The Gingerbread Boy (35 page)

His mother shook her head and wiped at a tear.

“Mom, how about you?”

“I’ll be all right. Do
not
worry about me.”

Daniel eyed her. “There’s this man,” he began carefully, “Benjamin Geller, from the ALS Association. You’ve met him…”

His mother looked at him. “Yes. I know him.”

“He pulled me aside after the last meeting. He wanted to know if it would be all right with me if he asked you out for dinner.”

His mother rolled her eyes and her shoulders slumped.

Daniel persisted. “He seems to be a kind man. He lost his wife to ALS four years ago, so he’d understand what you’re going through. And he’s quite handsome,” Daniel added, with a little grin. “Maybe not as handsome as dad was but he’s a… a babe, as they say.”

“Goodness, Daniel! What is in your mind, anyway? That man has to be ten years younger than me.”

“Even better. You look ten years younger than you are.”

“Don’t be silly.”

Daniel pulled himself upright again. The effort was clumsy, and he knew his mother noticed.

“It’s not silly. You need some companionship. Dad’s been gone for years. It’s time, mom.”

His mother shook her head. She stared at her hands folded in her lap, and remained silent.

“Promise me you’ll think about it? Please?” Daniel put his arm around her waist once again. “For me?”

At last, his mother sighed. She turned to her son and smiled weakly. “Now, how can I turn down my son’s request? I’d never hear the end of it.”

Daniel kissed her cheek. “Thank you.”

“But I still think you should do the same thing for yourself. Call Catherine. Or write to her — anything.”

Daniel lowered his head. “Someday. Someday, I promise.”

Chapter Thirty-Seven

She’d never done anything like this before.

Here she was, sitting in a rental car in Maryland, her hands clutching the steering wheel so tightly a hurricane couldn’t have ripped her away. Here she was, trying to discreetly stare at a white-pillared mansion, which a strange old lady had willed to Catherine, hoping to catch a look,
just a glimpse, of the woman Daniel loved.

Here she was. Being deceitful.

Sneaking behind her son’s back, taking a one-day, round trip to Maryland while he was spending the day with Joey and thinking she was taking a short getaway trip to a relative’s home.

What was becoming of her?

Mrs. LaMont’s eyes swelled in tears. She knew what would become of Daniel. Knew only too well. One day, soon, if his condition continued to deteriorate at the speed it’d been in the past few months, Daniel would lose his voice. Her wonderful, gifted son, the musician with the haunting, elastic voice, would barely be able to grunt out a sentence. Next, he’d have a difficult time swallowing. He’d choke and gag, and they’d have to resort to soft foods, baby foods. Maybe even a feeding tube.

And then…
Daniel would begin to have difficulty breathing.

Mrs. LaMont choked back a sob and raised one of her stiffened arms and buried her face in her hand. Daniel said he’d refuse a ventilator. Didn’t want a machine keeping him alive. It’s what Benjamin Geller’s wife had wanted, too. Ben said she’d only lasted a few weeks after that point.

“Lynell,” he’d said, “it will be the most difficult thing you’ve ever gone through. This is a monstrous disease. But I’ll help you through it. And I’ll help Daniel through it, too. He’s a wonderful man. He’s got a mysterious inner peace about this that’s almost impossible to understand. I wish I’d known him longer.”

Bless him for saying that, for being her friend.

But even Benjamin didn’t know she’d taken a secret flight to Baltimore today and betrayed her only son. Why did she want Catherine to know the truth about Daniel’s illness so badly? Was it a selfish thing? Wanting to know what her future daughter-in-law would have been like, what kind of foods she enjoyed, what her favorite book was, her favorite color? To learn of her dreams? Her fears?

One more person to share memories of Daniel with?

Was that so bad?

Of course, she’d have to explain to Catherine that Daniel didn’t want her to know of his illness. She’d be truthful about that. She hated herself for thinking it, but she rather hoped Catherine would be less forthcoming of how to tell Daniel she’d found out about his illness, though. By accident, possibly? By bumping into one of his former band members someplace and him spilling it out. Or perhaps she’d run into the realtor who sold Daniel’s house. Or maybe she’d heard it from an over-zealous fan who’d spied on Daniel and learned the truth.

Maybe Catherine would be zealous enough to do a little spying herself.

Mrs. LaMont sighed. What was becoming of her mind? Anyway, from what she’d learned about Catherine from Daniel, and how badly he’d hurt her, Catherine would let him go with dignity. She’d move on. She had good friends and a career, and she’d understand that a rock and roll boyfriend would never have fit into her life anyway. She’d realize all of that one day. Mrs. LaMont’s hands balled involuntarily into fists. Catherine mustn’t hate her son!

Then her eyes rested on a photograph on the seat next to her. A few shots Joey had taken some time ago of Catherine and her friend Joanne hamming it up in the studio. He’d only just printed them a few days ago. Catherine, with her big, lovely eyes and smile, playfully choking the cute, plump-faced Joanne with an arm crooked around her neck. Mrs. LaMont wondered what the joke had been. She’d probably never know. She also wished Joey had taken a photo of Catherine and Daniel together, but for some reason, he never had.

Could that have been some kind of an omen?

Suddenly, the sound of voices across the street jolted her from her thoughts. Mrs. LaMont’s heart leaped as she saw Catherine, Daniel’s Catherine, and Joanne come out of the front door, laughing, and trot down the steps to the rather beat-up
car
in the driveway. It struck Mrs. LaMont as funny; Catherine now had all of this money, and she still drove such a beat-up car.

Just like Daniel and his old buddy, Bruiser.

Of course, she realized, Catherine could have a sleek new Corvette lurking somewhere nearby. Daniel once had. But sometimes old friends, even mechanical ones, were the fondest.

Then, suddenly, the girls were in the car, slamming the doors. Joanne had to slam her door two or three times, as it seemed to pop open a little bit.

Mrs. LaMont had to move, had to get their attention,
talk to them before it was too late! But as their car’s engine started and Mrs. LaMont’s heart rose into her throat, her legs would not move. Not budge an inch. What was this? Gasping, Mrs. LaMont pushed at her legs with her hands, and she jerked her own door open, trying to physically push herself out.

Too late! The
car
was backing into the street.

“Don’t leave,” Mrs. LaMont cried, but her voice came out as a croak. The girls put the car in gear, not more than twenty or thirty feet from her, and sped off on some mission without ever noticing the panicking woman struggling to get out of her vehicle.

Mrs. LaMont sagged back in her seat and stared emptily ahead.

She’d missed her chance. The girls could return at any time, but maybe they’d be gone for hours, too. And she had a plane to catch before long.

Was this how it was meant to be? Had she been divinely stopped from betraying her son?

A calm resignation settled over her mind.

And then, a moment later, she saw a different vehicle, a green jeep, spin into the driveway. Mrs. LaMont sat up a little straighter. Her heart thumped as a tall man with a shaggy beard and oversized plaid shirt got out of the car and trotted up the steps to the house.
Handyman? Salesman?

No too rough for a salesman.

And then, to her astonishment, the young man pulled a key out of his pocket and let himself into the front door of the house as if he belonged there.

What?

Who was this young man who was allowed to enter Catherine’s house so easily?

An ugly thought scratched Mrs. LaMont’s mind, a thought too intolerable to bring forward and focus on, yet its unpleasant nature lingered.
Had Daniel been replaced already?

No,
wait. Joanne lived there too! Maybe he was a friend of hers.

So, had Joanne replaced Joey so soon?

Their relationship had never seemed as solid as Daniel and Catherine’s, and, according to Joey, was more of a great friendship. A way for all four to remain close and connected. Still…

Without conscious thought, Mrs. LaMont opened her door and, finding her legs suddenly working just fine, scooted out of the car and hurried across the road. It wasn’t until she was walking up the steps
that
her legs
grew
rubbery. She felt small and insignificant as the mansion stretched above her. On closer inspection, though, the pillars, big around as small oaks, were cracked and peeling. The home needed repair. Maybe the man really
was
a handyman. Painter, electrician, plumber, but a plumber with a key?

She would find out, somehow. She lifted her hand and rapped on the sturdy oak door, having no idea of what she would say or how to present herself. Right now, she wasn’t exactly sure of who she was herself.

The door opened, and Mrs. LaMont held her breath.

It was the man in the flannel. His face had a rough edge to it, like he’d seen more than his fair share of hardships, but his eyes were kind.

“May I help you?” he asked.

Unplanned words tumbled out of Mrs. LaMont’s mouth.

“I believe so. I’m looking for Catherine Sealey.”

“She’s not home right now,” he replied, but she should be back this evening. Could I take a message?”

“Well, ah am I speaking with the head of the household, her husband?”

He tilted his head back and laughed.” Not exactly,” he said, “although we are related.”

She gave him a confused look.

“I’m her brother, Tony.”

Mrs. LaMont’s jaw fell.
So that was it!
“I didn’t realize she had a brother.”

“I’m kind of a long-lost brother,” he said. “The prodigal brother, of sorts. But I’m sure she’d trust me to relay a message.”

Mrs. LaMont’s mind whirled. What should she do? Daniel had never mentioned Catherine had a brother. She’d gotten the impression Catherine was an only child. She’d have to ask Daniel about it, if she could do so without revealing the
way
she’d found out Tony existed. Or,
she wondered, maybe it would be more comforting for Daniel to know Catherine had family close by at this point in her life, and she
should
tell him of this little trip.

“Are you all right, ma’am?” Tony asked.

“I’m fine,” she said, recovering from her stupor. “It’s not important. Maybe I’ll catch up with Catherine another time.”

“Are you sure?”

She waved a hand at him. “Yes. I don’t even know her.”

He raised an eyebrow, and sighed. “You must be a salesman.”

She looked at him oddly.

“You don’t seem to know much about her except that she lives in this big old house. We’re getting used to you folks, though. Pretty soon we’re going to be afraid to come to the door anymore.”

“But…” Mrs. LaMont began, then stopped her protest. Maybe it was better this way, to let him believe such a thing. She wasn’t supposed to be here at all, and the fact that she
was
here grieved her all of a sudden.

What had she been thinking?

Flustered, she quickly said, “I’m not too good at this type of thing. I’m sorry to have bothered you.”

He nodded, and shut the door.

It was over.

Mrs. LaMont walked back to her car, shaken yet somehow relieved at how this even had unfolded, eager to return home to her son.

Chapter Thirty-Eight

Catherine’s stomach coiled as she drove slowly through town. Daniel’s town.

“This town is on my way back to school,” she muttered to herself, “No one would think twice of my stopping by to give Daniel’s scarf back to his mother. I’ll just stay a moment, then leave.” She glanced around the lovely city with its spreading maple trees and turn of the century houses, continuing to try and convince herself this little detour was no big deal.

Of course, Daniel wouldn’t be there. He was probably carrying on with Beth someplace, or sitting on a mountaintop in Peru, still contemplating his identity. She no longer cared. Well, not that much. The mountaintop thought actually made Catherine breathe easier. But she still felt queasy inside, remembering how she had nearly driven off the road with Daniel in Maryland, and how he’d reached over to grab the wheel to rescue them and teased her about putting the rental car’s engine in a lawnmower.

She glanced over to the passenger seat. No soft-spoken gentleman there now, nor would there ever be again.

She wheeled over to the side of the road as a quiet despair swelled inside of her. She’d thought she was over this. She’d told Joanne and Tony she could do this herself. But she’d never felt more abandoned. She fought against the stinging in her eyes. So many wasted tears in the last year.

But now, as the shade from a solemn old tree receded from her car, the glass of a dilapidated old phone booth suddenly glittered in the sun. A phone booth? She picked the scarf off her lap and twisted it in her hand. What would his mother want with a ratty old scarf, anyway? If it had been that sentimental to Daniel, he would have asked for it back himself
.
Maybe it was only sentimental to her.