And like a fool, he'd been ridiculously relieved at the notion. Yet he didn't miss the irony that Annabelle apparently talked in depth to his mother, a woman who'd never bothered to talk much to him at all.
Vaughn studied Estelle, really seeing her for the first time. She seemed more subdued, less uptight and arrogant than usual. What had caused the change, he didn't know but something made him step back and gesture for her to come inside.
Feeling awkward-he couldn't remember having breakfast with her as a teenager-he poured two glasses of orange juice, the only drink left in the house since Annabe
lle had never made it to the store. Then he sat down across from his mother.
"The fire changed a lot of things," Estelle said at last.
Vaughn raised an eyebrow but didn't reply.
"We-and I do mean we-panicked. Your father and I couldn't reach you by phone. He drove up to the lodge but you weren't there, either. At that point the firemen didn't know if you had been inside." She spoke, her voice low and subdued.
"I wasn't in town. Annabelle's firm threw a party and I was in Manhattan."
His mother nodded. "Annabelle told me. And I realized I didn't even have your cell phone number. What kind of mother am I?" She didn't meet his gaze.
Vaughn didn't know how to answer her question. "We don't understand each other, that much is a fact. And I'm not sure you ever bothered to try. Or to accept that I wasn't the kind of son you wanted."
The words burned the back of his throat but he forced himself to say them anyway. Not with hatred or anger this time, but as a means of baring his soul and maybe cleansing himself of the bad feelings he'd harbored for so long.
"That's all true,” she admitted, shocking him. "Your father had dedicated his life to academia and I'd dedicated my life to him. An athlete wasn't… didn't-"
"Fit into your plans," he finished for her. "Neither did a kid with a learning disability, but that's what I had. That's who I was," he continued, his voice rising as he spoke. "It's not a goddamn choice I made to make your lives more difficult." He slammed his hand against the tabletop and started to rise.
Then catching sight of his mother's glassy eyes and hearing Annabelle's voice in his head saying, give her a chance, he forced himself to remain seated.
"I was wrong," Estelle said. "We were wrong. We didn't know any better. I'm not making excuses, Brandon. Your father was raised that way by his father before him and you've seen where my parents came from. I was lucky to get out and not end up washing someone's toilets for a living like my mother did." She reached for a napkin and blotted her eyes. "But as I said, we were wrong and you paid the price. So did we, missing out on celebrating all your achievements and accomplishments because we had tunnel vision."
He pressed a hand to his pounding temples. "I don't suppose I made it any easier," he admitted. He'd been a pain-in-the-ass kid from the moment he'd realized he didn't understand school and never would.
Amazingly she laughed. "No, you didn't. But it wasn't your job to make our lives easier. It was ours to be more accepting. Now I'm not saying peace can come overnight or that we can all just wave a wand and forget the past and our differences, but I was hoping maybe we could try. You know, make a start toward trying to be a family."
Damn, but he just didn't know. Old habits were hard to break. Old resentments even harder.
"I don't know where to go from here," he admitted.
"I'm just glad we made a start." Rising, she offered him a tentative smile. "I'm glad I took Annabelle's advice."
Her words caught him up short. "What advice?"
Estelle shook her head. "Nothing specific. Just some words on how to bridge the gap between us. She's a very special woman, Brandon."
They hadn't discussed girls when he lived at home and he felt ridiculous starting now. Especially since he'd let this particular special woman walk out of his life without a word from him to try and stop her.
He started to lead Estelle to the door when he paused by the kitchen counter and scribbled on a sheet of notepaper.
"Before you go," he said, feeling more off-kilter than he could ever remember. "Take this."
She accepted the paper and looked at him questioningly.
"It's my cell phone number."
Her look of gratitude said it all.
THREE DAYS AFTER leaving Vaughn behind, Annabelle sat in her office sorting through a stack of messages and piles of important documents. For an hour, she tried to concentrate but thoughts of Vaughn and their time together continued to intrude. Missing him was enough to distract her but the thumping that had started from her uncle's office next door was driving her insane.
The entire atmosphere here had changed because, true to her word, Lola had packed up and gone, leaving The Hot Zone in the hands of temporary help. There never would be a good time for Lola to quit and without her presence, the office felt vacant and empty. At her desk sat the third temp in as many days. Competent or not, each woman had quit after one of Uncle Yank's yelling tantrums.