by Brenda Novak
“Just get your things, dammit!” she snapped.
The tapping stopped, and he jumped to his feet and began to fill his backpack, but she could tell from the expression on his face that he was surprised—and probably a little hurt. “What did I do?” he asked. “Why are you mad at me?”
Lauren gave up trying to close the overloaded basket. He didn’t know she was only trying to do what was best for him, that she was worried and on edge. He was just being a kid. “I’m sorry, Brandon,” she said, crossing the room and hugging him. “I’m just a little uptight right now and I need you to cooperate with me. Okay, honey?”
The confusion on his face didn’t clear completely, but he nodded. “Okay.”
“Everything will be fine,” she promised, resting her chin on the top of his head. “I just…I just need you to stay with Kimberly for a few days while I take care of some things. Then our lives will be normal again.” God willing.
“I miss Grandma and Grandpa,” he said.
“They’ll be home before you know it.” She kissed his cheek and started to pull away, then stopped when he said something so softly she missed it.
“What, honey?”
“I said my mom won’t. She’s never coming home again.”
It was almost the first time he’d mentioned his mother since the day she died. Lauren had tried to get him to open up and let the pain out, but he wouldn’t. He’d stood dry-faced and resolute throughout the viewing and funeral, ignored anyone who wanted to remember her or sympathize, and had kept up that indifferent facade ever since. Still, Lauren knew that despite Audra’s faults and shortcomings, Brandon had loved her with the kind of unconditional emotion so natural to children.
“It’s not easy when someone you care about dies,” she said.
“I don’t care about her,” he insisted, but there was a tremble to his lip that belied the harshness of his words. “She never wanted to be with me, anyway.”
The knots of anxiety in Lauren’s stomach grew painful. They had to go before Harley arrived. But this was the first chance she’d had to reach Brandon, to soothe him where his mother was concerned. If she brushed the opportunity away and hurried off, she was afraid he’d retreat behind the wall he’d built and never come out again.
“It’s okay to be angry, Brandon,” she said. “Your mother wasn’t perfect. She made many mistakes. But I know she loved you.”
“If she loved me, she wouldn’t have done what she did.”
“Look at me.” Lauren tried to raise his chin so she could see his eyes, but he wouldn’t allow it. He was staring at the hardwood floor, blinking swiftly to hold back tears—tears Lauren wished he’d let fall. Go ahead, Brandon. Let the poison out so you can heal.
“Your mother was just confused,” she said.
“She didn’t want me. She never did anything with me.”
Lauren pulled him closer so he wouldn’t have to worry about her seeing the tears swimming in his eyes, and rubbed a hand up and down his spine. “That’s not completely true. I remember you going in to lie down with her at night sometimes. The two of you would talk about all kinds of things.”
“That was only when she came out of rehab and was clean for a while. And it never lasted long.”
Rehab. Clean. Most nine-year-olds didn’t even know those terms—and Brandon was using them to describe his mother. It always saddened Lauren to hear him.
“I know,” she admitted. There wasn’t any point in trying to deny the fact that his mother had let him down. It would only make him feel guilty for what he was feeling when he had every right to be disappointed. He’d been cheated, and Audra’s death was probably her ultimate betrayal.
“I can’t explain why your mother did what she did,” she said. “I know she was basically a good person, Brandon. She was just so unhappy. She couldn’t find her way out of it, and nothing we did seemed to help. Maybe if I’d had more patience with her or tried harder to reach her as a friend…I don’t know.”
“What happened to my mom isn’t your fault,” he said. “It’s my dad’s fault.”
Lauren knew Brandon was only repeating what he’d picked up from his grandfather. But for the first time she considered what it meant to let Brandon believe what he did. Perhaps if she hadn’t seen Harley again, if he’d remained nothing more than a memory, she might have let the statement pass. Heaven knew she’d spent the last ten years more or less believing the same thing. But now Harley was a real person, a flesh-and-blood man, and he seemed a lot less like the bad guy her father’s words and her own imagination had painted him.
“No one is completely responsible for the decisions and actions of another, Brandon. We all meet people who influence us, but the decisions we make are our own. If we mess up our lives, it’s our fault, no one else’s.”
“But Grandpa said my dad broke my mother’s heart.”
“I’m not sure about that,” she murmured, and then, even though family loyalty warred with what she now considered the underlying truth, she added, “Grandfather blames Harley because it’s easier to blame him than your mother. He loves your mom; he doesn’t love Harley. But your mother could have chosen a different path than the one she took. She had a lot more going for her than Harley did. She had a family who loved her. She had plenty of food, clothing and other necessities. She had the best counseling money could buy. I’m sure I could’ve done more to help her, but Grandpa tried everything. She just wouldn’t grab on to the hands reaching out to her.”
“But Grandpa says my dad was no good, that things would be different if he hadn’t—”
“Your father was very young when he made the choices he did,” Lauren interrupted, hearing a clock ticking somewhere inside her head. The steady rhythm seemed to vibrate through her, making her fingers and toes tingle, making her sweat. Forty minutes until Harley was due to arrive. Forty minutes and counting…
“He was eighteen, only nine years older than you,” she went on. “And we don’t really know what happened between him and your mom, so it’s not fair for us to make such judgments, you know?” She hesitated, wondering whether or not to delve deeper into the subject or start backing away. They had to leave, but the longer they talked, the more Lauren was tempted to tell Brandon that Harley was in town. Part of her believed that Harley would be good for his son. If he was consistent enough to give him the love and support he needed. If he’d share nicely and not try to pry him away from all he’d ever known. If her father and Harley could ever get along…
If, if, if. If only for a crystal ball.
“So you liked him, then?” Brandon said, a trace of hope in his voice.
Lauren had admired Harley from afar—his looks, his confidence, his whole aura. But she hadn’t been impressed with his actions. He’d partied too much. Skipped school. Left her sister pregnant. Regardless of the extenuating circumstances, those things were still true. And he wasn’t exactly what she’d consider a high-achiever. “He’s not—he wasn’t so bad,” she admitted, correcting her tense before Brandon could pick up on it. “Tell me something. Would you like to meet him? I mean, if it was possible?”
“Would I like to meet my own father? Of course I would. Do you think that could ever happen?”
She gazed down at Brandon’s sweet, earnest face and almost blurted out the truth. But something made her hold her tongue. Probably the memory of her telephone conversation with Quentin. She couldn’t hurt her father by rebelling the way Audra had once done. Twenty-seven years of love and mutual respect had established too strong a bond between them.
But even a bond like that couldn’t stop Lauren from weighing the positives and the negatives. What did she feel was best? Did she believe Harley had a right to meet his son? If so, did she have enough faith in her own opinion to see it through?
“Maybe someday,” she said. “Maybe someday soon.”
CHAPTER SIX
HARLEY WASN’T USED TO dressing up. The people who bought his motorcycles viewed anyone wearing a suit
and tie with a certain amount of distrust, which gave him the perfect excuse to embrace a more casual wardrobe. Once he’d put on the suit he was now wearing and stepped out of the dressing room, however, the sales consultant at Hudson & Taylor’s had gushed over him and insisted he looked like a million bucks. But that was almost how much the damned thing cost, and she probably got a commission.
Taking a deep breath—or as deep as he could manage considering the unfamiliar restraint of his tie—he gave himself one last cursory glance in the rearview mirror of the car he’d rented today. His haircut was definitely on the short side. Taken together with the white shirt and conservative tie beneath his freshly shaved chin, he almost didn’t recognize the man gazing dubiously back at him. At least he looked like someone a kid could be proud of, and that was definitely the goal. Brandon had been raised with the rich. Harley thought it best to blend in.
The car door creaked as he opened it. He set down one foot, clad in an Italian leather loafer—that pair of shoes had cost almost as much as the suit—then paused to gather his nerve. After ten years, he was going to see his son, talk to him, maybe laugh with him…even hug him. Harley could easily imagine clutching Brandon’s small body to his chest. Closing his eyes, he could almost smell the faint scent of children’s shampoo, could feel the dewy softness of a young cheek pressed to his neck. It made him hunger for those sensations like nothing he’d ever craved before. How could he love so much someone he’d never even met?
Swallowing the lump that had risen in his throat, Harley shifted so he could lean his head back on the seat and tried to blank his mind. He couldn’t go into the Worthington home like this. He was too emotional. Dads didn’t cry—especially dads who were still strangers. His son would label him a nerd for sure.
It took a few minutes, but thoughts of his court date and work and all the things he had to do when he returned home finally put him back in control. The tightness in his throat eased and he turned to retrieve the presents he’d stacked in the backseat—a huge stuffed snake for Brandon and flowers, a bottle of wine and a box of chocolates for Lauren—and got out of the car. He hadn’t planned to buy Lauren anything, but once he’d started shopping, he couldn’t stop thinking about her and how happy he was that she’d agreed to have him over tonight. His gratitude had translated into a preoccupation with her that had led him to find several items he wanted to buy—a blouse the color of her eyes, a bottle of perfume that smelled like heaven, a pair of gold earrings—all of which he’d ultimately put back. As modest as those gifts were, he was afraid she’d interpret them as a bribe instead of a token of gratitude. And he didn’t think she’d prize anything from him, anyway, which was why he’d opted for the more traditional offerings of a dinner guest. She couldn’t read anything negative into a bottle of wine.
The sun was just starting to set behind the Worthingtons’ expansive house, and everything was quiet. Harley thought he might see Brandon playing outside, riding a skateboard or bicycling, but the only people about were a crew of gardeners, busy loading up their equipment down the street.
What a life. He shook his head, gazing at the neatly pruned bushes, the meticulously painted trellis over the gate to the backyard, and the abundance of decorative, aggregate walkways. Brandon’s situation sure was different from what he’d experienced growing up. Harley’s childhood had been filled with mud that oozed between his toes, frogs he caught in the mosquito-infested creek beyond the empty field next to his house and a secondhand, three-speed bike his mother had rescued from the dump, on which he’d had to make all his own repairs. He always had grease under his nails and on his well-worn jeans but, overall, he’d been happy in his younger years. He might not have been well-chaperoned or well-kept—his mother had been tired and old before her time and rarely left her spot in front of the television once she got home from work. But he’d always had a lot of friends. He’d played until dark every night, eaten dinner with whoever would invite him in, and generally run wild.
Those were the good times, he thought, smiling nostalgically as he made his way up the walk. Even his mother had had her better moments back then. She’d baked him birthday cakes, let him tear motorcycles apart and rebuild them in the carport. When he was a little older, she’d put up with a hell of a lot of loud music and loud cars. It wasn’t until Phil came on the scene that things went downhill. And then they’d gone downhill pretty fast….
The memories faded along with his smile as Harley faced the front door. Stretching his neck, he adjusted his tie because it suddenly seemed too tight and hoped he wasn’t sweating through his undershirt. He felt awkward and nervous, but if he wanted a relationship with Brandon, he had to start somewhere.
Now was the time. He was already ten years late.
Shoving the gifts under his left arm, he knocked and waited. Any moment the door would swing open and he’d see Lauren standing there. Serious, responsible Lauren. Elegant, intelligent Lauren. The ugly duckling who’d turned into a swan…
I think she’s a knockout. When Tank had said those words, Harley hadn’t agreed because he hadn’t wanted to see what his friend saw. But after the hours he’d spent with Lauren last night, listening to her talk, watching the expressions on her face, he had to admit there was something special about her. Tank was right. She was attractive, of course. But there was more to Lauren Worthington, some quality Audra had never possessed….
“Where are they?” he muttered when no one came to the door. Adjusting his tie again, he knocked a second time, then checked his watch and tried to peer in through the living room window. He was right on time….
The tip of a white envelope tucked under the welcome mat finally caught his eye. Piling his gifts on the bench by the front door, he bent to retrieve it and found his name on the outside, written in a woman’s flowing script.
He stared at the envelope for several long moments before daring to open it. Then he jammed a hand through what was left of his hair and broke the seal, wishing he didn’t feel so damn vulnerable to what he might find inside.
Harley—
I feel so bad. I’m sorry to stand you up. I tried to reach you earlier, but couldn’t. After spending the last twenty-four hours trying to decide what’s best for Brandon, I’m convinced that disrupting his life right now wouldn’t be a good thing. Please try to understand and help me do what’s best for him. Go back to California and live your own life.
Lauren
Son of a bitch…no Brandon. Harley winced as the disappointment hit. He should’ve known better than to get his hopes up. Lauren might have seemed different last night, but she was still a Worthington at heart, a chip off the old block.
He kicked the snake and toppled it on its side, shoved the candy and flowers out of the way and slumped onto the bench. “What’s best for Brandon or what’s best for you, Lauren?” he muttered. Wadding her note into a ball, he threw it at the prone snake, then propped his chin in one palm. Lauren seemed to think she could decide Brandon’s future on her own. Her letter basically reiterated what she’d said at the door when he first arrived, the same thing Quentin Worthington had told him before he ever left—that Brandon was better off without a guy like him for a dad. On some level, Harley probably believed it, or he wouldn’t have stayed away so long. But the yearning to know his son hadn’t decreased over the past ten years. It was always there, underlying every thought, every emotion, every hope for the future, and he doubted that would change. He had a responsibility to his son and to himself, and if he was ever going to deliver, this was the time to make it happen.
Loosening his tie, he yanked it off, removed his jacket and rolled up his sleeves. The day was unseasonably warm, far too warm to be wearing a suit, but Harley wasn’t going back to the apartment to change. Once he’d parked his car further from the house, he wasn’t going anywhere. Lauren and Brandon had to come home some time, and when they did, he’d be waiting.
IT WAS NEARLY MIDNIGHT and a little chilly by the time Lauren pulled into her drivew
ay. She’d spent the entire evening at Kimberly’s, trying to keep smiling and acting normal for Brandon’s sake, but she’d been miserable and was now eager for bed. She wanted to close her eyes and shut out the emotional turmoil of the last few days so she could get some much-needed rest. She also wanted to believe she’d done the right thing.
If only she could stop picturing Harley coming to the door to find no one home. If only she hadn’t been such a coward and had tried to reach him first thing in the morning. If only he hadn’t left his cell phone at the department store…
Don’t worry about it. It’s history now, she told herself. Harley’s feelings and desires should have no bearing on her decision, anyway. She hadn’t been involved in what happened ten years ago, and she hadn’t asked him to drop into their lives again now. Looking out for Brandon was her only concern.
On that thought, she cut the engine and left her Lexus in the drive instead of parking it in the garage. She wanted to go in through the front to make sure Harley had found her note—and to see if he’d left her any kind of response.
The chirping of cicadas rose like a chorus around her as she stepped out of the car, and she could smell fresh-cut grass and the gardenias blooming alongside the house. Above, a blue velvet sky sported a round full moon that looked close enough to touch. What a beautiful night. So peaceful, so perfect. She should be coming home knowing that Brandon was safe in his bed, that her parents were having a wonderful time in Europe, and that she had nothing bigger to worry about than the fund-raising event she’d promised to chair in two weeks for the local women’s shelter. Instead, her nephew was spending the night somewhere he didn’t really want to be, and she couldn’t think about anything besides Harley, Audra and her father and how unfair it was that she was caught—again—in a mess she’d done nothing to create. Her sister had always managed to find trouble, her father had always tried to save Audra from herself, and Lauren had always worked to minimize the damage caused by her sister’s poor choices. Only she’d assumed, with Audra’s death, that would all change.
