Читать книгу A Dream of His Own - Gail Martin Gaymer - Страница 11

Chapter Three

Quinn studied the vinyl siding brochures and then examined the samples Ross had brought over for him to view. Though presently the wood trim had white paint, he liked the idea of a color, and vinyl meant no more painting. “I didn’t know beige had so many shades.”

Ross chuckled and leaned over to point to a lighter color. “This one is great with the dark brick you have here.”

“It caught my eye when I first looked at the chart.” He closed the brochure and leaned back. “Let’s go with that.” With Ava and her son still on his mind, Quinn’s concentration wobbled as he talked about the house improvements. He’d thought Sean was demanding at times, but he’d never seen him rude to strangers. Brandon, on the other hand, had been rude.

Ross jotted notes on his clipboard and straightened his back. “All right, the trim is settled. What about the windows?”

Windows were the last thing on Quinn’s mind.

Ross pulled some brochures from his case. “The first decision is the style of windows.”

Choices? Quinn went blank.

Ross handed him the information. “Look them over. These are tilt-in windows. No climbing ladders to clean them.” He pointed to a section of the flyer.

Having just looked out his dirty windows, Quinn peered at the pamphlet while his concentration dueled with the multiple thoughts racing through his mind. He lowered the brochure, deciding to open up to Ross. “Yesterday, I dropped by Ava’s to check on her plumbing.”

Ross gave him a questioning look.

“It’s a long story. Anyway while I was there, I noticed how attractive her house is. Too feminine for me, but it’s Ava. Colorful yet cozy. Organized, yet homey. But I never had a chance to ask her about helping with my decor.” He explained the plumbing issue and Brandon’s rudeness. “I didn’t know what to do so I left. I’m not a man who feels inept, but I did. I know she was embarrassed so I decided to leave and end the problem.”

Ross shook his head. “I doubt if that ended the problem.”

“What do you mean?”

“If Brandon is rude to you, then it’s probably happening with his teachers, the principal.” He shrugged. “And rudeness hurts his mother, too.”

“But my hands were t—”

“The boy might be uneasy with another male in the house? You mentioned Brandon told you he was the man of the house.”

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.

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?”

Her questions seemed unending. “Only three years.”

“And you did the decorating?”

“No.” He flinched. “It was like this when I moved in. I’d meant to—”

“Redecorate. Add a little of yourself.” Her gaze caught his with a look that probed his thoughts.

His shoulders sagged. He didn’t have a taste to add to the house. He’d ignored his last home, accepting his wife’s choices. He’d ignored many things when he moved—to get away.

Quinn dug deep to lighten the conversation. “I’m slow when it comes to change. Think snail.”

She chuckled, and the sound rang through the rooms and echoed up the staircase. Laughter. He drew it in, filling his memory with the joyful sound and relishing in a new energy. A grin clung to his mouth, and enjoying the wonderful release, he grasped for something else to add—lighthearted and free.

Instead her smile dimmed. “Thanks for the laugh. I needed that.” Her admission caught him off guard.

Her gaze lowered to the floor as she drew up her shoulders. “But enough about that. Where do you want me to begin?”

His mind had been milling with dark thoughts. But her openness rallied him forward. “How about a tour of the house?” The image of her cozy house swept through his mind.

“I’d like that.”

“I don’t think I told you that I was impressed with your home. Very attractive. I saw you in the decor, and I also recognized your talent. You have a good eye for detail. An eye I don’t have.” Seeing the pride in her face sent a warm feeling rushing through his chest. He gathered his thoughts and gestured toward the rooms on each side of the foyer.

He surveyed her admiring expression as she stepped into each room—a slight lift of an eyebrow with a faint upward curve of her lips, a generous grin and approving nod. He felt reborn.

In the family room, her focus rose to the cathedral ceiling, and she spent time in the kitchen, eyeing the layout and commenting on the expansive counter space. His use of the kitchen was comparable to the whirlpool tub in the master bedroom. The shower served him just fine.

When they reached his study and his master suite next door, Ava studied him while she tapped her finger on her lips, today the color of ripening cherries. He closed his eyes to control a wave of sensations. Regret. Longing. Hope. He opened his mouth to ask her opinion but faltered. She would offer her opinion when ready—and he’d hear plenty. The reminder made him grin.

Though he used the second floor only for storage, a few mementoes of the past, Ava wanted to view the rooms. At the top of the stairs, she took stock of the layout before perusing the four bedrooms and two baths. When she’d finished, she turned toward him and shook her head. “You could open a bed-and-breakfast with all this space.”

“After one of my breakfasts, I’d be out of business. Maybe a shelter for the homeless. They would appreciate cold cereal and coffee or a frozen entrée for dinner. That’s all I know about cooking.”

She chuckled before she turned and descended the stairs.

* * *

At the bottom of Quinn’s staircase, Ava’s head spun. The place equaled some of the loveliest homes in the prestigious areas of Oakland County. Good-looking and available, he lived in this magnificent house alone. Why had he never married? The questions kept coming. Her fingers curled into a knot as if the tight fist could keep her curiosity under wraps. “Do you want to talk now?”

He arched a well-shaped brow. “Why not?” Quinn motioned toward the family room, so she turned down the hallway and stepped into the vast room with a homey fireplace and lovely windows that looked out into what had been a garden, a beauty, she guessed. Apparently Quinn didn’t know much about landscaping, either. His plumbing issues plunged into her mind along with his admission of knowing nothing about cooking. So what did he know?

When she stepped through the foyer into the family room, he motioned toward a chair. He remained standing, and she looked at him a moment before sinking into the soft leather.

“Would you like something to drink? Coffee? A pop?” He’d strode toward the archway into the kitchen.

“I’m fine, but thanks.”

He shrugged and vanished through the doorway while she looked past the fireplace to the view out the window. The garden could be lovely if cared for. She enjoyed planting flowers and always longed for a place to do real landscaping instead of putting a few annuals along the porch edge. Her gaze drifted over the saddle-brown leather sofa and the straight lines of the furniture. No photographs or artwork hung on the walls, nothing personal to give her a clue about his taste. She lowered her eyes when Quinn’s muted footsteps hit the carpet.

He headed toward her, carrying two glasses of water and set one on the table beside her. “Just in case.”