The Color of a Dream

by Julianne MacLean

  As I carried the phone out of the bedroom, I had to drag the long cord over Bentley on his giant green pillow. He lifted his head and tilted it to the side as he watched me.

  “Mom, it’s nice to hear from you,” I said.

  It was a polite response, but it was also the truth. The sound of my mother’s voice in my ear reduced me to my ten-year-old self, to a time when she was my whole world. Yet that seemed like a lifetime ago.

  For some unknown reason, I felt a sudden rush of panic. Had there been some horrible family tragedy? Did someone die? Was that why she was calling so early in the morning?

  To this day, I don’t know why I thought that, but it woke me up to something. I regretted not picking up the phone sooner as Angela had so often encouraged me to do.

  “I’m so glad I caught you,” Mom said cheerfully. I let out a breath of relief knowing no one had died. She simply missed me. I could hear it in her voice.

  “How are you getting along?” she asked. “Are you eating enough vegetables?”

  I laughed. “Yes, Mom. I’m eating well.”

  “And how’s Bentley? The house is so quiet here with both of you gone.”

  “I imagine it is,” I replied. “Bentley’s doing great. I come home for lunch every day, so he’s never alone for too long.”

  I waited for her to ask about Angela, but there was a long noteworthy silence.

  “How’s Dad?” I asked.

  “Oh, you know, busy as usual. His receptionist is retiring next month, so he’s looking for someone.”

  “Ah.”

  There was another pause.

  “You should come over for dinner sometime,” Mom said. “Bring your girlfriend.”

  “Angela,” I mentioned.

  “Yes, Angela…” Another pause. “Is she still working at the airport pub?”

  My mother was doing her best to sound friendly and accepting, but I could hear her disapproval and disappointment not far beneath her cheerful façade. No doubt she and Dad would have preferred me to date a law student. Or even a flight attendant, for that matter. At least flight attendants wore heels and blazers.

  “Yeah,” I replied. “She’s making great tips.”

  Bentley appeared at my feet and panted up at me. I reached down to rub behind his ears.

  “That’s wonderful,” Mom said.

  A plane flew overhead; there was some static on the line, and I wondered if my mother was still on the other end.

  “Rick’s coming home for a few weeks over Christmas,” she said, breaking the silence at last. “Will you be coming home, too?”

  It seemed an odd question, and I combed my fingers through my wet hair. “You mean like…to sleep?”

  To wake up Christmas morning and open Santa’s gifts as a family?

  “Your room is still here,” she said. “You can come home any time you like.”

  I nodded. “That’s nice to know, Mom. Thanks.”

  Maybe I was being too presumptuous, assuming that my parents expected me to fail—even wanted me to—so that they could say ‘I told you so’ and wrestle me back onto the right track.

  Was it possible they had changed their minds and were ready to accept the choices I was making?

  That would be nice—if they could simply pick me up and dust me off if I stumbled, instead of insisting that I not stumble in the first place.

  “I don’t have a lot of time right now, Mom,” I said. “I have to get to work, and Bentley needs to go outside. Maybe we can talk later. When is Rick coming home?”

  He’s flying in on the fifth,” she replied. “Maybe you’ll be the one to haul his suitcase off the plane. That’s what you do at your job, isn’t it?”

  I closed my eyes and tipped my head back against the wall. “Yeah, Mom. That’s what I do.”

  I said good-bye and hung up. When I finally made it to work and began loading baggage onto a Bombardier CRJ-200, I glanced up at the pilots in the flight deck windows and imagined for the thousandth time what it would feel like to fly such an incredible machine.

  Perhaps a career in aviation was in my future, but I was nevertheless determined not to let my parents pressure me into any career before I was ready. Even if it was a career of my own choosing.

  Chapter Eleven

  Though I didn’t speak to my father at all over the next few weeks, I did hear from Mom who called to tell me Rick’s flight number and what time it would arrive on the fifth. She asked if I would meet him at the gate because she and Dad would be at work. She also asked if I wanted to come for turkey dinner on Christmas Day.

  “Bring Angela, of course,” she added.

  Encouraged by the fact that she had remembered Angela’s name this time, I accepted her invitation.

  I wasn’t scheduled to work on the day Rick’s flight came in, so I was able to meet him at the gate. After we found each other in the terminal, I asked him about school and LA. He then asked about my job and the new apartment.

  “You should show it to me now,” he said, “before I go to Mom and Dad’s. I can’t believe my baby brother’s all grown up.”

  He teasingly messed my hair as we stepped onto the escalator. I elbowed him in the ribs.

  “Fine,” I said, “but you’ll have to take a cab unless you want to hop on the back of my bike with your suitcase. Or you could walk. It’s only a mile or two.”

  “You ride a bike to work?” Rick asked, his head drawing back slightly.

  “Yeah. Saves on gas. And car payments.”

  I walked with him to where the taxis were lined up outside, gave my address to one of the drivers, then told Rick that I’d meet him at my place in a few minutes. I fetched my bike, hopped on and managed to peddle fast enough to beat him to my front door.

  * * *

  “It’s a great spot,” Rick said after I gave him a two-minute tour of my apartment, “if you don’t mind airplanes landing in your front yard. Geez, how do you sleep through that?”

  “I hardly notice,” I told him. “And Bentley doesn’t seem to mind it.”

  Rick glanced around skeptically. “I don’t know. I don’t think I could take it.” He flopped onto his back on my sofa and crossed his legs at the ankles. “It’s great to be here, though. We should go do something.”

  “Like what?” This was a new development: my brother wanting to spend time with me in a public place. I couldn’t remember a single instance when he didn’t resent being forced by Mom and Dad to let me tag along with him somewhere.

  “I don’t know,” he said. “I’m starving. They didn’t serve anything on the plane except for pretzels. We should get some lunch.”

  “Sure,” I replied, “but if you want to go downtown we’ll have to take the bus.”

  “No problem,” he said, rising to his feet. “Let’s go.”

  * * *

  Rick and I enjoyed a late lunch with a few beers at a downtown pub, and before I realized what I was saying, I was telling him about my plans to look into flight school.

  “Makes sense,” he said, raising his beer to his lips and taking a sip. “You were always into rockets and planes when you were a kid. What do Mom and Dad think?”

  I glanced at the waitress loading up her tray at the bar. “I haven’t mentioned it to them.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because we don’t talk much,” I replied, “and even if we did, I don’t think I could stomach giving Dad that much satisfaction. He might think I was doing it just to make him happy.”

  Rick laughed. “Well, that wouldn’t do, because we all know how much you enjoy being a total disappointment.”

  I shook my head at him, choosing not to argue because we both knew it was true, to some extent. Nevertheless, I didn’t appreciate that he felt compelled to point it out.

  “I’m only joking.” Rick signaled to the waitress to bring him another beer.

  I finished the last of my salad, wiped my mouth with the napkin and laid it on the table. “Wonder what they’ll think of Angela whe
n they meet her.”

  “They haven’t met her yet?” Rick asked with surprise.

  “No, but Mom invited us for dinner Christmas Day, so you’ll get to witness all the subtle digs and backhanded compliments.”

  “Maybe they’ll surprise you,” Rick said.

  “Maybe so,” I replied, “but I’m not holding my breath. And listen, don’t mention flight school to them. I still haven’t made up my mind and I don’t want Dad to get out his conductor’s wand and start directing the show. If I go, I’ll pay for it myself, and I’ll go when I’m good and ready.”

  “Sure.”

  The waitress brought Rick’s third beer and I asked him what he was planning to give to Mom and Dad for Christmas—I had no idea what to get them and I wanted to change the subject.

  He said he had a couple of hardcovers in mind. Then he asked me what I was planning to give Angela.

  Looking back on it, I should have told him it was none of his business. And I never should have taken her to dinner Christmas Day.

  Chapter Twelve

  I often wondered, growing up, what it was about my brother that was so seductive to women. He was good looking—that was a given—but it didn’t explain why they all seemed to melt into a puddle of sticky goo when he engaged them in a conversation about something as simple as the weather.

  I suppose he was born with some sort of rare, penetrating charisma that few of us are blessed with. It’s why he later went on to make millions in his profession. He could convince anyone—men and women alike—to say yes to anything. ‘Another two million per year for that rookie outfielder? Sure, Mr. Fraser. We’d love to pay that.’

  When Rick and I returned to my apartment after lunch, I was surprised to find Angela sitting on the sofa with Bentley, watching television. As soon as we walked through the door, she hit the mute button on the remote and stood up.

  “Hey,” I said, shrugging out of my jacket. “What are you doing here?”

  “I’m on my lunch break,” she replied. “I have to go back in half an hour.”

  I gestured toward Rick who walked in behind me. “This is my brother, Rick. Rick, this is Angela.”

  “Hi.” She waved at him. “It’s great to finally meet you.”

  “You, too.” He moved forward to shake her hand, then he took a seat on the upholstered chair across from the TV. “So you guys met at work?”

  “Yeah.” Angela sat down again and told the story of how she locked her keys in her car and I came to her rescue like a knight in shining armor.

  Rick then asked what high school she went to. When she told him which one, he asked if she knew so-and-so, because Rick knew everyone. They chatted for a while about their mutual acquaintances.

  I went to use the washroom and when I returned, they were talking about Angela’s yoga classes, and Rick was interested in trying a class for himself.

  As soon as I stepped into view she checked her watch and stood up. “Geez, I’m going to be late. Wish I could stay but I have to go.”

  She hurried toward me and gave me a quick kiss on the cheek. “I’ll see you guys later. Bye, Bentley.”

  With that, she was out the door.

  “Cute girl,” Rick said, slouching low in his chair. “How long have you been dating her?”

  “A few months,” I replied.

  He nodded with approval as he pulled off his sneakers and settled in to watch some television. “Nice work. I’m sure you have nothing to worry about. Mom and Dad will think she’s great.”

  “I’m not worried,” I informed him.

  Because it didn’t matter to me what they thought. It only mattered how Angela and I felt about each other.

  It’s unfortunate that I didn’t know, at the time, that there would be other far worse things to worry about, and none of them would involve my parents. Maybe if I had known, I might have been able to prevent the worst of them from happening.

  Or maybe not. I’ve come to learn that certain things in life are beyond our control.

  Others are beyond comprehension.

  Chapter Thirteen

  The turkey dinner on Christmas Day went surprisingly well. Angela, Bentley, and I arrived at my parent’s house around noon and my father was friendly and welcoming.

  It was a side of him I had seen many times before. He was an impeccable host when guests crossed his threshold, whoever they were.

  After we finished dessert and coffee, Angela offered to help Mom clear off the table and wash the dishes.

  “Thank you, Angela,” Mom said. “What an angel you are.”

  I offered to help as well, but Mom insisted that I remain in the dining room to sip Madeira with Rick and Dad. The only thing missing was a box of Havana cigars.

  “So Jesse,” Dad said, leaning back in his chair at the head of the table. “Rick tells me you’re planning to enroll in flight school. When is the application deadline?”

  My gaze shot to Rick’s and he winced apologetically. “Sorry,” he said, “it slipped out.”

  I took a swig of the port, which was too sweet for my taste, but in that particular moment, it didn’t really matter.

  “I haven’t made up my mind,” I replied. “I’m considering it, that’s all. Keeping all my options open.”

  My father’s eyes narrowed as he studied me intently. “Programs like that are competitive,” he said. “You can’t sit around thinking about it. It’s been awhile since you sat in a classroom. The longer you wait, the harder it will be.”

  “I’ve never had problems in a classroom before,” I told him. “I’m sure I’ll manage.”

  “You have to do more than just manage,” he replied. “You have to take the bull by the horns.”

  Dad continued to regard me with expectation and when I gave no reply, he leaned forward. “It’s a good career choice, son. And remember you can come to me if you need help with tuition fees or living expenses. When the time comes.”

  I may have possessed a stubborn, independent streak, but I wasn’t a fool. “Thanks Dad,” I said. “I appreciate that. I’ll let you know if I decide to apply.”

  Dad nodded and turned his attention to Rick. “So tell me more about the sports agency where you’ve been interning. What sort of clients do they represent?”

  The direction of the spotlight shifted to my brother, as it always did, and I relaxed back in my chair.

  * * *

  After we finished sipping the port, I volunteered to go outside and collect some kindling from the woodpile so Dad could light a fire in the living room fireplace.

  “Let’s go, Bentley,” I said, giving a whistle as I made my way through the kitchen where Angela and Mom were finishing up the dishes. He rose from his place on the rug and trotted out the back door behind me.

  A light snow had fallen—just a small dusting of white across the fields. There was still some light in the sky, enough for me to toss a ball for Bentley and let him run back and forth into the orchard a few times.

  A short while later, with a heavy load of firewood in my arms, I walked back into the house. But as I entered the kitchen from the mud room, I halted in my tracks at the sight of Angela opening a bottle of beer she had just pulled out of the fridge, and handing it to Rick.

  The glimmer of flirtation I saw in her eyes was unmistakable, as was the manner in which Rick smiled back at her with that wolfish look I had seen many times in the past. With so many different girls.

  Bentley trotted past me to lap up some water from his bowl by the stove. Angela’s eyes caught mine and everything about her demeanor changed. Her brows lifted.

  “Hey, you want a beer? Looks like your parents stocked the fridge just for us.”

  “Sure,” I replied. “Let me get rid of this firewood first.”

  Rick casually leaned back against the counter and took a swig from his bottle, intently watching me carry the wood into the living room.

  * * *

  “Rick,” I said later in the kitchen while Angela was talking to Mom in
the living room.

  “Yeah?” He pulled a bag of chips out of the cupboard and ripped it open.

  “I need you to stay away from her.” I didn’t see the point in mincing words, and I knew I hadn’t imagined what I saw. “She’s not like other girls.”

  Rick stared at me as if I’d grown a second head. “What are you talking about?”

  “I’m talking about Angela. Stay away from her. Don’t flirt with her. Just try to imagine that she’s your sister because she might be that someday.”

  His lips parted and he rubbed at his forehead. “I think I know what you’re saying, and it’s really pissing me off.”

  I sucked in a breath, but no words came.

  Rick laid the chip bag down on the counter. “Are you suggesting…?” He paused. “Are you suggesting that I was trying to flirt with your girl? Seriously, Jesse? You’re my brother. I’m home for a couple of weeks, that’s it, and you want to pick a fight with me? Is that what this is? Jesus. She’s not even my type. No offense.” He held up a hand. “She’s great. She’s really cute and everything, but I’m not into poaching my baby brother’s girlfriends.” He frowned at me. “Are you serious?”

  “Yeah, dead serious.” I wasn’t going to let him convince me that I imagined it. I knew what I saw.

  He leaned back against the counter and regarded me steadily. “Let’s just pretend this conversation never happened, all right?”

  “No,” I replied. “I don’t want to pretend anything. Stay away from her or I’ll knock your teeth out.”

  I had never said anything like that to Rick before and I could tell by the way he was looking at me—by the way the color drained from his face—that I’d shocked him.

  “I think you’re losing it,” he said with concern.

  But what was he concerned for, exactly? His safety? Or my sanity? Should I have been concerned as well?

  “You know I’d never do that to you,” he added. “You’re my brother.”

  For a moment I wondered if maybe I was crazy. Maybe I was still angry about what happened that day years ago when he struck and killed Francis out front on the road.