The House on Sugar Plum Lane (21 page)

Ellie looked first at Amy, then at the child, who continued to stand beside the chair and was stroking the cat's fur.

“That's Callie,” Amy said, her heart chanting,
Please, please, let her stay with us.
“She's Angel's granddaughter.”

Ellie reached for a tendril of Callie's hair, letting it slide through her fingers. Then she turned to Amy, her eyes aglow. “She looks just as I'd always imagined Angel would. I only held her once, but I knew that when she grew up, she would favor Alice, Harold's baby sister. Her hair was so light, her eyes so blue….”

Amy held her tongue for a moment, basking in grateful relief.

Callie, who chose that moment to wander to the coffee table, where she'd left her coloring books and markers yesterday, plopped down on the floor, unaware of the miracle that seemed to be unfolding around her.

Ellie watched the child open the box, and a warm smile softened her craggy face. “I hope Callie has the same sweet temperament as Alice had.”

“She does,” Amy said, sure of it, even though she had no idea who Alice was. Callie was a good kid—sweet, kind-hearted—and Amy had been blessed the day she was born and placed in her arms.

“Harold's mother was never the same after Alice was struck with diphtheria and…” Ellie caught her breath and glanced first at Callie, then at Amy and back to the child. “Well…I didn't think the poor woman would ever stop grieving.”

So Alice had died.

Ellie continued to watch Callie, who'd opened her coloring book to a page with fairies. Then the old woman turned in her seat, facing Amy. “Where's your mother? Is she going to stop by and see me, too?”

Amy had to tell her, yet she hated to break the news, especially when their precious connection was so fragile. But she couldn't lie. “My mother certainly wanted to meet you, but she passed away about six months ago.”

Ellie's expression sank. “I'm sorry to hear that.”

“But your prayers for her were answered,” Amy said in a rush, hoping to keep Ellie engaged. “Angel was adopted by a wonderful couple who adored her, and she had a happy childhood, a good life.”

Ellie sat back in her seat, and a wistful smile stretched across her face. “I'm so glad to hear that. I pray for her every day.”

“I know you do.”

Ellie's lip began to quiver, and her eyes filled with emotion. “I had to do that. It's important for a child to grow up in a loving home.”

Before Amy could ponder the comment or respond, Ellie added, “I'd argued with Barbie about keeping the baby. I'd even suggested that she let me raise her, but she refused. But now, looking back, I realize then neither of us could have kept the baby. Under the circumstances, Joseph would have put two and two together. And he would have resented Angel, which wouldn't have been good.”

Making the obvious leap, Amy asked, “Do you mean that he would have resented her because she wasn't his child?”

“Yes. But it would have been worse if he'd found out who her father really was.”

Amy hated to press Ellie, especially when she was clearly tiptoeing on the fine line between dementia and clarity. But she needed some answers, too.

“Who was Angel's father?” Amy asked.

“I promised Barbara that I'd never tell.”

“I'll keep the secret.”

Ellie bit down on her bottom lip, as though struggling with the decision to end the silence, then she slowly shook her head. “You need to ask Barbara. I think she owes you that much.”

Perhaps. But maybe not.

Silence stretched between them until Amy finally asked the question she'd been pondering since taking on her mother's quest. “How do you think Barbara will react when I introduce myself to her?”

“You haven't met her yet?”

“Yes, but only as a tenant. She doesn't know who I really am. And I haven't told her because, well, she seems a little…cold.”

“That's to be expected,” Ellie said. “She's built up such a wall around her secret that she's shut out all the warmth within and around her.” Ellie glanced out the living room window, as if she could see something in the darkness. “But she wasn't always like that.”

“What was she like before?” Amy asked. “When she was young?”

“Happy, fun loving, confident. But she was all I had, and I doted on her something fierce. I'm afraid my indulgence made her headstrong, and when she was a teenager, she rebelled. I tried to take a firm hand with her at that point, but it was too late, and she pulled away all the more.”

“I'm sorry.” Amy didn't know what she'd do if Callie grew up and rebelled, if she turned away from her family.

“I'll never forget one night in particular,” Ellie said. “We had a terrible fight.”

“What happened?”

“I used to keep journals, and Barbie found one and read it. I'd been complaining, I suppose. Not to anyone in particular, but I didn't have a husband to share those day-to-day worries with. So I put my private thoughts down on paper, and I'm afraid my reflections about Barbara back then weren't very flattering. With maturity and in retrospect, I would have said things differently, but back then, I blamed a lot of my unhappiness on Barbara's stubbornness and flaws. Yet now I realize she inherited a lot of that from me.”

“You're headstrong, too?”

“Yes. I'm afraid I'm far from perfect. But it's so much easier to point out the deficiencies in others than to see the same ones in ourselves and have to deal with them.”

“Barbara shouldn't have read those entries,” Amy said. Yet she couldn't shake the cloying scent of hypocrisy and guilt for having done the same thing herself.

“Maybe not, but nevertheless, she was hurt by my words and furious with me. She ripped at the book until she tore it in pieces, and I…Well, I hate to admit this, but I said some terrible things to her that night, things I regret to this day.”

“Did you apologize?”

“In a way, but I really ought to bring it up again.”

Amy wasn't sure when Ellie would be able to have a heart-to-heart with Barbara. How many more lucid days would there be? How many more miracles like tonight?

“I hope you don't get the wrong idea about Barbara,” Ellie added. “She's a good girl at heart. And I love her more than life itself. In fact, I always will—no matter what the future brings.”

“Have you told her that?” Amy asked.

“I'm not sure.” Ellie furrowed her brow. “I suppose I did.” Her gray head dropped, and she gazed at the cat curled up in her lap.

Amy feared that Ellie might be drifting away again, back to the prison of her mind, but when she again looked up, emotion filled her eyes. “I have a few admissions to make, too. I pushed Barbie too hard at times. Yet even as a little girl, when she'd drag her feet when pressed to do something, she'd always do the right thing when I gave her time to think it through.”

“Does that mean, given time, that she'll eventually be happy to meet me?”

“I think so. Her biggest fear is that Joseph will be upset when he finds out what she did. And with whom.”

“I certainly won't make life difficult for her. I'd just like to meet her, to tell her about my mother. To thank her for giving her up for adoption. I can't imagine my life without Grandma and Grandpa Rossi in it.”

“You have no idea how happy I am to hear that.” Ellie stroked the cat's back, then gazed at Amy. “Family is very important.”

She was right. And that's why Amy had been so unhappy with Brandon's inability to grasp that concept.

“You know,” Ellie said, “I was pretty hard on Barbie at first. I found it difficult to believe that she'd do such a thing, especially when poor Joseph was overseas. But I don't think that was the right approach.”

“What do you mean?”

“I should have been more supportive of her, more forgiving. I was all she had.”

“It seems as though she was all that you had, too.”

“Yes, that's true. But I have my faith and the church. I also have dear friends, like Maria and Captain.”

Amy didn't dare tell her that Captain had died. Not yet. She didn't want to veer from the conversation they were having.

“I really should have married him when he asked,” Ellie said.

“Married who?
Captain?
”

Ellie's gaze grew wistful. “He proposed a few years ago, but I'd been burned badly once before and feared a third marriage. Besides, I thought we were too old for that nonsense.”

“He would have been good to you.”

“I know.” Ellie leaned forward, and while stroking Patches, added, “And then I wouldn't have had to grow old all by myself.”

“I'll be here for you,” Amy said, surprising herself at what she was promising.

“Thank you, honey. I appreciate that.”

They sat like that for a moment, embraced by the silence, by the memories. Then Ellie asked, “How about you, dear? Are you happy? Is your husband good to you?”

“I'm divorced. Well, almost. It's not final yet, but it will be soon.”

“I'm sorry. Did your husband treat you badly?”

Not in the sense that Ellie's second husband had treated her, and for a moment, Amy questioned her decision to move out and take Callie with her. But only for a moment. “He didn't have time for us, but I wouldn't say that he was mean.”

“And you've made up your mind?” Ellie asked. “There's no chance that the two of you can work something out?”

“I'm afraid not.” Yet the words rang hollow, especially since Brandon had been so determined to make things right. “My husband grew up in a dysfunctional home and doesn't have any idea what a real family is supposed to be like.”

“Sounds like maybe he needs you to show him.”

“I tried, but he was never at home.”

A knock sounded at the door, followed by the bell. “That's probably Maria,” Amy said, sorry for the interruption.

“I'll get it!” Callie scrambled to her feet and ran for the door.

Amy followed her daughter, who welcomed Maria, Eddie, and the kids inside.

“We came for Ellie,” Maria said. “Thanks for watching her.”

“The pleasure was all mine. She's having a good evening. I introduced myself, and she knew who I was. We've had the most wonderful conversation.”

Maria brightened. “That's great. I can't remember the last time I was able to really communicate with her.”

“It's been a real blessing,” Amy said. “An answer to a prayer.”

But when Amy turned toward Ellie, she was met by a blank stare. The light that had warmed her eyes just moments ago had died.

Chuck had been fiddling with the TV remote and was just about to pitch it across the hospital room when a young man in an expensive suit walked through the door.

Tall, with dark hair, brown eyes, and a square-cut, no-nonsense jaw, he was impressive, to say the least, the kind of man a fellow took seriously. Yet that wasn't what caused Chuck to sit up straight and take note of him. It was recognition.

It might have been fifteen years since Chuck had last seen his lanky teenage son, but he would have known Brandon anywhere. At least, he liked to think that he would.

Brandon still favored his mother in a lot of ways, which had been both a blessing and a curse after her death.

Try as he might, Chuck had never been able to spot so much as a drop of the Masterson blood in the boy. But then again, that didn't necessarily mean anything. Did it?

Still, Chuck blinked a couple of times to make sure he wasn't seeing the chemo-cocktail version of a pink elephant.

“Hey,” Brandon said as he made his way toward the hospital bed, walking with a bit of a limp, as if his shoes were a couple of sizes too small.

Chuck struggled to come up with something clever or welcoming to say. A couple of lame thoughts came to mind, such as, “Look what the cat dragged in,” or “How 'bout them Padres.” But he knew better than to let something like that roll off his tongue. Jabbering about the first thing that came to mind wasn't going to do him any good.

What did a man say to the son he hadn't seen since he'd gone off to college and never looked back?
I love you? I've missed you something fierce? I'm sorry for failing you time after time?

No, that wasn't any way to break the ice after ten lousy years together and another fifteen apart.

“You're a sight for sore eyes,” Chuck finally said. And it was true. Brandon had filled out, matured. “You look good.
Real
good.”

“So do you.”

Chuck didn't buy that, but he suspected Brandon was also at a loss when it came to knowing what to say.

They remained like that—sheepish and awkward—for a couple of beats. Then Chuck forced himself to say, “Thanks for coming, Brandon. I've wanted to talk to you for a long time.”

“Yeah, well, I've been busy.”

“I'm sure you have. And things didn't end very well between us, so I understand—really.” Chuck tried to manage a breezy smile, but he suspected it fell short. “I have an apology to make. Quite a few of them, actually.”

“That was a long time ago,” Brandon said, as if time had eased the pain and made apologies unnecessary.

A very human side of Chuck wanted to take the easy way out, but he was a new man these days. A dying one, but new just the same, and it was important for him to come clean, to admit his mistakes, to make amends with the people he'd hurt or disappointed.

“I'm sorry for the crappy childhood you had, at least, after your mom died. I should have made life easier for you. Instead, I made things worse. I'm also sorry for not being the kind of dad you deserved. And for all the drinking I did, all the embarrassment I caused you. I also regret that I didn't enjoy the time we had together in a healthy, wholesome way. If I had it all to do over again, and, of course, I don't, I'd take you to ball games and movies, and we'd go to the park and fly kites. All the things we'll never get a chance to do again.”

Brandon seemed to ponder Chuck's speech, although he didn't actually respond. But Chuck couldn't very well expect the kid to roll over and say, “I forgive you, Dad.”

No way. A man couldn't make up for ten bad years with a couple of heartfelt sentences.

“So,” Chuck said, steering away from all the touchy stuff, “tell me about you, about your life. You've obviously got a job. A good one, from the looks of that suit.”

Brandon nodded. “I'm an attorney for a law firm in San Diego.”

Chuck wanted to tell him that he was proud of him, but somehow, it seemed as though he'd lost that right, especially when he hadn't had a hand in any of it. He stole a glance at the nice-looking, successful man the boy had become, saw him looking at his feet as if he felt guilty about being here. Or maybe he was just uneasy.

“Is there something you want to tell me?” Chuck asked, thinking that a casual visit was too good to be true. “It seems like you got something weighing awfully heavy on your mind. And if you'd like to give me a piece of it, I wouldn't blame you.”

“I…uh…” Brandon inhaled deeply, then blew it out. He seemed to be struggling with something, which didn't make sense. But then, he'd been pretty pensive and introspective when he was growing up, just like Marianne had been.

In fact, they'd been so much alike that each time Chuck had looked at Brandon, he'd been reminded of Marianne, of her deathbed confession, the air she'd wanted to clear.

“I guess this might sound weird,” Brandon finally said, “but I was told that I'm having marital trouble because I've never dealt with my relationship with you.”

“That's a surprise.”

“Why?”

“Here I was prepared to take the blame for a lot of things, but I can't quite see how our relationship—what we have of one—has affected your marriage. Who told you that?”

“Some homeless guy named Jesse.”

Chuck leaned back, and his head sank into his pillow. “Oh, yeah? Then I guess we'd better work on patching things up. I've come to believe that Jesse's able to leap tall buildings with a single bound.”

“Personally, I think he's been living on the street too long.” Brandon chuffed. “But my marriage is falling apart, and I'm getting desperate to save it.”

Chuck supposed he had to be if he'd been willing to seek out the father who'd been one major disappointment for most of his growing-up years. But then again, maybe Jesse had given him a little nudge. Either way, Chuck was glad he'd come.

“Family's important,” he said. “I'm afraid that I failed to grasp that in time to do you any good. I'm not trying to excuse my behavior by any means, but I sank so deep into depression, self-pity, and the bottle that I failed to value what I had—and that was a son any man would have been proud to have.”

Brandon seemed to think on that some, but Chuck was uneasy with the silence, with the memories of a time in his life he'd just as soon forget. So he asked, “Do you and your wife have kids?”

“Yes. I've got a five-year-old daughter. Her name is Callie.”

“Does she look like you?” Chuck asked, realizing that he might be projecting his own baggage onto Brandon. Or maybe he was just trying to see if the Masterson genes had come into play with the next generation.

“I think she looks like her mother.” He reached into his back pocket and pulled out a wallet. Then he withdrew a picture and handed it over. “My wife gave me that last spring and insisted that all dads carry pictures of their kids.”

Not all of them, Chuck supposed. But the good ones did.

Chuck took the photo and studied it carefully. A smile stretched across his face as he looked at the little girl. She was a cutie, that was for sure. And he could see Brandon in her, although she was blond and fair.

“She's beautiful,” Chuck said, reluctant to return the photo to Brandon.

“Yes, she is, especially in person.”

As Chuck handed him the picture anyway, Brandon shook his head. “No, you can keep it. I can get another one. Maybe I'll take her to a photographer the next time I have her.”

“Do you see her often?”

He shrugged. “Actually, it seems as though I see her more now that her mom and I have split.” He chuffed and frowned. “Sad, isn't it?”

“Yeah, I guess so. But at least you have time on your hands, time to correct things. I let it get away from me.”

Brandon again glanced down at the floor, and Chuck could see the wheels turning. He just wished he could do something, say something to help, to make things right again.

When Brandon finally glanced up, he said, “Maybe that's what I needed to hear.”

What? That Chuck had made a lot of mistakes? That he was sorry, and that he couldn't correct a single one of them?

“Amy wanted more of my time,” Brandon said. “She complained about all the hours I worked. That I had no idea what a real family was like.”

“But you do,” Chuck said. “Just try and think back to the time before your mom died. Things were normal then.”

“All I can remember is how sick she was those last few weeks.”

That was true. Marianne had really suffered once the diagnosis was made. Chuck supposed he had the same thing to look forward to.

“Cancer is nasty stuff,” he said.

They pondered the awful truth until Brandon said, “I heard you've got it, too.”

Chuck nodded. “Yep. That's what they tell me.”

“I'm sorry to hear that.”

“Thanks, but I'm okay with it. I mean, I'd rather not have it, but I figure my days are numbered anyway. Besides, I've got a lot of faith now, and I'm certain that my future's secure.”

Brandon arched a brow, thick and dark, like Marianne's father's had been before he turned gray. “I'm not sure I know what you mean, Dad.”

“I'm sorry. I didn't mean to get all lofty on you. It's just that I've given my life to God, and I'm a lot happier now than ever before.”

Too bad telling Brandon about how good things were now only served to remind Chuck of how bad they'd once been. And now all his old failures, which he'd tried to stack in a far corner of his mind, tumbled front and center.

He suspected that the same had happened to Brandon, although if they had, he didn't comment. Instead he took a seat beside the bed—a good sign, Chuck decided.

“I'm glad things are going well for you,” Brandon finally said, “other than the cancer. That's tough. What's the prognosis? What treatment options have they given you?”

“They say I need a bone marrow transplant, but my health isn't all that good anyway. I guess you could say that I'm paying the consequences of my alcoholism.”

“Have them test me,” Brandon said. “I'm willing to help out.”

“Thank you. I appreciate that.” Chuck pondered coming out and telling him what he feared most. Would it help their relationship? Would it make it worse?

Yet he realized that if he was going to have any kind of meaningful relationship with his son, even for whatever time he had left, it ought to be based upon honesty.

“There's a chance you might not be a match,” he said.

“I know that. It's never a sure thing.”

“Yeah, but there's a possibility you won't even come close.”

Brandon furrowed his brow. “What do you mean by that?”

“I started dating your mom before her divorce was final. And right before she died, she told me that her ex-husband might have been your father. Apparently, she was still seeing him sometimes. And while she'd always hoped that I was your father, she wasn't sure.”

Brandon drew back his chest, as though slammed by the news. “Wow.”

That's what Chuck had thought, although coming from Marianne at a time like that had packed a more brutal punch—like a wallop to the gut.

“That revelation might have made your mom feel better before she died, but it really messed me up. I loved you. Still do, of course. But I let her words drive me crazy. I never told you before, but I used to have a serious drinking problem when your mom and I met. With her love and support, I kept it under control. But after she died…Well, I let it consume me—not just the guilt from having caused that accident, by your mother's loss and her suffering. That had a monstrous effect, too. But I was crushed to think that you might not be my son.”

Brandon bent forward, resting his hands on his knees. “I had no idea.”

“Yeah, well, I didn't deal very well with the news myself. But for whatever it's worth, even though I felt betrayed, I considered you my son. Still do, that is, if you don't mind me claiming you.”

Brandon seemed to think about that for a long time before he looked up and their gazes locked.

“I'm still willing to donate bone marrow,” he said, “if we're a match. So I'll tell your doctor that I'd like to be tested.”

Chuck didn't know what to say, what to do. He'd convinced himself that an offer like that would never come, and the fact that it did shot him full of holes. So he offered the kid an easy way out. “Thanks. I appreciate that. But the procedure can be painful. It'll probably prevent you from working for a while, and it sounds as if your job is important.”

“It isn't as important as family,” Brandon said. “I think that's what I was supposed to come away with from all of this. I just hope I didn't come to that conclusion too late.”

So did Chuck—for Brandon's sake, more than his own.

 

When Barbara first arrived at Maria's house, there hadn't been any lights on inside, which she'd thought was a little odd. But before she could ponder the situation, Maria's minivan pulled into the driveway with a man Barbara didn't recognize behind the wheel.

While they all piled out of the car, Barbara remained in her Jag, thinking that she'd allow them time to go into the house and get settled before she knocked at the door. Yet when she realized her mother wasn't with them, that the house was dark, a shudder of apprehension shivered through her. She reached for the door handle, ready to rush to the minivan and quiz Maria, when she saw that they were all heading toward Amy's house.

Was that where her mother was?

She watched until minutes later, when they returned with her mom, who walked between the man and Maria, her gray head bent, her shoulders slumped, her steps shuffled.

An agonizing ache spread through Barbara's chest as she realized her mother was failing more and more each day, and nothing, not even Joey's condition, took the edge off that heartbreaking fact.