“We’ll just take it nice and slow,” she smiled, squeezing his arm before getting in the van.
She wasn’t kidding about the nice and slow part. Eight hours later they’d barely made it a little past Tucson. He had a week to get back to the base. At this rate, it was going to take them twice that long.
As the clerk at the hotel they’d be staying at for the night looked up the room, Brandon leaned against the counter. “Maybe I should rent that trailer, Ma.”
“Don’t be silly. I’m fine.”
Brandon shook his head. “It’s not that. I think it would speed up the trip. I only have until Monday to report back. At the rate we’re going, it’ll be at least Thursday before we get there.”
“You think so?” His mother frowned. “We had a bad start today. Tomorrow we’ll get up super early and see how far we get. If you still think we have to by the end of the night, we can rent one.”
Exhaling, he gave in with a nod. After getting their things in their room, they left again to grab something to eat. During dinner, his mother told him about his father’s last dying wish. “Aside from the hope that someday you’d forgive him, he wanted grandchildren.”
Chuckling humorously, Brandon shook his head as he scooped up a spoonful of mashed potatoes and ate them. He wouldn’t say it because he was determined to leave that darkness behind him. Saying that was a joke, considering what a rotten father his dad had been his whole life, would definitely darken the mood. His father had taught him nothing about being a man much less a father. While he’d be eternally grateful to his superiors in the Marines who had showed him what honor and integrity were and had turned him into the man he was now, it wasn’t enough, not enough to erase the only example of a father he’d ever had. It didn’t take away that his father’s blood ran through his veins and the fact that he may very well turn into him someday.
“He said he knows you never really got to experience what a bond between a father and a child should really be, so he wants you to experience it with your own child.”
Fighting the bitterness he felt over that statement, he almost gave in to retorting like he wanted to. “Yeah, well just ’cause he fu—”He cleared his throat, taking a deep breath, and decided to start over instead. “I don’t think that’ll happen, but—”
“Why not?” His mother touched his hand and smiled weakly. “I’d love grandchildren too. And honey,” she paused until he’d look her in the eyes, “despite what you remember of your father, he did have a heart. I know it’s very hard for you to understand why he was the way he was. He had so many personal demons he was fighting, but he did love you. I know what you’re thinking, Brandon.” She squeezed his arm. “You are not your father. No matter how bad things got, you were always such a loving little boy, so mindful and sweet. Remember how you used to tend to me when I wasn’t well?”
Her eyes dropped in pain, and Brandon knew why. He squeezed his hand into a fist. All those times he’d tended to her weren’t because she wasn’t well. Most of those times, she was hurt—injured because of his ass**le dad. As if she’d read his mind, she looked up and patted his arm.
“Regardless of why you were tending to me, Brandon, whether it was because I was banged up or was nursing a cold, you were still so attentive and looked after me so thoroughly. Do you remember how you used to bring me flowers from the backyard every time?”
Brandon gnashed his teeth. He couldn’t even look at her now. Yes, he remembered, so he nodded but said nothing.
“Look at me right now, Brandon,” she said.
He didn’t want to, but he finally did. His mother wasn’t that old, but those eyes had lived through so much they were worn and tired beyond her years. Lowering her hand, she undid his tightened fist and slid her hand into his then looked up at him again. “Your father never did any of that. He didn’t feel things like you did. I want you to remember that always. You have a wonderful heart capable of loving and feeling the things he never could admit he did. You’ll make a wonderful husband and daddy. I know it.”
Swallowing hard, Brandon looked away from her hopeful eyes and moved his food around on his plate. As much as he’d like to believe that, he just couldn’t. Even though he’d hated his father for so many years for being so cold and having such an impenetrable exterior, a part of Brandon knew he was a lot like his father. He hadn’t shed a tear when the man died, and something told him he never would again. It’s why he wanted to start all over. He didn’t want to become his father, but he knew he’d never change enough, and he wouldn’t put another human being through what his father had put him and his mother through. But for the sake of avoiding the deep shit he had no intention of getting into on this trip, he shook his head.
“I don’t think it’s in the cards for me, Ma.” He shrugged. “I’d just as soon concentrate on my career in the Marines—the only thing I’ve ever been good at. Everything else in my life so far . . .” He shook his head, swallowing in the bitterness. “Having my own family is not something I anticipate ever happening.”
His mom was silent for few moments before picking up her water glass and drinking. “I think Shakespeare said it best when he said, ‘What’s past is prologue.’”
Brandon didn’t look at her. Growing up reading books and poetry had been his escape. He’d read enough Shakespeare to know what that meant, but it didn’t apply to his past. His was too f**ked up.