Fields of Home

by Rachel Ann Nunes

  “Believe me, we had better things to talk about than your precious morgue.”

  “Apparently.”

  Brandon sobered. “I don’t know what to do. I didn’t know about him all these years, and now I find that the day I left here, I made the worst mistake of my life. But there’s no going back, and there’s no second chance.”

  “There’s always a second chance. But at what, is the question.”

  Brandon guessed that was true. His second chance could only involve Darrel.

  “You should do the tests because I seriously doubt you passed out solely from a little farm work.”

  “Have you seen what these guys do? It’s torture.” Brandon tried to move again, and this time the pain wasn’t as bad. He lifted a hand and gingerly felt the staples above his right ear. Blood had caked around the wound. He’d have to wash it off well, or when they took out the staples, they’d tear off the scab and reopen it. He’d seen many inexperienced nurses do just that to their helpless victims.

  “You may have to face the chance that your cancer is back,” Dustbottom said. “The sooner you find out, the better. You know that as well as I do.”

  Brandon stared at him, his jaw clenched. He wasn’t sick—why couldn’t they believe that? He’d simply worked too much this week, trying to keep up with Wayne. But he knew Dustbottom well enough to know that he wouldn’t let it go. “I’ve got an appointment with my attorney in San Diego next Wednesday. I’m flying in for a day—two at the most—but I can get the tests done with my regular doctor then. You know as well as I do that a week won’t change the outcome this early in the game.”

  “Just so you do it.” His job accomplished, Dustbottom turned without another word and strode to the door.

  Brandon stared at the specks of dirt on the back of his white coat, looking exactly as though he’d sat in a sandbox somewhere. Or perhaps they were mold spores. At the door, Dustbottom paused and looked back. “As for Mercedes and your son, you should make sure you won’t regret today as badly as you regret what happened the last time. If I were you, I’d make the best of what time you have, regardless if it’s one year or fifty. Got it?”

  Brandon nodded. Well, at least he understood the words, if not how they applied to his life. Regretting the past was not something he was sure he could fix. Some consequences he had never anticipated.

  “I’m an idiot,” he said to the empty room. “What is it I want?”

  But he knew. He wanted his life back the way it had been before leaving Wyoming that first time. He wanted Mercedes in his life. Mercedes and Darrel, the way a family should be. It wasn’t fully his fault that things went wrong, though he knew most of the blame rested on his shoulders. Yet surely it wasn’t too late to find some way to make the future bearable. Maybe it was time to fight for what should rightfully have been his.

  Chapter 15

  Diary of Mercedes Walker

  July 10, 1995

  I saw Brandon on the TV at some gala event for a hospital! Caught my eye because it was in Boston. What are the chances I’d be watching the TV right then? Of course, I’m watching way too much TV now. That’s practically all I do. He was surrounded by important-looking people, and there was a woman in particular that I noticed. Long hair, dark, though not as dark as mine, and she was movie-star beautiful. She kept a hand possessively on his arm. It was a brief clip, so I don’t know if it was real or something affected for the taping, but now I have the feeling of being used. Could it be that he dated this girl before me? Is she the reason he didn’t want his parents to meet me or why he didn’t ask me to go with him to Boston? Did he have a commitment with her all this time? If so, he isn’t the man I thought I loved. And he isn’t someone who deserves me. Unfortunately, that doesn’t seem to make these feelings go away, though seeing him on TV with her has ripped out one more piece of my heart. I’m going to add a black heart to the baby quilt. A heart as black as Brandon’s betrayal and my despair.

  Mercedes reached into her cupboard and drew out a jar of powdered herbs: lobelia for pain, slippery elm for healing flesh and skin, comfrey to heal and remove toxins, goldenseal as a natural antibiotic. She made it up by the quart now because the boys were constantly needing the mixture for all their cuts and bruises. It also worked well on the animals. She’d even begun growing some of the herbs herself to save money.

  “It’s hurts, Momma.” Joseph looked up at her, his eyes full of tears. He’d stepped on a nail in the barn somewhere, one she suspected he and Scott had been hammering into boards last week when they were making stilts for Cub Scouts. The nail had gone deep into Joseph’s heel, but the nail wasn’t rusty and the blood had cleaned out the wound. Using this poultice for the next few days would assure there would be no infection and that it would heal quickly. By tomorrow morning, Joseph would be running around as though nothing had happened, and she’d have to practically hold him down to change the bandage.

  “Here, this will help.” She cut a piece of fresh apple pie she’d baked that afternoon. Wayne’s favorite. He’d been endlessly supportive of her these past few days as they waited to hear from Brandon. He’d rubbed her shoulders at night, taken the boys out with him to check on the cattle to give her time alone to quilt, and hadn’t appeared to mind when she hadn’t responded readily to his romantic advances. She was so nervous and worried about what Brandon was planning that every task took more effort than it should, and even the easiest chore was a hardship. Most of the day, she walked around in a haze, as though someone had filled her mind and vision with a murky cloud.

  The doorbell rang, and Scott jumped up from the floor where he had been sitting to better examine his brother’s injury. “I’ll get it.”

  Mercedes measured a small amount of powder into a dish, dribbled a few drops of water on top, and began mixing. “Darrel,” she said, “I think you’d better go search for any more nails you boys might have left around.”

  “Right.” He gave her an apologetic glance.

  “There weren’t any more,” Joseph mumbled through his pie.

  “Don’t talk with your mouth full.”

  “I’d better check anyway.” Darrel started for the door. “Then can I ride out and meet Dad? Dinner’s almost ready, isn’t it?”

  Wayne and the boys had gone fishing after dinner yesterday, and they’d been uncharacteristically lucky to catch several large trout, which she was baking for dinner. Darrel was especially pleased because his fish had been the largest, and now he didn’t want Wayne to miss out on one minute of the special dinner. Wayne would be full of praise for Darrel’s accomplishment, and that meant a great deal to the boy.

  Mercedes watched him with a tender sadness. Her innocent child. Her little boy. In a few days his entire world would change forever. Would he hate her? Would he ever trust her again?

  “Are you okay, Momma?” Darrel asked. “I won’t go if you don’t want me to.”

  Words so easily spoken. Of course he didn’t know what was in store for him or how desperately she didn’t want him to leave. “No, go.” She smoothed the concern from her face. “That’s a good idea.”

  He grinned. “Okay. I’ll be back.”

  A promise she knew he’d keep—for now.

  “This pie makes my foot feel better,” Joseph said as Darrel shut the door behind him.

  Mercedes laughed. “I knew it would. But you can’t have another piece until after dinner.”

  “Aw.” He faked a sad expression, but she knew it was only an act.

  She scooped out the paste onto a bit of plastic wrap and knelt by his foot. “This may sting just a bit.”

  “Momma.” Scott came into the room. “It’s that doctor guy.”

  She looked up to see Brandon in the doorway. He was tanned from the days of working the farm and his nose was partially peeling, but he appeared weak and tired, his coloring a sickly pale beneath the tan. “I hear you have an emergency.” He smiled, but she didn’t smile in return.

  “A nail went practically a
ll the way through his foot,” Scott said with relish. “He was jumping off the gate into the stall, and boom, he fell right on it.”

  “It was in a piece of wood we were building with the other day,” Joseph added. “There was blood everywhere. Everywhere.”

  “Yep.” Scott looked happy.

  Brandon frowned. “Shouldn’t you take him in to the doctor?”

  “Why? So he’d ask me if his tetanus shots are up to date while he’s putting on a bandage? This stuff will make sure there’s no infection and have him up and running by morning.” She pressed the herbs over the wound, secured the plastic wrap with tape, and pulled on a clean sock. “There, all done.” She leaned over and kissed Joseph on the forehead. “You, my dear, are free to hop around wherever you want, or even walk on it if you can.”

  “Can I swing?”

  “I’ll push you!” Scott bounded to the door and waited as Joseph hopped after him. “Don’t worry, Momma,” Scott said, placing a hand on his brother’s back to help him balance. “I’ll look after him.”

  “Of course you will. You’re a good brother.”

  The door banged shut, leaving Mercedes uncomfortably alone with Brandon. “You like fish?” she asked, peering into the oven.

  “You know I do.”

  Her hands froze. She did know that. His favorite was shrimp, a dish her family detested, but Brandon had always devoured any seafood put before him. Next to that he loved pizza, especially cold in the morning for breakfast. He’d lived on the stuff during his residency. It was a miracle he hadn’t killed himself with all that cholesterol-filled cheese and pepperoni.

  She forced herself to close the oven, turning slowly to meet him. The expression on his face was one she’d recognized from the old days. “Look,” she said. “I realize you want to be in Darrel’s life, but if you think about it, giving him time—giving all of us time—to adjust to you would be a good thing. I was hoping you could come and visit occasionally, get to know him. And then when he’s near graduation, we could sit down and explain. He’d already have a relationship with you, and it’d be less of a surprise that way. And meanwhile, you could e-mail as much as you wanted over the years.”

  “With you guys reading all the e-mails.”

  She blinked at the bitterness in his voice. “Responsible parents do read their kids’ e-mails, don’t they?”

  “You don’t want him to know the truth.”

  “Not yet.” She took a step toward him. “Please. Let him have these few more years. It’s not his fault we messed up.”

  Brandon’s face was dark. “More years that I’m not in his life. More years that I have nothing to say about his education.”

  “But you’ll be here, as much as you can be, and I promise, we’ll talk about it all . . .” She was starting to feel faint. The set of his jaw told her he’d already made up his mind. Placing a hand behind her back, she felt for the counter to steady herself.

  “I’m thinking we should share custody.” He said the words with strength, standing boldly in the middle of her kitchen. He wasn’t a big man like Wayne, but suddenly the kitchen felt too small and she wanted to escape. “My attorney thinks we have a good case, but I hoped we could work it out between us. I could have him holidays and summers. Maybe a few longer weekends. I’ll pay for the flights, of course.”

  She struggled for breath. “You want to take my son away for the summer, our busiest season? And all the holidays? What kind of holiday do you think we’d have without him? What kind of holiday would he have without us?”

  “One with grandparents who adore him.” He took two steps toward her, and she pressed against the counter to get away from him. “Or he can stay with me for the school year and you can have summers.”

  “So he can come home to an empty house while you’re at the hospital?” She lifted her chin, glaring at him. “You’re crazy! I’ll fight you with everything I have before I’d let that happen to my son. No judge would ever approve it. They couldn’t!”

  “I can give him a lot, Mercedes. I’m his father. I have the right to know my son.” His voice had deepened as he talked, as it always did when he was serious.

  “You have no rights! You left! You never called. You turned away and never looked back!”

  He tilted his head to the right, a line of puzzlement forming between his eyes. “What do you mean I never called? I told you before that I called.”

  “Not until weeks later after I’d left the apartment. And then you gave up too easily. You could have called here, you know. Where else would I have gone?”

  “I did call here! I called and called and called. After I realized what a mistake I’d made, I wanted to make it right. I was going to tell you everything about how my parents had put pressure on me to marry this girl and how I had started going along with it before I met you because I wanted the position her father could offer me. I wouldn’t have gone through with it—I swear that after I met you, I never once considered marrying her. But I still wanted that position at the hospital. Thought I deserved it. I didn’t realize what an idiot I was being.”

  “You called here?” The rest of what he said slid past her.

  “Repeatedly. I talked to your dad several times. I even wrote two letters. The only response I got was a wedding announcement—yours and Wayne’s.”

  She held a hand to her pounding heart as she moved away from him, slumping into Joseph’s vacated chair. “I never saw any letters. He never told me you’d called.” But who would have taken the letters? Her father? Wayne? No, Wayne would never have lied to her that way. She could believe it of her father, though. He’d never cared for anyone but himself. But why would he have done such a thing?

  “I sent them. I promise you that.” He sat on a chair and scooted it closer to hers. “Look, Mercedes, I told myself I came back to Wyoming only for Darrel, and I am here for him, but in reality, I think, after all this time, that I wanted to know what happened. I always thought we were meant to be together. It didn’t seem possible things should have gone so wrong. And now to learn that it was all stolen from us . . .” His green eyes held hers.

  She couldn’t seem to process the information. Surely none of this was real. It was too much like the dreams that had tortured her after he’d left thirteen years ago. Dreams in which he returned and told her it had all been a mistake. Time ticked away. One second, two . . . more. Just like the ones that had separated them all these years.

  “I know you’ve hated me for a long time because of how I left, but you have to know that I’ve been angry at you, too, for getting married, for replacing me so easily.”

  “It wasn’t easy!” she retorted.

  “I realize that now. Look, I don’t know how any of this will play out, but I still care about you, Mercedes.”

  An emotion she recognized finally bubbled to the surface: anger. She transformed the anger into words, spitting them at him. “You tell me in one breath that you’re going to take away my son—”

  “Not take him away—”

  “Take my son away, under whatever guise you call it, and then in the next you say you care about me. What do you expect?”

  “Talk around it all you want, but what it boils down to is that we could have had a future together. Wayne’s a good man—I know that. But tell the truth. You don’t love him the way you loved me.”

  She couldn’t answer. Maybe it was true. A sob escaped her lips, and she clenched them tightly. Why was he doing this? Hadn’t he hurt her enough?

  He started to reach for her, but she shook her head. “Please,” she begged. But she wasn’t sure for what. To leave her alone? Not to fight for Darrel? To not give up?

  His arms dropped to his side. He looked vulnerable, and she averted her gaze. “Mercedes,” he began again, “after I left here on Tuesday, I had an . . . incident. I passed out, ended up in the hospital. They don’t know why. It’s always possible the cancer’s back, but I don’t really believe that. I feel well—or as well as a man could be after
working in the sun for days and then cracking his head open. Anyway, Dustbottom was at the hospital. He told me that it’s never too late for second chances, and I suddenly realized this is the only chance I have to tell you how I feel, to set straight what happened.”

  She jumped up from her chair, backing away toward the door. “Would you listen to yourself? You come here knowing you might be dead in a year, and you want me to trust my son’s happiness to you? That’s caring about me? How dare you even consider telling him who you are when you may not be around to finish what you start!” She wiped impatiently at the tears on her cheeks. “But then, you’re never around to finish what you start, are you?”

  “I want to finish this.” He looked at her, his face ashen. “I want you and Darrel in my life.”

  She gave a derisive laugh. “Tell me this, does cancer give you the right to tear apart a family? To tear me apart again? If you really cared about me like you say you do, maybe you would think about what you’re doing. Maybe you’d remember that I’ve made a life without you—a good one.” She shook her head, her renewed fury the only thing keeping her upright. “I don’t need you or want you in my life.”

  He took a step toward her, a hand reaching for her arm. “Mercedes . . .”

  “Get out!” She was frantic now. She wasn’t strong enough to permit his touch. The memories were too powerful.

  “All I’m saying is—”

  “Go!”

  His shoulders sagged, and his head hung down. “Just think about how unfair it is,” he said, his voice scarcely a whisper. “I deserve to know my own son. I will know him! And I really don’t want to spend the rest of my life wondering what could have been.”

  She hated him at that moment, hated him with everything that she was. And yet he was right. Hadn’t she been doing just that these past years? Hadn’t she been dishonest by not loving Wayne as much as he loved her? Holding a part of herself back was the same thing as not loving enough. “Please leave.” The words were the most difficult she’d ever said.

  He turned and walked heavily toward the door. She watched him take three steps, four, and then went after him. He heard or felt her movement and hesitated, his head swinging back toward her, light flaring in his green eyes.