A Dream of His Own

Quinn caught his breath. “But the kid knows I’d only met his mother a few days before.”

Ross looked out the window as if searching for a response in the landscape. Quinn followed his gaze. Two squirrels skittered up a tree and down again. A goldfinch landed on the bird feeder, his bright feathers adding color to the yet drab landscape. Though spring had arrived, it hadn’t notified Royal Oak.

Ross refocused on Quinn. “Maybe he saw you as a threat.”

A scowl pulled at Quinn’s face. “You’re kidding.”

“His mother likes you. Brandon knows how to handle his mother, but he doesn’t know how to handle you.”

Quinn lost him at “his mother likes you.” “She barely knows me.”

Ross arched a brow. “I talked with her at the POSK meeting. I know she likes you. Maybe the boy was jealous. You’d be competition for her attention.”

Needles prickled Quinn’s spine. Competition? Jealous? And Ava liked him. “I don’t want to cause trouble between her and Brandon, and I might if I ask her about helping me with the decorating. I’d thought she’d be a good choice.”

Ross nodded. “She has the ability. I’m sure she’s available.” He glanced down at his hands. “And she can use the money.”

“But she’s proud.”

He nodded. “Working for money is a whole different situation, isn’t it?”

Quinn threaded his fingers together and rested them on the table. “I should call her then.”

“I would. She can say no, but I think she’ll say yes.”

Relaxing his fingers, Quinn pulled his hands apart. “Okay, I will.” The tightness in his shoulders lessened. “Now that I have that settled—” he grinned at Ross “—let’s pick out some windows.” He grasped the brochures again and opened the one on top.

* * *

The unbelievable filled Ava’s mind as it had since yesterday when Quinn walked out in the wake of Brandon’s insults. She planned to talk with him after Quinn left, but she thought better of it. She’d never seen Brandon in such a tiff, and she settled on the idea of letting him cool off. But she couldn’t continue to ignore his behavior.

Today he’d asked to do homework at Mike’s house after school, and though she sometimes questioned whether it was homework or monkey business, she tried to trust her son. He’d been through so much. He’d missed weeks of school, lost his hair, gone through a year of treatments and sickness. Since he was twelve, he’d dealt with the fear of cancer, and finally he’d become a teenager who’d begun to think he had a future.

Still she was his mother, he needed guidance. Fifteen wasn’t twenty-five. Two years in remission didn’t guarantee a lifetime of good health. That fear laid her low. She needed faith in the doctors and the treatment. Lexie and Kelsey would say she needed faith in God.

She believed in Him, but her faith had drained with Tom’s miserable scam investment, his sudden death and then Brandon’s diagnosis. She’d talked with God so often with no response and asked Him questions He never answered. She’d begun to wonder if Jesus was only a prophet without almighty power as some claimed. But that was her “devil’s advocate” at work. In her heart, she believed even though she hadn’t been to church for years.

Maybe it was time to go. With her avoidance, she hadn’t provided Brandon with a good role model of faith, either. She hadn’t really thought of that until now. She’d done him a disservice.

Her stomach growled, and she wandered into the kitchen, not knowing if she should cook dinner for Brandon, too. Sometimes he was invited to eat at Mike’s. As she opened the refrigerator, the telephone rang. Brandon. Relieved, she closed the door and grabbed the phone. Quinn’s voice washed over her.

“I hope I’m not calling at a bad time.”

Though her body belied her response, she assured him it wasn’t.

“Good.” His voice sounded more positive than it had the last time she’d seen him. “I wonder if you could do me a favor?”

Her mind whirled. “What kind of favor?”

“I’m having some refurbishing done on my home, and I recall your interest in decorating so I wanted to elicit your help…sort of your opinion.”

Helping him was a change. Warmth spread through her. “Opinion about what?”

“I have no idea what colors work where.” His voice rang with resignation.

“You want a woman’s view on color schemes?” A grin stole to her mouth.

“That’s it. The rooms are mainly beige.”

Safe and muted like he seemed to be. She’d opened her life like a book, and he’d handed her a locked diary. “You’d like a little color in your life.” She listened and heard nothing. “I mean color in your home.”

“In my life is correct. I’m as drab as the house.”

Her pulse skipped, hearing the tone of his voice. She had no inkling whether he was toying with her or being serious. “When do you want to talk?”

“Tomorrow? Could you take a look?”

Saturday. “That’ll work.” Her thoughts wavered as they settled on specifics, and when she hung up, she stood a moment grasping what she’d agreed to do. Quinn had asked for her opinion. He’d invited her to his home. He considered her ideas worthy. Instead of problems, the offer gave her something different to think about. She stretched her back, hoping to relieve the stress she’d felt earlier. It failed.

Wishing she could let her worries go, she eyed the clock again. Seven-fifteen. No Brandon. Though she wasn’t the kind of mother who called his friends, today she headed for the phone. From the list tacked on the square of corkboard beside it, she punched in Mike’s number and waited. The ringing stopped, and she heard a woman’s voice.

“This is Ava Darnell, Brandon’s mother. Could I speak with him a moment?”

“I’m sorry. Brandon’s not here.”

Her chest constricted. “Is Mike there? Maybe he knows—”

“No, Mike’s gone, too. They went to Bill’s.”

Ava closed her eyes. She’d never heard of Bill. Her pulse raced as she hung up. Brandon had lied to her, and she’d never questioned him. Her trust crumbled. She eyed the kitchen clock. Seven-twenty. Ava sank into a kitchen chair and rested her chin in her hand. Who was Bill? And where did he live? Were they even there? Bill might have told his mother he was at Brandon’s.

Defeat anchored her to the chair as disappointment turned to tears. Struggling to get a grip, she grabbed a napkin from the holder and brushed moisture from her eyes. Determined to take hold of the problem and resolve it, she forced herself from the chair and opened the refrigerator. Although eating ranked with having a molar pulled, she needed to do something, and it was past dinnertime.

A couple of chicken breasts sat thawing on the refrigerator shelf, and she pulled them out. As she cut the meat into strips for a stir-fry, her hand jerked at the sound of the door opening. She closed her eyes a moment, a prayer escaping, and her breathing hitched at the surprise. She hadn’t prayed in years.

Sensing Brandon’s presence, she peered over her shoulder.

He stood in the doorway, watching her. “What’s for dinner?”

Her first response caught in her throat. She swallowed the “nothing for a liar.” Instead she lowered the knife and faced him. “Stir-fry.”

Brandon’s nose wrinkled.

Her shoulders ached with tension. “Where have you been? I thought you were doing homework with Mike?”

His brows lifted. “I was.”

“Mike wasn’t home. His mother said he was at Bill’s.” Clenching her hands at her sides, she watched the blood drain from his face.