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  Dr. Shubacker reached for his arm, and Wayne reluctantly let Mercedes go.

  P

  Mercedes found Darrel standing outside the intensive care unit with Brandon. Brandon was smiling at Darrel, but the smile faltered when he caught sight of her. Despite what Dustbottom had told her, Mercedes was worried. Now that Wayne was awake, he had no reason not to demand what she had promised. But surely he could see that if he died, telling Darrel would only cause the boy needless suffering.

  “Uncle Austin is calling Aunt Liana on his cell phone,” Darrel told her. “They’ll be here soon. He had to go outside. They don’t like cell phones in the hospital. Brandon tells me it’s because sometimes it might interfere with the equipment. He says it doesn’t happen often, even though people are sneaking around using their cell phones. I wonder how they’d feel if it was someone they loved who might get hurt because of it. Then I bet they wouldn’t do it.”

  “You’re probably right.” Mercedes placed a hand on her son’s shoulder.

  Brandon’s eyes followed the movement. “Darrel tells me Wayne’s awake.”

  “Yes. Just a while ago. I need to get back in there.”

  “I’m happy for you. Really.”

  Her eyes locked on his. “I can’t thank you enough.”

  “Yeah, you saved his life,” Darrel said. “Are you going to check on him now? Because I was going to ask him what he thinks of cell phones.”

  Brandon smiled. “The nurses told me Dr. Shubacker was headed there, so I’m sure your dad’s okay. I can see him later.” He started to turn.

  “Brandon?” she said.

  “Yes?”

  What to say? The seconds ticked by until there was so much tension she wanted to scream. “I talked to Dustbottom,” she finally blurted out.

  The green of his eyes deepened. “He’s got a big mouth. Ignore him. It’s not your concern.”

  His words stung, and Mercedes looked down so he wouldn’t see the abrupt tears in her eyes. Of course it wasn’t her business, but when all was said and done, he was the father of her child, and she did care about him. Blindly, she veered away. “Come on, Darrel, let’s go see your dad.” She felt like a liar, though Wayne was the only father Darrel knew.

  Brandon’s arm shot out and grabbed her wrist, his skin cold and slightly moist. Touch of death, she thought, shivering.

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it that way. I’m just having some issues. But everything will be fine. I beat it once. I’ll do it again.” The words held passion, but when she lifted her eyes to his, the emotion didn’t reach his eyes. She had the distinct feeling he’d already given up.

  “I’m sorry.” She pulled her hand from his. “I’m really, really sorry. Thank you for everything you’ve done for Wayne. It—it means a lot.”

  He nodded, and she felt his eyes on them as they retreated.

  “Momma?” Darrel tugged her hand as he had when he was a little boy. “Aren’t we going the wrong way? Is everything okay?”

  Mercedes blew out a breath, trying to calm herself. “I’m fine, Darrel. It’s just been a hard day.” She started again in the right direction, relieved that Brandon was no longer in sight. The nursing staff recognized her in the ICU and let her in without saying a word.

  Wayne’s door was ajar, and she pushed it open with the palm of her hand. He was there, waiting for them, blue eyes tracking them eagerly. His brow furrowed as he noticed her tears.

  “Daddy, the boys are on their way!” Darrel ran to the bed, and for a blessed moment he was busy talking to Wayne about cell phones. Wayne didn’t look bored; in fact, the furrow on his forehead seemed to smooth out with every word.

  “We’ll be moving him from ICU soon,” the nurse told her on the way out, averting her face from Mercedes’ apparent emotion. “Dr. Shubacker says everything looks really good.”

  “Thank you,” Mercedes whispered.

  She struggled to regain her composure, but the conversation with Brandon had shaken her deeply. Let it pass, she told herself. Yet the moment still hovered. What if one day Darrel learned the truth and regretted the opportunity to know his birth father? It would be far too late then, if her intuition was correct. If Brandon had given up.

  “Mercedes?” Wayne held out the hand with the IV in it, beckoning.

  Her tears came more forcefully, and Mercedes had no choice but to let them fall. She longed to crawl into the bed with Wayne and have him hold her. Longed for him to kiss away her tears.

  Wayne’s hand closed over hers. “What is it?”

  Before Mercedes could answer, Darrel spoke. “It’s that doctor, Brandon. He said something to her.” When neither of them responded, the child continued. “What did he say, Momma? I thought he was nice. I thought he was making Daddy better.”

  “Nothing. Everything’s fine,” she said. “I’m just emotional right now.”

  Darrel shook his head. “I’m not a little boy anymore, Momma. Tell me what happened.” His somber, dark eyes, so much like her own, begged for an explanation.

  The moment of truth was approaching. Mercedes felt it in every inch of her body. Darrel had noticed something was dreadfully wrong, or perhaps he’d sensed they were hiding something from him. At the same time, she knew he trusted her and didn’t want to hurt her or see her in pain. If she let this moment pass, Darrel would never know. The chances were strong that in the next year or so Brandon would cease to be an issue and Darrel wouldn’t have to face the confusion of an uncertain heritage or the pain of losing someone he was supposed to love. She would have fulfilled her duty as a mother to protect her son. Brandon had told her that he wasn’t her concern. She had only to deflect Darrel’s interest.

  Yet what if she was wrong? What if Darrel felt a connection to Brandon on some level and would forever regret missing the opportunity to know his birth father? What if telling Darrel would save Brandon’s life?

  She glanced at Wayne and saw him looking at her. He made a slight shrugging motion, followed by a more decisive nod. His signal telling her to say something to Darrel, leaving exactly what up to her.

  Swallowing was suddenly difficult. Her tongue felt thick in her mouth, unwilling to articulate. She managed a breath. “Brandon’s had some awful news.” She slipped an arm around Darrel. “He had cancer a while back, and he learned last night that he has it again. He has to have a lot of treatments.”

  “Is he going to die?” Darrel’s voice quavered, and he looked younger than he had a few minutes ago.

  “We won’t know for months.”

  “But you were acting weird before today, and he made you cry last week! You haven’t seen him for years, and suddenly he’s come back and making you upset. Is it because of me?” He paused before adding in a smaller voice, “Am I adopted?” He stepped back from her arm as he spoke, pressing up against the wall by Wayne’s bed.

  Wayne shifted in the bed, grimacing with pain from his incision. “Mercedes.” She looked at him, and he nodded again, his intent clear.

  It was time to tell the truth. All of it. But only if she wanted. Wayne was still leaving it up to her.

  The moment of truth.

  After all Brandon had done for them. He had owed them, maybe, but that didn’t mean they were even. There was no such thing as even in the world of parenthood and love.

  She held out a hand to Darrel. “You’ve seen the pictures of me expecting you, so don’t worry about that. But there is something more. Something it might be time to talk about. Come here, son. I promise you. Everything will be okay. Remember that more than anything, your father and I love you. We will always love you, and we will always be a family.”

  Darrel came into her arms, his face trusting. “I love you, too, Momma.”

  Chapter 25

  Diary of Mercedes Walker Johnson

  December 16, 2007

  Darrel is twelve today. Such a wonderful son and a good example to his brothers. I couldn’t ask for more. Yet sometimes I worry about the past, and I start to feel afrai
d. Afraid for Darrel, and for Wayne, and for myself. I have a feeling something is going to happen that will change our lives. Please let me be wrong! Still, I must trust that God has a plan.

  Brandon was sitting in the doctors’ lounge when his phone rang. He felt guilty as he thought about Darrel and his talk about cell phones and was glad that it hadn’t rung in his son’s presence, but he should be far enough away from the patient rooms now that it wouldn’t matter.

  The call was from his parents. “We should be landing shortly,” his mother said. “Are you all right?”

  “I’m fine. You don’t need to be here.”

  “Of course we do, though I still don’t understand why you won’t come home to Boston.”

  “Mom, please.”

  “Oh, honey, I’m so sorry. I know it’s a bad time for you.” She began sobbing, and Brandon felt horrible. Why had he allowed Dustbottom to call them? He might have spared his mother the pain if he’d simply flown to California and started treatments. Then again, he was their only child, and they deserved to know what was happening. They might not have much time left together.

  He tried to shake the thoughts away, but they refused to leave. The cancer was multiplying as he talked. Every minute he was closer to death.

  Yet he still didn’t want to leave Wyoming. Or Darrel.

  “I told Hannah.” His mother had regained control. “She wants to talk with you.”

  “I wish you hadn’t done that, Mom.”

  “Why not? She still loves you. If you’d only tell her how you feel about her, she would like to help you through this.”

  I’m not going to make it through this. He couldn’t say that aloud, not to his mother. Instead, he said, “I’m thinking about moving to Wyoming. It’s peaceful here.”

  “You won’t consider coming home?”

  Of course she wouldn’t see what was in Wyoming, but even a short, sideline view of his son’s life would be better than an almost nonexistent relationship through e-mail and phone calls. Darrel wouldn’t know who he was, but they could be friends. A sliver of bitterness cut through the numbness that had fallen over him since last night. If only he could tell his parents about Darrel. Then they would have something to hold onto after he was gone.

  After he was gone?

  Brandon wouldn’t be half the doctor he was if he didn’t recognize the defeat within himself. He wasn’t giving in. He was giving up. In his patients, this defeat usually signaled impending death. But what did it matter, really? He had chosen the right thing for Darrel . . . and for Mercedes. Not that he’d had any choice with her.

  He closed his eyes and tried to refocus on the conversation with his mother. “Should I pick you up?”

  “No, your father wants to rent a car. We have the address of the bed and breakfast. We’ll meet you there.”

  “I’m at the hospital.”

  “What?”

  “Not for me. I operated on a patient a few days ago. He awoke from a coma this morning, and I need to run some follow-up tests.”

  “Can’t anyone else do that? Honey, you should be resting.”

  “I am. I’m sitting down right now. Don’t worry. Someone has taken over the patient. I just wanted to check a few last things myself. Look, I have to go now. Cell phones aren’t really allowed in the hospital. Call me when you leave the airport. Love you, Mom. Good-bye.” He turned off his phone and stared at the wall. Hannah knew about his illness. What did she think? Probably nothing. Well, he hoped she’d be happy married to this teacher.

  Wait a minute. Who was he kidding? He hated the idea of her being married to someone else. But neither would he resign her to what seemed an impossible battle against cancer, even if she was, as his mother indicated, willing to try again. He let his head drop in his hands, feeling the sting of tears. He didn’t want to die, but there didn’t seem to be much point in living either.

  “Excuse me, doctor.”

  He looked up to see a nurse in the doorway. She had frizzled gray hair that didn’t match her round, soft face.

  “Are you Dr. Rhodes?”

  “Yes.”

  “There’s a woman and boy looking for you. We paged you, but no one answered. One of the other nurses thought you might be here sleeping. I wouldn’t have disturbed you, but they said it’s important.”

  “That’s okay.” The woman and child had to be Mercedes and Darrel. He’d left them only two or three hours ago—had something happened to Wayne? Maybe he shouldn’t have left things to Dr. Shubacker. “Where are they?”

  “Just down the hall by the nurses’ station.”

  “Thanks.” Brandon’s exhaustion vanished as he hurried from the lounge. He saw Mercedes and Darrel before they saw him. Mercedes’ beauty was marred by swollen eyes and lines of exhaustion. She stood with a resoluteness he had not noticed before, one arm protectively draped around Darrel’s shoulder, the other clutching a ridiculously large bundle in a black plastic garbage bag. The boy’s eyes were open and eager as he watched the activity around him. Brandon imagined him cataloguing each action in that marvelous brain of his. Would this past week inspire him to be a doctor? Brandon imagined he’d be a good one—with those small, strong hands and keen intellect. Brandon would love to teach him, if the cancer didn’t take him first.

  Mercedes looked in his direction. The stiffening of her body signaled his presence to Darrel. The child’s eyes turned to him, staring, searching. What did I do? Brandon wondered.

  “Thanks for coming,” Mercedes said as he approached.

  “Is Wayne all right?”

  “It’s not that.” She glanced at the three nurses who were busy at the desk but obviously within hearing range. “Is there somewhere private we could go?”

  “There’s a room down there. Not in use.” He tried to read in her face what she might want from him, but the black eyes were fathomless. By contrast, Darrel’s stare was full of eager curiosity.

  When they reached the room, Mercedes faced him, looking vulnerable and uncomfortable in the light streaming in through the curtain. She’d have looked much more at home in her garden or riding her horse, but this backdrop didn’t flatter her in the least. She was right, he thought. She no longer belongs in my world.

  “We told Darrel,” she said simply.

  Brandon’s breath stopped in his throat. He tried to speak, but not a sound emerged. So many questions tumbled through his mind, but none he could vocalize.

  Mercedes shifted uneasily. “I was wrong. If things don’t go well . . .” She faltered and then began again. “What I mean is, you two should get to know one another.”

  Darrel dropped his gaze to the ground, suddenly shy. That’s when the reality sank in for Brandon. His son knew!

  Brandon put a hand on Darrel’s shoulder, a place that felt so right it made him want to weep. The boy looked up into his eyes. There was uncertainty there beneath the curiosity—and more than a little fear. “Darrel,” Brandon said, “two months ago, I didn’t even know you existed”—somehow it was important to him that Darrel hear it from him—“but when I did learn about you, it was the best day of my life. More than anything, I want to be a part of your life in any way that’s comfortable for you.” He thought of how Darrel had run to his uncle for support in the waiting room. Perhaps one day, Darrel would feel a similar trust in Brandon.

  “You won’t try to take me away from my parents?” Darrel glanced at Mercedes quickly and then back again. “Or the farm?”

  “Never. I give you my solemn promise.” He managed a grin. “I think you have it pretty good where you are. But you know, you’ll have to go away to college when you’re older.” It was the right thing to say; he could see it in Darrel’s eyes, in his shy smile.

  “Well, of course, I have to go to college. Momma would kill me if I didn’t.”

  “So let’s try to be friends first, okay?”

  “I can handle that.” Darrel nodded with more of his usual confidence.

  Brandon felt a rush of love that
exceeded every vision he’d had of this moment. His eyes found Mercedes, who was staring at them, tears in her eyes. “Do you want to go out to lunch?” he asked. “I know it’s a bit early, but I bet you haven’t eaten, and boys always have an appetite.”

  She shook her head. “I need to get back to Wayne. You two go ahead. Bring him back here when you’re finished.” They stared at each other for a moment over Darrel’s head, two parents joined for the welfare of their son, and then, with a whisper of encouragement and a kiss to Darrel’s forehead, she walked to the door. “About Hannah,” she said, hesitating in the hall. “I think you should try again. But do me a favor and don’t write it in a letter. Okay?”

  He stared. Why would she bring up Hannah? Why was everyone always bringing up Hannah? Unless he’d done it again—realizing too late what he had right before him. Hadn’t he only moments before been filled with regrets about his ex-wife? Maybe everyone was right. Maybe it wasn’t too late.

  “I won’t write a letter,” he promised.

  “Momma, the quilt,” Darrel said.

  “I almost forgot.” Mercedes opened the garbage bag and pulled a smaller white bag from it before handing the black one to him. “I started this for you all those years ago. I finally finished it.”

  He pulled out a quilt that seemed vaguely familiar. Had he seen her working on this at the river? Or had it been stretched out in the living room at her house?

  His throat felt tight at the hours of work it represented. “Thank you, Mercedes. It’s very nice.” Whenever he needed to, he’d curl up in that blanket and feel her encouragement—and her faith in his ability to be good for Darrel.

  With a nod and a smile, Mercedes was gone. Back to where she belonged.

  Brandon stood awkwardly, feeling uncertain. For so long he’d waited for the miracle of this moment, and now he was at a loss. Darrel gazed at him, waiting for a cue. How did they begin their new relationship?

  Then he remembered his parents, and his heart choked with the reality of their love and the good news he would finally have for them. Right now he could use the buffer of their company as he and Darrel became accustomed to their new relationship.