A Dream of His Own

His eyes searched hers, and then the color returned, the shade of a lobster. “Don’t tell me you called Mike’s house.”

She glared back at him. “You lied to me.”

“No, I didn’t. Me and Mike did our homework at Bill’s and then we hung around.” His eyes narrowed. “I can’t believe you’re treating me like a child. Mom, I’m fifteen. I’m not a baby. I’m tired of being treated like one.”

“You’re fifteen not twenty-one, Brandon. I’m responsible for you. I care about you, and I’m your mother. Don’t forget it.”

He lowered his eyes, his head swaying. “You won’t let me forget it. You’ll never let go. I’ll be a child until I die…which might be sooner than you think.”

Sooner? Her heart stopped. “What’s wrong?” She stepped toward him, her tension overtaken by weakness. “Did you find a lump? Where is it?”

“Stop, Mom.” His voice resounded against the walls.

Her legs trembled, as she tried to make sense of what had happened.

Brandon’s hands flew to his face. “I can’t believe this.” He stood a moment, then inched his fingers from his closed eyes, his body rigid. “I haven’t found any lumps, but I’d rather be dead than live a life of the constant reminder that I might have my cancer return. You won’t let it go, Mom. You care about the disease more than you care about me.”

She drew back, startled at his response. “No, Bran. No. You’re the most important thing in my life.”

“No, Mom, that can’t be, because you don’t have a life. You’re living mine. Please, let me grow up. Let me be a teenager like the other kids.” He caught his breath, the color draining again from his face. “You want to know what I was doing after the homework?” He tugged his backpack from his shoulder. “And I can show it to you. It was my geometry, and we studied for a history test.”

Her head spun with the confrontation, a horrible new experience that she never wanted to face again. “Bran, I believe you. I’m sorry.” But his look told her it was too late.

“I’ll tell you what else we were doing.” His jaws tightened. “We played basketball at Bill’s. He has a hoop on the garage. You can ask his mother. I jumped and ran. I had fun, Mom, and I feel fine. Better than fine. I feel great.”

Tears welled in her eyes, and she choked on the sob caught in her throat. Her head spun with remorse, but as much with love she didn’t know how to express anymore. He wouldn’t let her. She sank into the nearest chair and covered her eyes, unwanted tears rolling down her cheeks.

Brandon stood over her, his hand a fleeting touch on her shoulder before he plopped into the seat she’d vacated earlier. “I’m sorry, Mom. I guess you’re trying to be a good mother, but…I don’t know…I want a chance to live before I don’t have a chance.”

Her head bobbed up, the look on his face ripping at her heart. “Don’t say that, please. You’re going to be fine.”

“I don’t think you believe that.” His whisper swept past her.

“Bran, I do believe it with my heart, but sometimes I worry. Things haven’t gone well with us. Dad and then your diagnosis. Sometimes I think God has forgotten us.”

“God?” A frown lay on his brow, his mouth curved down. “You’re not religious. You never talk about—”

“That’s another of my mistakes. I do believe, but as I just said, sometimes I think God’s given up on me.”

“He doesn’t do that.”

Her head jolted upward. “What?”

“Mike’s family goes to church. They say prayers at meals, and I’ve heard them talk about their faith. They’re so confident I guess it rubs off.”

Her pulse raced. “I’ve done you an injustice, Bran. If we lean more on God and less on each other, maybe we can sort things out.”

His dark expression vanished, and hope filled his eyes. He rose and took a step to her side. “Mom, I didn’t mean to—”

“I didn’t, either, but this was good. We’ve let too much come between us. Since we’re really communicating, I want to mention your attitude toward Mr. O’Neill yesterday. I was embarrassed, and I’m sure he felt the same.” Quinn’s expression dangled in her mind as it had since the situation happened. He looked at a loss.

“I took my frustration out on him, and I’m sorry if I embarrassed you, but you don’t really know that man, Mom. Did you ever think he could be a crook or something?”

“A crook? Why would you say that?”

“He could be using you.” He waved his hand in the air. “You know, he bumps you, becomes a friend and then tries to rip you off.”

“Rip me off of what?” Her pulse surged.

“Your money.”

“What money?” Ava rose and stood face-to-face with Brandon. Her energy failed her, and she braced herself on trembling legs. “If a man is stalking a woman for money, he’d pick someone with a big house and fancy car.” She gestured to the kitchen. “No stainless-steel appliances here. He’d be crazy to swindle a woman in a slab house with three small bedrooms.”

“Okay, Mom. I made a mistake. If you run into each other again, tell him I’m sorry.”

She shook her head, trying to clear it. “Are you trying to be funny?”

He shrugged. “I wanted to make you smile.”

Brandon slipped his arm around her shoulders. It had been so long. Jubilant, she hugged him back. Still the problem remained, but he’d admitted he’d been wrong and that was a start. When she drew back, she looked into his eyes. “I know this won’t end our disagreements, but I hope we can remember that talking it out is better than holding it in.”

He nodded and stepped back, his gaze drifting from hers. “I’ll try to think before I speak.”

“I hope so, but thank you.” She squeezed his shoulder before returning to the chicken. “Stir-fry might not be your favorite but—”

“It’s fine, Mom. Everything’s fine.”

She tucked his words into her heart while another prayer lifted heavenward.

* * *

Quinn stared out the living-room window, anticipating the unfamiliar experience of having a woman in his home. And not any woman. Ava. She’d carved a deep trench in his mind, and periodically he fell into it. He struggled getting out. He’d analyzed the situation. First he thought about the accident that roused his sense of responsibility. Then he considered her son, and the impact the boy had on him—definitely a negative one—but it took him back to his fifteen-year-old son. When out of his earshot, Sean may have been rude, too.

Weighted by options, Quinn accepted the truth. Ava appealed to the man in him. He’d been without a woman in his life for four years, and though he’d faced his family’s deaths, he hadn’t faced the reality. He hadn’t died with them, and now he wanted to live again. The house’s renovation mirrored his need to make changes in his life, too.

A noise alerted him, and his pulse skipped when he saw Ava’s car parked in his driveway. She remained in the car a moment as if getting her bearings before facing him. He supposed he deserved that. He hadn’t been as genial as he should have been. Being more outgoing added one more way he had to change.

As she approached the door, he strode to the foyer, and when the bell rang, he hung back a moment. He didn’t want her to think he’d been clinging to the doorknob waiting for her even though that’s what he’d been doing. When he thought enough time had passed, Quinn pulled open the door. His voice failed him when she offered him the brightest smile he’d seen from her. Her hazel eyes sparkled, and her cheeks blossomed with color as he pushed back the door.

She stepped inside, and though no words had been spoken between them, he understood. Interest filled her face as she shifted her eyes from the open staircase to the cathedral ceiling and the length of the foyer toward the family room. She looked side to side, taking in the living room and dining room from one spot. “Magnificent, but you’re right. Beige paint must have been on sale.”

He sputtered a laugh with her unexpected quip, and her surprised expression pleased him.

Her gaze swept the rooms. “This is a gorgeous home, Quinn. Really lovely and so charming. When was it built?”

He nodded, almost embarrassed when he thought of her much smaller house. “Nineteen twenty-one, when they made them sturdy.”

“How long have you lived here?”