Never Hug a Mugger on Quadra Island by Sandy Frances Duncan, George Szanto Page B

Shane wasn’t around to defend him? Except Shane was so rarely at home— If she still smoked, this would be the time for a cigarette.
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    Jason climbed the stairs and knocked on Shane’s door. “Shane?” No answer. He knocked harder, spoke evenly. “Shane. You coming out?” Again no response. “I’m coming in.” He turned the door handle.
    Jason flicked the light switch. Shane lay on his bed, staring at the ceiling. The walls were covered with posters of skaters, Dick Button, Tim Wood, Toller Cranston, Austin Osborne, Brian Boitano, Johnny Weir; and a few women, Gretchen Merrill, Peggy Fleming, Michelle Kwan. And three smaller posters of Shane—including, Jason knew, Shane’s favorite, costumed as a faun—a vest across his chest designed to look like curly hair grew on it, tight pants that gave the same effect, skates designed to look like hooves above the blades. The spectators, a year ago last spring, his first try at Juniors, had gone wild. He’d made it to the podium with, as he said it, only a bronze medal. But he’d become the darling of the crowd.
    Shane hadn’t seemed to have noticed his father, let alone the light coming on. “Shane.” No answer. “Shane!”
    Now Shane turned slowly and looked over to Jason. “Yeah?”
    â€œYou okay?”
    â€œFine.”
    â€œThat was very rude.”
    â€œWhat?”
    â€œStomping off from the table.”
    Shane squinted at his father. “Sorry.”
    He didn’t mean he was sorry, and Jason’s anger grew. “You may be the idol of millions on the ice, but here you’re my son and my guests are your guests. You’re coming down to apologize.” Shane stared at Jason, slowly shook his head, got up and headed for the doorway. Jason followed him downstairs. They passed the den, Noel and Kyra, Tim and Alana deep in conversation. Jason said, “Later. Into the kitchen.”
    Linda sat at her desk. She glanced at Shane as he came in. “Your evening for the dishes.”
    â€œDishes? I haven’t done dishes in a year.”
    â€œExactly. And do not speak to your mother like that.”
    â€œIt’s okay, Jason.” Her tone mellowed. “Shane, what’s wrong?”
    â€œWhy should anything be wrong?”
    â€œDerek comatose to the world is pretty darn wrong.”
    Shane sighed, hard. “Yeah. That is.”
    â€œIs that why you’ve become so—so withdrawn? Worrying about Derek?”
    â€œYeah, maybe.”
    â€œLook, son,” Jason said, “We all are. But we have to go on with our lives, and be part of each other’s lives too.”
    Shane tightened his mouth, a look of exasperation.
    â€œSo put on an apron. Dishes into the machine. And wash the pots.”
    A large dramatic sigh from Shane.
    Linda said, “You’re worrying about more than just Derek. Something to do with your skating?”
    â€œWhy do you say that?”
    â€œI’m asking you.”
    â€œI’ve just got to keep training. That’s all.”
    â€œAustin said you looked great on the ice today.”
    â€œI didn’t feel great.”
    â€œWhat didn’t feel great?”
    â€œEverything I tried. My axels, my loops, split jumps, everything.”
    Linda put her hand on his arm. “Are you still upset about the fall you took?”
    â€œNo! For godsake, leave it alone.”
    But he’d been upset. He’d gone about cursing himself aloud. Word about that had gotten around because Shane never cursed. “It wasn’t your fault, Shane—”
    â€œMom, I was the only one out there, okay? Nobody tripped me. I misstepped. I blame me, okay? Nobody else.”
    Jason put a hand on his shoulder. “Tell me, son. You afraid you’ll fall again?”
    Shane took a couple of steps backwards. “Look. My legs didn’t do what I told them, what I’ve