Motherless Boy

Author: JanetD

Email: jdillon@mail.win.org

Rating: PG (mild language)

Summary: This story describes the death of Nick’s mom, and why/how Burton sends 
Nick to boarding school.

Author's Notes: 1) I’ve based Nick’s mother’s age on the information we were 
first given in “Paternity”. 2) I have no personal knowledge of prep schools. To 
paraphrase Nick, “That is not my world.” =) So I’ve just made some assumptions 
about what they’re like, and where they might be located. 3) I wrote this story 
before we learned that Burton had actually moved back into the house with Nick 
and Anne before Anne’s death.

Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. The characters in this story are borrowed 
from the TV show "The Guardian". No money is being made from this story. Any 
resemblance of a character in this story to any real person living or dead is 
purely coincidental. Likewise, any resemblance between an organization depicted 
in this story and any such actual organization is purely coincidental.

January 1982

Snow fell softly outside. The world was blanketed in a beautiful coat of white. 
Snow clung to the tree branches and shrubs creating a true winter wonderland.

Inside the hospice, Anne Fallin, 39, moved restlessly in her bed. Her face was 
thin, and drawn with lines of pain. Her illness had progressed past the point 
where the drugs could completely block the pain now. Her once vibrant, dark hair 
was now dull and brittle, and hung in limp strands around her face. Her 
breathing was labored. She was a picture of misery.

Her son, Nick, 12, sat in a chair drawn up close to the bed. He was an 
attractive boy, small for his age, but with blonde hair that curled at the ends. 
His eyes were wet with recent tears. He held his mother’s hand in his. She had 
lost so much weight that the knuckles on the back of her hand stood out in stark 
relief. Anne’s parents, Charles and Margaret Wentworth, stood at her bedside. 
Margaret’s eyes were red and swollen, and tears ran down her face. But it was 
apparent, despite this, that she had once been a lovely woman. Her husband stood 
tall, and only slightly bent with age. He looked like the white-haired patrician 
that he was. The Wentworths were “old money”. Philadelphia blue bloods who had 
been initially dubious about their daughter’s marriage to a man from a working 
class background like Burton Fallin.

Anne stirred in her delirium, moaned, and spoke, but the words were 
incomprehensible. The doctors had said it would “be any day now”, and Anne was 
more than ready to let go of this life. Her body had waged a valiant 18 month 
struggle against the ovarian cancer, but from the outset it had been a losing 
battle. The cancer had been discovered too late for a cure to be effected. All 
the doctors could do was buy her more time, time to see her only son celebrate 
two more birthdays. She had been in the hospice for the last three weeks, in and 
out of consciousness. The doctors tried to find the right balance of pain 
medication, but it had gotten to the point now where if she was conscious, she 
was in almost unbearable pain. Her son and her parents ached inside to see 
someone they loved in so much agony. 

Anne tried to raise her head off the pillow, and spoke again, but this time the 
words could be understood, “Nicky, Nicky, where are you?”

“I’m right here, Mom,” Nick said, his voice quavering.

“Burton. Where’s, where’s Burton?” Anne asked.

“Dad’s, uh, Dad’s not here, Mom.”

“Burton. I, I have to speak to Burton! I have to know he’s going to take care of 
Nicky. He’s going--”

Her mother interrupted her, “Anne, dear, remember? You talked to Burton a few 
days ago. Everything is fine. He’s going to take good care of Nicky, sweetheart. 
Don’t worry.”

Anne shoulders relaxed back against the pillow, but her face was still a mask of 
pain.

Suddenly, as if it had all become too much, Margaret broke into ragged sobs. Her 
husband pulled her against his shoulder, and attempted to soothe her, but she 
could not be comforted. Finally, he decided to take his wife outside the room to 
calm her down. He didn’t want the sound of her mother’s sobs to upset Anne, or 
disturb her in anyway. Although, in reality, it could not touch his daughter 
now. Charles said, “Nicholas, I’m going to take your grandmother outside for a 
few minutes. All right?”

Nick nodded, but didn’t turn his gaze away from his mother. They had broken the 
news to him yesterday morning that she was very near death. He had already known 
it, really, but hadn’t wanted to admit it to himself. Hearing it put in words 
had been almost unbearable. He wondered where his dad was. He knew that his 
grandfather had called him at the office that morning. Dad had said he would be 
here, but so far, he hadn’t come.

Suddenly, Nick heard his mother give out a long, gurgling, almost rattling, 
sound. He had never heard her make a noise like that, and it scared him. He was 
almost ready to go to the door to fetch his grandparents when it stopped, and he 
relaxed. But then, in horror, he realized that his mother was not breathing. He 
sat there for a few seconds, gripped by fear. Then suddenly the paralysis that 
had grabbed him let go, and he ran for the door calling wildly for his 
grandparents, “Grandmother! Grandfather! Mom’s not breathing! Please! Please, 
somebody help her!”

His grandparents hurried back into the room, and up to the bed. Nicholas 
followed more slowly. He didn’t want to see his mother as she’d looked only a 
moment before. As he approached the bed, his grandmother pulled him to her, and 
hugged him tightly. Only at this point, did Nick give in to the maelstrom of 
tears that had been building inside him. He clung to his grandmother as he 
sobbed. While his grandfather, with tears coursing down his own face, placed his 
arms protectively around his wife and only grandchild.

----+----

Nick and his grandparents sat in the lobby of the hospice. Charles had called 
Burton after Anne had died, and now the three of them were waiting for his 
arrival. Nick’s face was still tear-stained, but he had quit crying about ten 
minutes before. He was still sniffing, however, and his grandfather handed him 
his handkerchief.

Burton Fallin came walking briskly in the door, wiping the snow from his hair 
and the sleeves of his overcoat. He was a tall, imposing man, dark-haired, but 
balding on top. He had a very impressive mustache that covered almost all the 
area between his nose and upper lip. It was the first thing that caught most 
people’s eye. 

Burton appeared to be a man in his mid to late forties. He was quit fit for his 
age, a fact he took pride in. He was a classic example of the “self-made man”. 
His father had worked in one of the Pittsburgh steel mills. Burton had worked 
his way through college and law school, with the help of scholarships and 
part-time jobs. He had a real knack for the law, and had been very successful 
from early on. About eleven years ago he had started his own firm, “Fallin and 
Associates”, and had been very successful with it, as well.

He caught sight of his son and ex-in-laws, and started over to them. When he had 
gotten about halfway, Nick looked up, and saw his father coming towards them. He 
jumped out of his chair, and raced to his father. As he approached, Burton 
opened his arms to his son. Nick flew into his embrace, and Burton clasped the 
boy tightly to him. The two of them together made such a stark contrast. The 
tall, dark figure of the father, towering over his fair-haired son 

“Nicholas,” Burton said. “I’m, uh, I’m sorry son.... I should have been here. I 
got held up. I’m sorry.”

Nick’s tears had begun to flow again before he had even reached his father. He 
stood for a few moments wrapped tightly in his father’s arms, absorbing the 
comfort of his embrace. But then other feelings, old, bad feelings, arose to 
replace the warmth and safety he had found there. He broke away from his father, 
and stepped back to look up into his eyes. 

“It’s your fault,” he said in a tear-filled voice, as he looked accusingly up at 
Burton.

“Nicholas?!” Burton said in shocked surprise.

“It’s your fault! You left, and she got sick, and, and now she’s dead! My 
mother’s dead, and it’s all your fault!”

Burton said, “Nicholas,” again, and tried to reach out for the boy, but Nick 
turned and ran back to his grandmother, who took him into her arms.

Burton stood rooted to the floor for a minute, shaken by his son’s accusations, 
and then came forward to the little group. “Nicholas,” he began, “your 
mother--”, but Margaret gave him a “not now” look, and shook her head. So he 
feel silent. Burton looked down at the floor, frowned, and listened to his son 
pour out his grief in tears. He had never felt so helpless in all his life.

----+----

Burton Aloysius Fallin had met Anne Remington Wentworth at a charity ball to 
benefit the Pittsburgh Museum of Art. He had first spotted her as he was walking 
across the ballroom. She immediately caught his eye. She was beautiful. Tall and 
slim, with lovely brown hair. Her hair was up that night, but later he would 
learn it was long and luxuriant. She had a graceful, elegant neck, that was 
perfectly set off by her strapless, blue satin gown. Her face was oval, with a 
slightly aquiline nose, and warm brown eyes. She had captured his attention from 
the first moment, but it was when she smiled that his heart almost stopped. Her 
smile lit up her whole face. It was as if someone had suddenly flipped on a 
light in a dark room. He was captivated.

Burton kept his eye on Anne as he continued to circulate among the guests. When 
he at last saw her alone, he made a beeline to her side, and introduced himself. 
They made small talk for a little while--he discovered she was a docent at the 
museum--and then he asked her to dance. 

Burton was a good dancer. When he had decided to pursue corporate law he knew 
that he would be coming into contact with many wealthy, privileged people. He 
also knew the value of “smoozing”, and was determined not to stick out like a 
sore thumb when he mixed socially with his clients. Therefore, although no one 
knew it, he had taken classes to improve his social graces. This included 
instruction in ballroom dance. There had never been a lot of opportunity growing 
up in a working class steel town as he had, to perfect your dancing skills. Oh, 
he had learned the basic box step, like most young men his age, but he’d always 
felt awkward about it. In the class, he learned to actually enjoy dancing, and 
now was perfectly at home on the dance floor. 

Anne was just as taken with Burton, as he with her. They began dating, and less 
than six months later announced their engagement. Anne’s family was doubtful at 
first. They liked Burton, and Mr. Wentworth, especially, was impressed by how 
Burton had risen so far above the circumstances of his birth. He approved of any 
man that had pulled himself up by his own boot straps. After all, it was part of 
the American tradition! 

Mr. Wentworth had also done some discreet checking, and found that Burton was 
exactly what he presented himself to be: a smart, young, lawyer; a man on his 
way up. What concerned both Mr. and Mrs. Wentworth, however, was the difference 
in the two young people’s backgrounds. The Wentworths were wealthy. Not members 
of the “ultra rich”, by any means, but “comfortable, old money”. Anne had been 
raised in an environment where nothing had been denied her. That was not to say 
her desires had been extravagant, by any means, but if there was something she 
wanted, it was generally given to her. Burton’s father had been a steel worker 
in a non-union plant who barely made enough money to keep his family afloat. The 
Wentworths were concerned that these differences might cause problems further 
down the line for the young couple.

Burton and Anne were married almost a year to the day they had met. They were 
very happy. They had discussed having children, but were not in any hurry to 
start a family. They were still getting to know each other, still taking joy in 
simply being together. There seemed to be so many years ahead for everything 
else. 

When they did start trying to have a child, there were difficulties. Ann 
suffered two miscarriages in a row. The first was an early miscarriage, within 
the 5th or 6th week, but the second didn’t occur until nearly the 4th month. 
Anne was heartbroken at both, but she had been especially crushed by the second 
miscarriage. She had thought she had been past the danger point, and then the 
pains had started...

When she got pregnant for the third time, the doctor had immediately restricted 
all her activities, and then ordered complete bed rest for the last three months 
of her confinement. With that precaution she was able to bring the baby almost 
to full term. He came only three weeks early. It was a difficult delivery for 
Anne, but the end result was a healthy baby boy. 

They named him “Nicholas David Fallin”. “Nicholas” had been the easy part. They 
both liked that name very much. There had been some difficulty in choosing the 
middle name, however. Anne wanted to use her maiden name, following the 
tradition of her family. But Burton thought “Nicholas Wentworth Fallin” sounded 
too stuffy, too ‘highfalutin’, as his mother would say. The problem was neatly 
solved when they discovered that they each had a grandfather named “David”. So 
“David” it was. Burton was pleased with the boy’s name. He thought it had a 
good, steady, rock-solid sound to it.

Nicholas David Fallin was a lovely baby, although a little thin and on the small 
side, due to his prematurity. He had very blue eyes, and his head was covered 
with a fuzz of white-blonde hair. It was clear from the start he was going to be 
a tow-headed child.

After two miscarriages and the difficult pregnancy and labor, the doctor advised 
Anne that she shouldn’t try to have any more children. Anne and Burton were 
disappointed, especially Anne, but they decided to abide by the doctor’s advise. 
So Nicholas would be an only child.

----+----

It was the evening of the day that Anne died. Burton, Charles, and Anne’s sister 
Elizabeth were sitting in the dining room of Anne and Nick’s house, sipping 
coffee. Conversation with the Wentworths had been stilted at first. Burton 
hadn’t seen them since before the divorce, and naturally they had taken Anne’s 
side in that. He knew they blamed him for the breakup of the marriage, and to be 
fair, he was the one who had asked Anne for a divorce, not the other way around. 
But, thankfully, the conversation had gradually become easier and more natural.

Margaret walked into the room, and sighed. “Well, he’s asleep. Poor child, he 
was simply exhausted.”

Elizabeth interjected, “Mother, may I get you a cup of coffee?”

That would be lovely, Dear, thank you.” Elizabeth left for the kitchen.

Margaret took a seat opposite Burton. She gave him a sympathetic look, and then 
began to speak, “Burton, about what Nicholas said to you today.” She paused 
before continuing. “He didn’t really mean it, you know. I think he was just, 
just in pain, and needing to strike out at something, anything to relieve those 
feelings.” She smiled apologetically. “You were a convenient target, I’m afraid. 
He doesn’t really believe that you caused Anne’s death”. Her eyes filled with 
tears as she spoke her daughter’s name, and she lowered her head for a moment. 
“He’s old enough to know that the cancer wasn’t anyone’s fault. We talked about 
it, and he’s very sorry he said those things to you.”

Burton smiled at his ex-mother-in-law in grateful appreciation. He surmised, 
that she, especially, must harbor ill-will against him over the divorce. Anne 
had always been very close to her mother. So for Margaret to intercede with 
Nicholas on his behalf like this, for her to attempt to patch up the rift 
between father and son, spoke volumes for the kind of woman she was.

Elizabeth had returned with the coffee pot, and refilled all their cups. The 
four adults resumed the conversation that had been in progress before Margaret’s 
return. A necessary, but unpleasant one, concerning funeral plans, and all the 
other innumerable items that must be dealt with after someone dies.

----+----

The cemetery was a sea of white. The sky was overcast, and there was a cold wind 
blowing. But at least the snow had stopped. A large group of people huddled 
together for warmth around the single blot on the landscape. The earth of the 
freshly dug grave stood out like an open wound. Nicholas stood between his 
father and his grandparents. His grandmother was holding his gloved hand in 
hers. It was obvious from looking at their faces that Margaret and Nick had 
spent a large part of the morning crying. And now they both wept silently, as 
the minister finished speaking. His grandfather touched his shoulder, and Nick 
stepped forward, the wind stirring his blonde hair, and placed a single red rose 
atop his mother’s casket. He was followed, in turn, by his grandmother, 
grandfather, and aunt, who each added their own rose to lay alongside his. 
Burton looked on in silence during this ritual for the family members.

Afterward, the minister led the assemblage in a concluding prayer, and the crowd 
began to disperse. Finally, only Burton, Nick, and the three Wentworths were 
left standing by the graveside. They stood there silently, each absorbed in 
their own thoughts. Burton had decided it would be best to wait for one of the 
Wentworths to make the first move away from the grave, but they all seemed to be 
lost in their grief. Finally, after what he considered to be more than an 
appropriate amount of time, he decided he and Nick, at least, should go. 

“Come on son. It’s cold out here. Let’s get back to the house.”

Nick, his face still tear-stained, gave his father a mildly rebellious look, but 
acquiesced. As the two of them began to walk back toward the waiting cars, the 
three Wentworths followed suit.

----+----

There was a large crowd of mourners back at the house. Anne had been very active 
prior to the divorce and her illness. She had been a member on the boards of 
several local charities. She had been president of the PTA, and had led or 
participated in many of the fund-raising activities at Nick’s school. She had 
always been a whirlwind of activity, and she had many friends. The Wentworths, 
being an old, established family, also had more than their share of friends and 
acquaintances, and several of them had made the trip from the eastern part of 
the state to attend the funeral. The house was large, however, so there was no 
problem accommodating the crowds

Burton had seen many people today that he hadn’t seen since before the divorce. 
There was often an awkward silence after they had greeted him, as people sought 
for the right words to say - how do you express your condolences to the 
ex-husband? 

He had been pretty steadily surrounded by people up until this point, but now he 
was actually on his own. He decided to seek out Nicholas, and see how his son 
was faring.

He found Nick sitting on the steps that led to the second floor, elbows on his 
knees, head resting in his hands. He was wearing a black suit with white shirt 
and tie. His grandmother had taken him shopping for it the day after Anne had 
died. His hair was in disarray. Burton knew that Nick’s grandmother had done her 
best to tame it into submission, but since it was curly, a stray lock always 
seemed to escape here and there. “He gets that from my mother,” he thought (none 
of the Wentworths had curly hair), “Her hair was always a mass of unruly curls.”

“Nicholas,” Burton said. “How ya doing, son?”

Nick looked up at his father briefly, then back down at the carpeted stairs. 
Although Burton had only gotten a quick glimpse of his son’s face, he could tell 
it was still streaked with tears. “Poor kid,” he thought, “He’s going to get 
dehydrated if he keeps this up.”

Burton grabbed the banister, and lowered himself down onto the steps next to his 
son. He searched for something to say. 

“Did you, uh, get something to eat?” he finally asked. Nick didn’t answer or 
look up. So Burton tried again, “Son?”

“I wasn’t hungry,” Nick replied, head still bowed.

“You’ve got to eat, Nick. Uhm, you know, keep up your strength, and all that.” 
The words sounded awkward even to Burton.

“I’m okay,” Nick said sadly.

They sat in silence for a few more minutes, and then Burton, finding nothing 
else to say to his son, got up and walked back into the crowd of adults.

----+----

It was about 9:00 the next morning, and Charles, Margaret, and Elizabeth were 
getting ready to travel back to Philadelphia. The elder Wentworths had actually 
been staying in the house for the last month. They had come to be with their 
daughter when they knew Anne’s time was growing short. Elizabeth had only 
arrived in the last few days before Anne’s death. She deeply regretted that she 
hadn’t been with her sister when she died, but she had been running an errand 
for her parents at the time.

The weather had cleared, and the sun was shining brightly. Burton, Nick, and the 
Wentworths stood outside the house saying their goodbyes. Charles had hired a 
car to drive them back to Philadelphia. Margaret did not like to fly, so they 
took alternate forms of transportation whenever practical. As the driver loaded 
the last of their luggage into the limo, Nick exchanged hugs with his aunt and 
grandparents. He hugged his grandmother last, and seemed reluctant to let go. 
His tears flowed afresh. He had really come to depend on his grandmother’s 
comforting, maternal presence in these last several weeks, and the thought of 
her leaving left him desolate. When Margaret would have broken their embrace, 
Nick still clung to her, so she squeezed him again, and then said his name to 
get his attention. 

“Nicholas. We love you, honey. You know that, don’t you?”

Nick turned his face up to his grandmother, and gave a nod.

“And if there’s anything you ever need.... If there’s anything we can ever 
do.... Well, all you have to do is call us. All right?”

Nick nodded again. His grandmother gave him one more warm squeeze, and then 
stepped away, her eyes brimming with tears. This time Nick let her go. His 
grandfather had already given him a brief hug, but now he stretched out his 
hand, and Nick took it, shaking it firmly.

“That’s my boy,” said Charles, “Always give a man a firm handshake, Nicholas. It 
shows you’re steadfast, a man of your word.”

With that, the three Wentworths climbed into the car, and the limo pulled slowly 
out of the driveway, and into the road. Nick and Burton stood and watched until 
the car was out of sight. Then they turned, and walked back into the house.

As they came in the door, Burton realized that this was the first time he had 
been alone with his son since Anne died. The Wentworths had stayed at the house 
with Nick these last few days, while Burton had returned home to his townhouse 
each evening. He stole a glance at the boy, and saw he was still wiping away the 
tears he had shed over the parting from his grandparents.

Burton exhaled a long breath. So much to do. He planned to move at least part of 
his belongings back into the house today. Anne’s housekeeper, Mrs. Buehl, was 
due to show up at 9:30AM. Burton planned to leave Nick in her care. He had to 
get back to the office, and deal with all the things that he knew must have been 
piling up in the last several days. 

He looked at his son again, and said, “Well, Nick, I’ve,ah, got to get ready to 
go to the office. Mrs. Buehl should be here in a little while, why don’t you, 
uhm, why don’t you find something to do until then. Okay?” Nick nodded without 
really looking at his father, and headed up the stairs, presumably to his room. 

Mrs. Buehl arrived promptly at 9:30, and after a few hurried instructions, 
Burton left for the office. 

----+----

Nick knew when his father left for work. He had heard the car pull out of the 
driveway. He was seated on his bed, idly twisting his Rubix Cube in his hands. 
His mother had given it to him for his last birthday. He had been very proud of 
himself (and better yet his mother had been very proud of him) when he had 
solved the puzzle on his own. 

He was thinking about his dad. He wondered what it would be like, living with 
his dad again. Living with his dad, without his mom. He didn’t want to admit it, 
but it kind of scared him. He wasn’t sure what to expect. 

He had been thinking a lot about his dad since his mom died (he hurried quickly 
past this thought before the tears started again). He had been trying to figure 
out how he felt, how he really felt, about his dad now. It was all so confusing, 
so muddled. But, he thought that if he tried long enough he could figure it out, 
like, like figuring out a difficult math problem. 

He was sure that before the divorce he had loved his dad. A kid’s supposed to 
love his dad, right? When Dad had walked out on Mom, when he had made her so 
unhappy.... He, he had hated him them; he had hated his guts! Now, now he didn’t 
know how he felt. It was all so hard to sort out. Sometimes when he thought 
about his dad he would remember the good things... Dad had taught him how to 
fish one time, had let him put the worm on the hook, and everything. He 
remembered how it squirmed! It had actually made him a little sad to see that, 
but he hadn’t wanted Dad to know. And there was the day Dad had taught him to 
ride his first two-wheeler, without the training wheels. That was a great day! 
He’d only fallen once. Dad had said he was a real pro. He remembered, that’s 
what he’d said, a real pro!

But most of the time when he thought about his dad, he remembered the bad 
things... Dad yelling at Mom - just the thought made him cringe. He’d hated it 
when they fought. It had always frightened him (of course, he’d only been a kid 
then). And he could probably count on one hand the number of baseball games and 
school programs his dad had attended. Even if he tried, he bet he could never 
count up all the times he’d heard his mom say, “Daddy’s going to try really hard 
to make it this time, honey. He really is.” 

Nick let out a long sigh, and frowned. It was true - mostly what he remembered 
about his dad was him not being there. He always seemed to be at work. So, in a 
lot of ways, it had just been his mother and him long before his parents 
divorced. 

After the divorce.... He thought about what it had been like those first few 
months. His mom had been so unhappy. He didn’t know if he could ever forgive his 
father for that. She had cried a lot. She tried to do it when he wasn’t around, 
but he had still been able to tell. Her eyes and nose would be all red. He had 
only been ten, but he had been old enough to know that. It had made him feel so 
sad and lost inside when she’d cried. He had tried. He had really tried to make 
her happy again. And sometimes he could...for a little while, but it had never 
lasted for long. 

And then.... And then she’d gotten sick. She hadn’t told him at first, didn’t 
want him to know. But after a while she couldn’t hide it anymore. He remembered 
that night that Mom had finally told him that she was sick, that she had cancer. 
He got a shiver just thinking about it. cancer--it had been such a big, scary 
word. He’d known that from watching TV. People that got cancer on TV died. He’d 
eventually worked up the courage to ask his mom if she was going to die, and 
she’d said “No, of course not.” But the way she said it he’d thought she might 
not be telling the truth. Sometimes adults lied. He knew they did. They were 
always telling kids not to, but they did it themselves all the time. 

He started thinking about that last day at the hospice. His mom...dying. And 
then what he had said to Dad. He hung his head. He was ashamed of that. He knew 
he should apologize. It wasn’t Dad’s fault. It was the cancer. He didn’t know 
why he had said what he did. Mom would be upset with him if she knew how he had 
yelled at Dad. She’d always insisted he be polite to everyone.

All this thinking about his mother had made him cry again. He hated that. His 
dad probably already thought he was a crybaby after all the crying he had done 
in the last few days. After all, he was twelve now, not a baby anymore. He’d 
have to try to watch it from now on, at least not let himself cry in front of 
Dad. He bet his dad never cried when he was twelve! He didn’t know if his dad 
had ever cried.

----+----

When Burton pulled back into the driveway of the house it was after 7:00PM. He 
felt a little guilty that he hadn’t made it home before this on his first 
evening with Nick, but it couldn’t be helped. It had been a very full day. There 
had just been too many things that needed his attention. He also knew that he 
had kept Mrs. Buehl longer than he had said, and hoped the woman wouldn’t be 
difficult about it.

He walked into the house, and found Mrs. Buehl with the receiver of the phone in 
her hand. “Oh, Mr. Fallin,” she said, “Good. I was just about to try to call 
you. I really must be going. Your dinner is ready, but I left it in the oven to 
keep warm. You shouldn’t have any trouble. I’m sorry to be in such a rush, but 
you see, I have plans for this evening.”

“No, no, my fault, really. Know I told you I’d be here by 6:30. Just couldn’t 
get away.” He lowed his head slightly, and ran his thumb and index finger across 
his moustache. Then he looked at back at her, as he asked, “How, uh, how did 
Nick do today?”

Mrs. Buehl answered him while putting on her coat, “Well, he spent most of the 
day in his room. I’m afraid he barely touched his lunch. I guess he must not 
have much of an appetite yet, poor little lamb. He’s such a sweet boy.... Well, 
I’ll see you tomorrow, Mr. Fallin.” And, she left. 

Burton took a look in the oven, and saw Mrs. Buehl had made a beef roast with 
potatoes. He grabbed the hot pads that were sitting on the counter, pulled the 
pan out, and set it on the stove. Then he walked upstairs to find Nick.

Nick’s bedroom door was closed. Burton knocked, and then went in. Nick was lying 
on his bed, with a book in his hand. Somehow, though, Burton got the impression 
that he hadn’t really been reading it. 

“Hi, son. Dinner’s ready. You,uhm, want to wash up and come on down?”

Nick nodded, and got off the bed.

----+----

Burton and Nick sat across the dinner table from each other. Burton was just 
finishing his meal. Nick had eaten no more than half the food on his plate, and 
now was just moving the rest around with his fork. Burton had made a couple 
attempts at conversation, but they had all fallen flat. 

Finally, he said, “Are you finished?”

Nick looked up at his father, and said, “Yes, sir.” 

“Well take your dishes on into the kitchen then.” Nick got out of the chair, 
gathered up his plate, silverware, and milk glass, and walked toward the 
kitchen.

Burton got up and carried his dishes in, as well. 

Burton placed the dishes in the dishwasher, and then looked at his son. He tried 
to put a friendly smile on his face, as he said, “What, uh, what do you usually 
do after dinner, son?”

Nick’s face screwed up, and Burton could see the tears welling in his eyes. Nick 
said in a small voice, “I’d, I’d usually visit with Mom until bedtime.”

“Ohhh,” Burton drew out slowly. “I guess you would. “ He ran his right hand 
across the hair on the top of his head. “Well...what would you like to do 
tonight?”

Nick’s looked at his father without expression, and said quietly, “I’d just like 
to go to my room, please.”

Burton attempted another small smile, and said, “Well, okay then. Good night, 
son.” 

Nick walked out of the kitchen, and Burton stared after him silently for a 
moment. 

----+----

Burton switched off the downstairs lights, and climbed the stairs. He walked 
down the hallway, headed for one of the guest rooms. He would move into the 
master bedroom eventually, but all Anne’s things must still be in there now. As 
he passed Nick’s door he thought he heard sounds coming from inside. He paused, 
and listened. Now he could clearly hear racking sobs coming from inside the 
room. His heart fell. It hurt him to hear his son in so much pain. His hand 
reached instinctively for the door handle, but then stopped. What could he say 
to the boy? What could he really do to comfort him? So far, Nick had given every 
indication that he wanted nothing to do with him right now. Burton stood there 
for a minute, indecisive, then his hand fell back to his side, and he walked on 
down the hall.

As he passed the master bedroom, it occurred to him that he had not yet been 
inside. He flipped on the light, and stood staring into the room. God, so many 
memories, so many of them from the later years, unpleasant ones. He and Anne had 
argued a lot in those last months before the divorce. Burton shook his head 
regretfully. He was ashamed to think of how many of those arguments Nick must 
have overheard. He let out a heavy sigh, his face twisting in a frown, and found 
himself thinking, “Nick, what am I going to do about Nick?”

After a moment of silent reflection, he turned his attention back to the 
contents of the room. It was immediately apparent that it had been transformed 
into a sickroom. Anne had been bedridden for the last couple months of her life. 
She had required a full-time nurse during that time. He could see many things 
that had obviously been added to the room for the convenience of the invalid. He 
also noticed a small desk in the corner, where none had been before. He walked 
over for a closer look, and found it covered with Nick’s school papers. He 
supposed that made sense, letting the boy be near his mother while he did his 
homework.

----+----

Burton sat up in bed, smoking a cigarette while he thought about his son. As 
usual, when his thoughts turned to Nick the number one thing he felt was guilt. 
This had been an almost Pavlovian response for a long time now. He knew he 
hadn’t been much of a father to the boy since the divorce. The whole thing had 
been such an ugly affair. He knew, too, that the main reason he hadn’t seen his 
son as often as he should have in those months was to avoid another nasty 
confrontation with Anne. 

The truth was he had been truly emotionally drained for the first several months 
after the break-up. He was ashamed to admit that by the time he had recovered 
from that he had gotten used to not seeing his son. God, he hated to acknowledge 
that fact, even to himself. But, he also knew it was true that he and his son 
had never formed as strong a bond as most fathers and sons. The easy answer was 
to blame it on the long hours he had worked for most of Nick’s life. But, he 
knew there was more to it. It just seemed there was something “missing” inside 
himself when it came to parenthood. He didn’t know why, but somehow things had 
just never “clicked” between himself and his son. He certainly couldn’t blame it 
on Nick. He knew it was his own failing. He loved his son. He was sure of that. 
But, still there was something, some sense of “detachment” between the two of 
them that had always been there. Something that kept them from connecting like a 
normal father and son.

Once he knew that Anne’s condition was indeed terminal, he had given a lot of 
thought to how he was going to deal with raising his son on his own. The thought 
of being a single parent was not only frightening (he’d always left all the 
important decisions regarding Nick to Anne), but, God help him, inconvenient. He 
knew, if there was a God, he, Burton, should probably be struck down for that 
thought. But, if he was honest with himself, that was how he felt - his own son 
was an inconvenience. Christ! 

He had come up with a possible solution to the problem, but hadn’t had the guts 
to decide to go through with it yet, let alone discuss it with Nick. Nick was 
twelve years old. There were many good prep schools that took children as young 
as twelve. He had done some research, and even gotten brochures from several of 
them. Nick was a very intelligent child, and could only benefit from receiving 
the kind of education these schools could provide. After all, look at all the 
successful people that had gone to prep schools - CEOs, academicians, 
politicians. It could only open doors for Nick in the long run. He, Burton, had 
just not been able to make up his mind yet as to whether he wanted to pursue 
this as an option for his son, or not. 

There was one thing he was sure of, however, in regards to Nick’s future. One 
thing he had always promised himself. His son was never going to have to make 
his way through college on scholarships and part-time jobs, as he did. Going 
short on sleep to get in a little more studying before hurrying off to the next 
job. His son was never going to have to choose between paying the rent and 
buying the next week’s groceries. His son was going to have the best Ivy League 
education that money could buy. He, Burton Fallin, would see to that.

He was tired, and he was no closer to a decision about Nick’s schooling than he 
had been when he laid down. He stubbed out his cigarette. Well, he’d just have 
to keep doing what he was doing now . Take it one day at a time. Play it by ear 
until he could make up his mind what to do.

----+----

A week had passed, and Burton had made up his mind. Things between himself and 
his son had not gotten any easier. They were still like two awkward strangers - 
living in the same house, but not living “together”. He had thought things might 
get better when Nick started back to school. That getting back into a familiar 
routine might work a change in his son, but it hadn’t. Nick still walked around 
the house like a silent ghost most of the time. 

Burton had come into the family room once, and actually caught his son laughing 
at something on TV. It was the first truly happy look he had seen on his son’s 
face since his mother had died. It touched him, and he had felt an answering 
smile creasing his own lips, but then Nick had looked up. The moment he saw 
Burton he had gone still; the joy disappearing from his face. Burton couldn’t 
understand it. He had tried in every way he knew to be kind to his son. He had 
tried to reach out to him in these days, break through that shell of reserve 
that he wore, but he had failed. Christ! Sometimes he thought the boy was 
actually afraid of him. His own son...afraid of him!

So, he had made up his mind. Nick would attend prep school. Now came the hard 
part. Telling the boy. He had decided to do it first thing after dinner this 
evening. He had worked out how he would present it to his son -- what a 
wonderful opportunity it was for him, and so forth. He had no idea, frankly, 
what reaction to expect from Nicholas.

Now the time was here. He and Nick had just carried their plates into the 
kitchen, and loaded them in to the dishwasher. It had become a ritual, and one 
of the few things they actually did together.

“Now,” Burton thought to himself.

“Nick, why don’t you come into the study? There’s, uhm, there’s something I want 
to talk to you about.”

Nick looked questioningly at his father, but said, “Okay.”

When they reached the study, Burton pulled a chair up to the front of his desk 
for Nick, and then took his own seat behind the desk. He looked at his son 
intently for a long moment, and he could feel his own heart rate begin to 
increase. He knew this was going to be hard. Nick just sat there impassively, 
watching his father, waiting for him to begin to speak. He knew it must be 
something serious. He could tell that by the look on his father’s face.

Burton took a breath, and finally began. “You know, son, a good education is one 
of the most important things a man can have. You know that, don’t you?”

Nick nodded.

“A man can’t get anywhere today without a good education, Nicholas. It lays the 
foundation for everything he can achieve in life. Why, uh, just look at me. Do 
you think I’d be where I am now if I hadn’t done everything I could to get 
myself a decent education?” 

He paused, and looked at his son inquiringly.

Nick didn’t really know how to reply to this, so he just said nothing.

“You’re...you’re my son, Nicholas, and because of where I am today I, uhm, I can 
give you some of the advantages that I never had as a child.” Burton paused, and 
cleared his throat. He ran a hand across the top of his head. “Nice clothes, a 
nice place to live, nice toys. All those things, son, but the most important 
thing I can give you is a good education.”

Burton paused, looked down, and then up again, and said, “Do you know what a 
prep school is Nicholas?”

Nick thought about it for a second. It sort of sounded familiar, but he didn’t 
think he really knew what it was. “No,” he said, “I don’t think so.”

“Well, uh, a prep school (it’s really short for “preparatory school”) is a place 
where young people, people your age, go to, uhm, prepare themselves for 
college.” He stroked his fingers over his moustache. “It’s a private school for 
boys from backgrounds like yours. Boys that will make something of themselves in 
the world. They have only the best instructors, and they teach courses that you 
would never get in your current school -- things like Latin, and lots of other 
useful things.” 

Burton paused to see how Nick was taking all this. His son looked apprehensive, 
but didn’t say anything. So he continued. “What I am saying, Nicholas, is that 
I’ve decided that you should attend prep school. I think it will be for the 
best. All, uh, all around.”

This finally moved Nick to say something. He leaned forward in the chair, and 
asked apprehensively, “When?”

Burton answered, “Well, as soon as possible, son. They’re not too far into the 
current term so you won’t really have missed much. I, I want to get you started 
right away.”

Now Nick looked a little frightened, and Burton could see his eyes were wet. 
“Where, where is this school?” Nick asked.

“Well, that’s the thing son. We have to pick one. I’ve talked to several 
different schools, and I’ve narrowed it down to these three.” 

Burton picked up some pamphlets from the desktop. “I thought you could look over 
these brochures, and then you could pick where you’d like to go.” He smiled at 
Nick, and briefly put his hand to his face. “You’ll see, son. They have lots of 
fun things to do; it’s not just all hitting the books. They have horses, 
swimming, tennis courts. Lots, uhm, lots of things for you to do in your spare 
time. You’ll see. You’ll enjoy it. And you’ll be around other boys your own age; 
boys with similar interests to yours.”

He extended the brochures to Nick who took them hesitantly. He took a quick 
glance at the front of each pamphlets. Each one gave the name of the school, and 
the town and state where it was located. Only one of them was in Pennsylvania, 
and it was in a town he had never heard of.

He looked up at his father, and, despite himself, could not keep a tear or two 
from sliding down his cheek. “You, you mean I’d be going away to school? Living 
there, like, like people do for college? I-I-I wouldn’t be living here anymore?” 
His voice trembled on the last question.

“That’s right son.” Burton smiled at him encouragingly. “It, uhm, it would kind 
of be like an adventure, don’t you think? New people, new places. Of course, 
you’d come back here during the holidays and for summer vacation....” 

Burton trailed off as he saw Nick was about to completely dissolve into tears. 
He stood up. “Well, son, why don’t you take those brochures with you, and look 
them over? You can let me know tomorrow which one you like. All right?”

Nick seemed to be struck dumb by the sudden realization of what his father was 
saying - he was sending him away. But he got up when his father did, and without 
a word, turned, and fled the room. When he reached the stairs he broke into a 
run. He was determined to reach his bedroom before he started crying in earnest. 
He flew into his room, and threw himself face down on the bed. Just as he did 
the dam burst, and he was swept away in a torrent of tears.

As he lay there sobbing, he kept repeating the same thing over and over to 
himself silently: “My dad wants to send me away. He doesn’t want me. He doesn’t 
want me!” Over and over these words played out in his head. He thought his heart 
might break.

When the first crest of flood waters had receded, he sat up. His hair was 
tousled, and his eyes were red from crying. He wiped at his face, and grabbed a 
kleenex to blow his nose. It took two to do the job properly. He didn’t like to 
“sniff”. His mother had always hated that, so he tried not to do it for her 
sake.

He had calmed down considerably, but was still drawing ragged grasps of breath 
as people do after a crying jag when he reached over to the bedside table, and 
turned on the lamp. He wiped at his eyes once more, and picked up the hated 
brochures from where they had fallen on the bed. He looked at them again. One 
was in Pennsylvania, one was in New York, and the other one was in Vermont. 

As he stared down at the pamphlets, his unhappiness was gradually pushed aside 
by anger. If his father didn’t want to be with him, then he didn’t want to be 
with his father!! He would just go to one of these crummy, old schools! Suddenly 
he had an inspiration. He decided right then, without even looking at any of the 
other information in the brochures, that he would pick the school in Vermont. It 
was the farthest away. “That’ll show him,” he thought. If his dad wanted to send 
him away, then he’d go as far away as possible. See how Dad liked that! Feeling 
more in control after this planned act of defiance, he headed into the bathroom 
to get ready for bed.

----+----

When Burton walked into the dining room the next morning, Nick was already 
sitting there eating his cereal. He didn’t look up when his father entered, so 
Burton couldn’t tell what mood the boy was in. He had known about the crying jag 
last night, of course, had felt bad about it. But it hadn’t weakened his 
resolve. 

He fixed himself a cup of coffee and a bowl of cereal, and sat down across from 
his son.

As his father took his seat, Nick looked up at him with a blank expression, and 
said in a flat voice, “I picked a school.”

“Well that’s great son,” Burton said with a smile. “Which one did you pick?”

“The one in Vermont.”

Burton looked a little surprised. He’d expected the boy to pick one closer to 
home. 

“Ohhh...the one in Vermont -- Hamilton Academy, yeah. Hmmm, well...well, that’s 
a good school son, but are you, uh, are you sure that’s the one you want?” 

Nick nodded his head, as Burton continued, “It’s pretty far away, you know. You, 
uhm, wouldn’t be able to get back home for weekends, or anything like that.”

Nick didn’t say a word. 

“You’re sure that’s the school you want?” Burton asked again.

Nick looked up at his father with a defiant light in his eye, and answered 
firmly, “Yes, I’m sure.”

“Well, okay then.” Burton tried to put some enthusiasm into his voice. “Hamilton 
Academy it is. I’ll call them today, and start making the arrangements.”

Nick had returned his attention to his cereal bowl.

Burton stared down at the top of his son’s bent head for a moment. Now that the 
matter was settled he felt...something...he couldn’t quite identify, a curious 
kind of let-down feeling. Kind of like unwrapping a present, sure that you know 
what’s inside, only to find you got something entirely different than you 
expected -- something you’re not even sure you want. Huhh.
 
 
--+--


Nick Fallin, 12, laid in bed contemplating the latest life-altering event in his 
life. It had been three days since his father, Burton, had dropped the bombshell 
that he was to attend boarding school. Nick still felt shell-shocked. His mother 
had died only two weeks before, and now his father was sending him away to prep 
school in Vermont. His dad already had all the arrangements made. They would be 
flying up to the school on Sunday. Mrs. Buehl, the housekeeper, had taken him 
shopping just that afternoon for some new clothes - mostly socks and underwear 
(“underwear - how embarrassing!”). But also some new shoes and new casual 
clothes for the weekends. His father had said that they would buy his school 
uniforms once they got to the Middlebury. 

Nick shook his curly, blonde head slowly, and frowned, as he faced the prospect 
of the new school and being away from home. This house had always been his home. 
In the beginning, it had been one they all shared -- his father, mother, and 
him. Then after the divorce, it became home to just his mother and him. Now Mom 
was dead, and Dad was sending him away. He turned his mind quickly away from 
that thought. He’d done enough crying to last him a lifetime in the last two 
weeks. He didn’t want to cry now. What he wanted to do was think logically about 
the problem, see if there wasn’t some way out of this fate that seemed to be 
bearing down on him like a locomotive.

Suddenly, Nick recalled the words his grandmother had said to him the morning 
after his mother’s funeral. They had been standing outside saying their 
goodbyes, as Grandmother, Grandfather, and Aunt Liz prepared for their return 
trip to Philadelphia. When she had hugged him goodbye, Grandmother had said that 
if he ever needed anything, anything at all, all he had to do was call. He 
wondered if that might be a way out of this. Maybe, if he called Grandmother and 
told her that Dad was sending him away to school, maybe she and Grandfather 
could talk him out of it. 

Nick let out a long sigh. He didn’t suppose there was much hope there though. 
Once his dad made up his mind about something, he hardly ever changed it. Nick 
had learned that a long time ago. Of course, maybe if his grandparents couldn’t 
talk Dad out of sending him away, maybe there was another way. Maybe he could go 
live with them. He mulled that over in his mind for a few minutes. After all, it 
was clear his father didn’t want him. He frowned angrily for a few seconds, but 
then returned to his previous train of thought. Living with his 
grandparents...it would still be leaving home, leaving his friends, leaving 
everything that was familiar to him, but it would probably be better that going 
off to some strange school to live among people he’d never met. He loved his 
grandparents, and knew they loved him. It would probably be all right.

Nick made up his mind. He’d call his grandparents after school tomorrow, before 
Dad got home. Dad...Dad, would not be pleased with him going behind his back to 
seek an out with his grandparents. He’d probably be angry. Of course, a guy had 
the right to speak to his grandparents once in a while, didn’t he? He’d just 
call them to say ‘hi’. He wouldn’t mention the school right away. He’d let 
Grandmother ask him how things were going. Then he’d have to tell her about the 
school and everything, wouldn’t he? Pleased that he’d worked out a viable plan, 
Nick rolled over in bed, and went to sleep.

----+----

Nick was in his mother’s bedroom. He’d headed upstairs right after he’d gotten 
home, determined to make the phone call to his grandparents before he lost his 
nerve. He stared at the phone while making a silent promise to himself to 
maintain his self-control during the call -- to not cry. Finally, he picked up 
the receiver, and dialed his grandparents’ number. His grandmother answered 
after the third ring.

“Hello,” she said.

“Grandmother, this is Nick.”

“Why, Nicky, honey. It’s good to hear from you. How are you?”

Nick’s pledge to himself flew out the window as he heard his grandmother’s warm, 
familiar voice, and the tears started to come.

“Grandmother, I, I....” he said in a broken voice.

“Why, Nick, what is it? What’s wrong?” Margaret Wentworth’s voice was full of 
concern at the unhappiness she heard in her grandson’s voice.

“It’s..it’s....” Nick burst into tears at this point, and had to struggle to get 
the rest of the words out. “Dad, Dad is sending me away...a-away to school in 
Vermont.”

“What?“ Margaret wasn’t sure she’d heard him correctly. “Nick, now just try to 
calm down, honey. Take a deep breath.... That’s it. Now tell me again. Your 
father is sending you where?”

“He’s sending me to prep school in Vermont. He says that’s the best thing.”

“When? When is he sending you to school?” Margaret asked quickly.

“We leave on Sunday. He says, he says, I should get started right away.” Nick 
had control of himself now, and was able to reply fairly calmly.

His Grandmother did not answer for a moment. Angry words had been on the verge 
of passing her lips, but she had stopped them in time. It did no good to 
denigrate his father to Nick. When she spoke her voice was calm.

“You don’t want to go, is that right, Nick?”

“No, I don’t. I’ll hate it there. I-I know I will,” Nick answered with feeling.

“Well, honey, let me talk to your Grandfather. Maybe there’s something we can 
do. You just, just hang tight, okay? Try not to worry.” 

“Okay, Grandmother. Thank you. Good-goodbye.”

“Goodbye, honey.”

As Nick hung up the phone a feeling of relief passed through his slight frame. 
Maybe it would be okay. Maybe his grandparents could talk Dad out of sending him 
away. He headed back to his room to wait out the hours until dinner.

----+----

Burton Fallin stared across the dinner table at his son. As usual, Nick had had 
very little to say. In the last few days, Burton had pretty much given up 
attempts to pry any conversation from his boy. True, since his mother’s death, 
it had always yielded slim results, but ever since he had told Nick about prep 
school, his success rate had dropped to almost zero. His son’s silences had 
become almost sullen at times. It was really beginning to wear on Burton’s 
nerves. He found himself guiltily looking forward to Nick’s starting school and 
his own life returning to normal. Well, it would only be a few more days now.

----+----

Burton was at his desk later that evening when the phone rang. It was about 
8:30, and he had been deep in study of the papers for the Lawton case when his 
concentration was abruptly disrupted by the ringing of the phone.

Nick, in his bedroom, heard the phone ring, as well. He crept stealthily down 
the stairs, and over to the door of his father’s study. He was hoping it was his 
Grandmother, and he was anxious to hear as much of the conversation as he could.

Burton answered the phone. “Hello,” he said.

“Burton, this is Margaret. How are you?”

“Fine, fine, Margaret,” Burton replied, with surprise showing in his voice. 
“Thank you. How, uh, how are you and Charles?”

“Very well, thank you, Burton.”

“Well, that’s good to hear.... Did you want to speak to Nick? He’s upstairs, but 
I could get him for you.”

“Actually, I talked to Nicholas this afternoon. That’s why I’m calling now.... 
He told me about the school in Vermont. He didn’t sound very happy about the 
idea, Burton.”

“Well, no, I guess he’s not,” Burton replied, somewhat chagrined. “But, I think 
it’s for the best, Margaret, and Nick’s a bright boy. I’m sure he’ll adapt in no 
time.”

“But, Burton, to send him away so soon? Anne...Anne has only been gone two 
weeks. The poor boy hasn’t yet had time to recover from that shock, and now 
you’re shipping him off to live among a group of strangers?”

Burton felt his temper rising, but sought to control it. “Margaret, I know 
you’re just concerned about Nick’s welfare, but he’s my son, and I have to 
decide what’s best for him. Nick needs structure. I can’t give that to 
him...working the hours I do. Hamilton Academy is an excellent school. They’ll 
provide him with the kind of environment he needs to grow and excel.”

“But, Burton,” Margaret persisted. “He’s only a child, barely twelve years old. 
Surely you should wait till he’s fourteen to send him away to school. And to 
send him all the way to Vermont....” Her voice trailed off.

“Vermont was Nick’s choice, Margaret. He could have picked a school here 
in-state, but he chose Hamilton Academy.” 

Margaret did not answer right away, but when she did she spoke in her most 
persuasive tone. “Why not consider sending Nick to live with us, Burton? There 
are plenty of good boys’ schools right here in Philadelphia. His grandfather and 
I would love to have him.”

Burton grimaced, and let out an audible sigh. “I appreciate the offer, Margaret, 
but I don’t think that would work. You and Charles have only raised daughters. 
You have no idea what it would be like to have an active boy in the house. And 
Nick will be a teenager soon. That’s when boys are most in need of firm 
boundaries and discipline.” He paused. “I’m sorry, I know you’re only thinking 
of Nick, but the answer has to be ‘no’.” 

“Burton,” Margaret coaxed, “why not at least think about the idea for a little 
while? Maybe just leave Nick with us until he’s fourteen. Then if you still feel 
there are advantages to him boarding out at a prep school, he could go then.”

“No. No, I’m sorry Margaret. I’ve made up my mind about this. I’m sorry.”

Margaret sighed in defeat. “Well, Burton, I’m disappointed to hear you say that. 
I think you’re making a terrible mistake, and I sincerely hope you don’t come to 
regret it.... You know, there are some things in life that can’t be mended once 
they’re broken.

Burton was silent as he studied her last words. “Yes, well...I have to do what I 
think is best.... Good night, Margaret.”

“Good night, Burton.”

As Nick heard his father getting ready to hang up the phone, he headed quietly 
back to his room. Unhappiness dogged his steps. Even with hearing only one side 
of the conversation, it had been obvious that his father was not going to budge. 
He, Nick, was still headed for boarding school.

Burton placed the receiver back in its cradle. He wore an unhappy expression as 
he stared off into space for a moment. Then drawing in a long breath, he headed 
upstairs to talk to Nicholas.

Burton walked into his son’s bedroom without knocking. Nick was sitting 
cross-legged in the middle of the bed. He looked up when his father entered. 
Burton gazed at his son a moment. He kept his voice level as he began. “That was 
your grandmother on the phone. She told me about your call to her this 
afternoon.” Nick looked at the bed clothes, and didn’t say anything. Burton 
tried to sound encouraging, as he continued. “Son, I know 
you’re...apprehensive...about attending prep school, but trust me, it will be 
fine. You’ll make friends in no time. You’ll see.” 

There was no sign of response from Nick. Burton paused, running his left hand 
across the top of his head, before continuing. “The truth is Nicholas, I just 
can’t give you the things you need the most right now. With the hours I work, I 
can’t be here to provide the guidance a boy your age needs. I’m sorry, son, but 
I think this school is going to be the best thing for you.”

Nick still stared silently at the bed, and Burton found himself wishing, not for 
the first time, that his son would look him in the eye. Burton frowned, and 
stroked his mustache with one hand. He had considered not mentioning the next 
part of the phone conversation to Nick, but decided he would find out sooner, or 
later, and it was better he heard it from him.

“Your grandmother suggested that you come to live with them for a while, that 
you attend school there in Philadelphia.” At these words, Nick looked up 
hopefully, even though he knew his father had already rejected the offer. “But, 
I told her I didn’t think that was a good idea. Your grandparents aren’t young 
anymore, Nicholas. Their health is not the best. They really aren’t in any kind 
of shape to take on the responsibility of a boy your age.”

As Nick’s face fell, Burton found himself feeling badly for his son. He thought 
a moment, and then added, “That’s not to say you couldn’t, uhm, spend some of 
the school holidays with your grandparents. Maybe you could go there for spring 
break. That’s not that far away. What do you say? Would you like that?”

Nick nodded, but didn’t speak.

Burton spent another moment gazing at his son’s bend head, before saying, 
“Well...good night, son.” He waited, but when Nick didn’t reply, he walked out 
of the room, closing the door behind him.

Nick gazed out into space with a mutinous look, before forcefully throwing his 
upper body back onto the bed. He stared up at the ceiling with a helpless 
feeling of frustration and melancholy.

----+----

It was Saturday afternoon, and Nick was finishing up his packing. Mrs. Buehl had 
helped him pack the majority of his things yesterday. He was just adding the 
last few personal items now. He looked around his room to decide what he 
couldn’t bear to leave behind. His father had told him he was not allowed to 
take ‘everything and the kitchen sink’. Those were his words. And Nick knew he 
meant it, so he was trying to limit it to small things that meant a lot to him. 

He tossed his Rubix Cube in the bag. There was no question about leaving that 
behind. His mother had given it to him for his birthday. He threw in his 
favorite baseball too. Sometimes when he was thinking about things he liked to 
toss the ball back and forth, hand to hand. He saw another couple items on his 
dresser that he didn’t want to be without, and added them too. Now came the hard 
part -- deciding what to do about his secret keepsake, the one nobody knew 
about. It was one of his mother’s lace-edged handkerchiefs. His mother had had 
the habit of keeping a perfumed handkerchief in her handbag. Whenever she opened 
her purse, the sweet scent would waft out. 

The night that his mother had gone into the hospice, Nick had been searching the 
house for comfort, some kind of solace. He had wandered into his mother’s room, 
and seen her perfume tray on the dresser. He had walked over, and picked up the 
one bottle that he knew was her favorite. He had often seen his mother spritz 
herself with this scent before heading out the door to one of her meetings. That 
evening he had sprayed a mist of the perfume into the air, and sniffed it 
appreciatively. It brought back so many wonderful memories of his mother -- Mom 
kissing him on his way out the door to the school bus.... Mom reaching down to 
hug him after he’d told her a funny joke.... Mom tucking him in and kissing him 
good night.... He smiled at the memories.

Then he had remembered the handkerchiefs in the top middle drawer of his 
mother’s dresser. He retrieved one, and sprayed it generously with the perfume. 
He replaced the perfume atomizer on his mother’s tray, and then headed for his 
bedroom, the hanky hidden in his hand. From that evening on, it had become his 
secret treasure. Lying in bed at night, when his yearning for his mother became 
overwhelming, he would hold the delicate piece of fabric to his face, and smell 
his mother’s scent. It had become his biggest comfort.

Nick had gotten into the habit of keeping the handkerchief underneath his 
pillow. He just had to be sure to remember not to leave it there on Wednesday 
mornings when Mrs. Buehl washed his sheets. He had reapplied the perfume several 
times now to keep the scent strong. When his father had moved into the house, 
Nick had taken the perfume bottle off his mother’s dresser, and hidden it in his 
room. He knew his father would get rid of his mother’s things eventually, and he 
hadn’t wanted to risk the loss of this special font of comfort.

Now he was faced with a difficult decision -- whether to take the perfume and 
handkerchief to school with him. He knew if the other boys learned he kept his 
mother’s handkerchief like this, he would be a source of ridicule. But, he also 
didn’t want to give up the one thing that had become such a comfort to him in 
his bleakest hours. He finally decided he couldn’t risk taking the perfume 
itself. If it was discovered he’d be tagged a ‘sissy’ for life. But, he would 
risk taking the hanky. It was small, and easy to hide among his own things. The 
problem was the smell. He didn’t want his own clothes reeking of perfume, and he 
also wanted to preserve the scent on the handkerchief as long as possible. He 
finally decided he would get a ziploc bag from the kitchen. If he kept the 
handkerchief in there, it would protect his clothes, and make the scent last 
longer. Pleased with this compromise he set the handkerchief aside, and turned 
his attention to the problem of where to hide the perfume bottle. He didn’t want 
his father or Mrs. Buehl to find it. He considered and discarded several 
options, and finally decided to leave it where it was now -- hidden up in his 
closet in a shoe box. He didn’t think either his father or Mrs. Buehl were too 
likely to be going through the shelves in his closet.

He ran down to the kitchen for the ziploc bag. Returning to his room, he put the 
hanky in the bag, and then carefully placed it in his suitcase between a pile of 
underwear. Satisfied, he closed up the suitcase, and surveyed the two bags full 
of his belongings. He sighed at the inevitability of it all, and walked out of 
the room to go watch some TV.

----+----

Nick and Burton were in a rental car, headed for Middlebury, Vt. They had flown 
into Burlington that morning, and it was about a 45 minute drive to Middlebury 
where Hamilton Academy was located. Burton glanced over at his son. Nick was 
staring silently out the window. The landscape was pretty stark at present, with 
the trees bare of their leaves, but it was obvious that in any other season it 
would have been beautiful, lots of tree-covered rolling hills, with mountains in 
the distance. 

Nick had been silent the whole morning. Even the take-off from Pittsburgh had 
elicited no comment from him, and it could only be the third or fourth time the 
boy had ever flown. “Well,” Burton thought to himself, “at least there’ve been 
no tears today either.”

As they pulled into Middlebury it was obvious that this was a very old town, 
built around a piece of Common ground, as were many in New England. The 
buildings that lined the streets of the downtown were all very well maintained, 
and many were classic examples of the architecture of the region.

Burton pulled the car into a spot close to Whitman’s Fine Apparel. The school 
had informed him that this would be the place to get Nick’s uniforms. Father and 
son entered the store, and in no time, Nick was fitted out in the gray trousers, 
blue blazer, white shirt and red and gold striped tie that made up the Hamilton 
uniform. He stared at himself in the mirror disconsolately. “Stupid uniform,” he 
found himself thinking. He’d never had to wear a uniform at his old school.

Placing the bundle of new clothes in the sedan, Burton hailed Nick, who had been 
walking with slow footsteps back to the car, “Come on son. Let’s go.”

They drove the mile and a half out of town to the school. It was an impressive 
three-story brick building, situated on a large piece of partially-wooded 
ground. As they came up the long drive, several outbuildings and a stable were 
in view. Horses could be seen grazing in a pasture in the distance. Nick cheered 
up just a little at the sight of the horses. He had always had a passion for the 
large, magnificent creatures. The prospect of riding was one of the only bright 
spots on an otherwise dark horizon. The school was surrounded by a large, 
well-cared-for, lawn. It was a nice day for January, and several boys could be 
seen engaged in a game of tag football.

His father pulled the car up to the front of the building, and they got out. 
Right inside the main entrance to the building they found a reception desk. The 
receptionist greeted them pleasantly, and Burton said, “Hello. I’m Burton Fallin 
and this is my son Nick. We’re here to enroll Nicholas for the current 
semester.“ The receptionist smiled as she said, “Well, welcome to Hamilton 
Academy. I’ll just let the headmaster Mr. Whitington know you’ve arrived.”

In just a few minutes, Mr. Whitington came down the stairs. He was a tall, 
dark-haired man in his middle forties. He stuck out his hand to Burton, as he 
said enthusiastically, “Mr. Fallin, very good to meet you.” The two men shook 
hands. Mr. Whitington next offered his hand to Nick, and said, “And this must be 
Nicholas! Welcome young man. I think you’re really going to enjoy your time 
here. We have a very good group of young people here at Hamilton.” Nick shook 
his hand, but didn’t say anything.

Mr. Whitington continued, “Well, Mr. Fallin, we received Nicholas’ transcripts, 
and everything seems to be in order. If you like, I’ll give you and Nick a brief 
tour of the school, and then show you up to his room.”

Burton smiled, and placed his hand on Nick’s shoulder, as he said, “Thank you, 
Mr. Whitington. We’d like that.”

Mr. Whitington walked them around the school building, pointing out various 
classrooms, the gym, the dining room, and anything else of interest they passed. 
Then he took them outside, and pointed out a few things around the grounds.

Returning inside he led them over to the boys’ dormitory. Nick’s room turned out 
to be on the third floor. It was a double room, and he could see his roommate’s 
side was covered with his possessions. The room was a comfortable size for two 
boys, with two twin beds, two chests of drawers, two desks, and two closets. 
While they had been touring the school, Mr. Whitington had had Nick’s suitcases 
and new uniforms brought up to the room. The bundle of uniforms sat on the bed, 
while the suitcases were on the floor nearby. 

As he realized Mr. Whitington was speaking, Nick turned his attention back to 
the headmaster.

“Your roommate is a boy named Michael Fulton, Nicholas. He’s in your year, so 
should be able to show you the ropes. I suppose he’s outside right now, but you 
should meet him at dinner.... Well, Mr. Fallin, will you be joining us for the 
evening meal? We’d be glad to have you.”

Burton smiled at the invitation, but shook his head. “Thank you, but no. I’m 
flying back to Pittsburgh later this afternoon. I just thought I’d get Nick 
settled, and then head on back to the airport.”

“Well, I’ll leave you with your son then.” Turning his attention back to Nick, 
the headmaster said, “Nick, dinner is promptly at 5:00 on Sundays. Michael 
should be back in the room before that, so he should be able to take you 
downstairs. All right?” Nick replied, “Yes, sir,” and Mr. Whitington smiled. 
“Well, good, good. I’ll leave you two alone now.” With a last look at Nick, he 
added, “We’re very glad to have you here, Nicholas. I want you to know that.” 
With those words, Mr. Whitington headed out the door.

Father and son shared another silent look around the room. At last, Burton said, 
“So, Nick, would you, uhm, like me to help you unpack?”

“No, thank you,” Nick answered tonelessly. “I can do it myself.”

“Well, okay then.” Burton seemed to think a minute. “Ohh, you’ll be needing some 
‘walking around money’. Here...here’s fifty dollars, son. That should tide you 
over for a while.” As he handed him the money, Nick took it, and stared at it 
silently.

His father continued, “We’ll have to work out what you’re spending expenses are, 
and then I’ll, uh, send you that amount each month. Now, take good care of that, 
Nicholas. That’s a lot of money for a boy your age. I expect you to be 
responsible with it.”

“Yes, sir.” Nick replied, still not looking at his father.

Burton looked around once more. “Well, is there anything else you need before I 
leave? Anything you’d like me to do....” Burton’s voice trailed off on the last 
sentence. He looked at his son expectantly.

This time Nick looked up at his father, and said, “No. You can go. I’m, I’m 
fine.” To his immense relief, he hadn’t cried yet. He was determined not to, at 
least not until his father had left.

“Well...well, I guess this is goodbye then son.... You, you be good and study 
hard. You, uhm, make me and your mother proud of you. Okay?” Burton felt his own 
eyes filling as he said these words to his son.

Nick just nodded silently. Burton stared at his son for another long moment, 
then reached forward, and clasped the child to him in a bear hug. Nick did not 
resist the embrace, but neither did he return it. Burton held on to his son for 
a moment, then released him, and stepped back.

Without meeting his son’s eyes, he said, “Well, okay then, I’ll see you later, 
son. You take good care of yourself, all right? Bye bye.”

Nick did not see his father walk out of the room. He had his attention on the 
floor boards. But once his dad was gone, Nick stepped over to the window. His 
room was on the front of the building so he had a view of the driveway where 
their rental car was parked. In a few minutes time he saw his father emerge from 
the building. Burton reached the driver’s door of the car, but paused for a 
moment, and peered back up at the building. Nick stepped back from the window, 
not wanting his father to see him. After 20 or 30 seconds, Burton lowered his 
gaze, and opened the car door. He got in, and drove slowly away. 

As he watched his father’s car disappear down the long drive, Nick began to 
breathe again. Without even realizing it, he had started holding his breath the 
moment his father had turned to look up at the windows. Now, he took another 
look around the room, and sat down on his bed. He was surprised that he wasn’t 
crying. He’d expected to, but somehow he didn’t feel like crying anymore. He 
just felt a great, yawning, emptiness inside. It seemed impossible to imagine 
that anything could ever fill that emptiness. After a moment, he got up from the 
bed, and slowly began to unpack.

The End