Morgan's Chase 1 (Power Play)

Chapter 10

  Morgan had come in late, and now she would go home early.

  No one met her eyes as she walked out of the office building she had exited so triumphantly less than 24 hours before. But on bad days like this, there was nothing to do but retreat. Besides, she had work to do at home.

  The grueling ten-month drive to land Project Renaissance had transformed her into an absentee parent. Geoff had withdrawn further into his video game and social media world. And Samantha had developed the calloused feelings of the oldest child who swallows her hurt and attempts to act like everything is okay.

  Morgan knew better. It was not okay. And she was to blame.

  Last night’s dalliance with Darren was the capper, and not because it had turned out so badly and ruinous to her short-term career goals. But rather because it had replaced reason and responsibility with abdication and abandon.

  Somehow, Morgan had lapsed into the careless college student she had never managed to be when she was actually in school. Yet that studious, overlooked coed was always inside her, waiting for her chance to be sexually adventurous and absolutely irresponsible. Finally, Morgan’s inner coed had managed to get the best of her for one night, and look what had happened.

  Her family relations, already on life-support from all the oxygen sucked out by her career, were dealt another mortal blow. And now even her hallowed corporate career -- her only instrument with which to prove her worth to her ex-husband -- had suffered a major setback, as well. As she drove for home, Morgan, the mother and career woman, vowed that the reckless, repressed college student who defined her id, would never be allowed to romp in such a destructive way again.

  Morgan’s drive home ahead of the choking Pittsburgh traffic that clogs bridges and backs up tunnels nearly managed to relieve some of the stress that had taken deep root in her shoulder muscles and at the center of her temples. Then, as she pulled into her Squirrel Hill driveway, she saw the beat-up truck again.

  That guy – what was his name? – was still there.

  She still had the task of dealing with him, yet another minion sent by the master-meddler, her father.

  Big Al was the bigger-than-life, blue-collar firefighter and friend to everyone who Morgan had been trying to show up, shake off and run away from her entire life.

  She pulled to a stop beside the truck, giving it plenty of room to pull out and be gone, hopefully never to return. But as Morgan marched toward her house at the unscheduled, early hour, she encountered something truly shocking.

  Would the day’s surprises ever end?

  She noticed it even before she entered, as she breezed by a kitchen window on her way to the side door. Something made her pause and take a longer look. Something totally out of place -- and out of character.

  Yet, there it was.

  There he was. Morgan’s uncommunicative, anti-social, computer-wired son was there in the kitchen with the humble, flannel- and jean-clad handyman.

  And Geoff wasn’t just there. He was talking, actually conversing. The son who Morgan couldn’t coax to remove the buds from his ears and pry his eyes away from the screen he was viewing in order to hold an actual conversation was doing just that with some stranger.

  Not only that, her boy with the perpetually downcast, otherwise-occupied eyes was looking at the man, engaging with him. Actually listening.

  The pair looked to be talking about tools, kitchen pipes, electrical wires, countertops and cabinetry. In other words, manly stuff that was far removed from Geoff’s usual interests in computer gadgets, video games and Facebook posts.

  Yet, it all made sense in a way. The son born to an absentee father now forced into a life with his distracted mother craved male bonding.

  The look in Geoff’s eyes was unmistakable. Her son was gazing upon this down-to-earth day laborer as a male role model.

  Even as Morgan comprehended this, it was incomprehensible. She shook her head, shut her eyes, then opened them again, only to see the same incongruent scene and draw the same inevitable conclusion.

  Geoff needed this. In fact, he had needed this for a long, long time.

  These circumstances forced Morgan to reset her game plan. Up until now, she had intended to thank the handyman for his troubles, pay him cash for his time and usher him out of her house, never to return.

  But if she did that now, she might as well sprout horns on her head, as far as her son would be concerned. She also knew that she couldn’t make a big deal about Geoff hanging out with the handyman, either. Otherwise, he would grow self-conscious and withdraw. In this one way, mother and son were alike. Morgan couldn’t count the number of times her own father’s well-meaning comments about her interests had sewn social insecurities, the tight stitches good and deep in her very being. So much so, that by the time she went to college, Morgan lacked the self-confidence to claim the kind of out-going, experimental campus experience she craved.

  It took her many years in the shadows of strong men – first her father, then her Alpha ex-husband – to finally come into her own. She would not do this to Geoff.

  Instead, she entered with a neutral demeanor. She would shake off the melancholy of her disorientating day, expunge the guilt over her all-night absence from home and even release her annoyance at her father’s meddling in her home repairs.

  Because if there was one thing Morgan could count on Big Al for, it was his instinctive assessment of the human character. If her father had sent this handyman, Morgan knew she could trust him. She could trust him in her home, and she could trust him with her children. Big Al would accept nothing less.

  Morgan inhaled, braced herself and entered the home where she was mostly a stranger.

  Geoff turned to door. The easy, good-natured expression on his face wilted at the mere sight of his mother.

  “What are you doing here?” Geoff asked accusingly.

  Morgan didn’t blame him. She was out of place, especially at such an early hour. She stammered for a response, but before she could find the right words and approach, the handyman intervened.

  “Hey, Geoff, you’re a nice kid, but that’s no way to talk to your mom,” Travis Walker pointed out from under his furrowed brow.

  The boy’s head snapped around at the man’s understated, yet unmistakable authority. Morgan could see that the handyman’s opinion already mattered to her son.

  “It’s just that she’s usually not home this early,” Geoff stammered in explanation to Travis.

  The handyman relaxed his knitted brow, softening his judgment of Geoff.

  “Then, this is a good thing, right?” Travis tested the boy.

  Geoff shrugged, unsure. “I guess so.”

  Morgan stepped further into the kitchen.

  “Geoff’s right,” she said. “I haven’t been around a lot. Work’s been crazy, and I’ve allowed it to eat into my time at home. That was a mistake. One I’ve decided to correct starting tonight.”

  Morgan attempted her most positive and confident grin.

  Her son just frowned. With his mother around, he would have to do weird mother-son bonding stuff with her, instead of hanging out with Travis. She had managed to ruin everything, yet again. Even when she wanted to spend time at home, his mother ruined everything.

  There was an awkward silence. Travis studied the sullen boy whose demeanor had changed in front of his eyes.

  “Geoff, why don’t you go say ‘hi’ to your mom,” Travis gently suggested.

  “Hi,” the boy muttered.

  Travis leaned toward Geoff and spoke in a stage whisper. “She looks like she could use a hug.”

  Geoff shot back an “are you out of your mind” stare. Travis deflected the unstated question with a flat, stern look. Geoff dipped his head in compliance, pushed himself to his feet and slunk over to his mom.

  “Glad you’re home,” he said in an emotionless line reading, then flung his limp arms around Morgan’s waist.

  Yet even this half-hearted display orchestrated by a
complete strange caused Morgan to suddenly, unexpectedly mist up. Her son’s heavily prodded, highly pathetic gesture was cold, clear evidence of how far she had allowed things to slip at home.

  Morgan attempted to cough away the onrush of emotion. When she spoke, the bright tone she tried to strike sounded choked and weak, quivering with a potent mix of feelings.

  “I’m glad I’m home, Geoff,” Morgan managed. “How about we order pizza tonight?”

  “I guess” her son said, looking up at his emotional mother as if she were an alien.

  Just then, Samantha burst through the swinging kitchen doors.

  “Mom!” she said in surprise. “What are you doing home?”

  Morgan looked at her daughter, so shocked by her own mother’s sudden appearance, and her eyes moistened again against her will.

  All Morgan could do was shrug. This, all this, how it had come to this? It was beyond explanation.

  “I don’t know, baby,” Morgan squeaked. “I just am. I just am.”

  Morgan held out her arms and Samantha came to her, not as reluctantly as Geoff, but still uncertain in her own awkward way.

  “How’s pizza sound?” Morgan tried the suggestion out on Samantha as she pulled her daughter tight.

  The confused girl didn’t answer. That’s when Travis spoke up.

  “It sounds great,” the handyman enthusiastically said. “But not that cardboard stuff with the domino on the box. I’m talking about real, juicy, tomato-y pizza where the mozzarella is so stringy it practically chokes you going down. How’s that sound?”

  Geoff turned at once. “Yeah!” he cheered.

  Samantha pulled back and looked at her mom, as if expecting a negative verdict.

  Geoff pivoted to plead his case.

  “Can we, Mom?” her son said.

  Morgan stared silently at the carpenter. Who was this handyman, she thought.

  His deep, blue eyes only begged the question, as well.

  “Well?” Travis joined in.

  Morgan shrugged, smiled and turned over a new leaf.

  “Why not?”

  It was the best she had felt all day.