Leave It to Chance

by Sherri Sand

  “Honey, it’s mom.”

  Sierra smiled. “How was your flight?”

  “Oh, fine. I took some of those vitamin immune boosters before I left. I hate breathing all that recycled air. You just never know what people are coming down with.”

  Sierra leaned back against the counter, the familiar litany bringing a sense of comfort that was purely her mom.

  “I know, Mom, it’s scary. How’s Aunt Marta?”

  “She’s in a lot of pain yet.” A pause. “Honey, have you read the paper today?” Her mom’s voice sounded worried but with an undertone of excitement. Like someone driving past a horrible accident who can’t stop looking.

  “No, I think it’s still on the walkway.” Sierra walked to the kitchen window and saw the paper on the grass, rolled inside its plastic bag.

  “He filed for bankruptcy.”

  “Who?” But the sinking feeling had already started.

  “Michael.”

  Bankruptcy. “How do you know?” What would happen to her child support now?

  “Marta told me how to find our paper on the Internet.”

  And of course her mom would need to keep current.

  “… I just think it’s a blessing you moved home when you did.”

  Sierra couldn’t muster any inflection. “Yes, Mom, a blessing.”

  Sierra folded a pair of pants from the pile on the couch. “Come on guys, your dad’s going to be here any minute.”

  Braden pounded down the stairs, hair shiny wet from the comb. He flashed her an ear-to-ear grin as he bounded for the front door.

  Emory rushed up and grabbed her arm. “Have you seen my pink sweater?”

  “It’s in the pile of clothes folded on your bed.”

  A relieved smile and a dash for the stairs. “Thanks!”

  Sierra followed Trevor out the front door. “Go get your coat, honey.”

  Trevor stopped. “Oh, yeah,” and dashed back in the house.

  Braden sat close to her on the first step. “What movie do you think we’re going to see?”

  She gave him a teasing smile. “Hmm. Maybe your dad picked Winnie the Pooh.”

  Braden laughed and gave her a playful bump with his shoulder. “Mom!”

  Trevor slammed the door behind them, coat tucked under his arm. “That’s what I want to see.”

  Sierra reached behind her to where Trevor stood and tickled his ankles. “You need to put the coat on, Trev.”

  He laughed. “Oh, yeah,” and pushed his arms into the sleeves. Everything was funny to him in the excitement of being with his dad.

  Fifteen minutes later, they started growing restless. “Can I go call him, Mom?” Braden looked worried.

  “Sure, honey.” Sierra started to chew her fingernail. Maybe Michael had been delayed by a procedure. Still he could have had one of the assistants call. She moved to the next finger. Maybe he was upset by the bankruptcy notice and forgot his date with the kids. She dropped her hand. How could anyone forget their kids?

  Emory stood and walked to the end of the driveway, staring up the road. “When’s he supposed to get here?”

  “Any minute, sweetie.”

  Braden stormed out of the house, phone in his hand. “He’s not answering.”

  A long hour later, they trudged back in the house. “Guys, how about after feeding Chance, we make some popcorn and watch a movie?”

  “No, thanks.” Braden ran toward the van.

  Emory brushed past her to follow her brother.

  “I want to see Winnie the Pooh.” Trevor had started crying when she told them it was getting too cold to keep waiting on the porch. His face wet with tears and nose running, she carried him to the bathroom for a tissue.

  “I know, honey. Mommy knows.”

  Ross watched the blue van stop next to the barn and the kids tumble out.

  Braden ran straight over to him, then stuffed his hands into his pocket, his voice dull. “Do you need help?”

  Ross studied the boy, whose head was bent, kicking at the rocks in the drive. “Yep. Perfect timing, too; I just pulled up.” Braden didn’t respond. “You’ll need gloves. I have an extra set in my pickup door if you want to grab them.”

  “’kay.” Braden walked for the pickup, his shoulders bent as if carrying a heavy load.

  Sierra walked up with the other two kids, her lips curved in a slight smile. “I wondered where Braden went, then realized he’d been sucked over here like a magnet.”

  He grinned back at her. “He’s going to help me with the fence, if that’s all right with you?”

  She nodded and studied the back of her son, a slight furrow of concern forming between her eyes. Braden sauntered back, slapping the gloves against his leg.

  Sierra smiled at the boy. “So you’re going to fix the fence, huh?”

  He shrugged, not looking at her. “Yeah.”

  Ross picked up the work tray. “Ready to find that hole?”

  Braden shrugged again. “Sure.”

  He glanced over his shoulder and saw Sierra staring after them. He tried to give her a reassuring look.

  “How’s school going?”

  Another shrug. “I dunno.”

  Ross opened the gate and held it for Braden. In the pasture, Ross started down the fence line and stopped at the first wooden post. “See how all the staples are holding the wire tight to the wood? That’s what we want. See this wire here doesn’t have a staple.” Ross set the tray down, picked out a staple and pounded it into the post, fastening the wire back into position. He grabbed the tray and held the hammer out to Braden. “You want to carry this?”

  Braden took it and matched his pace as they walked. After a few moments of silence, Ross said. “Want to talk about it?”

  The boy looked at him. “What?”

  “You seem pretty down. Something happen at school?”

  Braden kicked his boots through the clumps of grass. “No.”

  “Mad at your mom?”

  He shrugged. “I dunno.”

  They came to a loose section of fencing. “You want to try?”

  “’kay.”

  “I’ll do the top.” Ross held the fence staple between his lips and pulled the top of the sagging fence tight against the post with a pair of wirepullers, then set the nail. He held his hand out, and Braden passed him the hammer to pound the staple in.

  Braden strained to pull the bottom portion just as tight.

  “Got it?” Ross said.

  Braden nodded, the only movement his tensed body could make, his face flushed red with exertion and determination. Ross pressed a staple into the wood and held the wire so Braden could hammer it in. The first blow glanced off the staple, dislodging it into the tall grass at the base of the post. Braden’s gaze jumped to his.

  Ross nodded toward the grass. “Find it and try again.” The boy nodded and his shoulders relaxed as he bent to push the blades of grass apart to search for it.

  Braden found the staple and pushed it in the same way Ross had. The next hammer swing knocked the staple sideways, but it didn’t fall off. The boy set it up again, and after several attempts managed to hammer it into the wood.

  Ross tried not to think about Alex Cranwell’s plans waiting on his desk. Or the seedlings he needed to pick up at the nursery, or the work he needed to do in his greenhouse. A couple hours away from the job wouldn’t be a deal breaker, and he knew this boy needed him.

  Braden pounded a few more staples, and they moved down the fence.

  “My dad was supposed to take us to a movie tonight.”

  “That so?” The grass swished briskly against their jeans.

  Braden shrugged. “He was busy.”

  “Did you get to talk to him?”

  One quick shake of the head.

  “Probably made you pretty mad.”

  “I dunno.”

  “I know what it’s like to be disappointed like that.”

  Brown eyes turned up toward his.

  “I bought this plac
e from my parents and invited them to come over and see all the changes I’d made. I’d worked really hard all summer on the landscaping. But my dad was too busy to come. He still hasn’t seen it.”

  Braden nodded and his gaze clung to Ross’s.

  “You know what?” He squeezed Braden’s shoulder. “It’s not your fault.”

  Color washed into Braden’s cheeks, and he dropped his gaze back to the ground. A few minutes later he sniffed and wiped a sleeve under his nose.

  “So,” Ross said, “you play any sports?”

  “I might play basketball this year.”

  “That so?”

  Braden grinned up at him. “Yeah. My friend Emmett plays, and he said I could be on his team.” A small shrug with the first hint of a smile. “I have to try out first.”

  “I was a baseball man in high school.”

  Braden frowned. “I can’t catch a ball very well. My dad doesn’t like to play catch with me anymore. He said I don’t keep my eye on the ball.” He gave Ross a goofy grin. “But a basketball’s a lot bigger.”

  Ross ruffled Braden’s hair, a protective anger welling up inside. “I bet you could do it with a little practice.”

  Sierra watched them coming, side by side, her son talking to the man nonstop. When they stopped in front of the van they gave her big grins.

  “Were you successful?” she asked.

  “Well, we got about a third of it checked. I’ll probably finish it up this weekend so Chance doesn’t get cabin fever.

  “Mom, Ross said he’d hire me to work for him.”

  Sierra looked to Ross, who wore a sheepish smile. “I should have probably talked to you first.”

  She raised her brows. “Um, probably?”

  He chuckled then nodded toward the highway. “I’m just working at that house across the road.” He gripped Braden’s shoulder and rocked him gently side to side. “He’s a good worker, and we’d love to have him help us out after school when he wants.”

  “You want to do this, Braden?” She took in her son’s proud stance. Shoulders back, mimicking Ross’s body language. When had her son grown up enough to get a job?

  Braden’s grin was all teeth. “Yeah!”

  “I don’t see why not then, on the days it fits into our schedule.” She glanced at Ross, who was smiling at her son. And where would this lead them?

  The next afternoon, Sierra grabbed her keys and the directions to Braden’s vision appointment. “Guys, come on. We need to go.”

  Braden came in and set the cordless phone on the counter, his expression dark.

  “Did you get a hold of your dad, honey?”

  He shrugged away from her hand. “No. Can you take me over to work with Ross?”

  “We have your eye appointment in twenty minutes.”

  “I don’t want to go.”

  “I’m sorry, honey, but we need to leave right now.”

  Trevor’s finger woodpeckered Sierra’s thigh with impatience. “I can’t find my shoes.”

  “They’re right there by the door.” Braden flung the words in a tone that stated Trevor was stupider than stupid.

  “Nuh-uh.” Trevor lowered his head like a little bull, shaking it back and forth. “Those aren’t mine.”

  “They are too, Trevor.”

  “No, sir—”

  Sierra picked up her purse. “Boys!”

  Braden glared at her then stormed outside and slammed the door.

  She stared after him. Part of her wanted to run out there and wring his neck. The other part, the part that saw through to the hurt, wanted to gather him close and tell him it was going to be okay. But nothing was okay at the moment. She hadn’t gotten a return call from Michael either, and she’d left messages at his home and office.

  She stuffed her keys in her pocket, found Trevor’s shoes, squeezed them over his socks, then herded him and Emory out the front door.

  An hour and a half later, Trevor squirmed in her lap while they waited for the ophthalmologist to return. Diplomas and medical certificates lined one office wall, while a bookcase held all sorts of medical journals and little glass knickknacks.

  “Are we done?” Braden turned, and she grinned at the dime-sized black pupils that nearly swallowed the brown irises.

  “She’ll be here in a minute, honey, then we’ll go see Chance.”

  With a grunt, Braden plopped on the floor and pulled out a Sudoku puzzle from the much-used wicker basket in the kids’ corner. Emory sat in an armchair and read The Little Princess. And after repeated warnings not to touch Dr. Remina’s decorative glass turtles, Trevor was spending a little jail time on her lap. She hoped the smallest turtle had already been missing one of its blue beaded eyes.

  The door opened with an authoritative rush of air. With brisk steps the young doctor, her dark hair in a tight ponytail, crossed the room and settled into the leather chair behind her desk. The manila folder in her hand looked ominous. Suddenly the comfortable room felt stark, foreboding.

  Dr. Remina opened the file and gave Braden a warm look before turning her attention to Sierra. “Braden has binocular dysfunction, which is a hindering of the ability to accurately aim his eyes at a target and keep it single, as well as derive meaningful cues as to spatial location and speed of movement of distant targets.” She gave Sierra a patient smile, the kind that said she was used to translating doctor jargon to baffled parents. “In other words, it’s inefficient eye teaming. What this signifies for Braden is that he likely has difficulty with intermittent blurring, errors when copying school work, double vision, and poor depth perception, which would create difficulties in activities such as catching a ball.”

  The eye doctor continued, “Of course, eye strain and headaches are common—as well as needing extra time to complete assignments.”

  Hot shame washed over Sierra. Braden told her he got headaches when he did his homework, but she’d thought it was an excuse.

  Dr. Remina closed the folder. The woman linked her fingers and rested them across the folder. “Braden will need to wear an eye patch for a while and do some vision therapy, but unfortunately glasses will not help his condition.”

  Sierra felt overwhelmed by the information. She glanced at her son, who had a confused expression on his face.

  Dr. Remina smiled. “The patch will be short term, until the muscles in his eyes get stronger. But without treatment children become defeated and their overall performance suffers.”

  “How long is the treatment?”

  “At least a year.”

  An avalanche of questions rushed through Sierra’s mind, storming from every direction. What did the therapy entail? What was the success rate? How would it affect his schooling? And what would it cost?

  “And of course, it’s important that he get plenty of rest and eat well. It’s amazing how a lack of sleep impacts our body functions.”

  Sierra nodded even as her throat constricted, making it hard to swallow. And she needed to swallow or she’d start crying. Her mind settled on the phrase that loomed the largest. Binocular dysfunction? She pictured her eleven-year-old son, eye patch covering one eye, walking the halls of middle school. The spasm in her throat grew.

  Sierra tried to sort all the information and asked the one question she could speak without crying. “How much will it cost?”

  “The vision therapy is three thousand dollars. And, let me see,” Dr. Remina flipped through Braden’s file, stopping at a blue sheet. She wrinkled her nose in a grimace. “Your insurance doesn’t cover this type of treatment.”

  It was a double-headed hammer blow. Braden’s self-esteem on one side, the unexpected cost on the other. Six months ago, Michael might have been willing to help pay, but now….

  Sierra parked next to Ross’s barn and the kids hopped out. The slam of a pickup door made her turn toward the house.

  Ross walked around the bed of his pickup and came toward her, a warm grin easing over his face. “Hey. I didn’t expect to see you this early.”

&nb
sp; “We had a doctor’s appointment, so we, um, decided to feed Chance now.”

  His brow drew together slightly. “Everything okay, I hope.”

  She shrugged. “Just an eye appointment for Braden.”

  He nodded then gestured toward the pasture. “I found another spot in the fence where it sagged pretty bad. Lucky that Chance didn’t get tangled in it when he got loose. I’ll fix it tonight and turn him back out.”

  “Thanks, that’s great. I know you’re busy.” She pointed a thumb over her shoulder. “I better get in there before they start racing Chance around bales of hay.”

  He laughed, the white tan lines from countless hours of squinting in the sun, disappearing. “Yeah, you better.”

  She bit the corner of her lip, then smiled. “Bye.” She jogged toward the barn; hopefully the kids had stayed outside the stall.

  “Hey, Sierra,” Ross called.

  She turned.

  Ross walked backward toward his house with the same warm look. “Could you come up to the house before you go? I need to talk to you about something.”

  Her heart did a little flip, and she nodded.

  Chapter 13

  “You kids keepin’ that old horse happy?”

  Sierra recognized the boom of the rough voice and turned. “Kids, this is Mr.—?” She still didn’t know his last name.

  “Sid.” He rested a hand on the stall. “Call me Sid.” He poked the ever-present stub of straw toward Chance’s enclosure. “I ain’t never seen a horse as handsome as that one. You kids ought to be mighty proud. He’s a dandy.”

  The kids beamed. Trevor looked up at the older man. “You can pet him.”

  “I jist might do that.”

  “I’ll get his brush.” Braden raced for the tack room.

  Her heart started hammering as the kids jostled each other to be nearest the opening when Sid unlatched the stall door. Emory hurried inside to pet the big gray head while Braden moved a soft brush along his neck. Trevor hung back and didn’t seem to realize that he’d wrapped an arm around one of Sid’s skinny legs.

  After the kids “introduced” Sid to their horse, and they’d petted and brushed Chance sufficiently, the older man closed the stall door and maneuvered over to Sierra with a keen look in his eye. “You ought to get these kids into 4-H.”