Gail Gaymer Martin - A Dream of His Own

“He turned fifteen a few weeks ago.”

His lungs drained of air. His son had been fifteen when he died—full of life, strong and ready to tackle the world and often his father. The trait had grinded Quinn, and his own determination grew to show Sean who was boss. He’d done it the day Sean and Lydia died in the horrendous car crash when a drunk driver hit them head-on.

The day burst into his mind. Tired of jumping to Sean’s every whim, he’d said no to his nagging about taking him out to practice driving. The new learner’s permit burned in Sean’s hand. Despite his son’s insistence, he’d refused, but Lydia determined if he wouldn’t take Sean for a driving lesson, she would. He didn’t stop her. The old ache knifed his chest. If he’d given in and gone with Sean that day, the accident may have been avoided. He would have been quicker to grab the wheel than Lydia. She rarely drove.

His lawyer insisted on suing, and they’d won, but the money meant nothing to him. It couldn’t buy back his wife and son. It couldn’t fill his empty heart. It couldn’t replace everything that was precious. That’s when he realized that his business, his wealth, his success meant nothing at all. He’d cursed God. A God who promised to be faithful. A God who assured His children He heard their prayers. For so long those empty promises controlled his life. But time healed even the deepest wound, and he’d made restitution with the Lord, clawing his way up from darkness into the light of faith. He would never have survived without it.

Quinn’s thoughts cleared, and he noticed Ava looking at him. How long had he been silent? “Fifteen. They can be difficult at that age.”

She studied him a moment as if curious about his silence. “You must have experience with teens.”

Her comment tore into his heart, and he couldn’t speak.

But it didn’t seem to matter. For her, talking seemed more urgent. “Teens get to a certain age, and they think they know everything. I’m sure you’ve experienced that?”

“Teens are teens.” He didn’t want to encourage the line of conversation. As Ava studied him, his skin crawled.

Then she fell silent for a moment. But after taking a lengthy breath, she turned to him again. “Brandon has Hodgkin’s lymphoma.”

A knife ripped him again. Though he wanted to say something kind or wise, he couldn’t find the words.

Yet her voice brightened. “But he’s in remission. I’m so grateful.”

She waited for his response, but he still couldn’t go there. His own loss weighted his mind. Finally he managed a “that’s great.” But not wanting to continue the conversation, he did the next best thing. He tried to lighten his tone. “So you purchased washers, O-rings and a wrench at the hardware.” It wasn’t exactly a question, but he wanted an answer.

“Of all things, my kitchen faucet leaks.” She offered a fleeting grin that sent his pulse skittering. “I plan to fix it myself.”

His heart rate escalated as her smile lines deepened. “You’ll fix it?” Grateful for the new topic, his mind wrapped around a dimple flickering in her cheek. He tried to picture her repairing the leak. His only involvement in repairing a faucet had consisted of paying the plumber.

Her brows lifted. “I read articles on how to do plumbing repairs on the internet. It’s not hard, and it saves money.”

Hearing her reference awakened his regret. He had more money than he needed. She had to tighten her finances while dealing with a seriously ill son. Her courage amazed him.

Quinn studied her profile, his gaze lingering on her ear decorated with a small jeweled earring, the stone the color of a leaf budding in spring. She wore her hair short but with a slight wave curving at her neck. On the left side, she tucked the strands behind her ear.

As his thoughts sank in, Quinn cringed and glanced away. He needed to get a grip. Why would he feel so much concern for a woman he’d only met an hour ago? His emotional reaction irritated him. Yet unable to control his thoughts, he let his gaze drift back to Ava. Proud, strong and capable seemed a good description. A grin played on his lips. He could never picture Lydia shopping at a hardware store and fixing a faucet.

Her eyebrow arched as if she’d noticed his half grin. “You think women can’t do plumbing?”

He was the one who couldn’t. “No. I think some women can do anything they set their mind to.”

“You have more faith in me than I have, but I’m going to do my best.”

His stomach churned as he witnessed her brave admission. “I’m only a novice, but could I help?”

Her head jerked upward with question.

“Maybe I could give you a hand…that is, if you run into problems.” Air streamed from his lungs as he faced the dumbest suggestion he’d ever made. What did he know about plumbing? He shrank into a chair. “I’ll give you my phone number, and you can give me a call.” And he could contact a plumber. His shoulders relaxed.

“Thanks. You’re too kind.”

“Ms. Darnell?”

Quinn’s attention shot to the doorway.

Randy strode forward. “I’ll need your car keys.”

She grasped her handbag and dug out a small ring of keys. “Here you are.”

When she dropped them into his hand, Randy turned to him. “I might as well take yours, too.”

Quinn pulled the keys from his pocket, and Randy vanished through the garage doorway with the sets of keys as Quinn sank back into the chair wishing he had a magazine or anything that would stop him from offering to do plumbing and feeling his pulse skip each time Ava looked at him. He stretched his legs in front of him, folding his arms over his chest and closing his eyes. Maybe if he concentrated he could get a grip on his wayward emotions. Sean and the accident surged in his mind and was only distracted by the image of the attractive woman beside him, saddled with too many problems.

He remained silent, trying to ignore the waves of Ava’s presence. When she shifted in the chair, her arm brushed his and the hairs on his arms rose. His eyes jerked open. “Sorry about the long wait.”

“It’s not your fault.” She shrugged. “I wish I’d brought in the magazine I picked up at the hardware store. It’s on home decor.”

Quinn pictured the outside of his once lovely home that needed trim work, and the inside rooms as drab and colorless just as his life had been.

“I love decorating. That would have been a great career for me.” The comment sounded as if she was speaking to herself.

His mind ticked with ideas while his heart stretched beyond his belief. He was drawn to this woman in a strange and unexpected way—somewhere between esteem and curiosity. She was different and admirable.

He opened his mouth to speak, but she’d sunk into thought again, and if he allowed it, he’d never learn more about her. “Why didn’t you pursue a career in home decorating?”

She turned her head and looked out the window with a shrug. “I married young. My husband had a good job and preferred my staying home.”

“So that ended your dream.”

Her head swivelled toward him. “I put my energy into my home. I made it my own little showplace.”

Pride rose on her face, and he realized she hadn’t appreciated his comment. “That’s a good use of talent.”

Her expression changed. “Thank you, but then you haven’t seen my home.” Her tone softened. “It’s a little worse for wear without the income…the time to keep it up, but I do my best. Most things fall on my shoulders at home. I’m a widow. My husband died a few years ago—five years actually—when Brandon was ten.” She drifted away for a moment. “Coronary thrombosis right before my eyes. I asked him if he’d like a cup of coffee, and he said yes. Before I turned my back, he was gone.”