"Mark,” Sydney called running across the yard. 


      “Get in the truck, Sydney.” He demanded, swinging her door open. 


      “We just got here,” she stopped. “Please, wait.” 


      “It was a mistake coming here. I should have never let you talk me into this.” 


      “Don’t say that,” She closed the door and leaned him back against the truck. “You saw your mom’s reaction. It’s obvious she is unhappy. She needs you,” she calmed yourself. “Please don’t do this to her.” 


      “She doesn’t need me. She has her husband. Let him sort her out,” his voice cold, voiding Sydney’s eyes. 


      “You don’t mean that,” She took his face gently. “I saw you in there. You need her just as much as she needs you. You’re her oldest son, Mark. Of course she misses you. No parent wants to loose their child.” 


      “Really,” Mark’s gaze slashed through her. “Then why did she let me go in the first place? Why didn’t she come looking for me? Why hasn’t she pick up a phone and called after ten years? Sydney, ten years and not one of them had even called to see if I’m alive or dead. She’s my mother. Of all people, how could she abandon me?” 


      Sydney search franticly for a reasonable answer. “I don’t know but now is your chance to ask those questions,” she dropped her tone. “Don’t leave like the, not again.”


      “Why not?” he asked callously. 


      “Because there may not be a next time,” her emotions got the better of her. “Maybe the next time you’ll be speaking to her it’ll be through a concrete slab and your questions will go unanswered just like mine. And I’ll have to be the one to put you back together again but I can’t, I can’t do it, Mark, because I’m all messed up,” she spoke in a rambling flood hoping that something she said would make Mark rethink his decision to leave. “I can’t take care of everything alone. For god sake, I can’t even tidy the house. And who’s gonna do the shopping? Me?! Don’t you see, Mark, none of this works! It’s all pear shaped! I brought you all the way here to Bumfuck Iowa so that you don’t have to live my life. You can have your questions answered. So, stop being stubborn,” she pointed to the house. “You have to go back in there and sort this out because I can’t wash dishes!!” she stopped only to breathe. 


      “Because you can’t wash dishes? What the hell was that?” Mark burst out laughing, pulling her into his arms. “You’re such a beautiful nut case, Sydney Cummings.” 


      “Well I can’t. I tried a few months ago; it didn’t work out. There were suds everywhere,” Sydney chuckled then rested her head on Mark. “I love you,” she mumbled. 


      “I love you too. And for the record, I would never expect you to do dishes.” 


      “Stop laughing at me.” She hugged his tightly. 


      “I’m not...Ok yeah…I am laughing at you. But I love you.” 


      “Promise we won’t leave until you’ve at least spoken to your mom?” 


      Mark sighed, looking towards the house, struggling with his own demons.




      Meanwhile, Helen trekked after her husband through their expansive backyard. 


      “Mark, wait.” Helen called. 


      “Who invited him? I don’t remember giving my blessing.” He turned on her. 


      She gasped. “Your blessing! He’s your son. Your namesake. He came back because this is his home. We are all he has and we should welcome him and his friend.” 


      “I’m not welcoming them. They can both leave my house or family in peace. I want nothing to do with either of them.” 


      Helen stood rooted in front of her massive husband, her eyes turned as cold as her sons. “You selfish son of a bitch,” 


      “Watch your mouth, Helen.” 


      “Make me,” she pushed him backwards. “Listen to you! ‘Your house’. ‘Your family’! What about me? Your obstinacy has taken my first born away from me. For over ten years, your inflexibility has torn this family down the seam. And I’ve had swallow my sorrow for too long. I won’t do it anymore.” 


      He tried to interject; she stopped him with a raised hand. “I don’t want to hear it! That man standing out there is my son and I love him and don’t care how he chooses to live his life. He has the rest of the world against him, and I won’t be one of them. He said he missed me and that was all I needed to hear.” 


      Mark Sr. looked around the yard, spying the hired help hurrying about their chores. “What will everyone think? My oldest son, what is he? Some kind of S&M freak.” 


      “He is not a freak.” 


      “Then what would you call it?” he demanded. 


      “I don’t know,” Helen shouted. “I don’t understand his lifestyle but it doesn’t matter because it’s his life, not ours. He is one of the best people that I know and I don’t want to loose him.” 


      Mark Sr. brushed aside his wife’s reasoning. “Things must be going pretty bad if you showed up here unannounced,” he sorted. “How much did he ask for?” 


      Helen’s heart began to race uncontrollably; the lines on her face grew taut. “Mark has never asked us for anything. Not a dime, in all these years. Whereas our other children have leeched onto us. What does everyone have to say about that? But to be perfectly honest, I don’t care what anything thinks. Let them gossip. That’s my son and you took him away from me. My baby came home and I had to ask permission to hug him all because of you!” her tears flowed freely. “I have suffered, sat my feelings aside to please you. Not any longer. He came back to me and I’m not loosing him again for you or anyone else. He’s not going to walk out of that door again thinking he is unloved. He should know that one of his parents gives a damn about him.” 


      His jaw clinched, he saw the pain in her eyes, pleading yet determined. “I don’t know.” 


      “You owe me!” she shouted. 


      “Fine,” he begrudgingly conceded. “They can stay but I don’t want anything to do with them.” he stormed pass her, letting the screen door slam as he entered the house. Helen followed in short order.


      When Mark Sr. and Helen walked into the living room, Sydney and Mark stood waiting. Father and son were the spitting image of one another. Strong, tall, dark hair and blue eyed. They stood neither knowing what to say; their silence was mired in misery. Helen and Sydney said a tacit prayer watching the men they loved locked in a quiet battle of wills. Neither prepared to give way to the other. It was hopeless. 


      “Hello, I’m Sydney.” She stepped forward, offering her hand. He took it gently yet firmly; like his son. 


      “Hello Sydney,” Mark Sr. crooned, his arctic eyes speared Sydney to the bone. “Call me Sr.” 


      She recognized that look; it was the same one Mark gave her on their first meeting. Sydney immediately calmed, she knew how to get through to him. “It’s a pleasure to meet you. Mark has told me so much about you. About you both,” her eyes darted to Helen who stood with a faint approving grin. Sydney searched for her words. “You have a beautiful home.” 


      Clenched fisted, Mark turned to leave. 


      “Where are you staying?” Sr. called to him abruptly. 


      Mark didn’t turn around. Those were the first words his father had spoken to him in years, and they couldn’t have been more perfect, loaded but perfect. He wrestled to check his pride; he’d promised Sydney that would at least try to reconcile if given the chance. Exhaling, he released his fist and turned meeting his father’s softened gaze. 


      “My assistant made us reservation in De Moines. We will be staying there.” 


      “Assistant,” Helen chimed in attempting to lighten the mood. “Well haven’t you become a big shot!” 


      “I guess I have,” He smiled at his mother. 


      “Too much of a big shot to stay here with us? We have plenty of room. There is always room for you.” Helen said on the verge of tears, desperate for someone, anyone to stop him from leaving. Sr. took her trembling hand in his. 


      “You will stay here,” Sr. more so ordered than offered. Helen checked him with a squeeze of her hand. “I mean, you are welcomed to stay if you’d like. Your girlfriend seems drawn to your mother, and…um…she could use the company.” 


      Helen and Sydney turned to Mark. Under the gun, He hated making this decision. It felt as though his father had won in someway. “Hell no!” was what he’d prepared to say but the ladies insistent expressions persuaded him otherwise. 


      “I don’t know,” he said. Sydney’s heart dropped through the floor. “We had planned on being in the area for two weeks and we don’t want to be an imposition….” 


      “It’s no imposition at all!” Helen interrupted. “We love to have you. Both of you.”


      “Please,” Sydney mouthed to Mark. 


      “Fine,” he agreed. “We’ll stay on one condition.” They all listened closely. “No big family gatherings. I don’t want the entire family coming over, at least not right away. Give us some time to settle in before everyone shows up.” 


      To Sr., Mark’s request seems more like an order, a slap in the face after he’d humbled himself and opened his doors. Who was Mark to make demands in his house? 


      Mark wasn’t budging. This request was a deal breaker. 


      “No problem! It will just be the four of us for a few days. But I can’t stop the others from stopping by. You know how this house is; people are in and out all the time.” Helen said. 


      “I wouldn’t ask you to do that,” he grinned. “I just don’t want the big over the top powwows that you’re notorious for.” 


      “So, I guess killing a hog would be not of the question.” 


      “Yes, I’m afraid it would be. I don’t think we could eat it all.” He chuckled then caught his father’s eye. “If that’s alright with you, father, this is your home.” 


      Sr.’s chest rose defensively, his stare cut through Mark. He wanted to knock his head clear off his shoulders but remembered Helen’s grip. “Do whatever you want.” He said politely and left with Helen close behind. 


      “You shouldn’t have said that, Mark,” Sydney punched Mark square in the chest. “He was trying to be nice. What’s wrong with you?” she shoved again. 


      He took a couple of steps backward. “I don’t know. I guess I have some issues of my own,” he hugged her against him. “I’m exhausted. It feels like I’ve been hit by a MAC truck. Do you feel that?” 


      “Yeah, my heart’s going a mile a minute. I’m drained.” 


      “I’d better get the bags out of the truck.” He kissed her. 


      “I’ll help.” Sydney trotted behind him. 


      “What!” Mark gave her a strained look from the corner of his eye. “What’s happening to you? Where’s my diva?” 


      “Well, you know what they say—when in Rome.”