“I was going to pressure you. I was going to deny every form you ever submitted.” The confession slips out honestly. I didn’t even mean it to. The pain of why I didn’t is just too much to hold in.
“Well, that would have been awful dickish of you,” Brody comments and his elbow hits my arm. When I look back at him, he motions to the bottle. My gaze narrows and he says, “Come on, man.”
A second passes before I hand him the bottle and he takes a swig. He hisses out after taking a gulp of it. Holding it out in front of him he comments, “You couldn’t get anything better?” His eyes are wide and an honest chuckle leaves me.
“Burn too much for you?” I question while taking the bottle back. This bottle is meant to hurt on the way down. If he really loved Magnolia, he’d know that.
“I know you’re pissed, but damn … you don’t need to pile on the misery.”
“It’s not—” I start to tell him, then shake my head, feeling an emptiness deep inside that swallows up the words.
“What?”
“You won’t understand,” I say and then untwist the cap, but he takes the bottle from me.
“Tell me,” he asserts. “I want to know. Tell me.”
The sincerity of it is what breaks me. He wants to know?
“You don’t know the hell we went through,” I barely speak the words and then breathe out. The agony of it all swarms inside of me and I expect to see hate, disgust, or a holier-than-thou expression staring back at me, but all I see is him nodding. “I have a lot to catch up on,” he tells me.
“It’s not for you to know.”
“Well, if you want to tell someone, I’m here.” He swirls the whiskey and then stares down the neck of the bottle like he might take another swig, or he might not.
It’s the knowledge that I’m at his mercy that leads me to tell him. “I don’t want to drag Magnolia into anything. I just want to be there.” The idea of not being able to talk to her, especially now, with my mother, with Bridget growing up … I just can’t comprehend what it would do to me. I don’t think Magnolia would choose to go that route. “She’s always been my best friend,” I tell him and then feel like a prick, pinching the bridge of my nose. There’s got to be a better word for it. Best friend isn’t good enough.
“You might hate me, but I don’t hate you.” Again, Brody’s voice is easygoing. I don’t trust him.
“Why is that?”
“You took care of my daughter,” he says simply and I’ll be damned if it doesn’t hurt all over again. My throat’s dry as I rip my gaze away and stare at the waves that rush against the shore.
“Fuck, dude,” Brody murmurs. “I’m sorry.”
“They are my family,” I comment and reach for the bottle, only to find it empty.
“You dumped it?” My accusation is met with a blank gaze.
He looks me dead in the eye and lies, “Nah, I’m a manly man and I chugged it.”
I can’t help the crack of a laugh that leaves me.
“Liar,” I say and he only laughs.
After a second, I laugh with him. He’s got a good sense of humor. I see why Magnolia likes him. At that thought, the glimmer of a smile fades from my lips. A manly man. I stare down at the empty bottle in my hand. I don’t feel like much of a man at all right now.
He clears his throat and says, “You need good shit. Not … this.”
I can only murmur a noncommittal response.
“I just wanted to come down here and tell you, thank you.”
“I don’t fucking like this. It feels like the end and it can’t be.” I repeat to him, emphasizing the plea in my tone, “They’re my family.”
“I wouldn’t do anything to keep them from you.”
“You say that, but …” Again, I don’t trust him.
“I don’t think Magnolia would like it if I did.” He says the statement without judgment and I peer at him as he stands up, brushing the dirt from his pants.
“I’m not perfect, and she’s not mine the way she is yours. But I’m not going to let you come in and erase me.” As I stand, I check my phone and find it dead. Dammit. Nothing can go right this week.
“I don’t intend to. I’m asking you, though, for Magnolia’s sake, I need you to give her time.”
“For Magnolia’s sake,” I echo his words and sneer.
“I mean it. And I think you know she needs it.”
Staring at this man from his work boots, up his jeans to the dark gray Henley, I look him right in the eye. As I’m about to question him on what he could possibly know about what Magnolia needs, he says, “It’s not a fight. It’s not a game of tug-of-war. You’re her friend, and I want to be her husband. It doesn’t have to be anything more than that. Don’t make it something it’s not.”
Brody
Robert is wrecked.
I feel bad for him. He seems like a good guy. That makes sense, since Magnolia loved him.
I have to remind myself that it’s in the past. Past tense. Loved.
Although the messages Renee sent Griffin are less than ideal.
She’s wrecked too.
I knew Bridget was mine. Getting that email and then a text from Magnolia only confirmed what I already knew was true. She’s my baby girl and I’ve missed so much. How I wound up here rather than at Magnolia’s is simple.
Renee told Griffin I needed to give Magnolia time. Because of Robert. It’s far easier to confront him than it is to wrap my head around the fact that I have a little girl in my life forever now. It would be damn easier, though, if it’d gone like I expected it to. Which is not at all like this.
“You need a ride home?” I offer him as he chucks the bottle into a trash bin on the sidewalk by the shore. His back is to me, but he stops. He’s not holding his liquor well and judging by the direction he was heading, it wasn’t to the parking lot.
“Can I just use your phone?” he asks me and braces himself on the wood of the pier. “I’ll call my friend for a ride.”
“I can drive you,” I say and he shakes his head. “You really want to walk home like that?” I gesture to his tie that’s undone. “Your face is red, especially your …” I take a deep breath, debating on whether or not I should point it out. His eyes are red rimmed. If he makes a right at the end of the block where other people are, they’re going to know he was crying at the very least. There’s nothing worse than a grown man crying … other than one who’s also drunk before 2:00 p.m.
“I need to learn the layout anyway,” I comment and pull out my keys, letting them jingle in my hand.
“You really aren’t going to let me use your phone?”
“No. Tell me where to take you. I insist.” Robert stares at me as he undoes the rest of his tie and pulls it off entirely. “Let me do something nice, for fuck’s sake.”
“If you just take me up a few blocks,” he says, relenting slightly.
I didn’t anticipate it going down like this. In my mind, he’d punch me, he’d threaten me. I thought he’d tell me that the moment I screwed up, he’d be there for her.
Instead, all I see is a man afraid to lose the people he loves.
Which is exactly what Renee told Griffin. Magnolia loves Robert, but it’s as a friend.
It’s hard to swallow, but it’s not like either of us is going anywhere any time soon.
The chill in the air is worse now than it was when I got here an hour ago. I spent a good twenty minutes just watching Robert.
I glance at him as he closes the passenger door, the somber expression still present. “You said a couple blocks up?” I ask as I slip the key into the ignition and turn the engine over. The sight in front of me is beautiful, the sunset over the water by the dock.
Something stirs inside of me, imagining Magnolia and I walking down the pier, each holding Bridget’s hand and swinging her as we make our way to the water. It feels like home. Like it was supposed to be.
“Yeah, to, uh, I think you met Asher?”
My brow pinches as
I try to remember. “Yeah.”
“If you could take me to his shop, that’s far enough.”
A number of questions hit me and they must be written on my face, because he explains, leaning his head back against the headrest, “I just want to crash there is all.”
“Whatever you want, man.” As I respond, Robert rolls the window down, closing his eyes and letting the breeze hit him. I imagine he’s trying to stay awake. He had to have drank half that damn whiskey. When he pinches the bridge of his nose, I know he’s crying again.
Why couldn’t he just be a prick?
Debating whether or not I should make a joke about not getting sick in the truck, I watch him stare out the window while telling me it’s just five blocks up, make a right and it’s the hangar down the road. All the while he pretends he’s not crying. So I don’t say shit. I give the man space.
I wish I had something more to say to him, but I’m not sure he’s in the right mind to hear it anyway, so I turn up the radio and we drive in silence.
As we get to the first red light on Main Street, he catches me off guard with a comment spoken so low I don’t know if he meant for me to hear it or not. He drunkenly slurs, “How did I ever stand a chance? You’re Bridget’s dad. You didn’t fuck up. She was never going to pick me.”
The music and the window being down didn’t help to keep him awake, though. By the time I get to the hangar, ten minutes later, Robert is passed out.
Luckily, Asher’s standing out in front of his shop and sees. At first his gaze was questioning. The moment of clarity is quickly followed by a downcast look.
“You doing all right?” he asks me as I turn off the truck and he approaches. His gaze slips right by me to Robert.
“He asked to come here,” I tell him although my tone implies it’s a question.
“You kick his ass?” Asher asks and judging by the look on his face, he’s serious. There’s not a hint of emotion there, it’s just him wanting to know.
In my silence, he questions, “Or is … did he have a little too much?”
“A little,” I say, finally opening my door, and get a gust of fresh air. I make my way around to the passenger side with Asher as he tries to wake Robert up, but it’s not happening.
“You get his legs, I get his arms?” I offer and Asher nods.
“You tell anybody?” he asks me as he opens the door up as wide as it can go.
“No.”
He gives me an expression I can’t place; some part defensive, some part hurt. “Could you not? If it could stay between us, I’d appreciate it.”
“I don’t plan on telling anyone.” Griffin doesn’t even know I’m here. No one knows, and no one has to.
“Magnolia?” he asks.
“I’m not going to lie to her, but I don’t have to tell her.”
“Good, good,” he mutters and inhales deep before grabbing his half of Robert’s limp frame.
“Shit,” I curse through gritted teeth as I help carry him inside. There’s a room in the back of his shop and as I take a look around, it reminds me of a hangout Griffin and I used to have.
“You—”
“It’s for him.”
I have to take a second to puzzle out what Asher just said. “For Robert?”
“Look, I know you don’t owe me anything. But … he hasn’t been doing well with family things. His mom’s not well.”
“So he comes here?”
“He hasn’t wanted to be alone. And with you,” he gestures, “he didn’t want to put stress on Magnolia, going over there and ‘bringing her down,’ as he put it.”
I stand there, not knowing what to say other than, “I don’t really know anything about him.”
“He’s a good man, a good friend of mine. He’s … shit, he’s fucking rock bottom.” Asher looks at his friend sleeping on an unmade bed and then back to me before saying, “He’s going through a lot, and I’d appreciate it if you didn’t hold whatever he’s said or done against him. I know you and Magnolia … I know you two are together.”
“I love her.”
Asher nods, motioning to the front of the shop where a porch wraps around the side. It’s obviously a newer addition. “You want a drink, lover boy?” he jokes and then smiles. Now he’s much more like the first version I met of him. Light and funny.
“I should get back I think,” I tell him, feeling out of place and honestly like shit after seeing the state Robert’s in. I turn toward my truck, still parked out front but his voice stops me.
“You know … I just want to say,” Asher tells me, turning serious again. “And I’m only telling you because I believe you when you say you love her. And Robert’s my friend.”
“I get that,” I say and nod, squaring my shoulders as I face him.
“His mom, Robert’s mom, she has good days.”
“Good days?”
“She didn’t tell you?”
“Magnolia? She didn’t tell me anything about him. I didn’t ask.” Asher takes a moment, seeming to ponder over whatever he was thinking.
“She has Alzheimer’s that’s just gotten worse over the years.”
“Shit, I didn’t know. I’m sorry.”
Asher waves it off as he walks over to the edge of the porch railing and leans against it. I follow him, joining in looking out into the thicket of trees.
“I’ve known her all my life. When my dad was having moments, I’d go hide out over at his place and vice versa,” Asher says. He blows out a breath and then crosses his arms over his chest. “I came with him a few times, but it’s hard …” he looks at me to add, “seeing her like that, you know?”
“Yeah, I get it,” I tell him although I’ve never gone through such a thing. I can imagine, though, and it only adds to the mournful mood.
“She told Robert once, one time when she was more with it and remembered who he was, that Magnolia would never love him the same way. They were star-crossed lovers and he’d already had a chance to love her, and he needed to let her go.”
Shit. I look down at my boots, not wanting to imagine that.
“I think it fucked him up real good,” Asher comments and then pats the railing of the porch. “Like I said, he’s a good guy, he’s just had a real hard time and he’s shit at dealing with it.”
I nod in understanding and struggle to find something to say in return. “He’s going to have one hell of a hangover to add on top of it all.”
Asher huffs out a laugh. “A couple Advil and he’ll be all right. Don’t let me keep you,” he tells me and then adds, “If you need anything, I’m here.”
“Thanks.” I give him a wave and stop myself from turning around before adding, “Same to you. If you need anything, or if …” I can’t help but to add, “If there’s anything I can do to help him.”
“He’ll be all right. It’ll take more than two pills, but he’ll be all right.”
Magnolia
Calm comes after a storm. That’s what people say, and it’s true.
For a long time I thought I’d never feel settled, never feel whole again. It didn’t seem possible for me with everything that happened four years ago. The scandal my dad caused … Finding out I was pregnant … Moving home again only to feel it was nothing like home at all anymore.
I thought it would just keep raining and always be gray skies I learned to deal with.
It still feels like a storm after telling Robert it’s over; I don’t know that the pain will ever really leave. My eyes still burn with all the tears I’ve shed. It was never supposed to end this way with Robert. It was never supposed to be this painful. But that’s the thing about storms. You can’t stop them from coming. You just have to ride it out.
Taking a deep breath, I close my eyes then pull the sheet and comforter up to my neck and let my heartache take me to sleep. It’s a clear night, but soon I hear the patter of rain on the roof. After a few minutes it’s coming down in buckets. When it rains, it pours. That’s what they say, right? Maybe I was wrong
about the calm after the storm. If the calm was before the storm, I’m in trouble.
It takes hours for me to actually sleep. Regret keeps me up, reminding me of all the mistakes I’ve made. A few times I glanced at the clock, reading 1:00 a.m., 2:00 a.m. … and then I just stopped looking. Eventually, though, I fall into a deep, dreamless sleep. When I wake up, Bridgey’s standing at the side of my bed, staring at me. “Mama, it’s morning,” she whisper-shouts, in the way kids do. I can’t help but to smile at her chubby little cheeks as I cup her face.
My heart may hurt forever, but it’s filled with love forever too.
“It’s morning?” I question her as if that’s not obvious. The light’s peeked in from my blinds and the clock reads it’s already after eight.
“Look,” she says and points to my window, “the sun’s awake.”
With a grin, I nod my head and stretch as I sit up in bed. “You’re right about that, baby.”
My eyelids are puffy from all the crying and my heart still aches, but other than that … I’m okay. I feel washed clean, in a way. Just like I would if I stood out in those buckets of rain I heard and let it rinse the pain away.
Climbing out of bed, I lead Bridget out of the room with a pat on her back, listing all the fun things we can do today, and head into the kitchen.
“Want to help me make coffee?” I offer her. She enjoys doing the “adult things,” so of course she nods vigorously. Sitting her on the counter, she heads right for the coffee filters.
“I know what to do,” she tells me and my confident little girl gets going while I do my best to keep smiling for her. We count the scoops of coffee together.
With each scoop, I try to ignore the hammering of thoughts in the back of my mind. I don’t want the past to be cleared away, or anything like that. I would never want to forget Robert. How could I ever forget him?
Ping. My phone goes off just as Bridget is stirring in creamer.
“Down you go,” I tell her and she runs off to go play after I promise to make her pancakes.
It’s a message from Brody. My smile comes easier reading such a little thing: Good morning, beautiful.
Autumn Night Whiskey (Tequila Rose Book 2) Page 14