The Golden Telescope

19 - TRANSPARENCY

PORTLAND, OREGON – PRESENT DAY

An awkward silence filled the space where Jack had been. Pulling his dark green and yellow ball cap down close to the bridge of his nose and shoving both hands between his knees, Bart's body language was clear: I'm irritated. Don't talk to me.

Bill glanced sideways at his son a couple of times as he drove.

"I know you're mad, Bart. I don't blame you. I'd be mad, too, if I were you," he looked at Bart for a reaction, "but we do need to talk. I honestly didn't want to dump all of that info on you like that. But my hand was forced by the urgency of Jack's situation."

Silence.

Bart's stared at the passing scenery out the window. It was a typical Northwest spring evening, and a light rain left the streets shiny and slippery.

"Look, I knew I was cutting things close with your age and all, but I just haven't known how to approach the subject with you...so I put it off longer than I should have. I'm sorry." Bill looked again at his son.

"What am I supposed to say?" Bart asked under his breath, his words barely audible.

"Just say whatever you're thinking! Tell me you're angry. Say you feel betrayed. I'd totally get that."

Bart looked at his father, and his eyebrows sank into a frown. "Okay, you want me to tell you what I think? You're freaking right, I'm angry. And yeah, I do feel betrayed. What you revealed to us back there is that you're some kind of magical freak! And if that's not bad enough, I also have to accept that apparently any day now I'm going to be one, too?"

"Well, not a freak, exactly, but I do understand why you'd say that," Bill glanced sideways at Bart then returned his eyes to the road in front of him. "There are some amazing benefits to being this kind of different, Bart, as you will soon find out."

They turned a corner and pulled into the driveway of a modest-looking yellow, ranch-style house. There were several large solar panels mounted visibly on the roof, and where the neighbor's yards were decorated with typical ornamental flowers, the front of the Flanagan home was different. Raised garden boxes filled with fruiting tomato, bell pepper, strawberry, and other edible plants dominated the space. Bill brought the car to a stop, turned off the headlights, and removed the key as he turned to face his son.

"Why don't you put your things away and get comfortable, then meet me in the den? There are some important things we need to talk about."

Bart reluctantly nodded his head as they opened their doors and headed for the side entrance, located beneath the carport.

Bart walked into the mudroom, pausing long enough to wipe his feet, then proceeded through the kitchen and down the main hallway to his bedroom, where he gladly shut himself inside.

Framed prints of Oregon Ducks star football players hung on the walls. The window featured forest green and bright yellow curtains, and a matching quilt and pillow shams covered his bed. A big football-shaped rug decorated the middle of the carpeted floor. Wooden shelves mounted above a small glass and metal desk in the far-right corner displayed his many awards, trophies, school and scouting achievements. There were a couple of framed photos in the mix. One of him and Jack dressed in brightly colored swim trunks playing volleyball at the beach, and another of Bart with his mom and dad all bundled up in thick hooded parkas, wearing goggles and holding ski poles, getting ready to speed down the slopes at Mount Hood. The stark contrast between the two lives made him think of Jack.

"Ugh! We don't have time for a discussion! Pop needs to get busy finding a way out of that place for Jack!"

Bart tossed his backpack onto the bed and dashed back down the hallway, turning left at the kitchen, then to the open, carpeted staircase leading down to Bill's office.