The Humvee rumbled down quiet neighborhood streets, sunlight fading over Barnstable as Gabriel drove. Mark sat in the back seat, his trumpet case across his lap, his knuckles white around the handle. He hadn’t asked much on the ride — just sat there, staring out the window with that haunted look. He’d seen something he wasn’t ready for, and I knew the questions were coming. But not yet.
We pulled into the driveway of the parsonage, a neat, two-story house tucked right beside Faith Lutheran Church. A white cross steeple rose above the roofline, glowing faintly against the orange sky. The house radiated the kind of warmth I’d never known growing up — tidy yard, toys scattered on the grass, lights glowing in the windows.
Mark exhaled, almost like he’d been holding his breath since school. “This is home.”
The front door opened before we even reached it. A tall man with salt-and-pepper hair and a calm, steady gaze stepped onto the porch — Reverend Philip Harcourt. His presence was gentle but carried weight, like someone used to leading with both compassion and authority.
“Mark!” he called, smiling. “And you’ve brought friends.”
Behind him, a woman with kind eyes and a soft smile appeared — Betty, Mark’s mom. And then the flood came — siblings tumbling over each other to peek out the door. Miranda, Andrew, Linda, Chris — a pack of energy and chatter.
Mark’s ears flushed red. “Uh, Dad, Mom… this is Thane and Gabriel. They’re… friends from school.”
“Friends,” I echoed, a little awkward, but Philip’s handshake was firm and Betty’s hug was immediate, like we’d been there a dozen times before.
Inside, the dinner table was already set. The smell of roast chicken, mashed potatoes, and fresh bread hit us the second we stepped in. Gabriel’s stomach growled audibly, and Betty laughed. “Sit, sit! There’s plenty.”
We slid into chairs, and for a moment, I just sat back, watching. Watching the family bow their heads as Philip said grace. Watching kids laugh and tease each other over passing dishes. Watching Mark in his natural place — softer here, at ease, smiling in a way I hadn’t seen at school.
Gabriel leaned toward me, murmuring, “This is… different.”
I nodded. Different. Safe. Whole. Something I’d never had. Something Gabriel never had. But Mark did.
Halfway through the meal, the conversation turned, as it always does with new faces. Miranda piped up first, “So where are you guys from?”
“Oklahoma,” I said with a grin. “It’s… a bit different than Cape Cod.”
That started a ripple of questions — why we’d moved here, what classes we liked, whether Gabriel really played both bass and guitar. The siblings fired questions like rapid fire, and Gabriel was eating it up, answering with his easy grin.
Then Philip turned to us, his gaze gentle but searching. “Mark says you’ve been looking out for him.”
I froze for a second, caught between pride and the memory of claws at a bully’s throat. “Yeah,” I said finally. “He’s… worth protecting.”
Mark’s eyes flicked toward me then, thoughtful, like he heard something in my tone he didn’t quite understand.
Gabriel broke the tension with a grin. “Besides, he’s already impressing half the school with those computers. We figured we’d better get on his good side before he owns the whole place.”
That got a round of laughter, and Mark ducked his head, embarrassed but smiling.
As dessert came out — apple pie that smelled like heaven — I couldn’t shake the feeling. This house, this family, this table… it was a different world. And for the first time in a long while, I felt the ache of wanting it.