
living-room sofa. He did notice that Benton had not gone to his bedroom to
change, but instead dropped down for his nap fully dressed in his Mountie
get-up. Both acts were out of character as far as Dusty knew the Mountie's
behaviour. He always changed his clothes immediately upon coming home and
he never flaked out on the couch. This realization reinforced for Dusty
that Benton was messed up in some way, as Ray had impressed upon him, and
that's Benton health depended upon Dusty's behaviour.

 Dusty cast about in his mind for what action he should take at this point
in order to qualify as being good. Get out his books and try to study
something? No, Benton had said to wait until later. Benton was already
spread out on the couch, eyes closed, offering Dusty no hint as to what he
should be doing. 

 Dusty thought of setting the table for dinner. Yes, that was something
good to do.

 Benton lay with one arm over his eyes, unmoving, while Dusty fetched
cutlery, plates and napkins and laid them out on the kitchen table. He
knew the right places to put the forks, knives and spoons, having been
schooled by Nona in this and many other domestic arts. He was about to
call out to Benton to come witness his marvelous achievement, then thought
better of disturbing him. 

 I'll just leave him alone and go play computer games in my room until Ray
comes, Dusty decided. Remembering that Benton disliked the pinging,
banging and short musical blasts, Dusty closed his bedroom door and fished
his earphones out from under a pile of papers and CD's, luxuriating in
virtuous feelings as he settled the earpieces on his head. Keep quiet in
his room. Leave Benton to sleep undisturbed. Ray will be so proud.

 When the crushing chest pains hit Benton, his call to Dusty for help went
unheard through the closed door, earphones, and blasting game noises.

 24 / 40 

 With no help coming from Dusty, Benton tried to make it to a telephone on
his own, the nearest one being on the other side of the living room beside
the front vestibule. But his breath was too short to keep him going and he
crumpled halfway there. Ray flung open the apartment door a moment later,
bearing a paper sack full of barbequed pork and chicken wings, and found
him in on the floor in the middle of the living-room.

 First he cried Benton's name and crouched beside him, letting the paper
bag drop to the ground. With a policeman's practiced precision he checked
for a pulse - faint but present - and breathing - rapid and shallow. Then
he flipped open his cell phone to call 911. As soon has he had summoned
help, he straightened Benton out on the floor so that he would be in the
right position for Ray to administer either mouth-to-mouth or CPR if
Benton's breathing or heartbeat stopped before the paramedics arrived.

 Only then did his self control slip. He screamed for Dusty, his piercing
shriek penetrating the boy's earphones and the noises issuing from them.
Hearing his name, Dusty slid off the earphones and came out of his room.
The edge of alarm in Ray's voice didn't disturb him at first - Ray often
yelled.

 In the living room he saw Benton stretched out flat and still on the
floor with Ray huddled over him. Dusty froze.

 "Where were you?" Ray screamed at the boy.

 "I . . .I . . . " Dusty stammered.

 "Didn't you hear anything? Why didn't you call 911?"

 "But I . . ." Dusty tried to explain he had heard nothing at all from his
room, but Ray was too out of control to let him speak.

 "Four year old kids know how to call 911 and you just leave him here and
let him die!" 

 It was worse than any calamity Dusty had been imagining. Ray was gone
only a few minutes and now was Benton lying flat on the floor - dead for
all that Dusty could gather from across the room. And Ray was saying it
was Dusty's own fault. Dusty took Ray's words at face value. He'd killed
Benton. Dusty started to tremble and his legs nearly buckled. 

 "Now you get your ass downstairs to the lobby and hold the elevator for
when the paramedics get here. You bring them straight up here. You got
that? Is that something you can understand?" Ray fairly growled the
instructions. "Wait, pick up that bag first, they might trip over it."

 Dusty had to walk past the two men on the floor to get to the bag and the
door. He took a couple of steps then stopped, too afraid to come near
them. 

 "Get moving!"

 Dusty held his breath and sidled along past his two foster fathers, one
lifeless and ghastly white, the other livid. Still shaking, Dusty put the
bag on the telephone table and then ran from the apartment to the
elevator, the words "let him die" repeating in his brain. 

 He rode down to the lobby and stayed in the elevator, his thumb pressed
against button to keep the door opened. A neighbour he knew to say hello
to, carrying a tiny hairless dog in her arms, came strolling towards the
elevator, Emboldened by panic, Dusty told her to go away. "I need this
elevator!" he announced. The neighbour sputtered at this apparent
insolence and was about to berate the child when two paramedics pulling a
stretcher between them bolted into the building.

 One of the paramedics was taller than his partner, younger and new on the
job. "You waiting for us, kid?" he asked as he and his partner dragged
their equipment into the open elevator. Dusty's answer was to jerk a brief
nod and punch the button for his own floor. The younger paramedic gave
Dusty a slight smile, enough to be encouraging without belittling the
seriousness of the situation. "Is it your dad had the heart attack, kid?" 

 "My foster dad."

 "We'll save him, son." 

 The older paramedic only rolled his eyes. "Fuck, Todd, you can't tell him
that! The guy may have already croaked." 

 "Aw, Jake. I'm just trying to be nice to the kid." To Dusty he said,
"Anyway we'll do what we can."

 Their talk was cut short by the arrival of the elevator at their floor.
The elevator doors slid open and the paramedics pushed out ahead of Dusty.
The apartment door was hanging open so they went that way, with Dusty
trailing behind feeling that he had added to his failure by not being the
one to lead them, as Ray had ordered.

 Coming to the opened door, Dusty saw the paramedics already crouched
beside Benton while they talked to Ray, all of them speaking in clipped
professional tones. There was nothing for him to do here. 

 He should have known something was wrong and called for help but now it
was too late. Waves of horror and guilt seemed to well up and pulse out of
the room to break against him where he stood in the doorway. He'd killed
Benton. Ray hated him now and why shouldn't he? Now these men - the nice
one and the rude one - would take Benton away and leave him to endure
Ray's anger. Dusty couldn't bear to stand there any longer. He turned and
fled back to the elevator.

 Ray's attention was focused on Benton. It didn't occur to him to that
Dusty would do anything else but return to the apartment and wait. Once
Benton was on the stretcher and they were almost ready to leave, it was
the well meaning but inexperienced Todd who asked "Is the kid coming in
the ambulance with us?"

 Only then did Ray look about him and realize Dusty was nowhere to be
seen. He yelled for the boy, but Dusty was already out of range of even
Ray's loud voice.

 "Damn, did you guys see him leave?" he asked Todd and Jake who were
making the final adjustments to the straps that held Benton in place.

 "Hey, we were kind of busy here, Mac." Jake said, without looking up from
his charge.

 But Todd, the younger man, glanced around. Then he went to the corridor
and called out "Hey, kid!" causing his partner to snarl for him to get the
hell back inside, they had to move this dude out right now.

 "Are you coming?" Todd asked Ray.

 "One sec. I need one sec." Ray tore through the apartment checking each
room for Dusty and not finding him. Coming back to the living room he
faced a wrenching decision. If he left Benny to be bourn away alone, he
might never see him alive again. But to leave a child without knowing
where he was and whether he was safe - also unthinkable. And if Ray left
the house and Dusty came back to find no one there, what would the boy do?


 "Time's up, we're moving out," Jake declared, "Todd, get the elevator."
Todd left and Jake took hold of the stretcher and started pushing. Ray
grabbed his lover's hand for a quick squeeze before motion of the
stretcher pulled the hand out of his grasp. 

 "Hey, what hospital are you going to?" Ray called after them down the
corridor.

 Jake called back to him the name of the closest emergency department. The
elevator door opened. Ray couldn't stand it. "Wait! Wait for me!" he
shouted and ran after the stretcher and the paramedics. He left the
apartment door open. To hell with possessions, let the door stay opened in
case Dusty came back. Thank God he didn't keep a gun in the house anymore.
Ray squeezed into the elevator with the stretcher and the paramedics. 

 Ray was about to explain himself to Jake and Todd but thought better of
it. What was there to say, really? He'd made his choice. Dusty was a
street-wise kid, he told himself. As they rode down he called the Vecchio
house on the cell phone he had returned to his pocket without thinking
about it after calling 911. Somebody be home. Be home, Ma. Please be home.
Or Frannie. Anybody. Be home.

 Francesca answered and Ray shuddered with relief. All the while that
Benton was being loaded into the ambulance Ray recited what had happened
as briskly as he could to his sister. 

 Then he listened to her response while climbing into the ambulance. "You
stay with Fraszh, Bro," she told him. "We'll cover it. Ma'll stay home in
case Dusty comes here. I'll wait at your place. We'll send Tony and Maria
and the kids out looking for him." Francesca then rattled off the names of
neighbours and relatives she intended to enlist in the search. "Do you
want me to call the station?" she concluded.

 Benton was now inside and Ray climbed into the back with him. Todd was in
the front seat ready to drive away and Jake remained with the patient in
the back. 

 "You'll have to get off the phone," Jake told Ray.

 "One second!" 

 "Hey, I know your kid's missing but the phone could interfere with the
equipment."

 "No, don't call the station yet. It's too soon. I'll tell you when," Ray
told to his sister.

 "Get me the number of that social worker. She might know where Dusty
would go." Francesca said.

 "You want to talk on the phone or you want me to keep your buddy alive?"
Jake insisted.

 The ambulance sped off, sirens whining.

 "I'll call you back with the number," Ray screamed into the cell phone
over the noise and hung up. 25 / 40 

 Dusty danced impatiently while the elevator brought him down to the
lobby, then dashed out through the front doors of the apartment building.
When he hit the sidewalk he skidded to a halt. Until that instant all he
could think of was getting away, now he faced the problem of where he
might run to. Still unclear on the exact nature of his misdeed, but
reeling from its enormity, he faced the necessity of choosing a direction,
forming a plan. Only briefly did it flicker into Dusty's mind that he
hadn't actually done anything to Benton. He had been in his own room and
couldn't hear anything. The thought was over-ridden by Ray's vehement
exclamation that Dusty should have prevented whatever had happened.

 A calm, mature person would have perceived the flaw in Ray's logic but
Dusty could not be described in those terms even at the best of times.
What he did know, and had known for some years now, was that he was bad,
that he caused other people problems. 

 Where could he go? Turning to the right would point him in the direction
of the Vecchio house. How warm and sweet and safe it would be to nestle in
Nona's soft bosom. He gauged the time it might take him to get there by
foot. An hour perhaps if he ran. No, don't even think about that, he told
himself. What welcome could he hope to have in that house after causing
the death of the man they all loved?

 Turning left and going about a dozen blocks would bring him to a mall. He
could hang out there for days. He'd done that in other malls when he'd run
away before. There was always plenty of discarded food to scoop out of the
trash, perfectly good if you grabbed it before it got covered with other
garbage, and places to hide from the security guards late at night. 

 The thought of prowling about the mall all alone didn't appeal. Dusty
yearned instinctively for human contact, people to support him. The group
home. Standing outside the apartment, shivering a little in Chicago's
brisk wind and ignoring the blaring traffic that went by, he thought about
the friends he'd left behind. Mark, the chief worker, was someone he could
trust. Dusty remembered that he had been happier at the group home than he
had been in any other place he could remember - before coming to live with
Benton and Ray. But there was a problem. He knew the address but had no
clue how to get there, even if he had any money in his pocket for a bus -
which he didn't.

 Oh well. There were ways to get around the city without money that he'd
heard about from kids at group homes. He'd never considered using them
himself but this was an emergency. 

 Dusty stepped close to the edge of the sidewalk, nearly in the street and
scanned the traffic looking for a free taxi. Three passed by and each time
the boy was too scared to raise his hand to hail it. You have to either
get one of those cabs or go back in the apartment, Dusty told himself. He
straightened his skinny frame and clenched his small fists in
determination. Lips pressed tightly together, he stared through his sandy
bangs into street and when the next taxicab passed he thrust his arm out,
hand still balled into a fist. 

 To Dusty's surprise the cab actually pulled up to the curb beside him.
He'd half expected to be ignored because he was only a kid. Dusty paused,
not sure if he was supposed to open the door of the cab himself, and if so
the front or back door, or whether the cabbie would do it. He'd never been
in a taxi before and whenever he had seen people get into taxis on
television he'd never paid attention to such details. The problem was
solved by the cab driver who reached over and pushed the front passenger
door open.

 Dusty remained on the curb, studying the driver. The arm that had
stretched out to open the door was chunky and covered with coarse black
hair. The man wore short sleeves that showed his arms. His watch was huge
and shiny. The glint of it distracted Dusty momentarily.

 "Well?" came a gruff, low voice and Dusty was jolted back to his present
situation. The man's face was as thick and puffy as his arm. The inside of
the cab smelled a little stale but not exactly bad. Dusty was still unsure
where he was supposed to sit, but the front door was open in his face so
he slipped inside the cab.

 "You by yourself, kid? Or are we waiting for your mommy?" asked the
driver. Dusty couldn't make out his attitude. But at least he wasn't
throwing Dusty out of the vehicle.

 "I don't have one. I've got two dads," Dusty blurted out. 

 "Uh hunh, so are they coming?" said the driver.

 "No, I'm by myself," Dusty said, tentatively. His friend, Toby, from the
group home was the one who had boasted of knowing how to get cab drivers
to take you wherever you wanted and described the procedure in detail for
the edification of his admiring friends. Dusty knew the group home's
street address. While he didn't know how to get there, he figured that cab
drivers knew where all the streets were. They always seemed to know on TV
how to get from one place to another without any help.

 "Well?" the driver repeated, patiently.

 Dusty took a breath and began "I don't have any money."

 "Uh hunh."

 The boy summoned all his courage and, fixing his eyes on the big, shiny
watch, he blurted out "But I'll blow you if you take me to 335 East Lake."

 Having pronounced the momentous words, Dusty waited, fearing what would
happen next. He had a vague notion of what would be involved in keeping
his part of the bargain, but was too unnerved to think much past the
immediate moment. Toby's description had been quite graphic and Dusty and
the other children had taken his story at face value, given that Toby was
known to have lived for months on the streets. 

 The hand on the same arm as the shiny watch drummed its fingers on the
steering wheel. Then more words came out of the puffy face, soft words
that Dusty had to strain to hear.

 "That where your dads are?"

 Dusty hadn't the guile to latch onto the convenient story. He was used to
acting on his impulses, not to thinking through the details necessary for
plausible dissembling. "No, I'm running away. East Lake is where I used to
live."

 The cab driver wasn't moving the vehicle. It seemed to Dusty that
something more was needed to get him in motion. Unskilled at deception, he
came up with a clumsy lie. "They beat me up."

 Apparently this was what was needed. With another "Uh hunh" from the
puffy face, the man's hairy arm with the shiny watch slipped from the
steering wheel to the gearshift and the taxi moved from the curb back into
traffic.

 This solved one of Dusty's immediate concerns - would he have to blow the
driver before or after the drive. Apparently he could postpone it until
after.

 Dusty noticed no details of the trip. His mind was occupied with
rehearsing the mechanics of what he'd have to do to pay for his ride. So
many details. Who would do the unzipping? Would the driver pull down his
pants or let his dick just hang out. For all the boastful talk of boys his
age, he'd seldom actually seen the genitals of a grown man. Would the dick
be as hairy as the arm? That would be disgusting. Maybe when the cab
stopped he could just run to the front door and get help before having to
do anything. This guy was fat. Dusty could run faster than he could. 

 Not daring to look directly at the driver, Dusty darted glances all
around, inside and outside of the cab as they drove along. The driver only
addressed him once, to tell Dusty to put on his seatbelt.

 The streets started to look familiar. When they turned onto East Lake,
Dusty knew exactly where he was. His excitement at being close to home
turf was overshadowed by his dread of what he had to do when the taxi
stopped. He'd probably get it wrong. He got everything wrong. What would
this big man do when he wasn't satisfied with his payment? Knock Dusty
around, probably. But maybe it was worth it to get back to the group home.
Mark would be there to take care of him. Yes, it was worth it.

 The cab pulled up in front of the familiar suburban brick house. The
moment of truth had arrived and Dusty could no longer avoid looking at the
cab driver. The child turned to look at the man's face and waited for him
to make the first move. By now Dusty was figuring that the driver would
take the initiative when the time came.

 The driver leaned back in his seat and seemed to be studying Dusty. "This
the house?" he asked.

 Dusty whispered that it was.

 "Un hunh." 

 To Dusty's surprise, the man opened his own driver's side door and eased
his massive bulk from behind the wheel and out of the car. Then he
lumbered around the front of the car, came to the passenger side where
Dusty was seated and yanked open the car door. He took hold of Dusty's
upper arm, his huge hammy hand easily encircling Dusty's thin-boned limb.

 "Out of the car," he said, gruffly, easily hauling Dusty out as he said
this. There were hedges around the house and Dusty briefly supposed he
would be dragged there to do his deed. Involuntarily he shrank away but
the move was futile. The driver let Dusty keep his footing but pulled him
along up the walk towards the front door. Still grasping Dusty with one
hand, he used the other to ring the doorbell.

 A young woman opened the door. Dusty didn't know her but she was too old
to be a resident. A worker. But one he didn't know. Must have started
after Dusty left. Dusty dared to be hopeful now that the driver had
brought him towards the house immediately - surely he wouldn't ask Dusty
to blow him in front of other people. But Dusty had been expecting to see
Mark, not some strange woman. 

 "Can I help you?" the worker said, cautiously but politely. Half a dozen
children near to Dusty's age filled up the space behind her. 

 "Hey, it's Dusty!"

 "Lookit! Dusty's back."

 A clamour arose and the woman appeared unsure how to proceed. Dusty tried
a wriggle to see if he could get free of the driver's grasp and found out
it was hopeless. He could have kicked but it didn't seem right to do that.
Technically, Dusty was still in this man's debt.

 The children behind the female worker shifted position, making room for
someone pushing his way through from behind. Mark! He elbowed his way to a
position beside the woman's shoulder. 

 "I'll handle this, Sandy. Dusty? What are you doing here?"

 Before Dusty could think of what to say, the cab driver spoke up. "Does
this kid belong to you?"

 Mark craned his neck to look past the pair on the doorstep, made out the
taxicab parked outside, and deduced the profession, if not the identity of
the man accompanying the boy.

 "Um, yeah sure, driver." Mark dug into his pocket. "Does Dusty owe you
anything?"

 Dusty shrank where he stood, still in the cab driver's grasp. For the
first time since seeing Dusty, the driver smiled, a barest of smirks
crossing his lips.

 "So you're going to pay me?" Then, to Dusty, "Should I make him pay
instead of you, kid?"

 Dusty let out an involuntary groan.

 "What is this, some kind of home or something?" the driver asked Mark.

 "It's a city facility, sir. But we're not open to the public," Mark
replied with some formality.

 "Well, this kid claims his foster parents beat him up. The city ought to
do something about that." So saying, the driver propelled Dusty towards
Mark, who caught up the boy in his arms. Dusty clung there, relief washing
over him. He was back with someone he knew and the cab driver was letting
him go without his having to do anything in exchange.

 Mark wrapped Dusty protectively in his own arms. "We intend to, sir," he
said, then added, "Are you sure he doesn't owe you anything?"

 The driver eyed Dusty who was now weak and trembling from release of
tension. Again he smiled, crookedly. "I'll let it go this time. My good
deed for the day. You shouldn't ought to be putting kids in foster homes
where they get hurt. I ought to call Child Welfare or something."

 "We are Child Welfare or something," put in the young woman, now
identified to Dusty as Sandy.

 The driver reached out his bulging arm again towards Dusty, who shrank
away. But all the man did was chuck the boy on the shoulder, saying "Don't
go around making offers like that anymore, kid. You'll get into trouble
one day."

 With a wave at the group in the doorway he waddled off towards his
taxicab.

 Still hugging Dusty, Mark drew him into the house. Sandy pulled the front
door closed. 

 "We'll talk alone," Mark said, bringing Dusty into the converted bedroom
that served as an office and closing the door behind them. From beyond the
door could be heard the cries of protest of the other children. Sandy's
voice enjoined them to leave Mark and the new arrival alone.

 So many changes had come to Dusty through this office. Here he had had
his orientation to the group home upon first arriving. In the same room,
Mark and Mrs. Cardinal had told him about his new home with the Mountie
and the police captain. Dusty didn't want to sit down. It was nicer to
just stand there and cling to Mark who was so much shorter than Benton or
Ray. When he hugged either of these men he found himself gripping their
waists, but with Mark he stood shoulder to shoulder. He'd forgotten how
short Mark was. Then he remembered that Ray usually squatted to a kneeling
position, to look Dusty straight in the eye whenever he had anything
important to say. Dusty tossed his head to try to shake the thought out of
his mind. Never again would he kid around with Ray or earn an A on his
school project because Benton had helped him. Dusty clung all the tighter
to Mark at this horrible thought.

 Mark let the boy stay, clutching him in silence, until he seemed ready to
talk. Finally Dusty eased away from him, standing a little apart. The
child drooped and Mark shifted him towards a chair, then pulled up another
chair beside him.

 "Tell me what happened," he prompted.

 Only then did Dusty start to cry. Mark let the worst of it pass, waiting
until he had slowed down to intermittent weak sobs.

 At last words leaked out from Dusty between teary gasps. "I tried so hard
to be good. And Ray was screaming."

 "Dusty, did they hurt you? Did either Captain Vecchio or Constable Fraser
touch you?"

 "No, no. It wasn't that."

 "The cab driver said you said they beat you up."

 "I was lying. I just wanted him to take me. I had to run away. I killed
Benton. He's dead and it's my fault."

 Mark shifted in chair. "Again, please."

 "Benton was on the floor!" Dusty wailed. "And Ray said 'You killed him!
You killed Benny!'" Dusty no longer remembered Ray's actual words but
repeated the accusation as he remembered it, as it had been playing it
over and over through his mind.

 From beyond the closed door came a child's mocking voice calling "You
killed Benny!" 

 Another voice answered "You bastard!" followed by snickering. Sandy was
heard hushing them and ushering them away.

 26 / 40

 It took some probing and pointed questioning for Mark to get the bare
facts out of Dusty. The boy couldn't really know whether or not Constable
Fraser was dead, having bolted from the apartment before hearing what the
paramedics had to say. Nor did he know to what hospital he would be taken.
Dusty hadn't even thought of Benton's being taken to any hospital. He had
been harbouring a mental image of his foster father being whisked straight
to some morgue and immediately stowed in a metal drawer while Ray and the
relatives (who had somehow materialized on the scene) all crowded around,
wailing and wringing their hands. 

 Mark assured him that no matter what Ray or the paramedics thought,
Constable Fraser would have to taken to a hospital to be examined by a
physician. The only thing leading Dusty to believe that Constable Fraser
was dead, Mark pointed out, was Captain Vecchio's angry accusation. 

 Dusty countered that Ray was a cop and cops were supposed to know if
people were dead or not. They always seemed to know on TV, didn't they?

 Mark pressed on. Was Captain Vecchio short tempered? Did he ever, in the
heat of the moment, say things that weren't literally true? He was and he
did, Dusty had to admit. 

 The hope that the Mountie may yet be in the land of the living calmed the
boy a little. Mark decided it was time to ask Dusty a key question.

 "Now Dusty, whether Constable Fraser is dead or alive, I guess you would
agree Captain Vecchio has a lot to worry about right now."

 Dusty did agree.

 "So - now listen to me and think about this. Did you help him by running
off?"

 It was something Dusty hadn't thought of.

 "Families are supposed to support each other. Instead of helping, you
took off and now Captain Vecchio has to worry about you as well as
Constable Fraser. How do you suppose he's feeling right now?"

 Dusty shrugged and looked down at the floor.

 "Do you like Captain Vecchio?"

 Still avoiding Mark's eyes, Dusty nodded vigourously.

 "And you didn't stop to think of the consequences to him if you went
missing. He's your legal guardian. He's responsible for you."

 "I didn't think about that."

 "Think about it now. What are you going to do, Dusty? What's the right
thing for you to do?"

 "Go home, I guess. But, Mark, do I have to go back right away? Couldn't I
stay here for a few days? I could just stay in my old room."

 "Dusty, you don't have a room here. You live with Captain Vecchio and
Constable Fraser. This house is a secure location. Technically, it's
against the law for you to even be here now."

 Dusty was crestfallen. He digested this information and then said, "I
guess I'll have to go home."

 "How will you get there? Sandy and I aren't allowed to leave the premises
to take you and I can't have you offering sex to a cab driver again."

 "I didn't offer him sex. Just a blow job," Dusty protested.

 Mark wondered, sadly, if Dusty would ever be able to think through the
consequences of his actions. He was so worldly and street wise in some
ways and so innocent in others. "Have you got keys?"

 "No."

 "And do you really think Captain Vecchio will be home to let you in?"

 "No, he'll be at the hospital with Benton. I guess I sort of messed up,
didn't I?" Dusty said sadly.

 "Let's start by letting Captain Vecchio know that you're safe and well."

 "I'll call his cell. And he can tell me what happened to Benton."

 "He'll have his cell phone turned off if he's in a hospital. But you can
leave a message that you're okay."

 "Right, and I'll leave the number here," Dusty looked hopefully to Mark,
"and I'll tell him somebody can come and get me."

 "Dusty, you forgot we don't give anybody except the residents and
Children and Youth Services workers the phone number or address of this
place. I'm going to have to call Mrs. Cardinal."

 "Aw geez, Mark, do you have to call the Red Bird?"

 "No, I could call the emergency number at CYS and they'll send over
whoever's on call tonight. I thought maybe you'd rather deal with Mrs.
Cardinal, since she knows you and she likes you. But if you're going to
call her names and dump on her, we can certainly arrange to turn you over
to a total stranger instead."

 Dusty remembered Ray's admonition to treat Mrs. Cardinal with respect.
And he certainly would rather go with her than with somebody he didn't
know.

 "Okay, you can call her."

 "I will, but first you have to call Captain Vecchio and leave him a
message that you're safe."

 He reached over and shoved the telephone across the desk in Dusty's
direction. Dusty was feeling dejected. He'd thought of the group home as a
haven of safety, but things weren't working out as he had hoped. He
reached for the telephone, but it rang before Dusty had a chance to lift
it up and dial.

 Mark snatched the telephone back and answered "Hello?" 

 He listened for a moment, then with a look at Dusty, said into the
telephone: "Yes, he's here and he's fine."

 There was another pause, and Mark said. "Okay, we'll be waiting."

 Mark put the telephone down and said "Mrs. Cardinal's way ahead of us.
Seems Captain Vecchio's sister called her."

 "Aunty Frannie. She sticks her nose in everything."

 "Mrs. Cardinal had a hunch you might come back here. She'll going to let
this Aunt Frannie of yours know you're all right and leave it to her to
tell her brother and all the rest of the family. The Vecchios are all
worried about you. A little more than you worry about them, it seems."

 "Did the Red . . . Mrs. Cardinal . . . say anything about Benton?"

 "No. She's got enough to worry about with you." Mark was being harsh for
the effect. He really had no doubt Mrs. Cardinal would get an update from
this Aunt Frannie person, it there were any news to be had.

 Mark decided it was time to let up, a little. Dusty was a well-meaning
kid, and it wasn't his fault that he was impulsive. "So, have you had any
dinner tonight?"

 Dusty shook his head. "Ray brought barbeque but we never had time to eat
it. Is, um, is Tuesday still spaghetti night?"

 Mark smiled. "It is, and there's plenty left over. Go on into the kitchen
and help yourself. You know where everything is."

 27 / 40

 Mrs. Cardinal found Dusty in the kitchen, simultaneously slurping up
spaghetti and holding court among the young residents of the group home.
He had much to tell his friends from the time he was living there as well
as plenty of material to impress those who had arrived since he left. The
other youngsters noticed Mrs. Cardinal's arrival before Dusty, who had his
back to the door. Several called out greetings to her. She responded to
them all before fixing her attention on Dusty.

 "Finish eating, Dusty. Then come to the office so that you and Mark and I
can have a talk," she said sternly.

 "Benton. Is he alive?" the boy demanded.

 "We'll talk in the office. Finish eating, please."

 "I guess I'm done," Dusty muttered. As he knew to be the ritual, Dusty
cleared his plate into a large garbage pail, rinsed his plate and utensils
and placed them in a plastic bucket to be loaded later with the rest of
the dinner dishes into the dishwasher. He and Mrs. Cardinal stopped off at
the living room to let Mark know they were ready. Together the three of
them went back to the office and Mark closed the door behind them.

 "I've spoken to Miss Vecchio. Constable Fraser has suffered a heart
attack but seems to have survived it. The doctor has ordered him kept in
intensive care overnight and if he remains stable, he'll be transferred to
the cardiac unit tomorrow."

 Mark and Mrs. Cardinal waited for the news to have its impact on Dusty
and for the boy to realize he was not a murderer after all.

 "Ray's at the hospital now?" The boy asked, finally.

 "Yes. He's planning to stay there overnight unless something else comes
up for him to deal with." She looked pointedly at Dusty.

 "He'll want to stay with Benton. He won't want to drive out here to get
me." The adults were pleased that Dusty was now able to see the issue from
Ray's point of view.

 "Dusty, remember we talked about this," said Mark.

 "Oh yeah. He's not allowed to come here," He looked pleadingly at Mrs.
Cardinal. "Couldn't you drop me off at Nona and Aunt Frannie's house? If
they're not home, I could go to Aunt Maria's."

 Mrs. Cardinal was already aware from preliminary meetings before Dusty
went to live with Captain Vecchio and Constable Fraser, that Captain
Vecchio had a close extended family. She'd met Francesca Vecchio at
Dusty's school and found her to be kind hearted and sincere, a pleasant
woman once you got used to her annoying nasal whine. It pleased her to
hear Dusty speaking of these people as his own relatives, and that he had
so many of them. 

 "I wish I could, Dusty. But there are regulations. I'm not allowed to
release you to anyone's custody except one of your legal guardians."

 "I've got an idea. I'll go out to the corner so I'm not actually here
anymore and Aunt Frannie can come get me."

 "That's an interesting idea." Mrs. Cardinal was amused but didn't let
Dusty see it. "Except that you are officially a runaway. I'm obliged to
see that regulations are followed. I'll drive you over to the hospital."

 "I don't want to see Ray. He'll be mad as hell. He's going to yell at
me."

 "I wouldn't be at all surprised," Mark put in. "You'll just have to suck
it up, Dusty. You're the one who chose to run away." Seeing the boy begin
to look scared, he added "And once he's given you proper hell, he'll hug
the stuffing out of you. That's how it usually works."

 Dusty looked to Mrs. Cardinal for confirmation.

 "Believe it or not, that's normal. Come on, let's be on our way."

 28 / 40

 Dusty used to like riding in the front seat of the car. From there, he
could see through the front windshield all around. Also in the front he
got the best view of the dashboard. He could watch the dials and gauges
move and the hands and feet of the drivers shifting around. And he could
control the radio (until the driver invariably told him, angrily, to leave
the buttons alone). 

 Lately, however, Dusty was finding that riding in the front seat, alone
with an adult, wasn't as much fun as it used to be. The grown ups with
whom he drove recently kept wanting to engage him in serious talks. It was
annoying. Dusty had enough to keep straight what with the competing
diversions of the view outside, the wavering speedometer and the shifting
of the driver's arms and legs. All in all, he'd rather only have the radio
going really loud and not have to put up with the jabbering of others in
the car. 

 It was happening again now that Dusty was riding with the Red Bird in her
car, on the way to the hospital. He wished she would just shut up. Dusty
had already had a difficult day and it wasn't going to get better now that
he was on the way to a hospital to face an angry Ray and a sick Benton.
The Red Bird's car had a moving map on a screen that showed you where to
turn and Dusty was engrossed with watching the lines move and the words
flow across the screen. This enjoyment, together with the residual relief
of finding out that Benton was alive could have made this a very pleasant
ride - he certainly could use a few minutes of pleasure on this awful day.
But instead he had to listen to the social worker drone on and he had to
say something when it sounded like she wanted an answer.

 Finally a few of Mrs. Cardinal's words caught Dusty's attention. " . . .
doing in school?" "Hunh?" he said, automatically, to get her to repeat her
question. It was a simple device he used, allowing him to tune out most of
what people were babbling at him and then getting them to stop and repeat
anything he was interested in hearing. Benton made him say "Excuse me,
would you please repeat that," whenever he tried to say "hunh" to an
adult, but Benton was not present at that moment so he reverted to the old
habit.

 "I was just asking how you were doing in school," the woman repeated.

 After the trying evening he'd been having, here was a subject it would
please him to talk about, so Dusty launched in to a description about how
well he was doing at St. Monica's. He passed every test, handed in his
projects on time and rarely got in trouble. The social worker directed her
questions to pull from him the reason for this unaccustomed success.
Dusty, talking about a subject that interested him, answered in detail.
Mrs. Marcotti let him take his tests verbally rather than making him sit
and try to focus for a whole hour at a time.

 While the rest of the class wrote their tests the normal way, at their
seats, a parent volunteer took him out of the classroom, posed the
questions and recorded his answers for marking. His homework and projects
were consistently handed in on time - which until now had been unheard of.
Questioning by Mrs. Cardinal revealed the reason for this was that Benton
did schoolwork with him every night.

 "He does your homework for you, then?" she probed.

 "I wish," Dusty said, with a groan. "He makes me do it all myself. You'd
think he'd do it for me. He's smart. He could whip it off in a minute." 

 Mrs. Cardinal chuckled at that.

 "And I don't hardly ever get in trouble anymore."

 "And why is that?"

 "I get taken out of class a lot. Not for punishment, like before," he
clarified, "Mrs. Marcotti sends me to read with people. Sometimes Mario's
mother. Sometimes Tony's mother. My Aunt Frannie even reads with me some
days. So I don't have time to be bad. That helps."

 "You like your new school."

 "Do I ever. And everybody knows everybody. My cousins go there." Dusty
withheld the story of his beating at Artie and Tony's hands the first day
of school. Nor did he mention that part of the reason for his good
behaviour at school was that all the volunteers and a fair number of the
teachers were mothers or aunts of his schoolmates. Being rude to any of
the adults at St. Monica's was therefore risky. He might face retaliation
from the children of these women, as he had that first day.

 Mrs. Cardinal couldn't know all of this, but she had already been to
Dusty's new school for a preliminary visit and had been impressed by the
number of volunteers available. Again she noted how Dusty spoke of the
Vecchios as his relatives. Yes, her decision to place Dusty with Captain
Vecchio and his partner seemed to have been a good one.

 "I just hope I get to stay there. Benton might have to go back to Canada.
That would mess everything up."

 "What? Why?"

 Dusty related what he understood of the conversation in the car that
afternoon and Mrs. Cardinal agreed that it was cause for concern.

 "I'm not really their son. They didn't adopt me, or something. So if they
went to Canada I might not be able to go with them."

 "They're considering moving to Canada? Then, no, you wouldn't be allowed
to go."

 "Because they're not my real parents," Dusty said, gloomily.

 Mrs. Cardinal wasn't sure whether Dusty needed to know that she herself
had imposed the fostering arrangement on the men, rather than permitting
them to adopt Dusty outright. At the time it had seemed the best course
and even now she wondered whether the strain of having Dusty to take care
of had contributed to Constable Fraser's heart attack. 

 "They did want to adopt you, Dusty, but they weren't permitted," she
answered, phrasing the sentence so as to avoid saying who had withheld
that permission.

 Dusty accepted this, without pushing for more details. "Did you know guys
can marry each other in Canada?" 

 "I've heard something about that."

 "If they went up to Canada and got married, could they come back and
adopt me?"

 "The marriage wouldn't be recognized here, I'm afraid."

 "Well, that bites."

 To Mrs. Cardinal's relief, that seemed to be Dusty's last words on this
subject. He turned his attention to her GPS screen and the woman could see
it fascinated him.

 She left off talking and drove in silence until they reached the hospital
and she had focus on finding the entrance to the parking lot.

 29 / 40

 "Out of danger." Ray sat in the ICU beside his partner's bed and let the
doctors' words tumble around in his brain. "Out of danger." Sweet, sweet
words. There had been more words but these were the only ones that had
registered. 

 As the immediate fear of losing his partner that very night eased, Ray
began to doubt his decision to stay with the Mountie and not go after
Dusty. The family was all out looking, sure, but he was a professional. He
may have been riding a desk for the last four years but he was sure he
hadn't lost his detective's skills. Ray consulted his watch. Nearly half
an hour since he had checked in with Frannie. He should really go down to
the main entrance of the hospital, out into the parking lot and check the
messages on his cell phone.

 "Mr. Vecchio?"

 The nurse was talking softly, so as to avoid disturbing the patients, so
Ray did not hear her. He was lost in his own thoughts, as oblivious to the
outside world as the sleeping Mountie beside whom he sat vigil.

 The nurse jostled Ray's arm. 

 Roused, he looked up to see a fat, black woman in blue nurses' scrubs
standing over him. 

 "Are you Mr. Vecchio?" she repeated.

 He nodded.

 "I have a message for you from your sister. She called the nursing
station."

 In the instant between these words and the woman's next bit of
information, Ray accused himself. Dusty's hurt. Dusty's dead. I should
have been out there. How will I tell Benny? 

 "She said to tell you. . ." the woman consulted a piece of note paper she
held in her huge, pudgy hands, " . . .Dusty's okay. Mrs. Cardinal is
bringing him. That's the message. She said it would make sense to you."

 Ray was so weakened with relief that he felt as though every bone in his
body had melted on the spot. "Thank you," he managed to whisper. 

 "I've been meaning to tell you that you can't stay here much longer. We
don't usually allow visitors in the ICU for more than a few minutes unless
they are immediate family. You've been here since Mr. Fraser came up from
Emergency. I'm afraid you'll have to leave soon."

 "I am family. He's my brother." Ray said, somewhat unsteadily.

 "You're Mr. Vecchio and he's Mr. Fraser. Are you sure that's the story
you want to stick with?"

 Ray dropped his head into his hands. He'd been through enough this night.
Announcing to this woman that Benny was not his brother but his life
partner, the man he loved, wouldn't buy him the right to sit here. At
least not in the state of Illinois. Through his hands, his muffled voice
said "Just please let me stay. I promise you he wants me here."

 The woman actually pulled one of Ray's hands away from his face. She
squeezed Ray's hand briefly before dropping it on top of the Mountie's
hand that was resting immobile on his chest.

 "You stay here with him, then. I know how it is. My brother's boyfriend
was in the cancer ward and they treated my brother like he was a stranger.
The doctors wouldn't even talk to him. If anybody asks, you tell them I
said you could stay. My name's Rachel."

 "Thank you kindly, Rachel," Ray said softly.

 "Is this his first heart attack?"

 "Yes, his first."

 "Then don't you worry too much. When they have their first heart attack
this young, they usually learn a lesson and take care of themselves
afterwards."

 She leaned over and studied Benton's face from closer up.

 "Yup, he sure is young. And handsome. Damn waste, that's what I say,"
Rachel said. Giving Ray a good-natured wink, she left to return to the
nursing station. 

 Ray heaved an enormous sigh. Benny was alive; Dusty was on his way; some
people were decent after all.

 His hand was still resting where Rachel had placed it, on top of Benton's
hand. Glancing about, Ray saw that nobody seemed to notice. It seemed that
the ICU was a place where people were concerned with the life and death of
their family, not on the doings of others. He tightened his hand around
Benton's.

 30 / 40

 Two heavy doors separated the Intensive Care Unit from the rest of the
fifth floor of the hospital. Mrs. Cardinal paused at this threshold and
addressed Dusty seriously.

 "You and I wouldn't normally be allowed to go right into the ICU and look
for Captain Vecchio and Constable Fraser. But if you follow my lead and do
exactly what I say, I can get us in. There's an advantage to being old,
Dusty. If I march in there looking like I'm on serious business, I can
probably work my way across the room without anybody stopping me."

 "Do I have to go with you? Can't you go in yourself and tell Ray I'm
here?"

 "Leave you here unattended? Do you really think I'm about to risk that?"

 Dusty looked down, embarrassed, and studied the dingy hospital linoleum.
"I guess not," he muttered. Daring to look up at her face, he saw that the
social worker was smiling. He smiled back, weakly.

 It doesn't occur to him, Mrs. Cardinal was thinking, as she looked at
Dusty, that she could just ask someone at the nursing station to get
Captain Vecchio and tell him they were here. She wasn't going to be
cheated. Having interrupted serving her husband dinner and foregone two
Star Treks to fetch Dusty in person, there was no way she was going to
miss Captain Vecchio's reaction when he first saw the runaway. She was
entitled to enjoy the moment of drama, and it might prove instructive
besides. She had been meaning to check the progress of this little family.

 "So, here's the plan. You're not going to like it. Ready?"

 Dusty straightened like a soldier (or a Mountie) waiting for orders.

 "First: you hold my hand. You hang onto my hand and you don't let go
until I tell you."

 "Awwwww"

 "Take it like a man, Dusty."

 Dusty used all manner of pre-adolescent moves to show his embarrassment.
He shrugged, swung his head about, grunted, groaned and kicked at the
floor, reserving one good grimace for the moment when he actually took the
woman's outstretched hand.

 "Next . . ."

 "Aw geez, there's more?"

 "There's more," she said, firmly. "You don't talk. You don't say a word,
even if someone asks you a direct question. Clear?"

 "Yeah, I don't let go and I shut up."

 "Good. We're on our way."

 With the bravado of a gunslinger bursting through the saloon doors,
Lorraine Cardinal pushed through the twin portals to the ICU, Dusty firmly
in tow. To their immediate left was the nursing station. She strode
purposefully past it, to the row of beds arrayed to their right. Each bed
was separated from the ones beside it by a curtain of some nondescript
institutional colour. As they walked along she noted the occupants: mostly
older people - some with a worried looking loved one sitting beside them.
She felt a flash of sympathy for the patients that were alone. If she were
the one lying there, Carl, her husband, would be beside her and vice
versa. 

 Six beds down the line she saw Ray, sitting and staring at the head of
the bed where Benton must be. His look was as intent as she knew hers
would be if Carl were in a hospital bed. Before calling attention to
herself, she came to a halt.

 Dusty, forgetting her injunction, said, "Ray?" 

 "Shush," the woman said, softly but sharply, and jerked the boy closer to
her side. 

 Ray heard and turned towards them. 

 "Dusty!" he jumped up from the chair he had been sitting in, and spread
his arms towards the boy.

 Mrs. Cardinal left go of Dusty's hand and said, "Okay, go, but keep it
down."

 Dusty flew into Ray's arms and the two stood hugging for a long moment.

 "I shouldn't have said that stuff. I'm sorry. It's not your fault," Ray
choked, rocking the boy back and forth. Dusty squirmed around in his
embrace to look pleadingly at Mrs. Cardinal. At her nod, he started
babbling his own apologies to Ray.

 When the mutual apologizing wound down, Ray added, "You came just at the
right time. He's waking up. Come here where he can see you," An arm still
around the boy's shoulders Ray steered him towards the bed. Mrs. Cardinal
edged in behind them.

 She was just close enough to see Benton open his eyes and then shut them
quickly against the light. Ray placed his open palm in front of Benton's
face, fingers together, shielding his partner's eyes. "It's okay now,
Benny, I got you covered."

 Mrs. Cardinal smiled at this inadvertently literal assurance.

 "Open your eyes now. That's good. I'm opening my fingers a little bit at
a time." Ray spread his fingers, held them for a few beats and then drew
them slowly away from Benton's face.

 As she stood watching, the social worker thought: I love Carl, but if he
were the one in this bed, it wouldn't have occurred to me to do that. 

 "We're here, see. Me and Dusty, we're right here," Ray said, "Say
something, Dusty."

 "Uh, hi, Benton," Dusty said, uncertainly.

 Only then did Ray acknowledge the woman's presence. "Mrs. Cardinal.
Thanks."

 "My pleasure."

 "All part of the job, right?"

 "Actually, no. Supervisors don't usually work individual cases, but I
wanted to take care of you and Constable Fraser myself.

 "I appreciate it. Dusty, anything you want to say to Mrs. Cardinal?"

 The boy looked puzzled. Ray elbowed him and mouthed the words 'thank
you'.

 "Oh, yeah. Thanks, Mrs. Cardinal," he said without enthusiasm.

 Ray shrugged at the woman as though to say 'I tried'.

 Meanwhile, Benton's eyelids fluttered and he drifted away again.

 "It's good to see him awake," Ray said with satisfaction, although it
wasn't quite accurate to think of Benton's present condition as in any way
wakeful. 

 Ray was too focused on Benton to notice, but Mrs. Cardinal saw that Dusty
was beginning to fidget. She said, "Captain Vecchio, I was thinking that
under the circumstances it might be better if I took Dusty . . ."

 "No!" Ray shouted, suddenly, causing heads to turn all over the ICU.
"Don't take him! Please, Mrs. Cardinal. Lorraine. Don't take him away from
us! It's my fault that he ran away, but I'll be better. I promise. It
won't happen again. Let us keep him," Ray rattled on, in a panic.

 "I meant: should I take Dusty over to your sister's?"

 Meanwhile a nurse, not Rachel but another nurse, was approaching to see
what the commotion was. 

 "It wasn't me making the noise this time. I shut up like you told me.
Didn't I?" Dusty appealed to Mrs. Cardinal while the nurse warned Ray that
quiet had to be maintained or he would be asked to leave the ICU, and who
were all these other people? Only one visitor at a time was allowed.

 "This is our son," Ray declared and Dusty endured his hand being seized
by an adult yet again. 

 "And I'm just leaving," Mrs. Cardinal told the nurse. To Ray she said,
"Am I taking Dusty?"

 "I want him here, but it may be easier for him back at the house. Okay,
go ahead."

 Mrs. Cardinal opened her purse and took out a notepad and a pen and Ray
told her the address. "And . . . oh Jesus, we forgot all about Benny!" Ray
spun about back to the bed "I'm sending Dusty home now, Benny. Dusty, say
bye." 

 Dusty complied.

 Mrs. Cardinal figured Constable Fraser was in no shape to acknowledge
visitors, but it didn't seem polite to just leave without addressing him,
so she sent a brief, "Good-bye, Constable Fraser. Hope you feel better
soon," in his direction, before taking Dusty, this time allowing him to
walk along with her without holding on.

 It was only after they had gone that Ray remembered his intention to keep
Dusty's escape a secret from Benton. He sat fretting for a time, wondering
how he would be able to explain Mrs. Cardinal's presence to the Mountie.
His worries were unnecessary, because Benton wasn't registering what was
going on around him and didn't learn about the incident until Ray and
Dusty told him days later. 31 / 40

 Dusty's second ride of the night with Mrs. Cardinal was more pleasant
than the first. As relieved as Dusty had been to know that Benton was
alive and Ray wanted him back, he hadn't been entirely relaxed. He still
feared Ray's anger. Having lived through walloping by larger foster
fathers than Ray, his fear was not of physical pain, but somehow of losing
Ray's affection. 

 He welcomed me with open arms, Dusty thought as he rode along once more
with Mrs. Cardinal. He had heard that expression somewhere - welcome you
with open arms - and that's just what Ray had done, Ray had opened his
arms wide as soon as he saw Dusty at the hospital. Benton's possible anger
was not to be worried about, since Benton rarely got angry about anything.


 Now all was well with Dusty's immediate world, and he climbed into the
front seat of Mrs. Cardinal's car with the happy knowledge that within
minutes he'd be home - the big-Vecchio house-home rather than the
apartment-Ray-and-Benton home. But no matter, both were equally home for
Dusty. Nona would squeeze him against her soft front so that he could
hardly breathe, then release him and feed him. He could recount his
adventures to his cousins and they might even have time to play on the
computer. Ray probably wouldn't come home to get him until very late, if
he came home at all. He might just sit up all night with Benton at the
hospital, Dusty wouldn't be at all surprised.

 The inside of the Red Bird's car was no longer diverting; he'd watched
the GPS as much as he wanted to during the drive to the hospital. Dusty
was feeling at ease and ready to talk. The Red Bird encouraged him, which
was no surprise. Social workers always wanted to hear you talk about
families. 

 "Ray really owns the house, but he doesn't live in it now. Him and Benton
should live there, if you ask me. There's plenty of room and there's Nona
and Aunt Frannie to do all the cooking."

 Mrs. Cardinal smiled as she drove. "Nona is Ray's mother, right? And he
grew up in that house."

 Dusty outlined the Vecchio clan from his own perspective:

 "Yeah. Nona's husband was Nono, but he died. He used to get drunk and
beat up on everybody, but I'm not supposed to know. Artie - that's my best
friend cousin - best cousin friend - um . . . "

 "I get the idea," said Mrs. Cardinal.

 "He's named after Nono. His real name's Arturo. He's my most favourite
cousin. Ray's sister, my Aunt Frannie, is his mother. She hasn't got any
husband or boyfriend or anything, and she's got six kids and they all live
in the house with Nona."

 "What are their ages? It must be quite a range."

 "They're all the same age."

 "Six? All the same age?"

 Dusty hadn't given this any thought until now. Having a baby took nine
months, this he knew. It hadn't occurred to him to wonder how all Aunt
Frannie's children could be the same age. There hadn't been a birthday
celebration for any of them either, since he'd come to live with Ray.
After confessing he had no explanation he lost interest in the question
and carried on with his dissertation.

 Lorraine Cardinal recalled having heard about a woman in Chicago who had
sextuplets under unusual circumstances but hadn't paid much attention at
the time. Perhaps this was the Aunt Frannie who had called her earlier.
She made a mental note to do an internet search at home for details. These
thoughts caused her to lose track of Dusty's speech momentarily and so she
missed the names of the six cousins. By the time she tuned back in, Dusty
was describing the family of another of Captain Vecchio's siblings.

 "Ray's other sister is Maria and she has two kids, that's two more
cousins. They live in another house and Maria's husband is my Uncle Tony.
They go to a different school so I don't see them every day. Aunt Maria
and Uncle Tony said they've been married for thirteen years. That's pretty
good, hunh?"

 Mrs. Cardinal reflected that to Dusty's perception it was a long-lived
marriage indeed. Most of his foster homes had been 'blended families' or
headed by single parents. In his experience, a thirteen-year marriage was
a novelty. 

 "Carl, that's my husband, and I are coming up to thirty years next
September, Dusty."

 "Thirty years. That's like old people on TV."

 "Sometimes real life is like TV. But not often, I'm afraid."

 Mrs. Cardinal remembered something Constable Fraser said the first time
she had visited him and Captain Vecchio at their apartment. He had spoken
of a brother of Captain Vecchio's who was in prison. Dusty hadn't included
him in his list so far. "Doesn't Captain Vecchio have a brother as well?"
she asked.

 "Uncle Michael. He's in jail. I'm not supposed to know what for, but my
cousins told me."

 Mrs. Cardinal steered her car onto a street that Dusty suddenly
recognized. They were close to the Vecchio house now and he began
describing neighbourhood landmarks to her. One by one he pointed to
stores, closed for the night, as they drove by forgetting about Uncle
Michael entirely: the butcher shop where Aunt Frannie used to work, the
bakery where Nona shopped, the computer store where he bought memory
sticks.

 The woman didn't want to discourage Dusty, but they were nearing the
house and the ride alone with the boy would soon end. "You were saying
about Uncle Michael," she interrupted.

 "Oh yeah. This happened a long time ago. Aunt Lina, that's his wife,
threw him out of the house because he used to get drunk and hit her."

 "The same as his father," Mrs. Cardinal said under her breath, but loudly
enough for Dusty to hear. 

 "Yeah, that's true isn't it? Nono hit Nona and Uncle Michael hits his
wife. That sucks. Anyway she got a restraining order against him. To keep
him away from her and the kids and the house.

 He's astounded by marriage that last more than a dozen years, but he's
perfectly familiar with restraining orders, thought Mrs. Cardinal.

 "But he broke into the house one night when Benton was there."

 "Constable Fraser was with your uncle's wife?" Mrs. Cardinal was having
trouble making sense of this.

 "He wasn't fucking her," Dusty said matter-of-factly, then recalled this
was language he wasn't supposed to use around adults. "He was over at the
house talking to her. She was pretty upset and they were hugging. Uncle
Michael came into the house even though he had an injunction not to. He
was wasted. He got in and saw them hugging and, man, did he go ballistic.
Stabbed Benton and tried to stab Aunt Lina. Artie says Benton nearly died.
Ray arrested him. Tell me that's not freaky, arresting your own brother."

 Mrs. Cardinal agreed it was freaky. "Captain Vecchio. . . Ray . . . . he
doesn't drink, does he?" she asked, managing to sound casual.

 "Nope. Well, wine with supper and sometimes a beer when he watches TV.
But he doesn't get wasted. And he never hits anybody. Not anymore."

 "Not any more?" 

 "He used to punch out bad guys when he was younger he says. That's the
street. Turn here! Left! Turn left!"

 Her time alone with Dusty was running out. She slowed the car and asked,
"Do you know about Constable Fraser's family too?"

 "Sure, but none of it is a secret." The boy sounded disappointed. "His
mum got shot when he was six. Now that's strange. Usually it's the fathers
that get shot. Anyway it was all over the news when it happened, Benton
says."

 Mrs. Cardinal shook her head silently over the state of affairs that made
Dusty think it was usual for fathers to get shot, while Dusty continued
talking.

 "Benton stayed with his grandma and grandpa most of the time while his
dad was out doing Mountie stuff. Then his dad got shot, but he was old
when that happened. That was all over the news too. Anyway, that's how
Benton and Ray met. Benton came to Chicago to find the guy that shot his
dad. Wait, this is the house. This driveway here."

 Lorraine Cardinal was deprived of any further details of Benton's story,
which was a shame because the story was an intriguing one. She turned into
the driveway hoping that she would be able to drop off Dusty and get home,
but she also knew the hope was a forlorn one. Chances are she would be
forced to remain and be fed. Well, the night was shot anyway. She might
yet get more details about the Fraser family saga and the treats she would
be served would likely be better than anything she baked herself. That is,
if Nona turned out to be the stereotypical Italian mother, and everything
she had heard so led Mrs. Cardinal to believe this would be the case.

 32 /40

 A couple of hours later Lorraine Cardinal came through her front door.
Carl was still awake, watching a soccer game that was happening in another
time zone. She dropped a paper bag on the coffee table in front of him.

 "What's in there?"

 "Pizzelle," 

 "Hey, don't bad-mouth me, I'm the one who stayed nicely at home while you
went out chasing your delinquents."

 "We call them clients now, Carl. There are no delinquents anymore." She
dropped heavily beside him on the sofa. "Italian cookies, Carl. Pizzelle.
And there's some biscotti in there too."

 "Aw, you bought me cookies," Carl said in a mock-sugary voice, then
opened the bag and helped himself.

 "At this hour? Those are from the Vecchios. Nona made them herself. She's
got her own pizzelle iron."

 "And I bet you're just green with envy," he said around a mouthful of
biscotti. Seeing her serious look, he hit the mute button on his converter
and waited. Nothing pithy was forthcoming, so rather than let the
commentary of the game be sacrificed in vain, he pushed her.

 "I take it Dusty and his deviant dads were reunited?"

 She remained pensive.

 "Lorraine?"

 Finally she had something to say. "Carl, ask me which is stronger: nature
or nurture."

 "Well?"

 "I'd have said nurture for sure before tonight."

 She realized she hadn't taken her jacket off yet, so she rose and put it
away, distractedly.

 "Lorraine?"

 "Oh, I was thinking about Constable Fraser. You haven't met him. Carl,
he's fifteen years younger than me and in way better shape. But he's the
one who had the heart attack, not me. I remember when I went over to their
apartment that night, he mentioned heart problems run in his family. So,
nature wins over nurture."

 "And this is a revelation to you?"

 "But then there's Captain Vecchio. I found out tonight his father and his
brother were abusers. But Dusty says he never lifts a finger to anyone in
the family. He's broken the cycle of abuse - that's a mark on the side of
the nurture side."

 "Wrong. He's gay, Lorraine. Score one for nature."

 "That's a stereotype. You know better."

 She sat down again beside her husband and snuggled against him. His left
arm went automatically around her while the right arm reached for the
remote and put the sound back on.

 "You should have seen him, though, when I brought Dusty back." Mrs.
Cardinal went on to describe to her husband, over the voice of the sports
announcer, her impressions of the Vecchios in general and the picture she
was forming of Dusty's life with them and Constable Fraser.

 "Sounds like the kid lucked out," Carl observed during a commercial. 

 33/ 40

 What was strange about sitting beside Benton in a hospital was that it
wasn't strange at all. It was familiar, although they hadn't been in this
situation for many years. Just something you remember how to do, Ray
decided, like shooting straight or riding a bike - how to sit beside your
partner and hope that he doesn't die. In the old days when one of them was
wounded the other always sat with him. Then there was that one time they
were in the hospital together - first Ray had shot Benny and then Ray had
taken a bullet for him. The old days. Days of running around after
beautiful women and getting shot, robbed, hit on the head for their
troubles. Ray often said, half in joke, that when the two of them gave up
chasing women, their life expectancy shot up.

 There were a lot more flowers in Benny's hospital room now than there had
been in the old days. No solitary bobbing helium balloon. On only his
third day in the hospital - his second day in the cardiac ward after
spending the first twenty-four hours in intensive care - Benny had
acquired bouquets and baskets from his own office, from Ray's office, from
their old colleagues at the 27th, from a vast array of Vecchios, from FBI
and CIA contacts and even from Mrs. Cardinal's office. It was like a
florist's shop in Benton's room and it heartened Ray to know they had so
many friends.

 There was another important difference between then and now. Benny was in
the cardiac ward and it hadn't been any no-good-nik that put him there. It
had been his own body, or to expand the idea, the bodies of his ancestors
who had created that gene pool that gave people finicky tickers.

 Making comparisons was proving interesting. Ray continued the exercise.

 "So, did it hurt more than being shot?"

 He startled Benton out of some reverie with the question. Benton shifted
his attention to his partner.

 "Did what hurt more than being shot?"

 "The heart attack, moron."

 "Myocardial infarction."

 "Did it hurt?"

 "Yes, Ray."

 "More than being shot? More than being stabbed?"

 "It's hard to compare."

 "I've never been stabbed," Ray observed, "You have."

 "And shot. We've both been shot, Ray. This feels different."

 "So you said."

 Having apparently nowhere to go, the conversation fizzled out. Benton
turned his head on his pillow and lost himself again in thought.

 "Benny." Ray didn't know exactly what he wanted to say, only that he
wanted Benton's attention. He'd come close to losing the Mountie. At their
age, that wasn't supposed to happen. They were too old to be killed in the
line of duty and too young to succumb to diseases of old age. These were
supposed to be the middle, boring years - during which they both went to
the office and came home to each other every night. It was a time for
being in comfortable rut, and complaining about it while deep down being
thankful for a good life. 

 "Yes, Ray." Benton answered, automatically.

 "What are you thinking about?"

 "Dustin," Benton said. "He wasn't the one that found me, you said."

 "No, I found you. Dusty was in his room with his headphones on. That's
the third time you asked me that, tonight, by the way."

 "That's good. Not that I asked you three times . . ."

 Ray smiled.

 "I mean, it's good you were the one to find me. It might have been
traumatic for him to find me half dead on the floor."

 Ray chuckled. "It would have been more traumatic for him if I'd been any
later and found you all dead on the floor."

 "Yes, it would," Benton said, not picking up on Ray's light tone.

 "But Dusty's a resilient kid, Benny. And he's smart. You know what I
think? You're a lot alike - you and Dusty. 

 "I don't see the resemblance."

 "You both had a crappy childhood. You've both got brains. And you're both
the product of the attention spans you were born with. You've got an
attention span that can be measured in geological ages. You remember
everything and you concentrate hard so everybody knows you're brilliant.
Dusty's got brains, but he was born with the attention span of the average
dust mite. He doesn't get to show the world how smart he is."

 "There but for the grace of God go I, is that what you mean?"

 "That's what Ma would say."

 "My grandparents too, I imagine. But, Ray, I've also been thinking that
you were right."

 Ray leaned back on the uncomfortable vinyl hospital chair with a grin of
satisfaction. "Well, good!"

 "I haven't said what you were right about."

 "I don't care. You think I'm right about something - that's a novelty. I
don't need to know why. I'm just going to enjoy it."

 "Ray."

 "Okay, okay, tell me what I was right about. I can take it."

 Benton shifted his shoulders against the pile of pillows under him. He
craned his neck forward. 

 "Use the button, Benny."

 "Oh, I didn't think of it."

 "That super brain of yours must still be oxygen deprived."

 "That's not funny, Ray," Benton located the controls for his bed and
moved himself to a sitting position. "You were right when you said I was
too severe with Dustin."

 "You still can't call him 'Dusty'," Ray observed.

 Benton ignored that. "I've been thinking that if I had died, he would
have gone the rest of his life thinking I didn't like him. My whole adult
life I've liked the children I've met and they've liked and trusted me."

 "You can charm them out of the trees, Benny."

 "But with Dustin, I seem to freeze up, I suppose is the best way to put
it."

 "But you know why, Benny. You're like that foster father who worked in a
juvenile detention center. You're afraid Dusty's going to turn into some
kind of delinquent."

 "Exactly."

 "And it will be your fault."

 "I realize now, Ray, that isn't reasonable. Dustin's a well-meaning boy.
He's basically honest and decent. And, if I had died, he would have had to
find a way to get through life without my riding herd on him every
minute."

 "Except it would have been nice for you to come to that conclusion
without scaring me and Dusty out of our wits first. Well, tomorrow's the
first day of the rest of your life. You'll come home and get your chance
to start a whole new system of laying off the kid." Ray looked around the
room. "And I'm going to need to rent a truck to get all these flowers
home."

 "I was thinking you could take them down to the some of the other floors.
The geriatric ward is pretty bare."

 "Sure."

 "I was thinking you could do that tonight, Ray."

 Ray ran his fingers through his sparse hair and looked upward, appealing
to the Heavens. "Can't I do that tomorrow? I promised Ma I'd get home
early tonight." 34 / 40

 Ray was lying. He hadn't promised his mother to be home early. Rather he
had ordered a family conference at the Vecchio house, to begin at 8 pm
sharp. His mother and sisters didn't see any real need for yet another
pow-wow on this night before Benton came home. Every thing seemed to be
arranged: Benton would rest two weeks at the house, under care of Ma and
Francesca. Dusty and Ray would also stay there, for convenience. But if
Ray needed them for yet another get-together, they weren't going to turn
him down.

 They gathered in the Vecchio living room, Ray in his favourite armchair,
Maria and Tony side by side on the love seat, Francesca and Ma on opposite
ends of the sofa, while children came and went from the living room as
their interest in the discussion waxed and waned. Dusty was the exception.
The discussion being about Benton, he would not be excluded, but
demonstrated his distractibility by roaming from one adult to another: now
lolling on the floor at Ray's feet, now sitting beside Ma on the couch,
now hanging over the backs and arms of different pieces of living room
furniture.

 "What's this about, caro? Everything's under control," Ma spoke for them
all.

 "No, we've got the next two weeks figured out but I need to have a plan
in place long term. Benny's heart attack was caused by stress."

 "Partly," Maria qualified.

 "Mostly," insisted Ray. "And when he comes out I don't want him stressed
any more than I can help. I want a plan in place for six months from now -
in case he has to leave Chicago."

 All the family members groaned in unison. Ma spoke for them again. "Don't
borrow trouble, caro. You don't know what will happen in six months.
Benito may be able to stay here and nothing will happen."

 "I can't risk that, Ma. I want Benny to know that whatever happens we
have a plan to deal with it. It will keep him calm."

 "And drive us crazy," observed Maria, drawing a sharp look from her
brother.

 Ma said, "Raymondo, I think the best thing is to wait and see what
happens."

 "No, Ma. I don't want Benny fretting and worrying. I want to work out a
scenario for all the different possibilities and you all can help me think
it out."

 "And me," said Dusty, whose present position was perched behind Ray on
the high back of the armchair.

 "Of course you," Ray twisted around and patted the boy's arm.

 "Yeah, since he's the problem," said Clara, Maria's older child said,
drawing stern looks from her mother, aunt, uncle and grandmother.

 "Don't be cruel, Clara. No one person is the problem. It's just the
situation we have to deal with," Maria said.

 Ray took over. "Here's the situation. Benny might get to stay in Chicago,
in which case nothing has to change. Benny might have to move to another
city. Or he might have to leave the country. I can leave the country, but
Dusty can't. I don't think I'm even allowed to take him out of state,
because he's a foster child. Okay, options." 

 They spent several minutes trying to persuade Ray that it was far too
soon to worry about what might happen half a year from now. And wouldn't
Benito want some input himself?

 Ray continued to dismiss all their objections. He was determined to
protect Benton from any and all mental anguish.

 "If you adopted Dusty outright, he'd be your son and you could move with
him where ever you want," Tony said.

 "They won't let us adopt Dusty, he's on a long-term fostering plan. We
have to work within that."

 "On TV when people want to stay in the country, they marry some American.
Then they get to stay no matter what," Dusty said suddenly.

 The children who happened to be in the room at that time - Clara and
three of Francesca's brood, whopped at that. A discussion amongst them
ensued:

 "Uncle Benton can't get married. He's gay," said one child.

 "Doesn't mean he can't get married," said another.

 "Yeah, we could pay some lady to marry him or something," Dusty
suggested. 

 "Can't he get married to Uncle Ray?"

 "They're not allowed, stupid. It's against the Church."

 "No it's not. It's against the law."

 "It's against both."

 "Now, bambini, settle down," Ma said. 

 "No, Ma. It's not a bad idea. If Benton's married to an American, he can
stay here if he has to and he can get a divorce if he doesn't need to be
married anymore," was Maria's take on the subject. "It could work."

 "Who could we get to marry him? He doesn't like women," Tony wondered.
"It would have to be someone who doesn't really care, so they wouldn't
mind getting a divorce later."

 "That's dishonest," Maria objected.

 "Boy, life is unfair. Ten years ago I'd have given anything to marry
Fraszh, now we're planning to just give him away," Francesca pouted.

 "That's it! Frannie, you got it," said Maria.

 "What? What have I got?"

 "You marry Benton. We keep him in the family."

 Ma said, "That's not fair to your sister. She might want a real husband
some day."

 "Being married to a looker like Fraszh would increase my status at the
PTA," Francesca said, considering. 

 "We're kidding here, right?" put in Ray.

 "Well, not necessarily, Ray. If Francesca ever wanted to start dating
again, she could get a divorce."

 "No, an annulment. Francesca and Benito would never actually consummate
the marriage," said Ma.

 Tony was starting to get excited about the idea. "And! And! If Benton and
Frannie got married, they could adopt Dusty. No social worker could have a
problem with that. A married couple would be allowed to adopt.
Everything's solved." 

 "I'd have a problem with that," said Ray. "Aside from the fact that
having my sister marry Benny is just disgusting, Dusty belongs to Benny
and me."

 "He still would, Ray. He'd live with you two like always. He'd just be
the son of Frannie and Benton on paper."

 "Admit it, Bro. This could work," Maria summed up.

 "No, it's insane," Ray slouched in his chair and folded his arms over his
chest. "I'm not having Frannie and Benny get married. We need another
option."

 They all fell silent.

 Then Francesca started thinking out loud. "Ray doesn't want Fraszh to
marry me. So, instead of me he could marry somebody else we could trust.
Somebody who would be in on the plan."

 "Who could we really trust?" Maria asked.

 Tony opened his eyes wide. "What about Ma?"

 There was a general hoot over this, and the children in the room went
"Ewwww" in unison.

 "No, hear me out. Ma, you aren't planning to start dating any time soon.
And we all agree Benton isn't going to have sex with whoever he marries.
It's just for show."

 "Is anybody taking this seriously? I need to know that nobody's taking
this seriously," Ray said through gritted teeth.

 "It would increase my status at the bridge club," Ma mused.

 "If Ma marries Fraszh, he'll be our father. Ray, you'd be sleeping with
your father. Isn't there something in the Bible against that?"

 "There's already something in the Bible about him sleeping with Benton.
He's doing that anyway so I don't think we have a problem there."

 "Step-father, not real father. It's not so terrible."

 "I don't believe this!" 

 "Raymondo, calm down. We're only discussing possibilities."

 "It's called lateral thinking. We learned about it at school," Dusty put
in, helpfully.

 "Benito and I wouldn't . . . you know . . . and we could adopt Dusty. I
could live with that," Ma concluded

 "One thing for sure: I can't marry him. I'm already married. So it's Ma
or Francesca. Ray, if it comes down to it, you can choose which one. Is
that okay with you, Ma? Frannie?"

 Francesca shrugged and nodded. All eyes turned to Ma Vecchio. 

 "To keep Dusty with us, I don't mind. Benito's been like a son to me and
Dusty's like my own grandson. This would make Benito my husband and my son
and Dusty can be my son and my grandson."

 "And I'll be in the loony bin," muttered Ray, burying his head in his
hands, "because you're making me crazy."

 "You asked us for input, Ray, and we've solved the problem. You could say
thank you," said Tony.

 35 / 40

 The next morning Dusty woke up with every intention of coming with Ray to
the hospital to pick up Benton and bring him home. He was annoyed to find
that Ray's intention was that Dusty would be dropped off at the Vecchio
house, thence to go to school just as though today were like any other
day.

 No amount of insisting could get Ray to change his mind. Finally, in
exasperation Ray shouted "Stop whining. I'm the king of whining around
here. You're going to school and that's that. When you get home from
school we'll both be at the house waiting for you. Now go bring your
suitcase."

 Dusty and Ray had both packed a few days worth of clothes to begin their
two week sojourn in the big house. Benton's clothes and various personal
hygiene items were already there waiting for him and Ray's plan was to
come back to the apartment every few days to check things and get the
mail. 

 Dusty, reduced to grumbles, complied and brought his bag from his room.
It was the same suitcase he had brought with him the first day he had
arrived to live with Benton and Ray, and was so threadbare that it hardly
looked like it could survive the dragging across the living room carpet.

 "I should buy you a new suitcase. I never noticed before how awful that
one looks," Ray said, calming down in the face of Dusty's acquiescence. 

 "I haven't had it out since I came here."

 "Which means me and Benny never took you anywhere. I ought to do
something about that too."

 This wasn't what Dusty was thinking Ray's response would be. He was
thinking that Ray would say they hadn't been able to send him away
anywhere since he came. Most of his previous foster parents had needed to
send him away for one day a week, or sometimes a whole weekend, for
respite care. They couldn't handle him for too long without some kind of
break. It only occurred to Dusty now that Benton and Ray had never sent
him off for a respite day. He began to think how much he liked these two
men and how good his life with them had been. Then he caught himself
thinking these icky thoughts and decided this mush had to stop. He quickly
interjected something calculated to get Ray riled up. 

 "You two haven't been alone since I got here. I bet you want me to go to
school so you can bring him home and get it on."

 Ray, busy washing up breakfast dishes, whirled about to face the boy. "If
I'd said anything like that to my father, he'd have walloped me good."

 "Why? Was your dad queer too?" Dusty regretted saying this as soon as it
had involuntarily slipped out of his mouth. 

 Ray stiffened and his fists clenched. He inhaled sharply and stood
glaring. The muscles of his forearms tightened so that Dusty could see the
veins. Soapsuds clinging to the man's hands and arms failed to mitigate
the angry posture. 

 Dusty stepped back, never having seen Ray in this mood. Ray often lost
his temper, as Dusty had confided in Mrs. Cardinal, but demonstrated it
with a lot of yelling. Dusty, experienced at being able to detect when he
was in physical danger, had never taken Ray's outbursts seriously. This
quiet anger felt very different.

 "Don't hit me," Dusty said softly.

 Ray looked down at his own hands. With great deliberation, he unclenched
them and started taking long deep breaths. Finally he looked across to
Dusty. 

 "Did I ever hit you? Even once since you've been here? Did I ever raise a
hand to you?" The tone in his voice was not what Dusty was expecting. Ray
sounded hurt.

 "No," said the child, very quietly.

 "Then why would you say something like that?"

 "I'm sorry I said your dad was queer."

 The tension broke when the corners of Ray's mouth turned slightly upward.
"That's not what I meant. Your Nono was a lot of things, Dusty, but queer
wasn't one of those things." He wiped his hands on a dishcloth and sat
down at the kitchen table. "Sit down with me here a minute."

 Still not quite sure, Dusty hung back.

 "I said sit. Or are you still afraid I'm going to hit you?"

 The boy left his suitcase in the middle of the living room floor and came
slowly through the archway that separated the living room from the
kitchen.

 "Sit," Ray insisted.

 Dusty did, on the kitchen chair furthest away from Ray.

 "Don't tell your Nona I told you, but your Nono used to drink a lot and
he used to lose control a lot," Ray began.

 "He used to beat up on Nona and you and Uncle Michael, didn't he?"

 "You know that? How do you know that?"

 "All the cousins know. But we're supposed to keep it secret. Don't tell
anybody I told you, okay?"

 "Well I'll be . . ." Ray paused, without elaborating on what he would be.
"What else do you know about Uncle Michael?"

 "He's doing time for stabbing Benton and trying to stab Aunt Lina."

 Ray sighed. "Here I thought we were keeping this stuff away from you
kids. Aw well." He dropped his face into his hands and was silent for a
while. 

 "I'm going to be late for school," Dusty offered, uncomfortable with the
silence.

 "I'll write you a note. We have to finish this conversation, it's
important. Dusty, all the time I was growing up, me and Michael always
swore to each other that we'd never be like Pop. Nono. We used to tell
each other that's we'd always be nice to our wives and kids, never touch
them and never get drunk. Michael . . . well . . . it's a long story but
he couldn't stay in control. You know about that, don't you, Dusty, about
not being able to control what you do."

 Dusty nodded. This was something he did indeed understand.

 "I have to work hard at it sometimes, but I think I've been able to pull
it off over the years."

 "Aw, you yell all the time, Ray."

 "Yes I do. I yell all the time. But did you ever see me do more than
yell?"

 "You bang the table sometimes."

 "A living thing. A person. An animal. Did you ever see me hit anything
alive?"

 "No, never." Dusty thought about this. "Benton's always in control. He
doesn't even yell."

 "Well, Benny's another story. He was raised by people who hardly ever
lost their temper. Hard to believe, isn't it? That's why he doesn't yell
much."

 "That's why he doesn't like me, I guess," concluded Dusty, sadly.

 The return of the sharp, angry tone to Ray's voice surprised the boy.
"Don't say that! Benny cares about you as much as I do."

 "Yeah sure."

 "Before we leave this room, you have to get that through your head. And
don't roll your eyes at me."

 "Okay, Ray," Dusty said, concentrating hard on looking straight past Ray
at the clock on the kitchen wall.

 "When you get home from school this afternoon, Benny will be at the house
and you're going to see a change in him. I guarantee it."

 36 / 40

 Ray's prediction was only half right. Benton was not at the house when
Dusty and his foster cousins arrived home from school, nor was Uncle Ray
nor was any of the luggage that Ray had brought for himself, Benton and
Dusty to use over the coming two weeks.

 Nona did not emerge from her kitchen to greet them. Instead, Francesca
greeted her six children perfunctorily then said to Dusty, "Change of
plan, I'm taking you to the apartment. Fraszh doesn't want to stay here."

 If Francesca had any more information, she declined to provide it during
the short ride over, but as soon as she and Dusty got out of the elevator,
Dusty heard noises that showed which half of Ray's prediction was correct.
There was a change in Benton, as Dusty could plainly hear. The sound of
his voice, screeching in anger was blasting through the apartment door
into the hallway for all to hear.

 "Ray, this is unconscionable! Absolutely unconscionable!" Benton
continued yelling more words that Dusty didn't understand but were clearly
too long to be curse words. Dusty was stunned. He'd never heard Benton's
voice raised in all the months he had been living with him. He turned and
appealed to Francesca.

 "Aunt Frannie, do I have to go in there?"

 "I promised Ray I'd bring you right home." Francesca squatted down and
looked the boy full in the eyes. "Frazsh is just a little riled up. He's
not mad at you. Come on."

 Francesca straightened up and took Dusty by the hand. With her other hand
she rapped on the apartment door. "We're here," she called. Nobody came to
answer, so she tried the handle and found the door open. They went
through.

 A sight Dusty had never seen greeted him. There was Benton, waving his
arms, shaking his fists in the air and stomping about the living room.
Dusty was transfixed.

 "You will not make decisions about MY future without consulting me!"

 "It's just a couple of weeks, Benny," Ray said, taking in his sister and
Dusty briefly with his eyes. 

 "It's not the weeks, Ray. It's the idea!"

 "I just wanted us all to take care of you. I wanted everything taken care
of so you would be calm."

 Even Dusty could see that the plan to keep Benton calm had backfired
badly, though he didn't understand what it was the Mountie was angry
about.

 "CALM!" Benton shrieked the word back at Ray. "You try to decide where I
should go, where I should live, even whether I should marry and . . . for
the love of God . . . whom I should marry. And you expect me to stay
calm!"

 Francesca, after giving Dusty's hand a quick squeeze, eased herself
backwards towards the door, as though afraid to turn her back on the
raging madman. "Maybe I should take Dusty back to the house?" she asked.

 Benton answered her before Ray could speak. "The child stays here! He's
my son. Nobody else decides where he lives or where I live or with whom we
live."

 Francesca went bug-eyed and then slipped through out through the front
door.

 For Dusty's part, he was marveling at the scene in front of him. Angry,
violent foster parents, he was well used to those. He came into the
apartment expecting to see Benton to punch Ray, or Dusty himself, or the
furniture or the wall. Instead Benton, though clearly incensed, hadn't
uttered a bad word or an insult and hadn't brought his clenched fists down
on anything or anyone. Raging and out of control, he was still saying
'whom'. The anger wasn't directed at himself, so Dusty was thrilled by the
show.

 "Benny, you're over-reacting. It's not such a big deal to stay a couple
of weeks at the house."

 "It's not the weeks! How can you even think it is about weeks! Ray, it is
about your total disregard for my wishes."

 "Be fair. I didn't disregard your wishes. I didn't know you had any
wishes."

 "Did you ask? You drove right to the house without even telling me what
was going on. I had a heart attack, Ray, not a lobotomy. I'm capable of
making choices." 

 Then Benton saw that Dusty had entered the apartment. He glanced briefly
at the boy, taking time out from his ranting. "Look what we're doing.
We're fighting in front of the child. I can't believe this is happening."
Benton stomped towards the front door. Dusty watched wide-eyed. Benton
never stomped. The Mountie snatched his hat from the shelf by the door and
swept out of the apartment, slamming the door behind him.

 Ray and Dusty looked for a moment at the closed door.

 "He didn't want to stay at the house? Or he didn't want to marry Nona?"
Dusty asked.

 "I'm not sure," Ray admitted.

 "Where's he going?"

 "He's not going anywhere, he's just going to walk," Ray said. "I haven't
seen him like this in years."

 "What did he mean about fighting in front of the child?"

 "You're the child, Dusty."

 "I know that. I mean, everybody fights in front of their children, don't
they? I don't get it."

 "Neither did I, until I met Benny. People grow up all different ways."

 "His grandparents never got mad?"

 "Not in front of Benny. Crazy, hunh. Well, let me get you something to
eat. There's not much here. I figured we'd be at the house so I didn't buy
groceries. I'll see what I can scrape together."

 "But I still don't get what he's mad about."

 "Neither does he, Dusty. Yet. He'll figure it out while he's walking.
This is what sometimes happens when people go years and years not getting
mad."

 "I can't imagine living like that," Dusty said, thoughtfully.

 "Me neither."

 "Should you go after him, Ray?"

 "No, he needs to be alone to think this out. He'll be back in a few hours
and he'll be in control again. You'll see."

 37 / 40

 Ray's prediction, once again, was partly right and partly wrong. Benton
did return, but not until the wee hours of the morning.

 Dusty spent the first couple of hours of the evening fretting and trying
to persuade Ray to go off searching. Ray declined, repeating in various
wordings that when Benton was in this mood, it was best to leave him alone
until he walked off his anger.

 "Benny can go years without blowing, and then - pow. I shouldn't have
sprung on this all him so soon. That was my fault. He'll come home when
he's good and ready. He's got to keep walking until he calms down. That's
just his style."

 "But, I'm worried, Ray."

 "Are you? Good. So now you know what it feels like when someone in the
family runs away."

 Ray stubbornly refused to be distressed. The man and boy eventually
settled down in front of the television to pass the time while they
waited. Knowing that Dusty wouldn't fall asleep anyway, Ray didn't insist
that he go to bed, even though eleven o'clock came and went with any
appearance by the Mountie.

 Eventually Ray, to Dusty's chagrin, fell asleep on the couch, leaving the
boy curled up and disapproving on an armchair, watching an old black and
white movie and wondering - when he took a break from fretting - why
anyone bothered watching these boring old things. Dusty fought his
tiredness. He stretched and twisted in his chair, getting up often for a
drink of milk or juice, fighting to stay awake. 

 At a certain stage of exhaustion he began rehearsing the scolding he
would give Benton upon his return. It was a heady feeling, to gear up to
reprimand an adult. Not just talking back and being smart - that was no
novelty - but really giving a grown-up hell for some misdeed. And that
grown-up was the fastidious, always so calm, always so perfect Benton.

 Shortly before two the door buzzer sounded. Dusty bounded from the chair
to the telephone on the wall.

 He picked up the receiver and barked "Yes!"

 "Let me in, please," came Benton's voice from the lobby, "I don't have
keys."

 Dusty buzzed him in and then opened the apartment door and stood by it,
waiting, his hands resting against his skinny hips. He watched Benton
emerge from the elevator and walk towards the apartment. Dusty stood in
the doorway to block his entry but the boy was so thin that Benton was
able to pass right by him and come in.

 "Where have you been? Do you know what time it is?" Dusty hissed,
undaunted.

 "Whispering carries farther than talking softly. Keep your voice at a
normal tone and Ray should stay asleep." Benton placed his Stetson back on
the shelf in the vestibule, "I walked out without thinking about my keys.
Or my wallet. I'm starving. Let's go to the kitchen."

 "Ray's been worried to death!" the boy declared, knowing this was not
true but determined that Benton be made to show some contrition. 

 The sleeping Ray emitted a loud snort and twisted on his couch, sending
his right leg over the other, so that his right foot hit the floor with a
smack. He snuffled against a sofa cushion and fell silent again.

 "He appears to have been resurrected," observed Benton, with a slight
smile. "Come keep me company while I get a sandwich."

 "You didn't take your keys or your wallet but you remembered your fucking
hat," Dusty grumbled as he trailed after the Mountie.

 "I never have sex while I'm wearing my hat," Benton said, mildly, not
turning around, "I guess it seems strange to you that I'd take my Stetson
and nothing else. The thing is, when I was young, living up in the north,
I never really needed to take keys or a wallet when I went out. I never
locked my cabin and there weren't any stores within walking distance. But
a hat keeps your head warm. All right, I guess it's a habit. After so many
years of wearing a Stetson, I don't feel dressed without one. Did you take
any keys or money when you ran away?"

 "Well, no."

 "Then you're in no position to criticize me, are you? Did you take any
ID?"

 "Well . . . "

 "You should always carry identification, Dustin. You know that."

 By now Benton had washed his hands at the kitchen sink and was bending
into the open refrigerator, peering at the contents. Unlike Ray and Dusty,
who rummaged with both hands in the fridge, pushing items impatiently
aside, Benton only looked with his eyes. Then with surety and precision he
withdrew a loaf of bread and a dish of butter, placed them on the table
and then returned to the fridge for a load of packages wrapped in waxed
paper. He constructed a sandwich while Dusty yawned, squinted and worked
hard at keeping up his indignation. 

 "Want one?" Benton asked, holding up a finished sandwich on a plate.

 "No!" Dusty said sternly, then remembered and added "Thank you. I want
you to tell me why you ran away."

 Benton sat down to his food. Dusty remained standing, returning his hands
to his hips. Somehow he was going to make Benton understand how wrong it
had been to walk out.

 "I will if you tell me why YOU ran away."

 "Aw come on, Benton. I'm a bad kid. I do stuff like that."

 "I was always a good kid," Benton said around a mouthful of meat, bread
and cheese. 

 Dusty was taken aback. Whenever he announced he was a bad kid, he could
usually count on either Ray or Benton to protest. Benton must still be in
a weird mood, if he didn't pick up on his cue. Nor had he admonished
Dusty, the boy now realized, for saying 'fucking hat'. This was all
definitely out of character for the Mountie and Dusty wondered whether
heart attacks changed peoples' heads. His experience from television and
movies was not clear on this point.

 Benton went on, philosophically. "Hardly seems fair, now that I think
back on it. I could have gotten away with a lot more if I'd just thought
of myself as a bad kid and did whatever I wanted whenever I wanted. I
might have learned how to handle anger a little better. Although . . ."

 He took another bite. 

 ". . . when you get right down to it, we both did the same thing, didn't
we? Why did you run, Dusty?"

 "I . . . I . . . thought I killed you. I was scared."

 "And I thought I was losing control of everything. First the RCMP comes
up with plans for me, then my heart has plans of its own, then Ray and the
family go making more plans. All without consulting me. I don't like
feeling powerless. And I don't like feeling angry. I'm not used to it. "

 "Ray said something like that. You don't know how to get mad because
nobody got mad when you were little."

 Dusty caught himself being diverted from his purpose. This wasn't going
at all the way he had planned. He had one card left to play

 "You and Ray are supposed to help each other. Do you think you helped him
by running off?" he echoed Mark's words of a few days ago.

 Benton looked up, suddenly fascinated. "Whose words are these?"

 "Mine," Dusty said defensively.

 "I doubt it."

 "Okay, Mark's. The night you had the heart attack."

 "And it seems like you learned something from them. That's good. Are you
sure you won't eat something?"

 Dusty had to give up. "Naw, I'm too tired."

 "Let's go to bed then. No, wait. I'm going to turn the television off
now. Watch: the change in noise level is going to make Ray wake up and
he's going to say 'What, what, what'?"

 Benton's prediction did come true, precisely as he described.

 Gazing with affection as Ray sat up, rubbing his eyes, Benton said "We
know each other pretty well by now."

 38 / 40

 Although she was acquainted with both men, Mrs. Cardinal thought of
Captain Vecchio as her contact in the Vecchio/Fraser family. Accordingly
she called his office to ask when he and Constable Fraser could make an
appointment to come to her office - some time at their convenience.

 "With Dusty or without?" Ray asked her.

 "As his guardian, I'll leave that decision to you. You might feel more
comfortable talking without him there."

 Ray promised to consult Benton and get back to her with a proposed time.
Benton was coming home a little earlier than he used to. Although he
wasn't slowing down enough to satisfy Ray or Dusty, he did manage to make
it home for dinner some nights and did not go to the Consulate on
weekends. 

 That same evening Ray and Benton waited for Dusty to retire to his room
to immerse himself in one of his many online projects, before discussing
Mrs. Cardinal's request. They agreed on a day and time that Benton could
get away from the consulate during the coming week. Benton's answer to the
question of whether Dusty would come along was vehement.

 "He has the right to be there. He's had enough of people trying to decide
his life for him."

 "Benny, this is about Dusty, not you. Nobody's trying to make him marry
anybody."

 "Oh, Ray. That whole business about the marriage was just silly. What's
killing me is to know that in six months my whole life may be turned
upside-down and I may have no input whatsoever. Isn't it funny? When I
lived in the north I never cared where I would be posted."

 "Yeah, one iceberg is the same as another."

 "Very funny, Ray. But this is about Dustin. He's been shuffled from one
home to another all his life. Until now he hasn't been old enough to have
any say. He may not have a choice now either, but whatever there is to be
discussed, he should hear it. Ray, do you think Mrs. Cardinal is going to
take him away from us?"

 "I don't know. She didn't say what it was about."

 39 / 40

 Ray's people communicated with Mrs. Cardinal's people by fax and
occasionally by telephone. Ray had never had occasion to see Mrs.
Cardinal's office nor she his. Dusty knew the building that housed
Children and Youth Services well, and proudly led his foster fathers to
the right elevator, down the right corridor and around the right corner to
where he knew Mrs. Cardinal would be found.

 On the way, he described the different buildings where CYS had been
housed over the years, whether they were easy to get to by subway, what
fast food restaurants were nearby. Mrs. Cardinal, he explained, liked the
buildings with parking but mostly his foster parents hadn't owned cars. 

 Benton and Ray let him prattle on but just before they reached Mrs.
Cardinal's office, Ray interrupted and warned, "Just don't call her 'Red
Bird' to her face."

 "Aw geez, Ray. I never do."

 "Ray is right, though. Please be careful what you say. Our life is in her
hands, after all."

 One of Mrs. Cardinal's underlings ushered them into her lair, and she
rose when they walked in. She indicated a group of chairs, set up in a
semi-circle in front of her desk and the family group arranged themselves
in front of three of them. Ray and Dusty started to bend into their seats,
then they both noticed that Benton was still on his feet, ramrod straight.
Mrs. Cardinal was still standing. They straightened up immediately and
waited for her to sit down first. Then the three males sank into their
chairs all at the same moment.

 "I don't see much chivalry in this office. It's a pleasant change,
gentlemen. Thank you."

 Ray, Benton and Dusty did not warm to the comment. They remained
poker-faced, waiting for her to reveal what it was she wanted.

 "Dusty, since you're here I'll begin with you. The system hasn't always
been good to you. I've looked back over your file . . ." she indicated a
manila folder on her desk " . . . and I see that more than once you've
been placed with foster parents that never should have been allowed to
have any child under their care."

 Dusty squinted at her in puzzlement. Everybody knew most foster parents
were assholes. Why was she saying this? It was no surprise to him, nor
would it be to any of his fellow group home residents. 

 "The systems not perfect. We do the best we can with the resources we're
given. Year after year my budget is . . . well, that shouldn't be your
concern." 

 "Why are you telling him this, Mrs. Cardinal?" Benton interrupted.

 "Because I think I know of a way to make things right for him once and
for all. I have a family that I believe will be willing to adopt him
permanently. That's what I want to discuss with all of you."

 Ray jumped, outraged, out of his chair. "What kind of deal is this? We
wanted to adopt him right from the start! You're the one that said we
couldn't!"

 "That's true. I did say that."

 "Sit down, Ray," Benton said softly, "and let her finish."

 "Thank you, Constable. Dusty told me about your problems at your office.
I understand there's a chance you may not be able to remain in the United
States."

 "I won't know for some months. I may have to leave the country, or I may
be transferred to another American city, or nothing may happen at all.
It's too soon to know."

 "That must be stressful for you. And even more so because a foster child
isn't allowed to leave the state without permission. Dusty's flourishing
under your care. It would be a shame to separate him from you."

 "No argument there," Ray added.

 "So here's our problem. Dusty should stay with you two. After all the
horrendous households he's been forced into, it would be criminal to
separate him from you now. He has a school in which he receives individual
attention, an extended family, and excellent role models. He belongs with
you. Constable Fraser is a Canadian national and is at risk of being
transferred out of the country. That always was the case, but as long as
Dusty was a foster child, it didn't interfere with our plans. But if we're
talking about adoption, that's another story. I have no mechanism to allow
an adoption of a ward of the state of Illinois by a foreigner. But I have
an idea for a way around this problem."

 Mrs. Cardinal took a breath before continuing. The men and boy hung on
every syllable.

 "I could make a case for allowing Captain Vecchio to adopt Dusty. Only
him, not both of you. It's unusual but I occasionally allow a single
person to adopt if they can demonstrate that the child would have a good
quality family atmosphere."

 "I've got lots of family," Ray put in. "They make up in quantity what
they might be lacking in quality."

 "I've spent time with them. I'm satisfied with the quality."

 "What about me?" said Benton.

 "There's no way for you to be involved, on paper. You and Captain Vecchio
are perhaps the most stable couple I've ever had sitting in this office.
But your being a foreigner prevents me from allowing you to adopt."

 "However . . . " Ray prompted.

 "However," she said, obligingly "if you - and only you - adopt Dusty you
have the right to take him anywhere you like, just as though he were your
biological child. Up to Canada. To the moon if you can manage to get
there."

 "A lot of divorced fathers can't even do that, if they don't have
custody. I'd be one up on them. Seems weird."

 Mrs. Cardinal wasn't finished. "There's another complication. Once you
adopt him, you lose all financial support. If he remains a foster child
you'll continue to get payment until his eighteenth birthday." 

 "Ray and I are saving all our support payments in a trust fund for
Dustin. This will cut down on the money he'll get when he turns
twenty-five, but otherwise I don't see it as a big factor in our decision.
Do you, Ray?"

 "Nope."

 Dusty shuffled uneasily in his seat. Benton noticed it and addressed him.

 "Do you, Dusty? We're deciding your future, you should have your say."

 "Can't I be your son and still get the money?"

 Mrs. Cardinal chuckled. "No, it's one or the other. But you understand
that legally you will be Captain Vecchio's son. You'd have no legal
relation with Constable Fraser."

 The adults all trained their eyes on Dusty. He shrank in his chair under
their gaze, then quickly brightened.

 "Unless we all went to Canada and they got married." 

 "That has nothing to do with this office. Same-sex marriage, even in
takes place in a jurisdiction that permits it, is not recognized in
Illinois. At least not now and it doesn't look very likely in the near
future. I realize this isn't a perfect solution from Constable Fraser's
point of view. At least it will allow Dusty to follow the two of you
wherever you decide to go."

 "I get to keep Dusty forever, in exchange for leaving Benny out in the
cold," said Ray.

 "I've spent a lot of my life in the cold, it doesn't scare me," said
Benton. "I don't think there will be any doubt in Dustin's mind who his
fathers are."

 "Well, I imagine you'll want to think it over and get back to me," said
Mrs. Cardinal. 

 They all sat looking at one other, until Ray broke the silence by saying
"No".

 The others stared at him. It was Dusty that said "What?"

 "I said 'no'. We don't want to think it over. Once before, in my own
living room you asked if I wanted to think it over and we gave you an
answer right away. We wanted Dusty. Today's no different."

 "Dusty, what do you think of this?" Mrs. Cardinal asked.

 "I'd be Ray's son? For real?"

 "Well, it's a matter of definition. There are some people who would argue
that if you consider yourself my son, then the relationship is as real as
any other." Benton fell into didactic mode, an indication to Dusty that he
was getting to be more like himself again.

 "I'd be one of those people," Ray said.

 "Then, gentlemen, I think we have an agreement. I'll send the paperwork
to your office tomorrow, Captain Vecchio. And congratulations. It's a
boy."

 40 / 40

 Although it was only shortly after two in the afternoon, Dusty expected
Ray to drive all of them back to the apartment. Instead, he pulled up in
front of St. Monica's.

 "Wait a minute. Who said I was going back to school?"

 "I said."

 "Aw, Ray."

 "Me and Benny have things to discuss. Git!"

 Mumbling ineffectual protests, Dusty grabbed his backpack and slid out of
the car with it.

 As Ray drove off Benton asked him, "What do we have to discuss, Ray?"

 "Nothing. I lied."

 "Oh." After a pause, Benton asked, "Then, are you taking me back to the
Consulate?"

 "No, I'm taking you home. Look, Benny, I've been cheated and I want
what's rightfully mine. Any other man, when he gets a son, it means he got
to have sex first. Now, I haven't had any since we first got Dusty. I'm
getting a little frustrated here."

 "Your analogy doesn't work Ray. The sex comes, as you say, before the
arrival of the child. But I'll waive that point. As long as Dusty is
safely at school, we can deal with your frustration."

 "Really, you mean it? Benny, that's great." Ray increased the vehicle's
speed slightly, hoping Benton wouldn't notice. "Except. . . you're
allowed, right? After the heart attack you're allowed."

 "Yes, Ray. I'm allowed."

 "Good. Well, Benny, seems we've made my mother happy and got her another
grandchild. Not the way most men do it, I admit."

 "We're not like most men, Ray."

 "Say amen to that, Benny."

 End.

  
  

End Dusty and His Dads by The Moo 

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