Chapter 8 - The Watch
The antique Hamilton stopped working three weeks after the assault.
I took it back to Galveston repair shop.
The owner, Mr. Molina, opened case.
“Impact damage.”
Of course.
Brandon had thrown it.
Then Amber had stepped on my hand beside it.
Molina found a folded slip of paper tucked behind presentation card.
Not secret code.
A note I had written before party and forgotten.
For Brandon.
Your grandfather wore one like this when he taught me how to pour concrete straight. He always said a man’s name is worth more than what he owns. Happy 38th. Dad.
I sat in shop staring.
Molina said nothing.
I laughed once.
“My timing is terrible.”
He smiled sadly.
“Maybe message was right.”
I kept the watch.
Did not give Brandon.
Not then.
My late wife, Elaine, would have been furious with me.
She died six years earlier from ovarian cancer.
She had seen Brandon changing.
Near end she once said:
“You rescue him before he learns anything.”
I got angry.
“He’s our son.”
“I know.”
“Then what do you want me to do?”
“Let him fall small before he falls large.”
I ignored her.
Now Brandon had fallen large.
There was another thing Elaine had made me promise.
Not to reveal Brandon’s adoption unless necessary or he asked.
He was adopted at eighteen months.
He did not know.
Or I thought he did not.
His biological mother, Elaine’s younger cousin Rebecca Lane, died from an overdose.
His biological father, Thomas Vail, was convicted of murder during a robbery and eventually died in prison.
Not death row.
Not a secret crime dynasty.
A tragic beginning.
Elaine and I adopted Brandon.
Raised him.
Loved him.
I never considered him anything but my son.
Why did we keep it secret?
Fear.
The same family mistake everywhere.
We thought truth might hurt him.
So we buried it.
After Elaine died, I considered telling him.
Did not.
Then Amber’s attorney produced evidence she had searched sealed family records? How? She found old safe deposit papers.
During civil discovery, a scan appeared in Amber’s personal cloud.
Adoption decree.
She had photographed it two years earlier from my home office.
She knew.
Did Brandon?
An Amber message:
You ever think Franklin keeps everything because you’re not even really his?
Brandon:
What are you talking about?
Amber:
Forget it.
Months later:
Amber:
Ask him about Rebecca Lane.
Brandon:
Stop.
So she had teased him.
Maybe he investigated independently.
That could explain some resentment.
But not excuse.
I asked David:
“Do I tell him?”
“Legally unrelated.”
“Emotionally?”
“I’m your attorney, not priest.”
I went to Dr. Samuel Greene, a therapist Elaine and I had once seen during cancer.
He said:
“Truth should not be weapon.”
“I agree.”
“Then don’t reveal it during litigation to hurt him.”
“I won’t.”
“Does Brandon have right to know?”
“Yes.”
“Then eventually tell him.”
But not now.
There were too many fires.
May you like
Truth deserved a room without attorneys.
I did not know yet Brandon already knew enough to make the secret part of his own story.
