The Color of a Dream (4 page)

“You should show it to me now,” he said,
“before I go to Mom and Dad’s. I can’t believe my baby brother’s
all grown up.”

He teasingly messed my hair as we stepped
onto the escalator. I elbowed him in the ribs.

“Fine,” I said, “but you’ll have to take a
cab unless you want to hop on the back of my bike with your
suitcase. Or you could walk. It’s only a mile or two.”

“You ride a bike to work?” Rick asked, his
head drawing back slightly.

“Yeah. Saves on gas. And car payments.”

I walked with him to where the taxis were
lined up outside, gave my address to one of the drivers, then told
Rick that I’d meet him at my place in a few minutes. I fetched my
bike, hopped on and managed to peddle fast enough to beat him to my
front door.

* * *

“It’s a great spot,” Rick said after I gave
him a two-minute tour of my apartment, “if you don’t mind airplanes
landing in your front yard. Geez, how do you sleep through
that?”

“I hardly notice,” I told him. “And Bentley
doesn’t seem to mind it.”

Rick glanced around skeptically. “I don’t
know. I don’t think I could take it.” He flopped onto his back on
my sofa and crossed his legs at the ankles. “It’s great to be here,
though. We should go do something.”

“Like what?” This was a new development: my
brother wanting to spend time with me in a public place. I couldn’t
remember a single instance when he didn’t resent being forced by
Mom and Dad to let me tag along with him somewhere.

“I don’t know,” he said. “I’m starving. They
didn’t serve anything on the plane except for pretzels. We should
get some lunch.”

“Sure,” I replied, “but if you want to go
downtown we’ll have to take the bus.”

“No problem,” he said, rising to his feet.
“Let’s go.”

* * *

Rick and I enjoyed a late lunch with a few
beers at a downtown pub, and before I realized what I was saying, I
was telling him about my plans to look into flight school.

“Makes sense,” he said, raising his beer to
his lips and taking a sip. “You were always into rockets and planes
when you were a kid. What do Mom and Dad think?”

I glanced at the waitress loading up her
tray at the bar. “I haven’t mentioned it to them.”

“Why not?”

“Because we don’t talk much,” I replied,
“and even if we did, I don’t think I could stomach giving Dad that
much satisfaction. He might think I was doing it just to make him
happy.”

Rick laughed. “Well, that wouldn’t do,
because we all know how much you enjoy being a total
disappointment.”

I shook my head at him, choosing not to
argue because we both knew it was true, to some extent.
Nevertheless, I didn’t appreciate that he felt compelled to point
it out.

“I’m only joking.” Rick signaled to the
waitress to bring him another beer.

I finished the last of my salad, wiped my
mouth with the napkin and laid it on the table. “Wonder what
they’ll think of Angela when they meet her.”

“They haven’t met her yet?” Rick asked with
surprise.

“No, but Mom invited us for dinner Christmas
Day, so you’ll get to witness all the subtle digs and backhanded
compliments.”

“Maybe they’ll surprise you,” Rick said.

“Maybe so,” I replied, “but I’m not holding
my breath. And listen, don’t mention flight school to them. I still
haven’t made up my mind and I don’t want Dad to get out his
conductor’s wand and start directing the show. If I go, I’ll pay
for it myself, and I’ll go when I’m good and ready.”

“Sure.”

The waitress brought Rick’s third beer and I
asked him what he was planning to give to Mom and Dad for
Christmas—I had no idea what to get them and I wanted to change the
subject.

He said he had a couple of hardcovers in
mind. Then he asked me what I was planning to give Angela.

Looking back on it, I should have told him
it was none of his business. And I never should have taken her to
dinner Christmas Day.

I often wondered, growing up, what it was
about my brother that was so seductive to women. He was good
looking—that was a given—but it didn’t explain why they all seemed
to melt into a puddle of sticky goo when he engaged them in a
conversation about something as simple as the weather.

I suppose he was born with some sort of
rare, penetrating charisma that few of us are blessed with. It’s
why he later went on to make millions in his profession. He could
convince anyone—men and women alike—to say yes to anything.
‘Another two million per year for that rookie outfielder? Sure, Mr.
Fraser. We’d love to pay that.’

When Rick and I returned to my apartment
after lunch, I was surprised to find Angela sitting on the sofa
with Bentley, watching television. As soon as we walked through the
door, she hit the mute button on the remote and stood up.

“Hey,” I said, shrugging out of my jacket.
“What are you doing here?”

“I’m on my lunch break,” she replied. “I
have to go back in half an hour.”

I gestured toward Rick who walked in behind
me. “This is my brother, Rick. Rick, this is Angela.”

“Hi.” She waved at him. “It’s great to
finally meet you.”

“You, too.” He moved forward to shake her
hand, then he took a seat on the upholstered chair across from the
TV. “So you guys met at work?”

“Yeah.” Angela sat down again and told the
story of how she locked her keys in her car and I came to her
rescue like a knight in shining armor.

Rick then asked what high school she went
to. When she told him which one, he asked if she knew so-and-so,
because Rick knew everyone. They chatted for a while about their
mutual acquaintances.

I went to use the washroom and when I
returned, they were talking about Angela’s yoga classes, and Rick
was interested in trying a class for himself.

As soon as I stepped into view she checked
her watch and stood up. “Geez, I’m going to be late. Wish I could
stay but I have to go.”

She hurried toward me and gave me a quick
kiss on the cheek. “I’ll see you guys later. Bye, Bentley.”

With that, she was out the door.

“Cute girl,” Rick said, slouching low in his
chair. “How long have you been dating her?”

“A few months,” I replied.

He nodded with approval as he pulled off his
sneakers and settled in to watch some television. “Nice work. I’m
sure you have nothing to worry about. Mom and Dad will think she’s
great.”

“I’m not worried,” I informed him.

Because it didn’t matter to me what they
thought. It only mattered how Angela and I felt about each
other.

It’s unfortunate that I didn’t know, at the
time, that there would be other far worse things to worry about,
and none of them would involve my parents. Maybe if I had known, I
might have been able to prevent the worst of them from
happening.

Or maybe not. I’ve come to learn that
certain things in life are beyond our control.

Others are beyond comprehension.

The turkey dinner on Christmas Day went
surprisingly well. Angela, Bentley, and I arrived at my parent’s
house around noon and my father was friendly and welcoming.

It was a side of him I had seen many times
before. He was an impeccable host when guests crossed his
threshold, whoever they were.

After we finished dessert and coffee, Angela
offered to help Mom clear off the table and wash the dishes.

“Thank you, Angela,” Mom said. “What an
angel you are.”

I offered to help as well, but Mom insisted
that I remain in the dining room to sip Madeira with Rick and Dad.
The only thing missing was a box of Havana cigars.

“So Jesse,” Dad said, leaning back in his
chair at the head of the table. “Rick tells me you’re planning to
enroll in flight school. When is the application deadline?”

My gaze shot to Rick’s and he winced
apologetically. “Sorry,” he said, “it slipped out.”

I took a swig of the port, which was too
sweet for my taste, but in that particular moment, it didn’t really
matter.

“I haven’t made up my mind,” I replied. “I’m
considering it, that’s all. Keeping all my options open.”

My father’s eyes narrowed as he studied me
intently. “Programs like that are competitive,” he said. “You can’t
sit around thinking about it. It’s been awhile since you sat in a
classroom. The longer you wait, the harder it will be.”

“I’ve never had problems in a classroom
before,” I told him. “I’m sure I’ll manage.”

“You have to do more than just
manage
,” he replied. “You have to take the bull by the
horns.”

Dad continued to regard me with expectation
and when I gave no reply, he leaned forward. “It’s a good career
choice, son. And remember you can come to me if you need help with
tuition fees or living expenses. When the time comes.”

I may have possessed a stubborn, independent
streak, but I wasn’t a fool. “Thanks Dad,” I said. “I appreciate
that. I’ll let you know if I decide to apply.”

Dad nodded and turned his attention to Rick.
“So tell me more about the sports agency where you’ve been
interning. What sort of clients do they represent?”

The direction of the spotlight shifted to my
brother, as it always did, and I relaxed back in my chair.

* * *

After we finished sipping the port, I
volunteered to go outside and collect some kindling from the
woodpile so Dad could light a fire in the living room
fireplace.

“Let’s go, Bentley,” I said, giving a
whistle as I made my way through the kitchen where Angela and Mom
were finishing up the dishes. He rose from his place on the rug and
trotted out the back door behind me.

A light snow had fallen—just a small dusting
of white across the fields. There was still some light in the sky,
enough for me to toss a ball for Bentley and let him run back and
forth into the orchard a few times.

A short while later, with a heavy load of
firewood in my arms, I walked back into the house. But as I entered
the kitchen from the mud room, I halted in my tracks at the sight
of Angela opening a bottle of beer she had just pulled out of the
fridge, and handing it to Rick.

The glimmer of flirtation I saw in her eyes
was unmistakable, as was the manner in which Rick smiled back at
her with that wolfish look I had seen many times in the past. With
so many different girls.

Bentley trotted past me to lap up some water
from his bowl by the stove. Angela’s eyes caught mine and
everything about her demeanor changed. Her brows lifted.

“Hey, you want a beer? Looks like your
parents stocked the fridge just for us.”

“Sure,” I replied. “Let me get rid of this
firewood first.”

Rick casually leaned back against the
counter and took a swig from his bottle, intently watching me carry
the wood into the living room.

* * *

“Rick,” I said later in the kitchen while
Angela was talking to Mom in the living room.

“Yeah?” He pulled a bag of chips out of the
cupboard and ripped it open.

“I need you to stay away from her.” I didn’t
see the point in mincing words, and I knew I hadn’t imagined what I
saw. “She’s not like other girls.”

Rick stared at me as if I’d grown a second
head. “What are you talking about?”

“I’m talking about Angela. Stay away from
her. Don’t flirt with her. Just try to imagine that she’s your
sister because she might be that someday.”

His lips parted and he rubbed at his
forehead. “I think I know what you’re saying, and it’s really
pissing me off.”

I sucked in a breath, but no words came.

Rick laid the chip bag down on the counter.
“Are you suggesting…?” He paused. “Are you suggesting that I was
trying to flirt with your girl? Seriously, Jesse? You’re my
brother
. I’m home for a couple of weeks, that’s it, and you
want to pick a fight with me? Is that what this is? Jesus. She’s
not even my type. No offense.” He held up a hand. “She’s great.
She’s really cute and everything, but I’m not into poaching my baby
brother’s girlfriends.” He frowned at me. “Are you serious?”

“Yeah, dead serious.” I wasn’t going to let
him convince me that I imagined it. I knew what I saw.

He leaned back against the counter and
regarded me steadily. “Let’s just pretend this conversation never
happened, all right?”

“No,” I replied. “I don’t want to pretend
anything. Stay away from her or I’ll knock your teeth out.”

I had never said anything like that to Rick
before and I could tell by the way he was looking at me—by the way
the color drained from his face—that I’d shocked him.

“I think you’re losing it,” he said with
concern.

But what was he concerned for, exactly? His
safety? Or my sanity? Should I have been concerned as well?

“You know I’d never do that to you,” he
added. “You’re my brother.”

For a moment I wondered if maybe I
was
crazy. Maybe I was still angry about what happened that
day years ago when he struck and killed Francis out front on the
road.

Maybe I was jealous because he was
everything to my parents and I was nothing.

Maybe I was paranoid and believed I truly
did become invisible whenever he was around. And I didn’t want to
become invisible to Angela.

I struggled to wrestle my anger under
control and chose not to say anything more.

Rick moved past me and patted my shoulder
reassuringly.

Something in me relaxed. I was at least glad
I had confronted him.

I only wish I’d had the sense to find the
proper way to confront Angela, too.

After a three-and-a-half-week winter
vacation at home, it was time for Rick to return to California for
his final semester at UCLA. He caught a flight out on New Year’s
Day.