The Better Man (Chicago Sisters)

by Amy Vastine

  “It won’t take much for me to persuade him to let me run the restaurant if today is any indication of your work ethic,” Jin said.

  “It’s not.” The only job Max had ever handed over to someone else was parenting Aidan. He planned to earn that job back and prove himself worthy of this one.

  “We’ll see, won’t we?” Jin said snidely. “For some reason, I have little faith in you, Mr. Jordan.”

  Get in line, Max wanted to reply. Instead, he smiled and wished the junior Sato a good day before leaving. He certainly wasn’t going to prove anyone right or wrong standing in a conference room arguing with someone who had no idea what he was talking about.

  * * *

  MAX TIPPED HIS cab driver less generously on the ride home. Feeling deflated, he headed up to his condo with much less vigor than when he’d left. The guy from the second floor, who’d previously introduced himself as Charlie, was the hare to his turtle, nearly running Max over as he dashed down the stairs.

  “Sorry about that, Floor Three.” Dressed in jeans and a navy T-shirt with the Chicago Fire Department logo on the front, Charlie gave Max’s arm a friendly punch. “I need to remember someone lives above me and might be on these stairs now and again.”

  “No problem,” Max assured him, hoping for a quick escape.

  “You home for lunch or something?”

  “Or something.” Max continued his ascent.

  Charlie stopped him. “I’m grabbing lunch down the street. Best burgers on this side of the city, and as a good neighbor, I feel it’s my duty to expose you to the finer things we have to offer around here. You have to come with me.”

  “Maybe another time.” He didn’t want to be rude, especially since Charlie was nicer than anyone he’d ever met in L.A., but right now, he wanted to be alone.

  Charlie relented with a smile. “I’m gonna hold you to that.”

  Max didn’t doubt he meant it. He retreated into his condo and loosed his tie, pulled it over his head and tossed it on the couch. Stepping around a stack of boxes, he made his way to the kitchen to grab a drink. He’d had big plans to unpack and make this place a home, but work was always his default. His apartment back in L.A. had been spotless because he was only there to sleep. This place was going to take a little more effort once Aidan started coming around.

  Max bypassed the television and headed for his music. His records were the first thing he unpacked when he got to Chicago. The vinyl collection really belonged to his mother, but she had lost her love for it long ago and he had happily taken it over.

  Joanna Jordan currently lived in Portland, where she was exploring her newest fascination—healthy living. Max couldn’t complain. It was much better than her former love affair with alcohol or her cosmetic surgery phase. She’d traded her vodka in for kale shakes and did hot yoga instead of Botox injections. But Max knew it was only a matter of time before she moved on to something else. Another obsession. Another addiction. His mother re-created herself every couple of years. He never knew who she’d become, but he could always count on her to be different from the last time he saw her.

  Max rarely benefitted from her frivolity, but the record collection was a wonderful exception. He had everything a music lover could want, from the Beatles to Buddy Guy. He slipped his favorite Pink Floyd album from its sleeve and set the record on the turntable. The music filled the room and Max lay down on the couch and closed his eyes, letting it take him away for a moment or two.

  He patted his chest pocket, looking for something he knew wasn’t there. Old habits died hard. As a teenager, Max spent more afternoons than he could remember blowing off class, listening to music and smoking his mother’s cigarettes. It used to be what calmed him down, allowed him to escape his life.

  Responsible parents didn’t expose their children to secondhand smoke, however. And Max was determined to be a better parent than either one of his had been. He’d failed thus far, but that was going to change. Giving up cigarettes was step one.

  Scrubbing his face, Max sat up. Step one of a hundred. Maybe a thousand. He got up and went to the kitchen for more water and something to eat to keep his mouth busy.

  The catalyst for his reform was taped to the refrigerator. The single sheet of monogrammed stationery was wrinkled from being crumpled up into a ball and thrown across his apartment back in L.A.

  A little over four years ago, Max met Katie, who was on the rebound from some guy who had failed miserably at giving her the attention she desired. She was the stereotypical wannabe actress working as a waitress. Max’s nightclub was a favorite hangout for her and her friends.

  Max, being Max, made her feel like the most important person he’d ever met. She was fun to be around when she wasn’t partying too hard and didn’t seem any more ready to settle down than he did. Neither one ever spoke of marriage or of moving things along too quickly. Not until she told him she was pregnant. Proposing was his first attempt at not being like his father, who hadn’t bothered to stick around when his mom dropped the baby bomb.

  The marriage lasted about as long as the pregnancy. They fought about everything—Max’s work schedule, his friends, his cleaning habits or lack thereof. Things didn’t get any better when the baby came along. Aidan was born with what Max thought had to be the worst case of colic in medical history. He cried and wailed day and night.

  Katie warned Max she would move back to Chicago to be closer to her family if he didn’t help out more, and he prayed she would. Aidan was three months old when she made good on that threat, and he had shamefully felt nothing but relief. Katie and Aidan left California and Max went back to the way things were before he met her. For the next three years, he worked hard and made a name for himself in the restaurant business. Life was good.

  Until the letter came.

  She had handwritten it, which made it that much more personal, more real. Her words leaped off the page in attack like they had fired out of her mouth when they were together. Her low opinion hadn’t changed over the years.

  He was a deadbeat dad. He was an unfit parent. He was a pathetic human being. She wasn’t looking for any more of his money. She didn’t want anything from him except his signature.

  Katie had remarried. She was Katie Michaels now. A swirly K and M were embossed in glossy black on the top of the heavy ivory paper. Her new husband was a brilliant attorney in Chicago. He was rich and well connected. He was the man Aidan called Daddy. He wanted to adopt Max’s son and change his last name. All Max had to do was give up his rights. When he refused to do that, Katie filed for sole legal custody of Aidan with no visitation rights, effectively finding another way to cut Max out of Aidan’s life forever.

  It was the wake-up call of a lifetime. He had not only done what his own father had done, he’d let someone else be the father he had promised he was going to be.

  He was Aidan’s father and it was time he acted like it. Every decision he’d made since that letter arrived was made with Aidan in mind. Those decisions brought him here to Chicago, where he was going to do things right. Max and Katie weren’t made for each other, but Aidan was made for them. Both of them. And no one was going to replace Max in his son’s life. Not anymore.

  Max made himself a sandwich and pulled the lid open on one of the boxes. A father needed a home for his son to visit. This would be that home for Aidan.

  CHAPTER THREE

  SIMON DIDN’T STOP talking about his dad all through lunch. He had a thousand theories about what Trevor was doing on their street that morning. Kendall knew she should stop her son from fantasizing about his father being alive, but she couldn’t deny what she had seen with her own eyes.

  The experience may have made Simon a chatterbox, but the shock of it all had left Kendall speechless. She was still trying to make sense of it long after they ate lunch. She didn’t even bother reminding him not to speak with food i
n his mouth as he hypothesized his father was a guardian angel and couldn’t stop for them because he had to save someone.

  Kendall had no explanation as to why Trevor didn’t come home first to tell them he was an angel or why he might not have heard Simon yelling for him, especially since the little boy was fairly certain angels had better hearing than humans. She couldn’t bring herself to answer any of Simon’s questions. Mainly because she had no answers.

  After cleaning up lunch, she sat on her overstuffed sofa lost in her own thoughts. She twirled her hair around her finger while Simon pondered if they should go looking for Trevor or wait for him to come to them. Her phone rang, bringing her out of her head. It was Owen.

  “Please don’t dissolve our partnership,” she pleaded.

  “Are you joking?” he replied with a laugh. “How would I ever explain to Mr. Sato that he only hired the O in KO Designs?”

  Kendall jumped up, a huge weight lifted. “Hired? He hired us even after I disappeared?”

  “He hired us because we came up with the most amazing design concept he’s ever seen, and he knew he’d be a fool not to hire us.”

  Kendall hopped up and down like a child. At least one thing had gone right today. They had needed this account, not only for the money but also for the new business it would bring in after the restaurant was done.

  “Thank you for covering for me, for answering all the questions, for being the best business partner in the world.”

  Owen laughed on the other end of the line. “We all know I’m the lucky one. How’s Simon?”

  Kendall glanced at her son, who had moved on to drawing pictures of his dad with the scented markers his grandmother bought him last Friday as a reward for making it to school on time for one whole week. The joy she felt in getting the job quickly dissipated. Trevor wasn’t running around the city playing guardian angel. There was no chance of him showing up on their doorstep later tonight. Whoever they saw today was not who they thought he was, and the reality of that would certainly hit Simon hard.

  “He’s good.” She left the room so little ears wouldn’t overhear. “But something tells me the worst is yet to come and there’s nothing I can do to stop it. I stink at being his mom, O. I have no idea what I’m doing.”

  “Stop it,” Owen scolded her. “You are the best thing that kid could ever ask for. You have the patience of a saint and always have his best interest at heart. The only thing that stinks is that your husband died, which wasn’t your fault, either.”

  Kendall sank into a kitchen chair, already physically and emotionally exhausted at three in the afternoon. “My patience isn’t what it used to be. I may want the best for him, but I’m beginning to wonder if I know what that is anymore.”

  “You’ll figure it out. If anyone can figure it out, it’s you.”

  She appreciated his faith in her, but she knew herself better than he did. Kendall was losing her grip. It wouldn’t take much to push her off the edge. She thought she’d seen Trevor today. Nothing said losing your mind like seeing ghosts.

  “Thank you. And I promise to carry my weight on the job. In fact, I can make some calls and start ordering materials.”

  “Take care of Simon and worry about Sato’s tomorrow. We’ll split up the responsibilities and start filling out purchase orders then.”

  As she said goodbye, someone knocked on the front door and opened it at the same time. “Anybody home?” The sound of Kendall’s mother’s voice reminded her that she’d neglected to call about taking Simon home early and there being no need for her mother to pick him up.

  “Nana!” Simon burst into the foyer, his drawing clenched in his hand. “You won’t believe it! You’ll never believe who we saw today!”

  Kendall gave her mother an apologetic grimace, but Nana was too startled by Simon’s verbosity to notice. “Who? Who did you see?” she asked, crouching down to his level. He handed her the picture he’d drawn.

  “My dad! We saw my dad right down the street!”

  Kendall’s mother looked to her for confirmation. “We saw someone who looked like him,” Kendall explained. “I know you want to believe it was Daddy, Simon, but we know he’s in heaven, right?”

  “Mom,” Simon said, exasperated. “You saw. It was Dad. I prayed he would come back and he did. You should have seen him, Nana. He was for real and he got in a cab by the park. I can show you.” He took his grandmother’s hand and tried to pull her out of the house.

  “Hold on,” Kendall said, placing a hand on the door as he tried to pull it open. “Why don’t you go clean up your markers and let me talk to Nana a minute. Then you can take her to the park, okay?”

  “Moooom,” he whined.

  “It’ll only take you a couple of minutes.”

  “I don’t wanna.”

  The whining was much easier to fight than the silence. “Go.” She pointed back at the family room.

  Snatching his drawing back from his nana, Simon spun around and stomped all the way down the hall. He was lucky he was cute when he was mad.

  “I forgot to call you back and tell you I had to bring him home,” Kendall said when the two women were alone. “I’m so sorry.”

  “What in the world is going on? Did he see this Trevor look-alike on the way to school? Is that what set him off?”

  Kendall sighed. “They had a helper dad in the classroom today. That’s what set him off. We were walking home when we saw...Trevor.” Saying his name brought back her own version of the yucks.

  Maureen Everhart knew her daughter better than anyone. The look she gave her daughter as she pulled her back into the kitchen told Kendall she understood today had taken its toll. “It wasn’t Trevor.”

  Kendall leaned against the counter and wrapped her arms around herself, shaking her head. Her mom was right. It wasn’t. Trevor was dead. He had left and now he was dead.

  “Was it a soldier in uniform?”

  “Oh, my gosh, Mom. Trevor was a marine. Never call a marine a soldier. That’s like...blasphemy.”

  Maureen rolled her eyes. “Apologies, dear daughter. Was it a marine? A man in uniform? Is that why he thought he saw his dad?”

  Kendall shook her head again. “I know it sounds crazy, but the man we saw looked exactly like Trevor. I mean, he was across the street and we only saw him for a second or two, but...Mom, he looked exactly like Trevor.” The tears she’d gotten so good at holding back fell for a second time today.

  “Nana!” Simon called. He ran into the kitchen. “Come on, let’s go to the park. Maybe he’ll be there and we can see him again. Mom, can you come, too?”

  Kendall wiped her cheeks and pushed all the emotion away. She knelt down so she and her son would be eye to eye and gripped his arms with both hands. “I know how badly you want that man we saw today to be your dad, baby. But that wasn’t Dad. Dad is not coming back.”

  “It was,” Simon argued.

  “No, it wasn’t.”

  “It was,” he said more softly.

  She could feel the silence creeping back in. “It looked like him, but it wasn’t him.” Simon sealed his lips shut, splitting Kendall’s heart in two. “But we can still take a walk with Nana,” she tried. “Or maybe we can go to Nana and Papa’s and see Zoe.” Kendall looked to her mom for help.

  “You know how much Zoe loves it when you come over to play. What do you say? Let’s go, huh?” She held out her hand, but Simon didn’t take it. Instead, he pulled out of his mother’s grasp and ran out of the kitchen and up the stairs, slamming his bedroom door behind him.

  Kendall was grateful she was on her knees because her legs most certainly would have given out if she’d been standing. Her mother wrapped her arms around her.

  “Why does this have to be so hard? When is it going to get easier? Isn’t it supposed to get easier?” Kendall cried on h
er mother’s shoulder.

  “The Lord never gives us more than we can handle. You have to believe you’re strong enough to get through this.”

  “I don’t feel very strong. I feel tired, Mom. I’m so tired.”

  The two women clung to one another. Kendall’s mom stroked her daughter’s long chestnut hair. “Lean on me, honey. Lean on your father, your sisters. That’s why you moved back, so we could be here for you.”

  Kendall and Trevor had met in Chicago, but his military career took them away soon after they married. After he died, Kendall returned, needing to come home so Simon would be surrounded by family. Her parents and both of her sisters were in the city, and Trevor’s parents were less than an hour away in the northern suburbs.

  She loved her two sisters and they had been nothing but helpful, picking up Simon from school when their mother couldn’t, stocking her pantry with food when she didn’t have time to run to the grocery store, offering to listen when she needed to talk. Kendall didn’t take advantage. She had always been the quiet one and hated to burden people with her problems. She tended to bury them instead.

  “I’m sorry for falling apart. I hate whining.” Kendall let go and ran her hands over her face until the only sign she’d been crying was her red eyes. No one’s life was easy, and people like her mother knew the true meaning of being tired. In remission for five years this winter, her mom had endured a double mastectomy and a year of chemotherapy. She still wore her gray hair short and spiky, never letting it get as long as it had been before she was sick.

  Maureen held her daughter’s chin gently but firmly enough that she had to maintain eye contact. “You have a right to your feelings, Kendall Marie. Never apologize to me for crying. Or whining, which, by the way, wasn’t what you were doing.” Kendall nodded, and her mother continued. “We’re going to get through this together. Stop thinking you’re alone.”

  She did feel alone. She’d felt alone for much longer than anyone knew, really.

  “You want me to bring Zoe over here after I take her to the groomer? Maybe Simon will perk back up if he can play with the dog.”