The Two Endersons - 5. Long and Winding Road

By the time they reached the turn off for the house, Michael felt like he had gone eight rounds with the heavy-weight champion of the world. Enderson had read him the riot act about not being supportive, having betrayed his own father, what would his mother say, and the like. Michael had remained quiet with the exception of an occasional "yes sir" or "sorry sir". He understood his father too well to try to debate or speak against the man's tirade. The man had to get it out of his system, and that meant berating whomever he had handy. But it was always followed, eventually, by an apology. Sadly, however, it always felt there was more money involved with the apology than genuine remorse. Michael glanced out and smiled as the sedan slowed and stopped, waiting for the ornate gates to the property to finish opening.

Enderson grew quiet as they pulled to the gates – his mind walking through distant memories. Michael was only eight when they were installed. He had climbed one of them and rode it as they tested operation. Enderson smiled at the memory. Michael's mother was not pleased with her son on the automated gates, but Enderson had insisted he was fine.

Michael was lost in the same memories. He could see so far from hanging on the gate. He had been giggling, acting like a cowboy riding a bucking bronco…

"Enderson, get him down from there. He's going to get hurt."

"He's fine, Susan. Let him be a boy. Just look at the joy on his face."

"Enderson, it's already past his bedtime and tomorrow is school."

"All right. Michael, it's time to get down now. Michael – now son. Michael…"

"Michael?"

He blinked and looked around, snapping back to the present. "Oh, sorry Father. Was remembering."

Enderson nodded. "Yes, I thought that's where you had gone."

Michael wiped an eye. "Sometimes…"

"I know, son. I miss her too."

Nelson began the drive up to the house and both men moved to face each other directly. Enderson paused only a moment as the car slowly wove its way around the hairpin turns towards the mansion.

"Have you thought lately about my request?"

"Byron and I talk about it almost every day, Father."

"I appreciate that. I just don't want to be caught unprepared when the child is born."

"We're not that close, are we?"

"Kemp says eight weeks, max."

"So we have time yet. This isn't a business merger, Father. We're not going to miss the prime bank rate if we don't act now."

Enderson chuckled. "I guess you have paid attention to at least some of what I've taught."

"Thanks for noticing. But really, Father – we are taking this very seriously."

"Could you at least tell me which way you're leaning?"

"Looking for insider information?"

"Michael."

His father's tone made the young man flinch. His response was subdued – edged with frustration. "I can understand the baby being adopted so he's legally and fully a 'Tate'. I'm just not sure I'm up to the task. Byron, on the other hand, is excited about the idea of being a 'Dad'. I just don't know."

Enderson contained his smile though his eyes glinted ice. "Thank you. It's good to know you haven't discounted the idea of having him officially in the family."

"Him?"

"The child. I suppose I'm getting the cart well before the horse … call it wishful thinking."

"Ah. I thought maybe you had heard. Seems you say 'him' any time you speak of it."

"The sex of the child? No. The mother hasn't offered and I don't suppose it's my place to impose. Son or daughter, the child is mine. And either term sounds better than 'it'."

Michael leaned back in his seat, giving his father a long study.

Enderson caught his son's gaze and arched a brow. "Something else on your mind?"

"A little surprised at how evenly you seem to be taking this whole thing, I suppose. If I didn't know better, I'd say you planned it."

The older man chuckled. "Trust me, Michael, being a father again at this stage of my life is not something I would choose, much less orchestrate."

Michael nodded, his face still tattooed with doubt. "Maybe. Though it's a good way to get me to be a father earlier than I had planned."

Enderson sighed. "I do not scheme to control your life, son. If I did…" He cut himself off.

"I know – you'd have me married to a woman."

"Once, perhaps," Enderson admitted, "but not now. I have accepted who you are and that it isn't a choice for you."

The son visibly relaxed. "Thanks, Father. I know it hasn't been an easy thing for you to accept." He paused briefly. "For what it's worth, it wasn't easy for me at first."

Enderson cocked his head to one side, observing his son. "No … I suppose it wasn't. Your mother was gone, and you had to deal with me as your father."

"Accepting that I wasn't 'sick or perverted' was the first mountain. And, actually, telling you was easier than I had originally thought."

"And why is that?"

"You have never hidden your thoughts or beliefs. I knew whichever way you reacted, for or against, it would be strong – and there would be little to no chance of me changing it."

"Am I that dictatorial? I try to hear all sides of an argument."

"Yes … I suppose that's true. But it takes a lot to sway you."

Enderson laughed softly. "In truth, I was ready to disown you."

"What changed?"

The older Tate looked out the window across from him, his eyes distant. "Susan. I thought about how she would have reacted. Even with her strong faith, I knew there was nothing that would make her love for you decrease one iota. Her faith would have to adjust." He turned to look his son in the eye. "I had to take both sides and weigh them out. You are my son. I could not do less than your precious Mother would do."

Michael teared up and leaned across the car, giving his father a brief hug. When he moved back, he almost looked guilty for taking such freedom.

Enderson smiled. "Thank you, Michael." He glanced out the front of the car.

The son wiped his eyes. "Thank you, Father."

Enderson sat more straight as the car pulled into the turn-around at the front door. One near disaster averted, he thought as Nelson opened his door. He stepped out, thanked his driver, and headed for the front door.

Michael followed, once again studying the man before him. Where did you go, Father? It was like a hangar door slamming shut, closing you away from me