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From award-winning and USA Today bestselling author Julianne MacLean comes this emotionally charged tale of a young woman who has fought hard to survive a heart transplant, but soon finds that her new heart is engaged in another battle altogether…
“…Ms MacLean is a wonderful storyteller. The characters in her stories seem so real, and I care what happens to them…”
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The Color of a Dream (The Color of Heaven Series Book 4)
by Julianne MacLean
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4.9 stars – 48 reviews!
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Here’s the set-up:
Nadia Carmichael has had a lifelong run of bad luck. It begins on the day she is born, when she is separated from her identical twin sister and put up for adoption. Twenty-seven years later, not long after she is finally reunited with her twin and is expecting her first child, Nadia falls victim to a mysterious virus and requires a heart transplant.
Now recovering from the surgery with a new heart, Nadia is haunted by a recurring dream that sets her on a path to discover the identity of her donor. Her efforts are thwarted, however, when the father of her baby returns to sue for custody of their child. It’s not until Nadia learns of his estranged brother Jesse that she begins to explore the true nature of her dreams, and discover what her new heart truly needs and desires…
5-star praise for The Color of a Dream:
Outstanding Series!!!
“These books are so well written on many levels…I can’t wait for the next book to come out!!!”
must read series!
“…The author does a fantastic job of bringing a little of each previous book into the ones that follow but making each story feel like a completely different book. Believable characters and story lines…”
an excerpt from
The Color Of A Dream
by Julianne MacLean
Copyright © 2014 by Julianne MacLean and published here with her permission
Prologue
Jesse Vincent Fraser
Sometimes it’s difficult to believe that coincidences are simply that: coincidences.
How could it be that easy when the most unlikely events occur and we find ourselves connecting with others in ways that can only be described as magical?
Until recently, I didn’t believe in that sort of thing—that fate, destiny, or magic played any part in the outcome of a man’s life. I always believed that what happened to me later, when I became a husband and father, resulted from the decisions and choices I made along the way, with a little luck—good or bad—tossed into the pot for good measure.
Things are different for me now. How can I not believe in something more, when what happened to me still feels like a dream?
It’s not difficult to pinpoint the exact moment when my world began to shift and all the puzzle pieces began to slide into place. It was a month before Christmas almost twenty years ago. A heavy, wet snow had just begun to fall.
I was fourteen years old, and it was the day I began to hate my older brother.
Chapter One
Some people said we lived in the middle of nowhere because the road wasn’t paved and ours was the only house for many miles.
I didn’t think it was nowhere. I liked where we lived on the distant outskirts of a quaint little town where our father was the only dentist.
I suppose it was a bit remote. Once you drove past our house, which stood at the top of a grassy hill with pine trees behind it, you reached a bend in the road and were suddenly surrounded by thick forest on either side. It was extremely dark at night.
That didn’t stop people from speeding, however, because it was the only alternate route between our town and the next and there were plenty of country folk who preferred to avoid the interstate. Partly because our road provided a more direct route into town, but mainly because it was where the bootleggers lived. If you wanted liquor after hours—or if you were underage—a fifteen-mile drive down a deserted gravel road was only a minor inconvenience.
More than a few times, we were awakened in the night by drunks who drove into the ditch where the road took a sharp turn not far from our home. We always left our outdoor lights on all night, so we were the first house they staggered to. Luckily, the ones who came to our door were always polite and happy drunks. There hadn’t been any fatalities and my father never refused to let them use the phone to call a tow truck.
The event that changed my relationship with my brother, however, occurred in the bright cold light of day during the month of November, and we weren’t coming from the bootlegger’s shack. We were on our way home from a high school football game where we’d just slaughtered the rival team—thanks to my brother Rick, who was captain and star quarterback.
Earlier in the day, Rick had been coerced by our mother to let me tag along to the game. Now he was dropping me off at home so that he and his buddies could go celebrate.
* * *
As we turned left onto the gravel road, the tires skidded and dust rose up in a thick cloud behind us. Rick was doing the driving and I was sandwiched into the back seat between two keyed up linebackers.
“Did you see the look on the other coach’s face when you scored that first touchdown?” one of them said. “We were only five minutes into the game. I think that’s when he knew it was going to get ugly.”
“Ugly for them, but not for us,” Greg said from the front seat. He high-fived Rick, who lay on the horn five or six times.
The car fishtailed on the loose gravel as he picked up speed, eager to get rid of me no doubt.
“Hey,” Greg said, turning to speak over his shoulder to Jeff, the linebacker to my right. “What are you going to do if Penny’s there?”
I may have been only fourteen years old, but I’d heard all the gossip surrounding the senior players on the team. They were like celebrities in our town and if the school could have published a tabloid, these guys would have been on the front cover every week.
“She better not be there,” Jeff replied, referring to the house party they were going to as soon as they dropped me off. “She knows we’re done.”
“She won’t take no for an answer, that one,” Rick said.
“He speaks from experience,” Greg added, facing forward again.
Everyone knew the story. Penny dated my brother for three months the year before, but when she got too lovey-dovey he broke it off with her. She wouldn’t stop calling him though. Then she had a minor mental breakdown and lost a lot of weight before her parents finally admitted her to the hospital. She was out of school for a month.
This year, she’d set her sights on Jeff and they’d had a brief fling a few weeks ago. Now he was avoiding her and everyone said he had a thing for some girl in the eleventh grade who just broke up with her longtime boyfriend. I heard he went off to college in September, joined a fraternity and decided he didn’t want to be tied down anymore. She was heartbroken and Jeff wanted to step in and lift her spirits.
We all knew what that meant.
I felt sorry for her. I also felt sorry for Penny, who kept getting her heart stomped on and would probably end up in the hospital again. From where I stood at the sidelines, it seemed obvious that she should steer clear of the football team and maybe join the science club instead, but girls just didn’t seem to go for guys like me who were good at math. They liked big muscles and stardom. Even if it was only small town stardom.
We drove past the Johnson’s hayfield and I wondered what the cows thought of the dust cloud we were creating as we sped up the gravel road.
When at last our large white house came into view at the top of the hill, Rick didn’t slow down and I wondered how he was going to make the turn onto our tree-lined driveway.
That was the moment I spotted Francis—our eleven-year-old golden lab—charging down the hill to greet us.
Chapter Two
I grabbed hold of the seat in front of me and pulled myself out of my sandwiched position between Jeff and Rob.
“Slow down,” I said to Rick. “Francis got loose.”
What was he doing out of the house? I wondered. Our parents weren’t home. They’d left early that morning to visit my grandmother. Rick was the last one to leave the house and before that I was sure I’d seen Francis asleep on his bed in the family room as I walked out.
“I’m not slowing down,” Rick said. “We’re already late for the party, thanks to you.”
It all seemed to happen in slow motion after that…as I watched Francis gallop down the hill, his ears flopping. The sound of our tires speeding over the packed dirt and gravel was thunderous in my ears.
“I think you better slow down!” I shouted, hitting Rick on the shoulder.
“Shut up,” he said. “He’s not stupid. He’ll stop when he gets closer.”
My heart rose up in my throat as our two paths converged. I prayed that Rick was right about Francis knowing enough to stop when he reached the road.
Then whack!—the horrendous sound of the vehicle colliding with my dog.
Only then did Rick slam on the brakes. “Shit!”
“Did you just hit your dog?” Jeff asked as the car skidded sideways to a halt and we were all tossed forward in our seats.
“Lemme out!” I cried as I scrambled over Jeff’s lap.
Rick was quicker to open his door and leap out to see what had happened.
My whole body burned with terror at the sight of Francis, more than ten yards back, lying still at the edge of the road.
Chapter Three
I ran to Francis as fast as my legs would carry me and dropped to my knees. I laid my hands on his belly, rubbed them over the contours of his ribs and shoulder blades.
“Francis!” I cried, but he didn’t move.
Rick shoved me aside. “Move Jesse! Let me check him!”
I was practically hyperventilating as I stood up, only vaguely aware of the other three guys coming to take a look.
“Is he okay?” I asked, while Rick pressed his ear to Francis’s chest to listen for a heartbeat. Then he put his fingers to Francis’s nose. “Shit!” he shouted. “He’s dead.”
“What? No! He can’t be!” I dropped to my knees again and laid my head on Francis’s side. There were no signs of life. I stared at his belly, willing it to rise and fall. I needed to see him breathing, to know it wasn’t true.
“Maybe we should take him to the vet!” I pleaded, unable to accept what I knew to be true. “Maybe they can save him!”
“It’s too late,” Rick said. “He’s gone.”
The words, spoken so straightforwardly, made my eyes fill up with tears while blood rushed to my head. My temples began to throb.
“Why didn’t you slow down?” I demanded to know. “He was running straight for us.”
“I didn’t think he’d hit us,” Rick explained.
“What a stupid dog,” Greg said.
“He’s not stupid!” I sobbed. Then I stood up and slammed my open palms into Greg’s chest to shove him away. He was built like a tank, however, and barely took a step back.
“Settle down,” Rick said, hitting me in the shoulder and shoving me.
“This is all your fault!” I cried. “And what was he doing outside? Didn’t you shut the door when you left?”
He stared at me for a long moment, then shoved me again. “This isn’t my fault. It’s your fault, jerk, because we wouldn’t even be here if Mom didn’t force me to drag you along. We wouldn’t be late for the party. We’d be there right now, and Francis wouldn’t be…”
Thank God he stopped himself, because I don’t know what I would have done if he’d finished that sentence. Actually said the word.
Still, to this day, I fantasize about tackling Rick in that moment and punching him in the head.
But my anger was tempered by grief. I felt as if I were dissolving into a thousand pieces. I swung around and sank to my knees again, gathered my beloved dog—we’d had him since I was three years old—into my arms and wept uncontrollably.
“Jesus,” Jeff said. “What are we gonna do? We can’t just leave him here.”
“No,” Rick agreed. “We’ll have to take him up to the house.”
I felt his hand on my shoulder and this time he spoke more gently.
“Come on Jesse. We have to get him off the road. Help me lift him. We’ll put him in the car.”
I glanced back at my father’s blue sedan. “How?” I asked, wiping at my tears with the back of my hand.
“We’ll put him in the trunk.”
“The trunk?” I replied. “No. He can’t be in there alone.”
“It’s the only way,” Rick replied. “We’ll cover him with the blanket. Now get up and help me. Guys? You gotta help too. He’s gonna be heavy.”
Each breath I took was a hellish, shuddering ordeal as I slid my hands under Francis’s torso and raised him up. He was limp and it took four of us to carry him to the car. In hindsight, we should have backed the car up closer, but we were all pretty shaken. Well, at least I was shaken, and I can only assume Rick was as well, though he certainly didn’t show it. Maybe it was because his friends were there. He seemed more irritated than anything else.
Awkwardly we placed Francis in the trunk and Rick covered him with the green plaid blanket my father always kept on hand in case we got stranded in a snow storm.
“Stop crying,” Rick said as he shut the trunk. “It’s over now and we can’t do anything to change it.”
I felt the other guys staring at me as if I was a wimp, but I didn’t care. I opened the car door and got into the front seat, forcing the other three to pile into the back together. I’m sure they weren’t happy about it, but they had the sense not to object.
Before Rick got in, he went around to the front of the car to check for damage.
“How’s it looking?” Jeff asked when Rick got in.
“The fender’s dented.”
“At least it’s just the fender,” Greg replied. “You won’t even need to tell the insurance company. You can just hammer that out.”
Rick started up the engine. This time, he drove slowly as he turned up our driveway and began the long journey up the hill.
I could barely think. I felt like I was floating in cold water, bobbing up and down while waves splashed in my face. I had to suck in great gulps of air whenever I could.
At last we reached the house and everyone got out of the car. I have no memory of the next few minutes. All I recall is sinking down onto the cool grass in our front yard next to Francis while Rick stood over us.
“We have to go,” he said. “When Dad gets home, make sure you tell him it was an accident and that Francis came out of nowhere.”
“But he didn’t,” I replied.
“Jesus, he was running like a bat out of hell.”
He was just excited to see us, I thought, as I ran my hand over Francis’s smooth coat.
“You better tell him it was an accident,” Rick warned me as he returned to the car, “because you were there, too, and this wouldn’t have happened if you weren’t.”
“I told you to slow down,” I insisted.
“No, you didn’t.”
“Yes, I did.”
“It’s your word against mine,” Rick said, pausing before he got into the car, “and I have witnesses. On top of that, I’m pretty sure you were the last one to leave the house, remember? Mom’s always telling you to shut the back door.”
It wasn’t true. I hadn’t left the door open. I was waiting in the car when Rick came out with his gear slung over his shoulder, running late as usual.
I couldn’t wait to tell my father the whole story when he got home. And I was going to tell the truth, whether Rick liked it or not.
Chapter Four
I’d always suspected that Rick was my father’s favorite. He was his firstborn child after all, my father’s namesake—though my father went by Richard.
When you compared Rick and me, I realized it must have been difficult for my mother to pretend I was as special as him because he excelled at everything he did. He was good looking and popular, he played a number of sports equally well, and he possessed a fierce charisma that seemed to put most people in some sort of hypnotic state. Every other person in a room seemed to disappear when Rick walked into it. All eyes turned to him and everyone was mesmerized. He knew all the right things to say, especially to grownups, and everyone who met him was suitably impressed.
‘You sure hit a home run with that boy, Richard,’ friends of my father would say when they came over to the house—or ‘He’s going to be a heartbreaker,’ women said to my mother at the supermarket.
I suppose I was invisible in the glare of such perfection, but to be honest, I didn’t mind because I was a bit of an introvert, which was why I didn’t go seeking a spotlight by trying out for sports teams or running for student council. I was quite content to sit quietly in the corner of a room while Rick carried on conversations or told stories that made everyone laugh.
Naturally he was voted most likely to succeed during his senior year of high school—which turned out to be a good prediction because he ended up working in LA as a sports agent, earning millions from celebrity clients.
But that came much later. I shouldn’t be skipping ahead when you probably want to know what happened when my parents came home and found me huddled in the front yard with Francis in my arms.
Chapter Five
It was dark by the time they drove up the tree-lined drive. I should have at least gone into the house to get a warmer jacket at some point, because it was late November in Connecticut and near the freezing point on that particular day after the sun went down. But I didn’t want to leave Francis, so I sat there shivering in my light windbreaker until the car headlights nearly blinded me.
My mother was first to get out of the car. “Oh my God, what happened?” She strode toward me and crouched down, laid her hand on Francis’s shoulder.
“Rick hit him with the car,” I explained as my father approached. He’d left the headlights on.
My rage had been boiling up inside me for nearly two hours and I’m not sure what I sounded like. I think I might have achieved more if I’d remained calm and rational, but I was fourteen years old and didn’t possess Rick’s clever way with people.
“He murdered him!” I shouted.
“Who murdered who?” my father asked with growing concern.
“Rick killed Francis. He drove right into him, even when I told him not to.”
“That can’t be true,” Mom said, looking up at my father who glared down at me with derision. “Rick loves Francis. He would never do something like that. Certainly not intentionally.”
“You’re not making any sense, Jesse,” my father said in his deep, booming voice. “You’re upset, which is understandable, but accidents happen.”
He knelt down and stroked Francis’s head. “Poor boy. How long ago did it happen?”
“A couple of hours,” I replied.
“And you’ve been out here with him all this time?” my mother asked, laying a sympathetic hand on my cheek.
I nodded, grateful for her gentle warmth in light of my father’s severity.
She looked down at Francis and rubbed his side. I could see her eyes tearing up.
“Did he suffer at all?” she asked.
“I don’t think so,” I replied. “It happened really fast. As soon as we got out of the car, Rick said he was dead.”
My father’s eyes lifted and he regarded me from beneath those bushy dark brows. “How did he get loose? Did you leave the door open again?”
“No! I swear I didn’t! It was Rick! It had to have been.”
My parents exchanged a look and I knew they didn’t believe me.
“Well,” my mother said gently, “whatever happened, we can’t change it now and we can’t bring Francis back. This was a terrible accident, Jesse, but you mustn’t punish yourself. It’s no one’s fault.”
Why did everyone seem to think it was me? That I was the one who had something to answer for?
“Yes, it is someone’s fault,” I argued. “It’s Rick’s, because he was driving.”
“Now, see here,” my father scolded. “I won’t hear talk like that. If Francis got out of the house, it could have happened to any of us. It was an accident and if I hear you say otherwise to your brother, you’ll have to answer to me. He must feel guilty enough as it is. Do you understand?”
“But it was his fault,” I pleaded. “He was driving too fast and I told him to slow down but he wouldn’t.”
My father’s eyes darkened. “Did you not hear what I just said to you?”
I’d been raised to respect and obey my father—and to fear him. We all did, even Mom. So I nodded to indicate that yes, I’d heard what he said.
That didn’t mean I had to believe he was right.
Chapter Six
Rick didn’t come home that night. He slept at Greg’s so it was left to me to help Dad bury Francis at the edge of the yard under the big oak tree. My mother suggested the spot because it was visible from the top floor windows of the house, and I agreed it was the right place.
It was ten o’clock by the time we finished. I was so exhausted afterwards, I went straight to bed, but I hardly slept a wink all night. What happened that day had been a terrible ordeal and I couldn’t stop replaying all the vivid images in my mind: Francis bounding down the hill to greet us; the sound of our car striking him; then finally the eerie sight of my father shoveling dirt on top of him while I held the flashlight.
I imagined we must have hit Francis in the head with the car, which was why he died so quickly. At least, if that was the case, he probably felt no pain.
That thought provided me with some comfort, though I couldn’t overcome the white-hot rage I felt every time I remembered how Rick stood over me in the yard blaming me for what happened.
That perhaps was the real reason I couldn’t sleep. My body was on fire with adrenaline, and I wanted to hit something.
Chapter Seven
I woke late the next morning, having finally drifted off into a deep slumber sometime before dawn. Sleepily, I rose from bed, used the washroom, and padded downstairs to the kitchen in my pajamas.
“Mom?”
My voice never echoed back to me in the kitchen before and the implications of that fact caused a lump to form in my throat.
“Mom? Dad? Is anyone here?”
When no answer came, I went to the front hall and looked out the window. Both cars were parked in the driveway, which meant Rick had come home.
“Rick?” I climbed the stairs to check his room, but it was empty and the bed was made.
Suddenly it occurred to me where everyone must be and a feeling of panic swept over me. I hurried to the window in Rick’s room, which looked out over the back field and apple orchard, and sure enough, there they were, my mother, father and Rick, all standing over Francis’s grave.
I had no idea what was going on out there, but I felt very left out. Without bothering to get dressed, I hurried downstairs, pulled on a pair of rain boots and a jacket, and ran out the back door.
* * *
It was not one of my finer moments. I will admit that. When I reached my family, I shouted at all of them accusingly.
“What are you doing out here? Why didn’t you wake me?”
My mother turned and looked at me with concern. “You seemed so tired last night, Jesse. I thought you could use some extra sleep.”
“If this is Francis’s funeral,” I said, “I should be here.”
“It’s not his funeral,” my father informed me, impatiently. “Rick just got home and he wanted to see where we buried Francis.”
“He was my dog, too,” Rick said with a frown, as if I was being selfish.
Maybe I was, but I was only fourteen and I was grief-stricken and angry.
“Come here,” Rick said, holding out his hand to wave me closer.
I slowly approached.
“I was thinking,” Rick said, “that we should get some sort of monument. Maybe a small headstone. I have enough in my savings account to pay for it.”
“That would be a fine gesture, Rick,” my father said, “but please let me cover the cost.”
Rick laid a hand on my shoulder. “What do you think we should have engraved on it?” he asked. “His name of course, but maybe we should come up with some sort of epitaph.”
I thought about it for a moment. “What about: Here lies Francis, beloved dog and best friend?”
My voice shook and I didn’t think I could speak again without breaking down.
“That sounds perfect,” Rick said. He looked down at me meaningfully. “I’m really sorry, Jesse. I don’t think I’ll ever be able to forgive myself.”
He closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose, as if he, too, could not speak about it anymore.
My father squeezed his shoulder and patted him on the back.
Chapter Eight
Five years later
“Hey, Bentley. Where’s your leash?”
Bentley’s head lifted, his ears perked up and he jumped off the sofa in the family room. I rose from my chair at the kitchen table and headed for the laundry room. With tail wagging, Bentley followed me in.
Dad waited only a month after we lost Francis before coming home one afternoon with a brand new puppy—an adorable black lab I fell in love with at first sight.
From that moment on, Bentley and I were best pals. He formed a closer bond with me than anyone else because both my parents worked and I was the first one home every afternoon to take him for a walk. I made sure his food and water bowls were always full in the mornings, and he slept on the floor in my room on a large green pillow. I loved him dearly.
After attaching the leash to Bentley’s collar, I led him out the front door. While I stood there locking the door behind me, I heard a car speed by on the road at the bottom of the hill. A few years earlier, a crew had come in and paved the road all the way to the next town, so we now had a steadier stream of traffic moving at a faster clip in front of our house. In addition to that, a number of new homes had gone up since the paving project was announced. We were no longer the only house between the main road and the bootlegger’s shack—which as far as I knew was still there.
There had been other changes to our lives as well. Rick graduated from high school with honors and received a scholarship to UCLA. He was still there, living out west, working on an MBA.
As for me, I was still living at home, working at the airport as an operations assistant until I figured out what to do with my life. My father wanted me to enroll in a science program and go to dental or medical school. I certainly had the grades for either of those options, but I just wasn’t that keen on following in my father’s footsteps. We were different, he and I, and I wanted to choose my own path. Maybe it would have something to do with aviation. I’d always had an interest in that. I just wasn’t sure yet.
That’s when I met Angela. She, too, had decided to take a year off after high school and she was working as a waitress in one of the airport restaurants. Just like seeing Bentley for the first time, it was love at first sight when she approached me in the staff parking lot, needing help because she’d locked herself out of her car. I called AAA for her and waited for them to arrive, but when she finally got into her car, the engine wouldn’t start. So after arranging to have her vehicle towed to a repair shop, I gave her a lift home.
Three weeks later, we were seeing each other every day and I was head over heels in love. I hadn’t had much experience with girls and I never imagined it could be like that, but everything about Angela suited me. She was a bit of a math geek, like me, and she hadn’t had much experience in the dating scene either. I couldn’t understand why, because I thought she was the most beautiful creature to ever walk the earth. Her hair was jet black, cut in a shoulder-length bob with bangs, and she had giant brown eyes and a soft, smooth ivory complexion. She was very petite at five-foot-three and went to yoga class three times a week. Every time I saw her, I felt like I’d been run over by a truck. She was fun and sweet and incredibly kindhearted. Bentley loved her, too.
Before long I started thinking about moving out of my parents’ house and getting a place of my own. My parents didn’t approve, of course, because they still wanted me to go to university and make something of myself.
When I brought it up at the dinner table one night, my father’s bushy eyebrows pulled together and two large vertical creases formed between them. He set down his fork and knife and leaned back in his chair.
“How will you ever go to a good school if you’re tied down to some waitress here in town, struggling to pay your rent every month?” he asked.
“Maybe I don’t want to go to a good school,” I defiantly replied. “Maybe I just want to keep working at the airport.” My mother fidgeted uncomfortably and her eyes pleaded for me to walk away from this one.
He scoffed at me, as if I were a fool. “Believe me, when the shine wears off of this exciting new relationship and you’re stuck in a dead end job, arguing with that girl about how you’re going to pay the phone bill, you’ll feel differently, and you’ll wish you had listened to me.”
“Maybe so,” I replied, “but it’s my life and I’m not a kid anymore. I’m nineteen and you have to let me make my own decisions.”
He and Mom exchanged a look, as if they were carrying on a mental conversation I wasn’t privileged to be a part of.
Then Mom leaned across the table and clasped my hand. “Jesse, it’s not that we don’t like Angela. She’s probably a very nice girl. But you’ve had so little experience in that area. How can I say this…?” She paused, then continued. “It’s important to try on some different styles and sizes before you make a commitment you can’t get yourself out of.”
She was so much gentler than my father. Nevertheless, I frowned at her. “It’s not like we’re moving in together.” Though the idea wasn’t far from my mind. Angela and I had only been seeing each other for a month, but I figured—and hoped—moving in would be the next step. For now, I just wanted a place where I could have my privacy to be with her.
My father still hadn’t picked up his fork. “Your mother’s right,” he said in that deep, reverberating voice that made everyone quiver. “You should be dating lots of girls before you settle for just one.”
“Like Rick does?” I tersely asked. I set my fork down and leaned back in my chair. “He dates all kinds of girls and manages to have a whale of a time. Do you want me to be more like him and break lots of hearts?”
“That’s not fair,” Mom said. “Rick has always worked very hard at school and sports. He’s incredibly busy and doesn’t have time for a serious relationship, that’s all.”
“And look where he is now,” my father added. “In the MBA program at Anderson Business School. He’ll have his pick of high-paying jobs the minute he steps off that campus.”
I took a deep breath and let it out because I knew this conversation was pointless. My parents wanted me to be a great “success” like Rick, but when it came right down to it, my definition of success differed from theirs. I didn’t need to make a million dollars. I didn’t want to have a series of superficial relationships with girls I had nothing in common with. I’d already found the girl who was right for me and I just wanted to be with her. It didn’t mean I was going to give up any thought of doing something more with my life. I just wanted her at my side, no matter what I chose to do.
“It’s my decision to make,” I said, pulling my napkin from my lap and tossing it onto the table. “Excuse me, Mom. I’m finished now.”
My father stared up at me with displeasure as I carried my plate to the kitchen. “Fine,” he said, “but don’t expect any help from me when you can’t pay your rent.”
“I’ll remember that.” On my way upstairs, I picked up the newspaper from the front hall so I could check out the classifieds.
Chapter Nine
A week later, I signed the lease on my first apartment, which came cheap because it was a mile from the airport and the roar of the planes flying overhead turned off most prospective renters. It was convenient for me, however, because I could reach work in ten minutes by bicycle, and Angela could come and stay over anytime she liked.
My dad was true to his word. He didn’t help me with anything. He didn’t let me take any of the furniture from my room—not a single item—so I had to purchase a bed and a table at yard sales. My mother couldn’t stand with me on this, but I remember the lump in my throat when she quietly slipped fifty dollars into my hand on the day I moved out.
It was Angela who helped me shop for plates and kitchen utensils, bedding and a small television set, all of which we found at second hand stores. Her parents gave me a sofa they wanted to get rid of anyway.
Ironically, the one thing my father let me take from the house was the only thing I really wanted.
He let me have Bentley.
* * *
I didn’t call my parents or speak to them for over two months. I wasn’t trying to punish them. I just had no interest in being lectured about why I was making the worst mistake of my life. So I waited it out and thought maybe, eventually, they would accept my decision and let me choose my own path.
The way I saw it, even if I was making a mistake, it was my mistake to make, and I was ready and willing to learn from it—and all the others I would likely make in the coming years.
Wasn’t that part of life? To follow your heart? Explore the unknown and engage in a little trial and error?
Angela, for the most part, agreed with me, though she worried about me losing touch with my family. She certainly didn’t want to feel responsible for that, so when a third month passed and there was still no communication, she suggested I pick up the phone.
“Call when you know your father won’t be there,” she suggested one evening while we were out walking Bentley. “How much you want to bet your mom will be thrilled to hear your voice and she won’t even tell him you called if you don’t want her to.”
I considered that. “If she wants to hear my voice, she could call me any time,” I said. “I’m in the book.”
“No, you’re not. You won’t be in the book until the next one comes out.”
“When will that be?” I asked.
“I have no idea,” she replied with a chuckle.
Bentley paused briefly to lift a leg and pee on a telephone pole, then continued on.
“I’m sure Mom knows the number for directory assistance,” I mentioned.
Playfully, Angela shoved me into the chain-link fence that ran along the sidewalk. “You’re impossible,” she said.
I bounced off the fence and returned to her side. “Yep, and that’s why you love me.”
“Is it?” she replied with mischief in her eyes. “I thought it was for another reason entirely.”
I smiled and wrapped my arm around her. We walked on, our steps in perfect unison while a giant Boeing 767 passed over our heads—taking off for some exotic location, no doubt.
The thought of what unexplored territories were over my own horizon filled me with hope and excitement. I felt like one those jetliners, finally lifting off the runway. Everything in my world seemed new and full of promise.
It’s a shame that feeling didn’t last longer. Two weeks later I was forced to come down from the clouds when my mother called with some news.
Suddenly, I was back on the ground, living among the pressures of my old world.
Chapter Ten
The sound of her voice on the phone caught me off guard because I’d just stepped out of the shower. I was dripping wet and wrapped in a towel. Angela was asleep in my bed, tangled in the sheets, wearing my flannel pajama bottoms and an oversized T-shirt.
As I carried the phone out of the bedroom, I had to drag the long cord over Bentley on his giant green pillow. He lifted his head and tilted it to the side as he watched me.
“Mom, it’s nice to hear from you,” I said.
It was a polite response, but it was also the truth. The sound of my mother’s voice in my ear reduced me to my ten-year-old self, to a time when she was my whole world. Yet that seemed like a lifetime ago.
For some unknown reason, I felt a sudden rush of panic. Had there been some horrible family tragedy? Did someone die? Was that why she was calling so early in the morning?
To this day, I don’t know why I thought that, but it woke me up to something. I regretted not picking up the phone sooner as Angela had so often encouraged me to do.
“I’m so glad I caught you,” Mom said cheerfully. I let out a breath of relief knowing no one had died. She simply missed me. I could hear it in her voice.
“How are you getting along?” she asked. “Are you eating enough vegetables?”
I laughed. “Yes, Mom. I’m eating well.”
“And how’s Bentley? The house is so quiet here with both of you gone.”
“I imagine it is,” I replied. “Bentley’s doing great. I come home for lunch every day, so he’s never alone for too long.”
I waited for her to ask about Angela, but there was a long noteworthy silence.
“How’s Dad?” I asked.
“Oh, you know, busy as usual. His receptionist is retiring next month, so he’s looking for someone.”
“Ah.”
There was another pause.
“You should come over for dinner sometime,” Mom said. “Bring your girlfriend.”
“Angela,” I mentioned.
“Yes, Angela…” Another pause. “Is she still working at the airport pub?”
My mother was doing her best to sound friendly and accepting, but I could hear her disapproval and disappointment not far beneath her cheerful façade. No doubt she and Dad would have preferred me to date a law student. Or even a flight attendant, for that matter. At least flight attendants wore heels and blazers.
“Yeah,” I replied. “She’s making great tips.”
Bentley appeared at my feet and panted up at me. I reached down to rub behind his ears.
“That’s wonderful,” Mom said.
A plane flew overhead; there was some static on the line, and I wondered if my mother was still on the other end.
“Rick’s coming home for a few weeks over Christmas,” she said, breaking the silence at last. “Will you be coming home, too?”
It seemed an odd question, and I combed my fingers through my wet hair. “You mean like…to sleep?”
To wake up Christmas morning and open Santa’s gifts as a family?
“Your room is still here,” she said. “You can come home any time you like.”
I nodded. “That’s nice to know, Mom. Thanks.”
Maybe I was being too presumptuous, assuming that my parents expected me to fail—even wanted me to—so that they could say ‘I told you so’ and wrestle me back onto the right track.
Was it possible they had changed their minds and were ready to accept the choices I was making?
That would be nice—if they could simply pick me up and dust me off if I stumbled, instead of insisting that I not stumble in the first place.
“I don’t have a lot of time right now, Mom,” I said. “I have to get to work, and Bentley needs to go outside. Maybe we can talk later. When is Rick coming home?”
“He’s flying in on the fifth,” she replied. “Maybe you’ll be the one to haul his suitcase off the plane. That’s what you do at your job, isn’t it?”
I closed my eyes and tipped my head back against the wall. “Yeah, Mom. That’s what I do.”
I said good-bye and hung up. When I finally made it to work and began loading baggage onto a Bombardier CRJ-200, I glanced up at the pilots in the flight deck windows and imagined for the thousandth time what it would feel like to fly such an incredible machine.
Perhaps a career in aviation was in my future, but I was nevertheless determined not to let my parents pressure me into any career before I was ready. Even if it was a career of my own choosing.
Chapter Eleven
Though I didn’t speak to my father at all over the next few weeks, I did hear from Mom who called to tell me Rick’s flight number and what time it would arrive on the fifth. She asked if I would meet him at the gate because she and Dad would be at work. She also asked if I wanted to come for turkey dinner on Christmas Day.
“Bring Angela, of course,” she added.
Encouraged by the fact that she had remembered Angela’s name this time, I accepted her invitation.
I wasn’t scheduled to work on the day Rick’s flight came in, so I was able to meet him at the gate. After we found each other in the terminal, I asked him about school and LA. He then asked about my job and the new apartment.
“You should show it to me now,” he said, “before I go to Mom and Dad’s. I can’t believe my baby brother’s all grown up.”
He teasingly messed my hair as we stepped onto the escalator. I elbowed him in the ribs.
“Fine,” I said, “but you’ll have to take a cab unless you want to hop on the back of my bike with your suitcase. Or you could walk. It’s only a mile or two.”
“You ride a bike to work?” Rick asked, his head drawing back slightly.
“Yeah. Saves on gas. And car payments.”
I walked with him to where the taxis were lined up outside, gave my address to one of the drivers, then told Rick that I’d meet him at my place in a few minutes. I fetched my bike, hopped on and managed to peddle fast enough to beat him to my front door.
* * *
“It’s a great spot,” Rick said after I gave him a two-minute tour of my apartment, “if you don’t mind airplanes landing in your front yard. Geez, how do you sleep through that?”
“I hardly notice,” I told him. “And Bentley doesn’t seem to mind it.”
Rick glanced around skeptically. “I don’t know. I don’t think I could take it.” He flopped onto his back on my sofa and crossed his legs at the ankles. “It’s great to be here, though. We should go do something.”
“Like what?” This was a new development: my brother wanting to spend time with me in a public place. I couldn’t remember a single instance when he didn’t resent being forced by Mom and Dad to let me tag along with him somewhere.
“I don’t know,” he said. “I’m starving. They didn’t serve anything on the plane except for pretzels. We should get some lunch.”
“Sure,” I replied, “but if you want to go downtown we’ll have to take the bus.”
“No problem,” he said, rising to his feet. “Let’s go.”
* * *
Rick and I enjoyed a late lunch with a few beers at a downtown pub, and before I realized what I was saying, I was telling him about my plans to look into flight school.
“Makes sense,” he said, raising his beer to his lips and taking a sip. “You were always into rockets and planes when you were a kid. What do Mom and Dad think?”
I glanced at the waitress loading up her tray at the bar. “I haven’t mentioned it to them.”
“Why not?”
“Because we don’t talk much,” I replied, “and even if we did, I don’t think I could stomach giving Dad that much satisfaction. He might think I was doing it just to make him happy.”
Rick laughed. “Well, that wouldn’t do, because we all know how much you enjoy being a total disappointment.”
I shook my head at him, choosing not to argue because we both knew it was true, to some extent. Nevertheless, I didn’t appreciate that he felt compelled to point it out.
“I’m only joking.” Rick signaled to the waitress to bring him another beer.
I finished the last of my salad, wiped my mouth with the napkin and laid it on the table. “Wonder what they’ll think of Angela when they meet her.”
“They haven’t met her yet?” Rick asked with surprise.
“No, but Mom invited us for dinner Christmas Day, so you’ll get to witness all the subtle digs and backhanded compliments.”
“Maybe they’ll surprise you,” Rick said.
“Maybe so,” I replied, “but I’m not holding my breath. And listen, don’t mention flight school to them. I still haven’t made up my mind and I don’t want Dad to get out his conductor’s wand and start directing the show. If I go, I’ll pay for it myself, and I’ll go when I’m good and ready.”
“Sure.”
The waitress brought Rick’s third beer and I asked him what he was planning to give to Mom and Dad for Christmas—I had no idea what to get them and I wanted to change the subject.
He said he had a couple of hardcovers in mind. Then he asked me what I was planning to give Angela.
Looking back on it, I should have told him it was none of his business. And I never should have taken her to dinner Christmas Day.
Chapter Twelve
I often wondered, growing up, what it was about my brother that was so seductive to women. He was good looking—that was a given—but it didn’t explain why they all seemed to melt into a puddle of sticky goo when he engaged them in a conversation about something as simple as the weather.
I suppose he was born with some sort of rare, penetrating charisma that few of us are blessed with. It’s why he later went on to make millions in his profession. He could convince anyone—men and women alike—to say yes to anything. ‘Another two million per year for that rookie outfielder? Sure, Mr. Fraser. We’d love to pay that.’
When Rick and I returned to my apartment after lunch, I was surprised to find Angela sitting on the sofa with Bentley, watching television. As soon as we walked through the door, she hit the mute button on the remote and stood up.
“Hey,” I said, shrugging out of my jacket. “What are you doing here?”
“I’m on my lunch break,” she replied. “I have to go back in half an hour.”
I gestured toward Rick who walked in behind me. “This is my brother, Rick. Rick, this is Angela.”
“Hi.” She waved at him. “It’s great to finally meet you.”
“You, too.” He moved forward to shake her hand, then he took a seat on the upholstered chair across from the TV. “So you guys met at work?”
“Yeah.” Angela sat down again and told the story of how she locked her keys in her car and I came to her rescue like a knight in shining armor.
Rick then asked what high school she went to. When she told him which one, he asked if she knew so-and-so, because Rick knew everyone. They chatted for a while about their mutual acquaintances.
I went to use the washroom and when I returned, they were talking about Angela’s yoga classes, and Rick was interested in trying a class for himself.
As soon as I stepped into view she checked her watch and stood up. “Geez, I’m going to be late. Wish I could stay but I have to go.”
She hurried toward me and gave me a quick kiss on the cheek. “I’ll see you guys later. Bye, Bentley.”
With that, she was out the door.
“Cute girl,” Rick said, slouching low in his chair. “How long have you been dating her?”
“A few months,” I replied.
He nodded with approval as he pulled off his sneakers and settled in to watch some television. “Nice work. I’m sure you have nothing to worry about. Mom and Dad will think she’s great.”
“I’m not worried,” I informed him.
Because it didn’t matter to me what they thought. It only mattered how Angela and I felt about each other.
It’s unfortunate that I didn’t know, at the time, that there would be other far worse things to worry about, and none of them would involve my parents. Maybe if I had known, I might have been able to prevent the worst of them from happening.
Or maybe not. I’ve come to learn that certain things in life are beyond our control.
Others are beyond comprehension.
… Continued…
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The Color of a Dream
(The Color of Heaven, Book 4)
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