Catch a Falling Star (33 page)

“How long we been working on this thing, Griffin?”

“Three, maybe four hours.” Griffin wiped his forearm across his brow, wicking away the sweat with the sleeve of his cotton shirt. He walked to the front of the garage to get a better look at the mountains to the west. The sun was dipping below the Front Range, which meant the air would cool off—and so would the garage.

“Thought you said this was a quick fix.”

“It should have been.” He gulped down half a bottle of water before continuing. “Then again, it never is with my Jeep. I just remind myself that Jeeps are built, not bought.”

“You forgot to mention that when you invited me over to help you work on the beast.” Doug walked outside the garage
and stood in the driveway. Griffin followed him, drawn by the light breeze that cooled off his body.

“And scare you off?”

Doug's chuckle acknowledged Griffin's wisdom. “You know Jan expects us for dinner sometime tonight, right?”

“We'll make it. Ian and I may have to hitch a ride, though.”

“So is Ian saying much about going back to Florida?”

Griffin drained the last of the water from the bottle, twisting the cap back on top. “Nope.”

“You're both good with the decision?”

“Yep.” Griffin walked back into the garage, tossing the empty bottle toward the recycle bin. Missed. “It's the best thing for Ian.”

“Even though you're not flying—” Doug followed him and leaned both hands on the front fender of the CJ7.

“Flying or not, my parents made a mistake when they appointed me as Ian's guardian.” Griffin began organizing the tools in his tool chest. “My brother almost died when he was with me.”

“Afraid you'll make mistakes, huh?”

“I already have.” Griffin clenched his fist around a wrench. “I can't do it, Doug. There's too much at stake.”

He was surprised when his friend didn't argue with him. Instead, Doug lowered the hood, the metallic clang sounding through the garage.

“Why don't you get rid of this old clunker, Griffin?”

“What are you talking about?”

Doug thumped the fender with his fist. “It's nothing but a pain, you told me that more than once while we worked on it today. You said it breaks down all the time. Said you couldn't begin to imagine how much money and how many hours you've poured into this Jeep. What was one of those sayings you Jeep owners are so fond of?
Jeep
means ‘Just Empty Every Pocket'?”

“I wouldn't think of selling this Jeep.”

“Why not? Sell it for parts. Buy something newer—an SUV, maybe. Or a truck. No more hassles, no more wasting your weekends trying to fix it—”

“Sell it for parts? Are you kidding me? This is my Jeep.” Griffin scanned the CJ7, memories of different road trips clicking through his mind in fast-forward. “I've invested time and money in this Jeep. I have no intention of getting rid of it—even if it is a hassle.”

“And that's how God feels about you, Griffin.” Doug stood, raising his soda in a salute to Griffin.

“What? We're talking about Jeeps—not me and God.”

“You may have been talking about Jeeps, son. I was talking about Jeeps, you, and God.” Doug came over and slung his arm across Griffin's shoulders. “Come on. Walk with your old sponsor-turned-friend. It's too nice a day to spend all of it in the garage.”

The two men walked in silence for half a block. Griffin watched a neighbor mow his lawn, the scent of fresh-cut grass reminding him of his own neglected lawn. Two teen boys on skateboards whizzed by, their laughter floating back to Griffin. Did Ian like to skateboard?

“So, God and Jeeps.” Doug bent down and picked up a stick, tapping it against his leg.

“Go on.”

“You love your Jeep—even though it's left you stranded on the road more than once. Costs you good money. Takes your time. I even heard you say it ‘wastes' your time.”

“I didn't mean that—”

“I know you didn't. I'm just quoting you.” Doug tossed the stick in the air. Caught it. “The point is, you're keeping the Jeep—imperfections and all.”

“Right.”

“Have you ever considered that God loves you even more than you love your Jeep?”

“Well, sure. I know that.”

Doug waved away the comment. “No, I don't think you do. You think God will love you if you don't waste his time. God's invested in you, Griffin. He's sticking with you for the long haul. It's not based on performance.”

The two men came to the end of the street. Paused.

“Which way do we go?” Doug looked right and left.

“You tell me. I have a feeling you're going to anyway.”

“Ah, I think we're talking about two completely different things.” He turned left. “You stumbled into your relationship with God because you realized you were broken, Griffin. Don't change the rules of engagement now. God redeems broken people and loves them in their brokenness.”

Was that what he'd done? Changed the rules?

“What kind of life am I offering Ian? I'm so new at being a believer that I can still feel all my mistakes breathing down my neck. One of my biggest mistakes just moved to the Springs.”

When Doug's eyebrows furrowed together over his eyes, asking “What are you talking about?” Griffin almost laughed.
Almost.

“My ex-wife, her husband, and their three kids moved here. And the other day at the gym I told her exactly how I felt about our mess of a marriage.”

“Some unresolved issues there?”

“You could say that.” Griffin unclenched his hands, realizing he'd balled them into fists. “If I can't handle my past, how am I supposed to make sure Ian's ready for his future?”

“Was your family perfect growing up, Griffin? Wait, I can answer that for you. No—because you were in it.” Doug's laughter
invited Griffin to join in. “Your mom and dad never expected you to be a perfect brother for Ian, either. I can assure you that they weren't perfect parents. Your parents obviously wanted Ian to be with family if something happened to them. And you, my friend, are it.”

Griffin wasn't trying to deny that Ian and he were family. But the scene from On the Border played through his mind again.

“Ian was safer with them than he is with me.”

“It's not about Ian being safe.” Doug's words slammed up against Griffin's protest. “Ian is safe because God is watching over him, wherever he is. If Ian had died that night in the restaurant, it would have been because somehow that was according to God's will, Griffin—not because you were a horrible brother.”

Tears stung his eyes. Griffin blinked, wishing he'd thought to grab a pair of sunglasses.

“What kind of person doesn't take the time to get to know his younger brother?”

“No more looking in the rearview mirror, Griffin. You have today. And tomorrow.” Doug stepped in front of Griffin so that he had to stop walking. The older man placed his hands on Griffin's shoulders. Gave him a quick shake. “And as many tomorrows as God gives you and Ian. The question is: Will you choose to accept the opportunity you've been given to be the brother Ian needs?”

“Do you have a minute, Ian?”

Griffin stood in his brother's doorway, surveying the teen's attempts to pack. He wasn't leaving for another two weeks, but Ian was determined to be ready to go. Dresser drawers were half
open, a pile of jeans on the floor next to a towering stack of T-shirts. How many T-shirts did his brother own? Ian's underwear drawer was a jumble of whites, bearing testimony to his reluctance to match socks.

“I'm kinda busy.” Ian dumped his backpack out on his bed, notebooks, pens, and loose papers cascading onto the maroon comforter.

“I see that.” Griffin stepped inside the room, realizing that in all the months Ian lived in his townhome, he'd come in his brother's bedroom only half a dozen times. “I need to talk to you.”

“Go ahead. I'm listening.” His brother sat on his bed and began sorting through papers.

Griffin moved the textbooks and empty backpack to the back edge of the bed, sitting down near his brother. Ian stopped shuffling through papers and looked at him, his hazel eyes wide.

“What's up? I already said steak was fine for dinner. Or order pizza. Whatever.”

“This isn't about dinner.” Griffin slipped his hand into his jeans pocket, wrapping his fingers around the lengths of gold chain hidden there.

Except for the clutter, Ian's room looked like the rest of the house. The walls were bare, the last rays of the sun slanting through his window onto bland beige walls. He had a dark pine bed, a dresser, a desk—all brought from their parents' home. Somewhere in the boxes Griffin stored back in Florida were Ian's personal belongings: books, photos, awards, trophies. Photos of Mom and Dad. Why didn't Griffin think those things would be important to his brother?

Because he wasn't thinking of anyone but himself.

“I, um, have something to tell you and something to ask you.” Griffin shifted on the bed, some sort of lump pressing
against his thigh. He reached underneath the comforter and pulled out Ian's pajama bottoms. “Wow. How long have these been lost in your bed?”

“Only since last night.” Ian grabbed them, tossing them in the corner.

So much for comic relief.

Griffin cleared his throat. Tightened his fingers around the chains again as he whispered a silent prayer for help. “Ian, I want to tell you that I'm sorry.”

His brother resumed sorting papers. Griffin could only hope he was listening.

“I've been wrong . . . about a lot of things. I thought Mom and Dad made a big mistake, making me your guardian. The truth is, I didn't want to do it.”

“Tell me about it.”

“It had nothing to do with you—and everything to do with me.”

“Right.”

“Ian.” Griffin covered his brother's hand with his own, but Ian jerked away. “I mean it. The problems we've had? They were my fault. I hadn't been any kind of brother to you before Mom and Dad died. I was afraid to be your brother—your guardian—afterward.”

Ian bolted off the bed, scattering papers onto the floor.

“How could you be my brother? I hardly ever saw you. You came home what—three, four times before the accident?”

“I know. I'm sorry—” Griffin stood but left space between him and Ian.

“Sorry. You're sorry.” Ian turned on him, his words stonewalling Griffin's apology. “I was so excited about being part of a family. Mom and Dad talked about you all the time. And I thought I was gonna get a brother, ya know? I got nothing from
you. Nothing. And now Mom and Dad are gone . . . I'm stuck with you.”

Griffin stared at his brother, finally coming face-to-face with the consequences of his actions. Ian clenched and unclenched his fist, as if he'd like to take a swing at him. Griffin deserved it—and more. Everything Ian said was right. He couldn't change what he'd done in the past, but he refused to back down from the future.

“I did it all wrong. I was out of the house, busy with my air force career. I figured you didn't care. I was the one who didn't care enough. And then Tracey and I got divorced and things got even more messed up. I'm not making excuses for what I did, Ian. I'm trying to explain who I was back then.”

“You're no different now.”

“I am. Back then, I didn't believe in God. I know you haven't seen any difference because I've been so focused on getting back in the cockpit. I know you don't believe this. Why should you? But I am sorry.”

Was his brother hearing anything he said?

“After Mom and Dad died, we should have talked. About how we were feeling. About missing them. About how things were going to work now that we were the Walker family. And it's my fault we didn't.”

Griffin paused to see if anything he said made a difference to his brother. So far, no. “I was so caught up in my own problems—the vertigo, whether the medical board would let me fly again or not—I didn't think about you. I'm sorry. Really.”

Why wouldn't his brother look at him? Ian remained as stiff as a new recruit standing at attention, except his shoulders were hunched, his face turned away. So far Griffin might just as well be talking to himself. Maybe he'd waited too long to try to repair the damage he'd caused by sending Ian back to Florida. But
he had promised Doug—and God—he was going to have this conversation with his brother. He would finish it.

“Okay. That's what I wanted to tell you. I wanted to ask you, well, two things. Would you please forgive me for being such a lousy big brother?”

No response.

“And would you give me another chance?”

For just a moment, Ian's eyes locked with his.

“I know you're supposed to go to the Jamisons'. But I'm asking you to please give me another chance to do things right. Stay here. I won't do things perfectly, but I think if we work together, we can figure out how to be a family.”