Chapter 5
That night, Jillian told Patrick everything. About Brooklyn. About Shawn. About the diner.
Patrick sat at the kitchen table, staring at nothing. “Why didn’t Shawn tell me?”
Jillian answered carefully. “Maybe he was waiting for you to ask Cody what he wanted.”
Patrick looked up sharply. “That’s unfair.”
“Maybe.”
“He knew I loved my son.”
“I know you do.”
“Then what are you saying?”
“I’m saying loving him and listening to him are not always the same thing.”
Patrick stood. “We’ll deal with all of this after the heritage dinner.”
Jillian stared at him. “Why after?”
“Because Dad needs this right now.”
“Cody needs you right now.”
Patrick rubbed both hands over his face. “Don’t make me choose between my father and my son.”
Jillian’s eyes filled. “I didn’t make you choose.” She paused. “Your father did.”
Before Patrick could answer, Cody appeared in the doorway holding his phone. His face had gone pale.
“What happened?” Jillian asked.
Cody turned the screen toward them. An email from the Brooklyn program was open.
Congratulations, Cody Bannon. You have been accepted.
For one second, nobody spoke. Jillian smiled through her tears. “You did it.”
But Cody did not smile. He looked at Patrick. Then at Shawn’s watch on his wrist.
And he whispered, “What if Grandpa asks me not to go?”
Malcolm called Cody the next morning. Jillian was standing at the kitchen counter when Cody’s phone buzzed. He looked at the screen. “Grandpa.”
Patrick glanced up from his coffee. “Answer it.”
Cody hesitated. Then he put the phone to his ear. “Hey.”
Jillian could not hear Malcolm’s words, but she watched Cody’s expression change. First cautious. Then surprised. Then almost embarrassed.
“Yeah. Yesterday. Thanks.”
A pause.
“No, I haven’t decided anything yet.”
Cody looked toward Jillian. Then he smiled. “Okay.”
When the call ended, Patrick asked, “What did he say?”
“He congratulated me.”
Jillian waited.
“That’s it?”
“He said he’s proud of me.”
The relief on Cody’s face made Jillian feel guilty for expecting something else. Patrick smiled. “See?”
Jillian gave him a look. “I didn’t say anything.”
“You didn’t have to.”
That evening, Malcolm invited them to dinner at a small Italian restaurant the family had been visiting for years. Not a private club. Not an expensive Manhattan dining room. A neighborhood place with red booths, framed baseball photographs, and an owner who hugged Malcolm when he walked in.
Malcolm had already ordered Cody’s favorite chicken parmesan. “I thought we were celebrating,” he said.
Cody smiled. For most of the meal, Malcolm asked questions about Brooklyn. Real questions. What software would Cody use? How many students were accepted? Would they produce a finished project?
Cody slowly relaxed. At one point, he pulled out his phone and showed Malcolm a character design. Malcolm studied it seriously.
“You made this?”
“Yeah.”
“That’s good.”
Cody laughed nervously. “You don’t have to pretend.”
“I’m seventy-one, Cody. I stopped pretending to like things twenty years ago.”
Even Jillian laughed. For half an hour, Malcolm was simply a proud grandfather.
Then dessert arrived.
Malcolm reached beside his chair and placed a folded brochure on the table. The Brooklyn Summer Animation Intensive.
Cody stared at it. “You got one?”
“I wanted to understand what you’re doing.” Malcolm tapped the schedule. “Six weeks is a long time.”
Cody’s smile weakened. “But not forever,” Malcolm added quickly. He pointed at one date. “Shawn’s employee scholarship fundraiser falls during week three.”
Patrick nodded. “I forgot about that.”
Cody looked worried. Malcolm immediately waved a hand. “You’re not missing your program. You can come home Friday night if you want. Attend the fundraiser Saturday. Go back Sunday.”
Cody looked relieved again. “Yeah, I can do that.”
“Good. And the heritage dinner is before you leave.”
There it was. So gentle it almost disappeared.
Malcolm smiled. “You get Brooklyn. We get one evening.”
Cody looked at Patrick. Patrick nodded. “Sounds fair.”
Jillian felt a chill. Not because Malcolm had said anything unreasonable. Because Cody had just been taught to think of his future as something the family was giving him in exchange for obedience.
Malcolm changed the subject immediately. On the drive home, Cody seemed happy. “I think Grandpa gets it now.”
Jillian looked back from the passenger seat. “I think he does.”
Patrick glanced at her. “Can we please let this be good news?”
Jillian turned toward the window. She wanted him to be right.
The next afternoon, a mother and daughter sat across from Jillian’s desk. The daughter, Emily, wanted to study nursing. Her parents owned a family restaurant. Her mother cried as she explained how much they had sacrificed.
“We came here with nothing. Everything we built was for her.”
Emily stared at the floor. Jillian asked quietly, “What do you want?”
The girl whispered, “Nursing.”
Her mother answered immediately. “She’s seventeen. She doesn’t understand what she wants.”
Jillian looked at Emily. The expression was painfully familiar. Fear mixed with guilt. Not fear of punishment. Fear of hurting someone who loved her.
After the meeting ended, Jillian remained alone in her office. The mother’s words stayed with her. Everything we built was for her.
That was Malcolm. He did not believe Cody belonged to him because he was cruel. He believed sacrifice created obligation. And that was harder to fight.
That evening, Jillian drove to Malcolm’s house alone. He seemed surprised but welcomed her inside. They sat in the kitchen with coffee.
“I need to ask you something.”
“Ask.”
“Do you want Cody to go to Brooklyn?”
Malcolm considered the question. “If it matters to him, yes.”
“Even if it means he never works for Bannon Materials?”
Malcolm’s expression barely changed. “That’s a different question.”
“Why?”
“Because children should explore. And adults eventually learn what responsibility costs.”
Jillian leaned forward. “He thinks he owes you.”
Malcolm looked genuinely troubled. “I’ve never asked that boy for anything.”
“You don’t have to.”
Silence. Jillian continued. “You love him?”
“Of course.”
“Then let him make the choice without Shawn’s death sitting on his shoulders.”
For the first time, Malcolm looked offended. “You think I’m using my dead son?”
“I think you’re grieving him.” Her anger softened. “And I think you’re trying to keep him alive through Cody.”
Malcolm stared into his coffee. For several seconds, Jillian thought she had reached him.
Then he said quietly, “You grew up believing independence makes children safe.”
Jillian waited.
“I grew up learning the opposite.” Malcolm told her about burned trucks, unpaid contracts, years when one phone call from the right family kept Patrick and Shawn from being targets. “Being known as someone’s son can protect a boy.”
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Jillian met his eyes. “And sometimes being known as someone’s son is exactly what puts him in danger.”
Malcolm’s face changed only slightly. But enough. Jillian realized she had touched something he did not want examined.
