by Holly Jacobs
"I can't promise anything, but I'll mention it to her. Your aunt has the final word though."
"Great. I know she'll listen to you." Brandon didn't seem to hear anything but the fact Daniel said he'd talk to Michelle.
Daniel wasn't sure how to approach it, but he didn't have time to think it through. Brandon was rushing into the shop. "Can you tell me how you fixed this?" Brandon asked.
Daniel talked him through the process, step by step. "Are you sure this isn't boring you to tears?"
"Nah. I was kinda wondering if maybe. . ." Brandon paused, as if unsure how to ask his question. "Well, you said your grandfather showed you how to work with wood. He taught you all about the tools and how to use them."
"Yes, he did." Daniel could still remember walking into his grandfather's shop for the first time. He remembered learning what a Phillips head was, what a router did. What had been so alien that first time had quickly become the place he felt most at home. "But he wanted it to be just a hobby. It was your mom who taught me to try to make carpentry my job."
"She helped you?"
"A lot. Your mom was a very good friend. My grandfather didn't mean to, but he gave me the dream and your mom taught me to follow it."
"Well, I wondered if maybe you'd teach me carpentry."
There was a vulnerability in his expression that tugged at Daniel's heart.
Before he could reply, Brandon hurriedly continued, "I know we don't know if you're, like, really my father yet, but even if you're not, I thought maybe I could come out to the shop sometimes and help. I mean, I'd sweep floors or sand stuff. Easy stuff that might help you out, if you'd show me how it all works."
As if to prove he could be of some use, or maybe because he didn't want to look at Daniel in case he said no, Brandon straightened a jumble of screwdrivers on the workbench.
Daniel reached out and gently put his hand on Brandon's, stilling it. "We'd have to clear it with your aunt, but as long as it's okay with her, I'd love to have an apprentice."
Brandon looked up and smiled. "An apprentice? We studied that in social studies. It sounds sort of cool."
"Come on, we'd better get back in before your aunt cleans my whole house. We can ask her about you spending some time in the shop with me." They went outside and Daniel secured the door.
"Aunt Shell does like things neat. And by like, I mean, has to have everything neat." Brandon then added, "I don't want you to think she's mean about it or anything. I just like to tease her."
Daniel could see apprehension in Brandon's eyes. The boy didn't want him thinking badly of Michelle. He put a hand on his shoulder. "Brandon, I can tell that you two have a great relationship. If I'd known I was your father and had a choice in who helped raise you, I couldn't think of anyone in the world who'd have done a better job than your aunt."
"If you were my dad and you knew about me, would you have let someone else raise me?"
"Brandon, if I'd known about you, I'd have moved heaven and earth to be a part of your life. I'd have never given you to someone else, but I'd never have tried to take you away from your mom or aunt. And if the test comes back that I am your dad, whatever we do, I'll never take you from your aunt. I'm hoping she'll share you with me. I want to be a part of your life. . .no matter what any test shows or doesn't show."
"Thanks. Me, too."
Daniel slung his arm around Brandon's shoulder. It was a casual gesture. One his grandfather had done countless times, yet there was nothing casual about it for Daniel. This boy—this amazing boy—might be his son, and this was the first time he'd ever done something as basic as put an arm around him.
He was hit suddenly by the enormity of the things he'd missed. A first step, a first smile. Brandon's first day of school.
It wasn't just all the firsts that he'd missed. He'd missed just listening to Brandon's day. Advising him.
Everything had happened so fast he hadn't really processed the situation. Now, the simple gesture of an arm around Brandon's shoulder brought it truly home.
He'd missed thirteen years. All the basic dad stuff. Teaching Brandon to ride a bike. Playing tooth fairy and Santa for him. Dyeing Easter eggs.
His friend Bob had a two-year-old and had brought him to the site the other day dressed in Carhartt work pants. Daniel had never had the opportunity to dress his baby in cute clothes. And he couldn't imagine that Brandon would be open to the idea now.
He'd thought he was over being angry at Tara, but maybe he wasn't quite as done as he'd thought. A whole new wave of bitterness swept over him.
They reached the back door. "Dan, you okay? You got real quiet."
He realized he still had his arm over Brandon's shoulder. He took it off and mussed Brandon's hair with it. "I'm fine. I was thinking about how much I wish I'd been able to be around when you were little."
"When I first came to live with Aunt Shell I was. . .well, I wasn't easy. I was mad and I really hurt 'cause Mom was dying. Then one day Aunt Shell came into my room. She knelt by my bed and said, 'Brandon, we can't change the past. Even if we could, I don't know how we'd change it without making you someone other than who you are. And who you are is pretty fantastic. So, you take as long as you need because you're worth the wait. You and me, we just need to figure out where we go from here.'" He looked at Daniel, his expression so much more mature than it should be. "We can't change the past, Dan. I hope you're my dad, but we'll have to wait and see. But if you are, we'll just have to figure out where we go from here."
"We'll figure it out," Daniel promised as he opened the door. He glanced at Brandon and was totally in awe.
"Don't forget hockey," Brandon whispered.
He looked up at Michelle as they walked into the kitchen, her words that Brandon had shared with him still hanging thick between them.
She smiled at them.
"Dishes are done and we should be heading home. Brandon has homework to do. If he does it tonight, then he's got tomorrow all clear to go to Sean's." She folded up the dish towel that was still in her hand.
"No problem, Aunt Shell. Why don't I take my stuff out to the car and you and Dan can talk about. . .whatever."
He grabbed his book bag and coat, patted Chloe goodbye and raced out of the kitchen. Daniel heard the front door close.
Michelle looked at Daniel. "What was that all about?"
"That was Brandon being subtle."
She set the dish towel down on the counter. "Brandon has all the subtlety of an ox in a china shop. So what was he trying to be subtle about?"
"He wanted to give me time to talk to you."
Michelle's expression went from amused to guarded in the blink of an eye. "He wanted you to talk to me about. . . ?"
"Well, we talked about him helping out in the shop after Christmas. I know that power tools are dangerous, so I'd start him out with things like sanding, and hand tools. It would be something we could do together. I learned from my grandfather, and I'd love to pass some of that down to Brandon."
"We're not even sure he's your son." Confusion gave way to wariness.
Daniel had thought they were beyond that. He thought she understood him. He beat down his annoyance. "And I'm hoping he is my son. But even if he isn't, do you think I'd walk away now and say, hey, it was nice meeting you? I like him. I like you. I like having both of you around and, no matter what the paternity test shows, I'd like to be a part of his life, if you'll let me."
He wanted to say that he wanted to be part of both their lives; he wanted to mention their kiss, and say he'd like to think there would be more of those in their future. But Michelle's expression didn't bode well for that conversation, so he let it go for now.
Warily, he added, "Brandon also wanted me to talk to you about his skating. About him being allowed to try out for hockey."
If anything, Michelle looked even more distant. "He's already asked, and I've already given my answer."
"He was hoping I could change your mind. I—" He didn't get to finish his pitch about
just offering another opinion because the normally calm, placid Michelle exploded.
"It's starting already, isn't it? You don't know if you're Brandon's father for sure, and yet you feel that after a week and a half you know what's best for him and you can throw your weight around."
"Michelle, that's not it at all," he hastily assured her. "He asked for my help and I told him I'd talk to you, but I didn't promise anything. I didn't say I'd overrule you or try to force the issue. He just wanted me to give you my input."
"And just what input is that, Daniel?"
He should apologize and drop the subject. Michelle was right—he wasn't sure he was Brandon's father. He had no rights. Yet he could see Brandon's face, the yearning in it, and found himself saying, "You should reconsider."
"Ah, a not-for-sure-father for a couple weeks makes you an expert on what Brandon should or shouldn't do?" she asked.
He'd never seen this side of Michelle. He'd only met quiet Michelle of lists and logic. "No, but I know what it's like to want something and have someone tell you no. To put their own vision of the way things should be above yours."
"And that's what I'm doing? That's how you see it?"
"I know you care about him, and that you're worried, but there's no way to make life a hundred percent safe. Tara taught me about going after a dream. This is Brandon's dream. You have to allow him—"
"I have to put aside my worry and allow him?" She laughed, not a normal joy-filled Michelle-sounding laugh, but something tight and pain filled. "You don't know the first thing about worrying about Brandon, Daniel. When he first came to me, that's when I learned what it meant to worry. I worried about every cough and sniffle. I worried that he didn't cry after Tara died. I forced him to go talk to a psychiatrist, then I worried that I was making too much of it and probably had psychologically scarred him by trying to make sure he wasn't psychologically scarred. The worries never go away. I worry about bullies and drugs at school. I worry about having enough money set aside to pay for his college. I'm a queen of worrying, Daniel. And you think I need to add another worry to my rather impressive list? You think I need to see him skate out onto that rink knowing how many ways he could be injured playing a game? Do you really think I need that?"
He should stop. He knew it. But the naked longing he'd seen in Brandon's eyes pushed him to be brutally honest. "What I think is that your last statement says it all. You're saying no to Brandon so you won't have to worry, not because you think saying no is what's best for him."
"I—" She stopped and didn't say anything more.
The silence weighed heavily between them and finally Daniel said, "I know you want me to butt out. I don't blame you. However, this decision shouldn't be about your worries. It shouldn't be about you. This isn't me trying to take over. It's me offering another opinion. It's me saying that this decision should be about Brandon growing up and discovering what he wants, even if it means you have to worry because of it."
She didn't argue. She didn't agree. "I have to go," she said, and hurried to the front door, not even pausing to put her coat on. She just carried it with her as she opened the door.
Daniel followed her. "Michelle, stay and talk this out with me."
She whirled around. "You've made your position very clear, Daniel. Let me make mine equally clear. I am Brandon's guardian. I make decisions on his behalf until he's old enough to make them for himself. You're not even sure you're his father yet. And if the test proves that you are. . ." She paused. "Well, if it does, we're going to have to come to some terms. But for now, back off. You might not agree with my decisions, still, you're going to have to live with them and so is he."
"Michelle, I don't want to fight."
"There's nothing to fight about. I'm going. I think we should take a break tomorrow. We've been seeing too much of each other since this started. He's going to Sean's, anyway, and I need a day off. I need to think."
"Can I still come help with the Christmas Fair preparations on Monday?" He was afraid she'd say no.
She turned around. "There's no school on Monday and we don't have that much left to finish."
"Tuesday then?" he pressed.
Michelle's expression said she wanted to say no to that, as well, but in the end, she nodded. "If you want."
"Fine. Tell Brandon I'll see him then."
He stood at the front door and watched her dash to her little orange car. Brandon was waiting in it. When she opened her door and the interior light flashed on, Brandon waved to Daniel, and he waved back.
He watched until the car backed out of the driveway and finally moved out of sight.
He'd made a total mess of that.
"AUNT SHELL. . ." Brandon started as soon as Michelle began driving away from Daniel's.
Michelle's emotions were still in a knot and she knew she needed to calm down before they had this particular discussion. "We need to talk, Brandon, but first I need to collect myself, so let's make the ride home in silence."
"But—"
"Brandon, when we get home." She glanced over and he gave her a frustrated look.
Well, that was fine with her, because she was feeling a bit frustrated herself. She prided herself on being open to someone else's opinion, especially when it came to Brandon. Despite the books she'd read, she wasn't anywhere close to being an expert on child rearing. And now that Brandon was a teen, she was even less of an expert.
But when Daniel tried talking to her, she'd gotten completely defensive.
And it wasn't that he was offering a different opinion than hers. It was fear, pure and simple. The same fear that had been gnawing at her since Daniel McLean had shown up on her doorstep. The fear that she was going to lose Brandon.
Daniel wasn't the bad guy.
It would be easier on her if he was. If he'd walked away from Tara and Brandon, Michelle would have an excuse to insulate her nephew from this man.
Easier on her.
Just having the thought made her feel guilty. Daniel was right, she was selfish.
He wasn't the kind of man who would have walked away from Tara. He'd never take the easy way out. He'd been working so hard to do what was right since Brandon showed up on his porch. When Brandon had dropped the bombshell, Daniel hadn't balked. He'd taken the paternity test, and now, even before he was sure Brandon was his, he was taking responsibility, getting to know him.
She felt worse and worse with each mile that passed.
They got home and she'd barely had a chance to hang up her coat before Brandon said, "Now?"
She sighed. "Yes." She walked into the living room and sat on the couch, patting the cushion next to hers.
Reluctantly, Brandon sat next to her. "You're mad."
"I'm. . ." She wanted to deny she was angry, but she was. She might know it was irrational, that her anger didn't make sense, but it was there, roiling about, an acid in the pit of her stomach. "Not at you."
"At Dan? 'Cause I asked him to talk to you about hockey? He didn't want to. But I needed someone on my side, Aunt Shell. I needed you to see and I didn't know how to tell you."
"No, I'm not mad at Daniel. At least not really. Although, I'm going to tell you up front—before we know for sure if Daniel's your father—that we're not going to play that game."
Brandon looked confused. "What game?"
"The one where you think you can get your way in a situation by playing Daniel and myself off against each other."
"That's what you think?" Brandon sprang from the couch and stalked to the end of it, then came back and sat down. "That's what you think? That I'm playing some game? I'll tell you what I was doing. I was trying to find some grown-up to talk to you, to get you to hear me. I thought about asking Mrs. Lewis or Mrs. Williams, but then you and Dan seemed to be getting along, and I thought maybe he could make you listen to me."
She was shocked that Brandon seemed to think he needed assistance in talking to her. "Bran, I always try to listen—"
He interrupted her. "You liste
n when you want to. But once you've made up your mind about something, you stop hearing me. And, Aunt Shell, you made your mind up about hockey and nothing I said was gonna change it. I thought maybe Dan could talk to you, but I shoulda known better. It doesn't matter what I want. I'm sure when it comes to going to college, you're going to be like Dan's grandfather and try to make me take business classes, or maybe you'll make me be an accountant like you."
"Bran, you can be whatever you want to be," Michelle said.
"That's what you always tell me, but that's a lie. What you really mean is I can be whatever you allow me to be, whatever you think I should be. There's a difference. A big difference, Aunt Shell."
The vehemence in his words shocked her. "Bran—"
"It's true. I guess that's how it works for everyone. People tell you that you can be anything you want, but they don't mean it. Dan's grandfather told him that he had to take business in college, even though Dan wanted to be a carpenter like his grandfather, and anyone can see that's what he's supposed to be. Well, maybe I'd have tried hockey and hated it, but maybe I'd have found that it's what I'm meant to be."
"There's more to you than hockey."
"Yeah? Well, there was more to you than just the good sister, but that's what your mom wanted you to be. That's what she told you you were." His voice softened and he suddenly sounded so much older than thirteen. "You were the good sister, my mom was the bad sister, the one that always got in trouble—that's what Mom told me. Maybe it's true. Mom always did get in trouble. But maybe it's because she believed her mom. Maybe if my grandmother hadn't said that to her all those years ago, she'd have been different. But Mom believed her mom. . .your mom. Mom always believed what other people told her. She believed that she was the bad sister, just like she believed all the guys who said they loved her, even when they didn't."
Michelle didn't know what to say to that. There was truth in it. Her mother had never been kind to Tara. She hadn't been overly kind to Michelle, either, but since Michelle didn't rock the boat, they'd had less friction, but they'd certainly never had a close relationship. Not the kind of mother-daughter relationship she'd always dreamed of having.