A Dream of His Own. Gail Martin Gaymer

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