by Dana Corbit
“Oh, for the love of—” He stopped himself before he said something he would regret and the children could use as blackmail in the coming days. There wasn’t any real damage, anyway. The eggs and glass jar of Great Northern beans were in the bags that Brandon carried.
As if on cue, Brandon traipsed through the door behind him, two plastic-handle grocery bags hooked over his arms. Alex stiffened at Brandon’s raised eyebrow and frown. Now that the excitement of the carnival was over and they’d cut back their time at the youth center, the boy was right back to his surly self.
“Chelsea, could you help me out here?”
“Sure, Uncle Alex.” The last one through the door, Chelsea dumped her coat and shoes and plopped on the floor, stacking the bills and junk mail in a neat pile, arranged by size.
Even the child’s help annoyed Alex, too slow and inefficient. He had the cans all picked up and in the kitchen before she could stack a single pile of mail, most of which would land in the garbage as soon as he flipped through it, anyway.
“Here, Uncle Alex.”
Chelsea grinned up at him as she handed him the mail, her childlike willingness to please only making him feel guiltier. Alex pasted on a smile and thanked her for her help. She didn’t deserve to have to deal with his crummy attitude.
He wished he didn’t know from where his discontent had originated, but he chose not to lie to himself. He’d felt off all week. He could have blamed it on Mike’s call from Iraq Monday to say his emergency leave had been delayed yet again or even the news Tuesday night that Karla had developed an infection, causing another setback in her chemotherapy.
Each was a big enough worry on its own but hardly new in his life. He spent nearly every day waiting for bad news. Anyway, his discontent had begun before he’d learned either of those pieces of news, and he knew it. From the moment Sunday night when he’d realized Dinah’s feelings might be as serious as his, he’d had this sick feeling that a relationship between them would be a mistake.
It didn’t make any sense. He’d looked forward to that night alone with her for more than a week, and he’d loved every minute of it—watching her, listening to her laugh, kissing her and cradling her in his arms. Her tentative admissions about kissing and about her feelings for him had been sweet and humbling.
So why, when he should have been thanking God for blessing him with an amazing woman like Dinah, was he experiencing this strange ennui? Didn’t he want to be with her? He shook his head to clear his thoughts. Of course he did. So much his heart ached. But he wondered if being with him was in Dinah’s best interests.
He was only now beginning to realize how deeply the discovery of his adoption records had affected him. If he didn’t know who he was, how could he make an honest effort at a relationship? He shouldn’t have allowed things to develop between Dinah and him. He was in no position to be entrusted with her heart.
Dinah deserved a man who could focus on her needs exclusively, and he couldn’t even give her a fair share of his time. Not right now. Chelsea and Brandon needed him as much as ever, and he couldn’t foresee that changing anytime soon.
If those weren’t enough, there were still other reasons why he was questioning the advisability of a relationship with Dinah, at least for the time being. She was from a family with a strong faith, and he was one of those guys who constantly questioned his. Even his dangerous job made him a risky choice for her. Every time he entered a building—“buddy system” or not—he took a chance that he wouldn’t come out alive.
Dinah deserved better than all of those things. She deserved better than him.
With the mail in his hand, Alex returned to the kitchen and made quick work of disposing of it before unpacking the groceries. Usually, he would have asked Chelsea and Brandon to help, but this time he was glad they’d slipped away to their rooms, leaving him to make dinner in peace.
After browning a pound of hamburger with some chopped onions, stirring in a can of enchilada sauce and filling and rolling the tortillas, he put the baking dish in the oven to melt the cheddar. At least there wouldn’t be any complaints about dinner tonight since enchiladas were one of the children’s favorites. His patience was thin enough already, and he didn’t need to test his limit.
Waiting for the mixture to bake, Alex turned to his copy of the Richmond Gazette on the countertop. For once, he hoped there would be some positive articles to accompany the gloom and doom usually dominating the news.
His gaze moved over the top half of page one, from the top story on the newest case of political corruption in Washington, D.C., to an article printed down the right column about the armed robbery of a Richmond bank. Barely scanning both, he flipped open the paper so he could see the bottom half of the front page. The headline just beneath the fold stopped him cold: Victims and Tiny Blessings: Agency Adoptee Finds Closure in Meeting Birth Family.
For several seconds, Alex could only stare at the headline before he could bring himself to read the article about Ben Cavanaugh meeting his birth family. It was the story Ross had told him about during his visit to the firehouse—about another man whose birth records had been falsified—but it could easily have been a story about Alex. As much as the term victim grated on Alex, he acknowledged that he and Ben shared that unfortunate history.
Ben described in glowing terms his meeting with his half siblings and his biological mother’s husband, but there was sadness to the story of a discovery made too late. Alex’s stomach clenched at the realization that if he ever decided to locate his birth mother, he could be too late, as well. Maybe he already was.
“I thought I knew who I was, but there was this whole part of me that I knew nothing about,” Ben was quoted as saying in the article. “Some of my questions were so deep inside me that I didn’t even realize I needed to ask them.”
The last Alex reread several times, realization dawning like the sun burning off layers of fog. Could that be it? Were his own questions the reasons for his disquiet, for his inability to get on with his life? That solution sounded too simple to trust, and because he had gotten out of the habit of trusting, he didn’t.
He folded the newspaper and pulled out the dishes to set the table. That should have been Brandon’s chore tonight, but Alex wasn’t in the mood to argue with him. He’d had enough of a battle on his hands when he’d insisted that Chelsea and Brandon help him rake leaves Tuesday night.
Just as the buzzer on the oven went off, the phone rang. Alex flicked off the timer and crossed to the wall phone to check the caller ID display.
Dinah. Again.
She’d phoned Tuesday, too, but they’d been outside and missed it. Maybe she was wondering why he hadn’t called Monday as he’d said he would, especially when he’d mentioned something about possibly having her over for dinner sometime this week.
This time he nearly picked up the receiver, wanting to hear her voice and share her optimism that all was well in the world. Still, at the second ring, Alex continued to stare at the phone. He reasoned that it hadn’t been an official date, just a suggestion, but that didn’t stop him from feeling guilty about it.
With a start, he realized their relationship would have a pattern from this point on. She would be patient and understanding. He would be too needy and would fail to give her anything she deserved. She would forgive him and continue to be understanding.
He would make them both miserable.
Chelsea’s door came open as the phone rang a third time. “Uncle Alex, the phone is ringing.”
“I got it,” he called back as the door closed again.
The phone rang once more and flicked to voice mail. He swallowed and turned away from the phone. This was just as well. If he stepped away now, maybe he could spare Dinah some pain later.
Turning back to the oven, he used the mitt to remove the baking pan, setting it on a hot pad on the table.
“Brandon. Chelsea. Dinner,” he called out as he did most nights.
As usual one bedroom door yanked
open immediately, while the other he expected to take a while. This behavior was one of Brandon’s attempts for control in the power struggle that had stopped for a while and had begun again with a vengeance.
“Be right there,” Chelsea answered, running down the hall to wash her hands in the bathroom.
“Brandon,” Alex called out once more, but he didn’t get an answer or even the sound of an opening door as his response.
“I’m not in the mood for this,” Alex grumbled as he started down the hall. The boy had picked the wrong night to mess with him, and he would soon regret his mistake.
At the door, Alex forced himself to knock, though he was tempted to throw back the door. No answer. Alex took the deep breath that he knew Karla and Mike would have been proud of him for doing. Parenting wasn’t for the faint of heart, that was for sure.
He knocked again, this time with more insistence. “Brandon, I said it’s time for dinner.”
Nothing. Nada.
Okay, he was trying to be patient, trying to give the kid some space, but every man had his limit. “I’m coming in.” He started to turn the knob, but it was locked, the way Brandon usually kept it even though there was a key perched at the top of each bedroom door frame. Reaching up, Alex grabbed a key and unlocked the door.
He felt the breeze through the cracked door before he saw the open window, its curtains flapping in the wind.
Besides the mess that had become another matter of contention between him and the boy, the room was empty.
“Uncle Alex, the window’s open.”
Until Chelsea piped up, he hadn’t realized she stood behind him. He turned to find her looking in the room curiously.
“Where’s Brandon?”
That’s what I’d like to know. “I’m sure he had to go somewhere really quick, and he’ll be right back.” It was all Alex could come up with without worrying her.
“Oh.”
She accepted it so easily that Alex could only hope he was right. He figured he had the first part right, anyway. The somewhere Brandon had gone was probably to hang out with some of those friends Alex had hoped to avoid by involving the children in the Chestnut Grove Youth Center. In this parenting initiative at least, he had failed.
“Are we going to eat without him?”
Alex smiled at that. Children were nothing if not self-absorbed. “I think I’ll wait for Brandon, but why don’t you go ahead? It’s on the table. Just use that spatula to scoop an enchilada on your plate. Remember not to touch the baking pan. It’s hot.”
“I’ll remember to say grace, too.”
“Good job.” At least he hadn’t failed with both of these children.
Glancing at the bed that had covers and sheets piled in the center, Alex shrugged and plopped back on it, sitting up and resting his back against the wall.
Chelsea lifted an eyebrow, an expression she’d already mastered and would probably use effectively in her adulthood. “Are you sure you don’t want to eat in the kitchen with me?”
Alex shook his head. “I’ll be along in a few minutes. I want to wait right here for Brandon.”
Chapter Thirteen
A lex didn’t have to wait long. Chelsea probably hadn’t even had time to gulp down her enchilada in the other room by the time that Brandon flopped headfirst through the window, catching himself with his hands. He settled to the floor and rubbed his eyes as they adjusted to the artificial light.
“Nice trip?”
Brandon’s head came up with a jerk, and his eyes went wide and then narrowed again. “What are you doing in my room?”
“You’re sure that’s the comment you want to go with?” Alex raised a brow yet managed to keep the vein in his temple from throbbing.
The boy let himself the rest of the way through the window. “So. I went out for a minute.”
“Ever heard of a door?”
“I’d have used it, but I didn’t want to put up with the third degree.”
Alex scooted forward on the bed until he could bend his knees and touch the floor. “That stinks for you then because you’re going to get it anyway.”
The boy’s jaw tightened. “It wasn’t any big deal.”
“Where were you? At Jake’s?” Alex didn’t know why he even remembered the name of the boy they’d had the first battle about before, but Brandon’s surprise told him he’d guessed right.
“We were just—” Brandon stopped himself as if he realized he’d been just about to give away his whereabouts. He stood up from the floor and crossed his arms in a defensive stance. “It’s none of your business where I was or anything I do.”
“I think it is.” He stood, as well, but didn’t take a step toward the boy. His thoughts were spinning. The situation was coming to a head, and he had to find a way to defuse it fast. Lord, I need some help here.
Suddenly remembering that his own parents used to ply him with food, he took the chance that it was a universal truth effective on teenage boys. “Look. Why don’t we go out in the kitchen and have something to eat? Then we can talk.” They would be talking about the consequences of disobeying and disrespecting an adult, but he chose not to mention that just yet.
“I don’t want to talk. I don’t have to do anything you say. You’re not my father.”
“But I am your guardian. As your guardian and as your cousin who cares about you—”
“You’re not my cousin. You’re my mother’s cousin…if you can call it that.”
Alex had been preparing to argue with whatever crazy notion Brandon came up with next, but the teen’s comment made him stop short. “What?”
Brandon raised a brow in a look of superiority. “I don’t have to do anything you say. You’re not even a blood relative.”
He would have known better what to do if the boy had taken a swing at him. Instinct would have kicked in, and he would have shielded himself from the blow. But for this he hadn’t even known to brace himself, and so the attack hit its mark and it stung. The shock must have registered on his face because the boy glanced back at him with a smug expression.
“You didn’t think I knew?” He paused long enough to turn and close the window before facing him again. “I knew.”
Alex took another deep breath and mentally shoved this new discovery to the side. He couldn’t think about that now, not even his assumption that Karla wouldn’t share his secret with the children without his permission or his feeling of betrayal that she had.
“Well, good for you, Brandon. You know I’m adopted. A lot of people are adopted. But that doesn’t have anything to do with what’s going on here now.”
“You didn’t even know about it,” Brandon said, putting in another jab.
Alex cleared his throat. He was the adult here, and he would not be baited by a fourteen-year-old, even one with excellent ammunition. “What I do know is that you sneaked out of this house, and you were caught red-handed. I don’t know what else you did while you were out there, but I’ll find out, and there’ll be consequences for your actions.”
Brandon gave him another one of those whatcha-gonna-do-about-it poses, and it grated, but Alex refused to bite.
“You seem to be acting out to get someone’s attention. Okay, buddy, you have mine. I know you’re angry, and I know you’re scared. I want to help if you’ll let me.”
The boy shook his head as Alex expected he would. Alex understood that, too. Though Brandon was nearly a man physically, having earned most of his adult height, a bass voice and an excuse to shave, he was still a boy in many ways. And right now he was a boy who desperately needed his mother and father.
“I might not be a blood relative, but your parents have entrusted you to my care. Right now I’m all you’ve got.”
His shoulders pulling forward as if weighted by extra gravity, Brandon hesitated long enough that Alex suspected his message must have made it past all of that defensiveness, but then he straightened again.
“You think I care,” was all he said.
“You’ll care while you spend every evening for the next week, from dinner on, in your bedroom,” he said in a raised voice. “With the door open.”
Absently, he recognized that the phone was ringing in the other room, but all Alex could think about was despite his best efforts, he’d lost his cool. Once again he wondered why Karla and Mike had considered him qualified to care for their children, and once again he guessed he must have been a last resort.
Running footsteps announcing her approach, Chelsea arrived at the bedroom doorway, wearing enchilada sauce on her sweatshirt. “Uncle Alex, it’s for you.”
He turned back to her, wishing he’d thought to yell out for her not to answer the phone. The last thing he needed right now was a sales pitch from a telemarketer offering great rates on a home equity line of credit, and the last thing that telemarketer probably wanted was a customer in his dour mood.
He instructed with hand motions for Chelsea to cover the mouthpiece on the phone, and then he turned back to Brandon. “You go ahead and eat. I’ll take this call, and then you and I have some talking to do.”
Alex hoped against hope that Brandon would take a look at his innocent little sister and let the opportunity for a nasty comeback pass just this once.
“Whatever,” Brandon said.
Alex had already turned, but he didn’t have to see the teen’s face to know some serious eye rolling was targeted at the back of his head. He’d rolled his eyes a time or two at the adults in his life, so he decided not to worry about it.
Brandon pushed past them, and left them standing alone in his messy room.
“Here.” Chelsea extended the phone to Alex with her fingers still on the mouthpiece. “It’s Miss Fraser.”
His stomach gripped in a tight fist. He hadn’t expected her to call again tonight, when she’d only made one attempt to reach him the night before. He wasn’t ready for this, another confrontation when he was still smarting from the first.
The temptation to have Chelsea offer some excuse for him was strong, but he resisted. The child had been involved enough already in his love life, and it wasn’t fair to put her in this position.