“What better place could there be? Growing up here won’t limit him. Look at Austin. It’s just a matter of making sure he has the right opportunities.”
Wayne was right. If nothing else, she was best for her son. She couldn’t let Brandon’s appearance and the memories of the past confuse her. She’d loved Brandon—loved him too much. Perhaps she still loved him in some way. Regardless, she couldn’t allow that to interfere with Darrel’s here and now.
“I’m going to move the herd on Saturday,” Wayne said. “If he asks to see Darrel again, send him along. In fact, he’s welcome to help with the planting after school as well.”
“He’s still lecturing this week, I think.” She sighed. “Seems unlikely he’ll leave even after the seminar is over. But he’ll have to, right?” For all they knew he might have months of vacation saved up.
“If he wants to see Darrel, it’ll be on our terms.” Wayne stood, pulled off his shirt, and reached for his pajamas.
“Wayne, I can’t lose Darrel.”
“I know. I know.”
Mercedes lay in Wayne’s arms until he was asleep. Usually she tried to fall asleep first or his snoring would keep her awake, but tonight sleep failed her. Gently, she wriggled out of his grasp and slid from the bed. Guided by the light of the moon filtering through the sheer curtains she had made last year to match their new quilt, she padded on bare feet to the closet and pulled down the box she’d been looking at earlier. She ran her fingers over the different fabrics of the unfinished queen-sized quilt. Maybe it was time to finish what had been meant to be Brandon’s gift. Maybe if she did, she’d understand why she’d kept it all these years.
Her hand rested for a fleeting moment on the baby quilt, so dark and filled with despair, a vessel for her heartache. Somehow, with Brandon’s return, the emotions had escaped. It was up to her to find a way to trap the pain inside the squares forever.
Chapter 7
Diary of Mercedes Walker
July 23, 1994
I went out to the farm again yesterday with Brandon. He is so kind to go with me. I know he hates it as much as I do. Wayne was in the fields, but I could tell he’d been taking take care of Daddy. He’d bought groceries and apparently washed dishes. Daddy was in bed, the bed he shared with Momma, the bed where she died. I wonder if he ever thinks about it as he lies there, too sick with the consequences of his life to be of use to anyone, even himself. Austin and I blame him for her suicide, though my studies have taught me that maybe we will never know all the issues. How desperate she must have been to swallow those pills! Sometimes I find I’m still angry that she could have been so selfish.
I have to realize that Wayne won’t be at the farm much longer. He’s a good-looking, kind man, and I know most of the single women around here are in love with him. I suppose he’ll settle down soon enough. It should be sooner, though, since he’s already nearing forty, if my calculations are correct. I will miss him.
The annoying ring of his cell phone forced Brandon to consciousness. Bling, bling! Bling, bling! He cursed whatever mad impulse had possessed him to download the same ring tone used on the hit TV series 24. Too often, instead of waking right away, he began dreaming of someone shooting at him.
He rolled over and grabbed the phone from the bedside table. He squinted at the number but couldn’t make his eyes focus in the bright morning light streaming through the white curtains. “Hello?” His voice was thick with sleep.
“Hi, Brandon,” said a female voice. “It’s me. Sorry to wake you.” Then as though realizing there might be another “me” in his life, she added, “It’s Hannah.”
Hannah. Of course. Hannah was the only one who would recognize his sleepy voice. Mercedes might, came a thought, but he dismissed that. Mercedes didn’t know him at all anymore, and he shouldn’t assume that she did.
“Hannah.” Why had his ex-wife called? They had kept in touch in the two years since the divorce, but she couldn’t know he was in Wyoming. They hadn’t talked in several months.
“I hoped to get you before you left for the hospital. I wanted to see how you were doing.”
“I’m fine. You?”
“I meant the checkup. Did it go okay?
The concern in her voice and the fact that she’d remembered touched him. “It was fine. No cancer.”
“Thank heaven!”
“Well, I’m not considered in the clear until five years.”
“Yeah, but every year means more of a chance.”
Brandon didn’t see it that way, but he didn’t want to ruin her hope. Hannah was one of the few people who was genuinely interested in his welfare. Oh, his friends at the hospital cared, but not in a way that would change their lives if he died.
Darrel would care, he thought. If he knew. Or would he? Perhaps his death would be such a relief for Mercedes that Darrel would be grateful for it.
I’m not going to die.
If he said it enough, maybe he’d believe it was true.
Hannah was saying something about a mutual friend—well, a woman who had been his friend before the divorce but remained close only to Hannah afterward. That was the way of divorce. Divide the friends along with the furniture. Hannah had gotten most of both. Her voice rolled on, comfortingly, stirring up all kinds of emotions. Happy and sad memories. Melancholy leaked through the phone and into his heart.
“I’m sorry,” he said abruptly. “I want you to know that. You didn’t deserve the way I acted. I had a hard time dealing with it all, and I know I took it out on you.”
She was silent a long moment. “You did treat me badly, but I understood what you were going through. It was the other I couldn’t deal with.”
The “other” was her insistence that he had held a part of himself back from her. That was ridiculous. He loved her and shared more with her than with anyone. Well, except for Mercedes.
Except for Mercedes. Where did that come from?
“You were probably right about that, too. I’m sorry. I wish . . .” He couldn’t finish the thought because what he wished—that he’d never left Wyoming—would only hurt her.
“Brandon, what’s happened? Are you sure your tests were negative?”
He swallowed hard, wondering how much to tell her. She’d never craved children the way some women did, but they’d talked about having a child of their own one day. “Hannah, I found out that I have a son.”
“A son?” her voice rose an octave, a sure sign of surprise.
He lay back on the bed, pushing the pillow under his head. “He’s twelve. He lives in Wyoming—that’s where I am at the moment, by the way. I’m speaking at a seminar. I dated his mother before I went back to Boston.” Boston was where he’d first met Hannah, though at the time he’d been dating a woman his parents had lined up for him. They’d wanted him to marry her, a daughter of their friends, and for a time after he’d learned about Mercedes’ marriage, he’d entertained thoughts of going through with it. Eventually he’d broken it off—and not to spite his parents, as they insisted. They simply weren’t right for each other.
Even before Mercedes had married Wayne, he’d begun wishing he’d never left Wyoming or at least had taken Mercedes with him. Who cared that his intended father-in-law had helped him get his high-paying job at the local hospital? He realized too late that no job was worth what he’d given up. He hadn’t planned on the chance of never seeing Mercedes again.
Fool, he thought.
“A son,” Hannah breathed. Did the knowledge hurt her? If so, he was sorry.
“Blew me away. After the cancer, I thought I’d never be a father.”
“There’s always adoption.”
“Yes.” He forced a laugh. “But not for a single man.”
“You might marry again.”
“I don’t know, Hannah. I might just be too used up.” He felt sorry for himself.
“That’s up to you,” she said without sympathy. A pause and then, “So is she the one?”
The one. The on
e Hannah had imagined standing between them. Well, if there was anyone, it would have been Mercedes. “Yes.”
“Is she single?”
Brandon couldn’t tell if there was jealousy in her voice. Surely not. He couldn’t expect for her to still care about him in such a way. “She’s married. Has two other children.”
“So what now?”
“I don’t know. She’s not happy to see me.”
“I imagine not.”
Was that disapproval in her voice? “I have a son, Hannah. I can’t just walk away.”
“You can’t appear after this long and expect to take him home, either, Brandon. Think of the boy.”
“He’s smart. He doesn’t belong on a farm. He belongs in a good school, researching, discovering things.”
“You mean being a doctor.”
“Maybe. I don’t know. But not planting wheat. He’s more than that.”
“Only if that’s what he wants.”
“I want to be a part of his life.”
“Does he know?”
“Not yet.”
“I’d like to meet him,” Hannah said.
That was unexpected. “I’m sure you will, once it’s all settled.”
“Let me know if you need anything.” A pause. “Well, I guess I’d better run. Take care of yourself.”
Suddenly he didn’t want her to hang up. He wanted to tell her about Darrel, about how he looked and what he said. He wanted to share him with someone who didn’t want to kill him for wanting a relationship with his son. “Do you have to hang up now?” She had transferred to the administrative offices of the school district and likely had a backlog of business awaiting her attention.
“Not really. I have time.”
So he told her about Darrel, about the farm, and the dinner. About Darrel milking the cow. “That cow was huge,” he said. “Huge. I thought it would squash him. But he cuddled up to it like it was a kitten.”
“Sounds like a good life.”
“He needs more opportunities.”
“I’m sure that will happen. At least now with you in the picture.”
He felt good at the comment. Hannah seemed to understand that he couldn’t walk away from his responsibility—that he didn’t want to walk away. Not anymore.
His eyes rested on his watch, uncomprehending, for a few minutes. “Oh, no. Hannah, I’ve got to go. I’m going to be late for my presentation.”
“Call me later then.” She sounded amused. “For what it’s worth, I’m glad you found your son. I hope he gives you enough reason to keep fighting.”
“Thanks.” Before he hung up the phone, he thought he heard her say, “I love you.” But no, that was an echo from the past, from the time when she had said those words every time they talked on the phone. “I’m sorry, Hannah,” he whispered to the empty room. “I wish I’d never hurt you.” It seemed he was saying that a lot these days.
* * *
For most of Wednesday, Thursday, and Friday, Brandon was stuck in meetings, presentations, and business dinners. Every spare moment he was thinking about Darrel and Mercedes. In fact, people began asking him if he was all right. He responded to their queries as best he could, but his thoughts were definitely affecting his work. Fortunately, after Saturday morning’s closing remarks, he’d be free. He planned to stay at least another week in Wyoming but could extend that another two if needed. Several times he drove by a local grade school, but he had no way of knowing if Darrel was there. He didn’t catch sight of the boy but imagined him playing with the others.
He was tempted to call Mercedes and ask for another visit, but he had to admit to a fear of facing her. He’d hurt her so much. But he was a changed man now. Didn’t that count for something? Should he be required to pay for his past choices for the rest of his life?
On Saturday morning, he could no longer bear the waiting. He ditched the seminar, begging one of the other doctors to fill in for him. His son would be at the farm and not in school. He might be able to see him. Or at the very least make plans with Mercedes to visit on another day.
The hour ride out to the farm went faster than expected. Brandon’s heart beat hard in his chest. Typical flight-or-fight reaction, he told himself. His heart pumped all the more.
He found Mercedes in the barn, emerging from the door leading to the chicken coop, a basket of eggs in her hands. She froze when she saw him, as if she’d been holding her breath all week, wondering what he planned next.
“Hi,” he said, marveling at how this woman version of the girl he knew was so familiar to him now. She was wearing old jeans again and an oversized blue shirt that might have been one of Wayne’s. Her eyes were black as night in the dark barn, holding him in place. A chicken squawked, and from somewhere came the bleating of a goat.
She blinked, and he was free to look away. But he didn’t. “Hi,” she said. That’s all. No welcome, no casual conversation. The girl he’d known had gone out of her way to make him feel wanted, to make him feel he belonged. Obviously, this woman didn’t feel obliged to offer such niceties now.
“I want to see more of him.” A statement of fact without challenge.
“You want to see more of him,” she repeated without emotion.
He wondered if she was thinking about how thirteen years ago he wouldn’t have been pleased to have Darrel interfere with his so-called bright future. Well, he would have been wrong then, but he didn’t feel wrong now. Darrel was his flesh and blood—his only flesh and blood. That gave Brandon rights, didn’t it?
“Wherever, whenever,” he said. “Just a little time until we figure out what to do.”
“I knew you wouldn’t leave.” Her words said that she still understood him. But he nearly tore apart when she added, “But then, I thought that once before.”
Before he could protest, she shook her head, indicating that he shouldn’t answer. “Darrel’s helping Wayne move the cattle to the east field today. They’re short a hand. You could help them.”
“Does Wayne know about this?”
“It was his idea.” Still no emotion. He’d seen her speak this way thirteen years ago whenever she confronted her father or talked about him. Brandon had understood then that her manner had been to protect herself from the abusive Jed Walker, but now it was directed at him.
I don’t want to hurt you, Mercedes, he thought. He’d never wanted to hurt her. Yet wasn’t that what he was doing now?
“Well?” she asked. One hand rested on the eggs in the basket, reminding him that she was a farm woman, accustomed to hard work and hours in the sun. She should have been old and worn before her time, but she was as beautiful to him as she had been thirteen years ago. Her hair was dark and vibrant, her face, freckled by the sun, showed the peace of a happy life. Dark eyes sparkled with depths he could only begin to imagine. She belonged here. He felt that as he had when he saw her in her garden. The pulse of her being was in sync with the vibrations of the land. But once she’d belonged at the hospital, in his world. Could she again? He knew he had no right to hope, and yet, strangely, he did. He’d left her, but apparently his heart, or at least part of it, had stayed behind.
“Thank you,” he managed. “Am I dressed okay?”
Her gaze rested on his jeans and long-sleeved T-shirt, and he felt himself grow warm under her impersonal stare. He could have been a horse or a chicken she was examining for flaws before purchase.
“You’re fine,” she said finally, “but I’ll give you a sweatshirt to put on under your jacket. It’s still nippy out in the mornings. You can take it off later if you need to.” She could have let him freeze out there, but that wasn’t Mercedes’ way. She was a nurturer. He’d known that from the beginning. He’d probably taken advantage of that quality in the past.
I’ve been such a fool. The loss hit him again, so forcefully that he felt dizzy.
“Are you all right?”
He nodded, stifling the urge to reach out to her. “I’m fine.”
“I bet you hav
en’t eaten breakfast.”
“No.”
“Come on. After you eat, we’ll saddle the horses, and I’ll ride out with you to show you where they are.”
Mercedes on a horse? He found the idea unsettling. Of course, it made sense that she’d ride, and he remembered now, as though it was a memory belonging to someone else, that they had gone riding together at least once or twice years ago. He’d forgotten until now.
* * *
“With nanotechnology, kids would never get sick,” Darrel said. “The nanobots in their bodies would fix them before they even showed signs of being sick.” The boy had stayed close to Brandon as they drove the cattle along in front of them. Brandon worried that Wayne might become offended, but he seemed to understand Darrel’s interest stemmed from natural curiosity, not filial affection. Of course, they’d hired hands before, and Darrel must have treated them the same way. Brandon was just one more in a long line.
I’m different, Darrel, Brandon longed to say. I’m your father. Your real father.
After questioning him about his life as a doctor and briefly about his friendship with his mother—the reason Brandon had given for being asked to help with the cattle—Darrel had begun to talk about nanotechnolgy, a field that fascinated Brandon, but one he’d never thoroughly researched.
“Medical nanobots would be an incredible leap for medicine,” Brandon said. “Nearly instant regeneration.”
“Yeah, but not everyone would be happy about it.” Darrel urged his horse to the side to prevent a cow from straying. The ease and grace with which he accomplished his task made Brandon inexplicably proud, as though he’d personally had something to do with it. Darrel reminded Brandon of Mercedes. When she’d ridden up to the fields with him, she had shown the same innate grace, even as her white horse galloped across the fields.
In seconds the boy returned and took up the conversation as though he’d never left. “I mean, doctors like you need to make money. Why would they want nanotechnology? They’d be out of a job. Like when I jumped off the haystack and broke my arm, if I’d had nanobots in my bloodstream, they’d have fixed it right away. I wouldn’t even have had to get a cast.”
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