Chapter Text
“You’re going to be nice to Ben, right?” Trixie asked as they walked over to Honey and Brian’s.
“Of course,” Jim replied. “Ben is family.” He understood Trixie’s concern. He and Ben had never been close, and Nadine Riker’s animosity toward him hadn’t counted in Ben’s favor.
He couldn’t tell Trixie what had changed his mind about Ben. No one, except Monika, Jim, and Ben himself, knew about Ben’s visit to Ten Acres, and that was how Ben wanted it.
🔍
A few days after his arrival in Sleepyside, Ben had made his way up to Jim’s office. Jim had returned from a meeting to find Ben waiting in the outer office. “Is everything alright?” Jim asked politely as Ben followed him into his office.
“No,” Ben said flatly. “Is it supposed to be?” Ben sank into one of the chairs. “My mother disowned me because family is important to me, and my father didn’t protest. Is that supposed to be ‘alright’?”
“No, it’s not,” Jim admitted. “You know I’m not very objective where Aunt Nadine is concerned.”
“I’m not looking for objective,” Ben replied.
“You should be,” Jim told him. “You’ll have to forgive her in order to move on.”
“She’s my mother! How could she…?”
“You think I haven’t asked the same question? How could she leave me when I still needed her? How could she marry a man like that? How could she not know how I felt about him? How could she not see how he felt about me?”
“It’s nothing compared to what you went through,” Ben agreed.
Jim shook his head. “That wasn’t my point. You didn’t deserve this anymore than I did. My point was that I don’t know how she could…. If I can’t figure out how my own mother could, I don’t stand a chance of explaining how Aunt Nadine could.”
They talked for an hour or so. Jim was relieved when Ben started to look a bit less like he was going to come apart. “I meant what I said earlier about the benefits of objectivity,” Jim said at last. “I can give you some names, if you decide to pursue that.”
Ben was thoughtfully silent for a minute. “Better give me the names now,” he decided. “By the time I admit to myself that I need them, I’ll be too embarrassed to come back and ask you.”
Jim nodded, pulling over a notepad so he could make a list. As he looked up contact information, he said, “I’m not judging you, because I felt the same way, but I wish it weren’t so. As far as us talking, one time, middle of the day, here at Ten Acres? I can give you professional consideration: no one will hear about this. I will do my best to continue to provide you that, but you know Trixie. We are family. Eventually someone will notice and she’ll ask. She’ll stop digging if I tell her it was a professional chat, but, by then, she probably knows more than you wanted her to.”
“Another reason why my next ‘professional chat’ should be with someone on this list, rather than you,” Ben suggested as he took the offered list.
🔍
Trixie and Jim arrived at Honey and Brian’s a few minutes later. Di, Mart, and Dan were arriving as well. “Ben, I know Honey and Brian have had you working while you’ve been staying here. What’s left to be done, or haven’t Honey and Brian shared the full plan with you?” Jim asked his cousin.
Ben shrugged. “They hadn’t shared the full plans with me, but then you Bob - Whites came up with this plan and Honey said she’d better clue me into the big picture before they left.” He walked over to the coffee table and picked up a scrapbook. He handed it to Diana.
She flipped through it, a slow grin spreading across her face. “We should have known any project Brian and Honey started would have a detailed plan. Ben, is the painting all done?”
“The kitchen needs one more coat. Otherwise, yes.”
“Okay. Mart, Trixie, Dan, why don’t you finish that? Jim, Ben and I are going to sit down and strategize,” Di directed.
“Why am I on the strategy team?” Ben and Jim asked as Di took a seat.
Ben rolled his eyes. “Because Di wanted the kitchen to actually get painted. You and Trixie distract each other.”
“Also, as Dan pointed out, you’ll have the least time to work on the house but, except for Brian possibly, you are the most detail-oriented Bob-White. I was hoping you’d take responsibility for directing this project, once we’ve made our strategy. As for you,” she said to Ben. “You know what’s already been completed and what hasn’t.”
Both men had to admit they could do what Di was asking of them. Jim went into the office. Or maybe it’s a craft room? He thought, seeing the stack of fabric and his sister’s sewing basket off to one side. Whatever the room was, Jim found what he was looking for: a pencil and few pieces of paper from the printer.
He returned to the living room couch. He quickly started a few table headers. “Okay, Di; go for it.”
She opened the scrapbook to the very first page, a rough schedule.
“They’ve stuck to this,” Ben said, looking over her shoulder. “Except, obviously, for the guest bed and bath.”
“So all the contracted work is done, except for the new windows in this side room, which will be installed on Monday?”
“Yep, 9 a.m. I don’t have to be at work until 3, so I’ll be here to let them in,” Ben confirmed.
“Good,” Jim said. “That means we can organize the rest of the work however we want.”
Di flipped the page to a fairly detailed budget. “Ignore that,” Ben advised. “They reworked it this past week, since the original budget didn’t plan on me, or all of you. It’s further back.”
Di nodded and turned her attention the next page, which showed the landscaping for the front walkway. “These things all get planted in the spring, not the fall, so we can’t do anything here.” She turned through the rest of the exterior pages, until she reached the plans for the deck. “Jim, is this something you, Dan, and Mr. M can do?”
“Yes, but not in two weeks. This will take all winter,” Jim said, studying the plans. “Given the notes on the schedule, I think Honey and Brian planned to ask for some very specific Christmas and birthday presents this year. I’ll get together with Dan and start making plans.”
The next page showed the foyer. “This will be easy,” Di admitted, seeing every detail was noted, from dimensions to colors and materials, even item numbers for items that would have to be purchased.
“These things are all at stores in White Plains. Trixie, the kids, and I are running some errands out there in the next day or two. We can grab this stuff,” Jim offered.
“Lilly will make that rug, I’m sure,” Di said, “And those drapes will only take me a few minutes.”
“Honey has a pile of fabrics in the other room. I think she’s bought all the material,” Ben told Di.
“I’ll check in there before I get started, then.” They went through the rest of the scrapbook, page by page and a room by room, dividing up the work and purchases it would take to bring Honey and Brian’s dreams to life.
“It’s going to be beautiful,” Di sighed.
“I have to admit, I thought they were a little crazy when they bought this place,” Jim said, “but, as Honey would say, it will be perfectly perfect for them when it’s finished.”
Finally they reached the last page, the revised budget. Jim added costs to his notes. “Honey and Brian were both really insistent that they pay for this,” Ben warned. “So don’t think you’ll get away with doing all this and paying for it out of your own pockets.”
Jim grinned. “Trix and I would feel the same way. Let’s have all the receipts come back to me, and I’ll total things up for them, so they know who to pay what when they come back. I see Honey’s pulled quite a bit from her trust fund to cover this.”
Ben nodded. “She said right away that she’d pull some to cover me while I get sorted out. Then, with everything that happened, they agreed to just pull what they—we—will need to finish the house.”
“Makes sense,” Di agreed, putting the scrapbook back on the coffee table. “We should take some pictures as we work. Honey’s still got some pages in there. I bet she planned to show the in-progress and completed house on those pages.”
🔍
As he and Dan headed out for a patrol, Spider said casually, “White Plains is trying to recruit you again.” It was a common occurrence. Every time someone borrowed Dan, they always wanted to keep him. Spider got reference calls, trying to figure out if Dan was really everything he seemed, on a regular basis.
“Yep,” Dan agreed.
Pressed, Spider couldn’t have said what it was about Dan’s tone that tipped him off. “You’re not seriously considering it this time, are you?”
Dan shrugged.
“Dan…” Spider trailed off. “Why?”
“Why?” Dan echoed. “Because I want to be a cop, not a Confidential Informant.”
“This is about the Yankoskey case?”
Dan nodded, his jaw taking on a stubborn set that told Spider it would be unwise to try to argue him out of it. “I hope you stay,” Spider said at last. “You’re the best partner I’ve ever had.”
“And you were just following orders,” Dan replied bitterly.
🔍
Ben was suspicious from the moment he hung up the phone. Di was coming over to hang the curtains. Perfectly normal. She also wanted to know if he was okay with chicken Caesar salad for dinner. Again, no real surprise. It would take a while to hang all the curtains. He’d confirmed that the salad was fine with him (he hadn’t starved yet, but he also hadn’t really mastered cooking yet, either) and commented that he’d have to get the rest of the dining room chairs assembled. Di had told him not to sweat it—it would be just her, not her and Mart and the kids. She claimed Mart needed a night alone with the kids from time to time so he didn’t forget that he could do it alone. It might even be true, but it was a cover story. Di had an ulterior motive. He wasn’t sure what it was, but he’d always been able to tell.
She arrived early that evening, two containers of salad in her hands and cloth piled on her arms. He took the salads from her into the kitchen. By the time he’d returned, half the pile was hung over the stairway railing. “Let’s hang the upstairs curtains first, while we still have some natural light.”
Ben nodded and followed her up the stairs. The step-ladder and tools were already upstairs. The curtain rods had been taken to the appropriate rooms as soon as they entered the house. Di nodded her approval, seeing everything they needed was ready.
They worked in comfortable silence, except for the communication necessary to accomplish the tasks. As they worked, Ben considered ways to draw a confession out of Di. In the end, he decided the direct approach was typically effective with her.
“Why are you really here?” He asked her as they sat down to their dinner. “And don’t give me any ‘to hang the curtains’ crap. I know you—and Mart—better than that.”
Di giggled. “You always were the best Bob-White at seeing through my schemes.”
“I’m not a Bob-White,” Ben reminded her.
“You could be,” Di said with a shrug. “As an initiation, house-sitting during a murder investigation is as perilous as Bobby-sitting for a day, and you’ve done that before, too.”
Ben felt his whole body freeze. Growing up as a prankster, who knew he’d never have a real family to fall back on, he had wanted nothing more than to be one of the fabled Bob-Whites of the Glen. “Are you serious?” He asked, holding his breath, waiting for the answer.
“We haven’t voted about it or anything, and I think we have a rule about all members having to be present for a vote on new members, but sure, I’m serious.”
“But I’m not perfect,” he protested.
Di burst out-laughing. “You are such a flatterer.” She looked up from her salad and realized Ben had been serious. “Ben, I know it’s popular to think we’re perfect, but you should know better. We’re not perfect, none of us. You’d make a fine Bob-White.” She sighed. “Which brings us back to your original question.”
Ben nodded. “Why you’re really here.”
“I’m here to see how you’re doing. And don’t give me any ‘I’m fine’ crap. I know you better than that.”
Ben pushed his plate away, because this was Di, possibly the only person in the world he could be completely honest with and not regret it, and the only thing more embarrassing than bawling like a baby (which was a distinct possibility, if he was going to be honest with her and himself) would be ruining his dinner by bawling like a baby into it. “I’m lost,” he said simply. “How do you start a whole life without any help?”
Di gave him a sympathetic look and put her hand on his arm. “By asking for help, or even just admitting you need it. Jim can give you some names. I swear he knows every practicing psychologist and psychiatrist in the state, whether from Trixie’s issues—”
“Trixie’s issues? What happened with Trixie? Or is happening?”
“She’s fine,” Di assured him. “She was struggling for a bit back when she came home from the NIB.” If Ben had never heard the whole truth, Di wasn’t about to tell him. Trixie had put it behind her, and none of them had any interest in revisiting those memories.
“It was probably a big adjustment,” Ben conceded.
“It was, and it took her some time to make it, but we’re not talking about Trixie,” she reminded him. “We’re talking about you, and how Jim’s issues, Trixie’s issues, and Jim’s profession have conspired to insure he knows a lot of people who could help you find your way.”
“I know,” Ben admitted. “I’ve already talked to him, actually. I went up there a couple days after I got to Sleepyside, to his office at the academy. We talked for a long time, and then he said that with the Bob-Whites as tight as you all are, and Trixie as curious as she is, if I wanted confidentiality, I’d probably be better served elsewhere.”
“And have you actually gone elsewhere, or just thought about it?”
“I’ve gone,” Ben assured her. “But he can only help so much. I still need so much that talking about it won’t get me. I need an apartment and furniture and utilities and food and stuff to cook with and all that girl-stuff: sheets and towels and pillows and random useless junk that serves no purpose except to make a place feel like a home. And a phone and a family and friends and savings and somewhere to spend Thanksgiving. And Christmas. And…”
“Take a deep breath, Ben,” Di instructed. “And spend Thanksgiving at the Open House, like any sane person who has the slightest appreciation for good food. Spend Christmas at Manor House, with the family that loves you, or here—if Honey and Brian will take you in on their wedding night, I’m pretty sure you’re welcome for Christmas. And if you aren’t, we can always make room at our place. If you’re going to be a Bob-White, you need to get one thing straight in your head: Blood may be thicker than water, but family is thicker than blood. You have family, and friends. Open your eyes and look around. They’re the people who drove across the state to pick you up off a curb when your birth parents disowned you over going to your cousin’s wedding. They’re the people who keep asking if you’re okay because they actually care about the answer.”
“I don’t want everyone to worry about me; I feel bad.”
Di shook her head. “You and Trixie. People worrying about you isn’t a bad thing. It means we care about you.”
Ben heard the implied, you dummy, loud and clear.
“As for the material stuff,” Di continued. “You may have noticed we’re all organized for a home-making Bob-White project. Honey pulled some money to set up your apartment out of her trust, right?” Ben nodded. “So just say the word, and we’ll finish this house and move on to setting up your apartment without barely stopping to come up for air. You just have to get the lease signed before we finish things here.”
“And where do I even begin with that? I’ve never had to do any of this before. I hadn’t even begun to seriously think about it.”
“Your rent can’t be more than half your pay for the month. Good budgeting says it should be more like a third. So get on almighty Google and search for ‘apartments in wherever-you-want-to-live’, sort by the cost of rent, until you find the ones within the range you can afford. It’s not going to be the Wheeler penthouse; in fact, it’s going to be small: kitchen, bath, bedroom that barely fits your dresser and twin bed, and an open space for everything else. But it’s yours, and, as long as you keep paying that rent every month, no one will take it away from you. And if you want me, or any of us, to walk though some of the apartments you think you might like, with you, just say. We’ve all rented, or bought houses. We know what details matter.”
Ben blinked, but this was Di. She always cut through anything that tied him in knots and then put another record on as if she hadn’t done anything special. “You know, you’re the best friend I never realized I had.”
“I’m never more than a whistle away. One step at a time, okay, Benjamin?”
“Okay,” he agreed, feeling like he’d just been handed a map and a compass after he’d been wandering through the wilderness for days. Now he knew the way out. It might take a while, and he might get lost again, but now he knew he could find his way.