A Dream of His Own

“We can arrange that.” He lifted his cup again and took a drink. “By the way, I heard last Tuesday you had a run-in with Ava Darnell.” Ross chuckled.

Quinn squirmed. “Right.”

“Ava’s a nice lady.” Ross tapped the pencil against the clipboard. “She’s had some real trials. I suppose that’s why she was distracted.”

“She mentioned her son has Hodgkin’s.”

Ross nodded. “It’s been up and down for her.”

“Ava told me she enjoyed home decorating…” Quinn didn’t know how to phrase the question.

“Kelsey mentioned how attractive her home is.” Ross swung his arm wide. “Nothing like this place though.”

Quinn nodded, his mind running rings around his growing apprehension. The size of a home was insignificant. The important thing was the love inside. His thought triggered questions. If that were so what difference did it make what color his rooms were? He wanted them clean, that’s all. And making contact with Ava might not be his best move. He should forget her. Forget he even thought about giving her a call.

Ross took a final swig of the coffee and slid back the chair. “I’ll go outside and take a look at your trim, and I’ll send someone over to check the shingles. We can talk colors when I bring over some samples.”

“Sounds good.” But trim colors and shingles didn’t linger in his thoughts. Ava’s image hung there instead. Options? Did he really have options when it came to her? She’d worked her way into his mind from the moment he saw her.

* * *

“Mom. What are you doing?”

Ava’s head snapped up from beneath the kitchen cabinet and bonked against a pipe. She grimaced at the pain, lowered the wrench and rubbed the spot with her left hand.

Brandon’s face loomed in front of the cabinet door. “You’re not trying to do plumbing, are you?” His face registered disbelief.

Surprised at his reaction, she bristled. Who did he think did all the repairs around the house? She ducked out from under the twist of pipes. “I repaired the light switch and the doorbell.” Although what she thought would be an easy job hadn’t been.

A frown wrinkled Brandon’s face. “But plumbing? That’s always hard. If you mess with one thing something else goes wrong.”

She twisted to face him. “Since when do you know so much about plumbing?”

“Mike’s dad’s always botching a job.” His frown spread to a crooked grin. “We just laugh.”

“Stop laughing at people’s attempts to save money, Bran. You need to think about that yourself. I’m not an ATM machine.” She pushed one knee to the floor, grasp the sink rim and rose. “Why are you late? I’ve been home from work for an hour, and I’m at the school longer than you.”

“I watched baseball practice.” He looked away, his expression growing belligerent. “I’d be playing ball if you’d get off my back, Mom. The doctor’s have more faith in me than you have. I’ve been great for two years. I got energy, and—”

“Then how about helping out around here.” She swung her arm toward the backyard. “The flowers will never grow underneath all those autumn leaves that you were supposed to rake last October.”

Brandon pivoted on his heel and marched through the doorway into the dining room. “Forget it. You’ll never understand.”

She listened to his footsteps thump down the hall followed by the slam of his bedroom door. Lately they’d been at odds, and no matter what she did, according to Brandon, was wrong. Her income working in the high school office didn’t buy them steaks and designer jeans. She’d learned to budget and watch her pennies. Brandon expected her to be his financier and housekeeper. When Tom died, life changed. Not only had she lost her husband, but Brandon had lost his father. She understood girls. Boys, she didn’t.

Ava sank onto a kitchen chair, eyed the wrench and set it on the table. Now that she started the plumbing job, she wished she hadn’t. Brandon had been right. She’d resolved the faucet leak, but now water dripped under the sink. She felt stupid. If she’d taken Quinn’s offer, everything would be fixed. But taking advantage of his kindness wasn’t her way.

Pulling up her shoulders, she rose and headed down the hall to Brandon’s room. She stood a moment before giving the door a tap. “Bran. Let’s talk.”

“Thanks anyway.” His deep mumble penetrated the door.

Her little boy had vanished a year ago, maybe last summer between his fourteenth and fifteenth birthdays. He’d shot up three inches, and she had to look up at him now. He used to let her kiss his cheek and give him a hug. That ended with the growth spurt. All she got now was “Mommmm” spread out as if the letters were on grease. She missed the affection.

Her pulse tripped again as Quinn’s face dangled in her thoughts. She’d tried to push it aside. Life kept her too busy to deal with a man. A woman needed enough time and energy to develop a relationship with someone. She shook her head. What made her think the man had an interest in anything other than helping with her plumbing. Why had she stressed she tried to save money? She didn’t want Quinn’s pity.

“Brandon.” She knocked harder. “Open the door.”

It flew open, startling her. Brandon glanced at her, then pointed toward the window. “There’s some guy looking at the house. I’ve been watching him.”

“Some guy?” She followed him across the room to the front of the house, and when she looked out, her heart stopped. “Oh, my.”

“What’s that mean?”

“I know him.” She dropped the edge of the curtain. “That’s the man who backed into me.”

“You mean the fender-denter?”

She wanted to wash the smug look from his face. “I meant bender and you know it.” Why did she keep calling it that? And why was Quinn out there? Her pulse clipped to a trot.

“He’s probably a nutcase.” He strutted for the door. “I’ll tell him to get his—”

“Brandon, no.” Her heart knotted in her throat. “I’ll take care of it.”

He spun around. “Look, Mom. I’m the man in this family and—”

“And I’m your mother. Thank you, but I’ll take care of it.” She strode toward the door, then stopped. “And he’s not a nutcase.”

“Right.”

She ignored his sarcasm and continued to the front door, but when she grasped the knob, she paused. Seeing him sitting in his car at the curb had sent her over the edge. With her lungs on overload, she gasped for air. Focus. Focus. Her mind raced to find a logical explanation as to why Quinn had parked in front of her house. It wasn’t a coincidence. That she was certain.

Plying her courage, she pulled open the door and stepped onto the porch.

As soon as he noticed her, Quinn stepped from the SUV and headed up the sidewalk. “Sorry. I should have called.”

“How do you know where I live?” She forced her voice past her constricted lungs.

A frown broke on his face. “Well, I…”

His discomfort caught her off guard.

“I looked… There aren’t any other Ava Darnells in the white pages.”

“You looked in the phone book?” Her pitch had raised a notch. “Why?”

He evaded her eyes for a moment, then gave her a direct look. “I wondered about your plumbing and about your car. I see you got it back. It looks great.”

“It does. Thanks.” Ava tugged on the hem of her blouse. “Quinn, I… That wasn’t a very warm greeting. You surprised me.” Her emotions had waged a war between temptation and concern. “I’m glad you stopped in. I repaired the leak, but now I have another problem.” She grasped the knob. “Would you like to come in?”

He faltered. “Is it okay?”

She nodded and opened the storm door, beckoning him inside.

As she stepped in behind him, Brandon stood in the hallway door, scrutinizing their guest. “This is my son. Brandon, this is Mr. O’Neill.”

Quinn extended his hand while Brandon eyed it a moment before accepting his handshake. “So, you’re the guy who ran into my mother.”

His accusatory tone seemed to throw Quinn. He did a double take, his gaze searching hers and then flying back to Brandon.

“Bran, apologize.” She tilted her head toward Quinn. “It was an accident.”

Belligerence darkened his face. “I’m sorry you hit my mother’s car.” He spun on his heel and headed into his room.

Ava’s jaw sagged, and she stood gaping at the empty doorway before regaining her wits. “I apologize for my son. He’s in a little snit today, and he’s taken it out on you.” She stepped toward the hallway. “I’ll tell him to—”

“Please, don’t.” He peered past her. “Is the kitchen that way?” He gestured toward the dining room archway.

She nodded. “Follow me.” Ava strode ahead of him, wanting to barge into Brandon’s room and give him a piece of her mind, but Quinn had asked her to drop it. She’d handle Brandon later.

Quinn walked to the sink and eyed the faucet. “I don’t see the problem.”

His relieved expression confused her until she realized he hadn’t heard what she’d said. “It’s a new situation. I’m afraid I did something wrong when I repaired the faucet. Now I have a drip under the sink.” She opened the door and motioned inside.

He stared at it a moment before crouching down and peering in.

She sensed Quinn didn’t want to get dirty, because he only reached inside to feel the pipes. Finally he shoved his head beneath the sink farther, then knelt and reached back into the cabinet. “I think I spot your problem.”

“Really?”

“Did you use the sprayer recently?”

She studied him, not understanding his question. “I often use it to rinse dishes or the sink.”

“I’m sure it’s the hose on your sprayer. That’s where the water’s dripping.” He drew his head from beneath the cabinet, accomplishment filling his face. “Probably a small hole or crack in it. After you use it, you’ll find the water.”

Her heart melted. She’d never seen his full smile, his blue eyes twinkled and lines crinkled above his cheeks like George Clooney.

“Listen.” He rose from his crouch, his smile fading. “I have to be honest.”

Honest? She froze. What would he spring on her now?

“I don’t know a thing about plumbing, but I do think it’s the hose. They’re flexible tubing—plastic, I think—and I suppose they wear out in time.”

He didn’t know a thing about plumbing? The admission threw her. “But you offered to come over and take a look.”

He shrugged. “I wanted to help.”

Embarrassment heightened his skin tone, and it made her smile. “Thanks for spotting the problem. That should be easy to fix.”

“You think so?” He gave her a questioning look.

“I can fix it.” Brandon’s voice surged into the room before he appeared.

Quinn jerked his head toward him. “Great. It’s nice your mom has a man to help around the house.”

Brandon’s eyes narrowed as he studied Quinn. “Yeah, I am the man of the house, but can you convince her of that?”

Once again, Brandon had stopped Quinn in his tracks. The boy needed a little fatherly discipline. He rubbed his hands together, then shoved one in his pocket. “I suspect your problem is solved.” He took a step toward the kitchen door. “I should go.”

Before Ava could stop him, Quinn gave a wave and strode toward the front of the house. She spun around to face Brandon, then swallowed her anger, but by the time she recovered her footing, Quinn had reached his vehicle and climbed in. She returned to the kitchen to speak with Brandon, but he had vanished, too.

She sank into the kitchen chair again, trying to sort out what had happened. Brandon could be mouthy with her, but she’d never seen him act that way with others. The incident roiled in her mind until the reason struck her. Brandon resented Quinn in the house. She’d never anticipated that kind of reaction from him. Never.

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.