We’ve reached the rickety porch steps, and I decide to help her up them, even though I know she’s more than capable. It’s more to help support me on my weaker side than anything, but I won’t tell her that. She doesn’t seem to notice or care, though. My words have gotten her back into her head. Thinking or fearing something, whichever has welled up to the surface.
Whatever it is, I can tell that she’s panicking. She’s not breathing normally. Quickly. Shallowly. She’s also retreated into herself, and gotten that vacant stare about her again. That cold, devoured sense about her.
I don’t like seeing this change in her, but I feel like I need to continue sharing about the work the charity does. How it really could benefit her, no matter what it could be triggering. As much as I told her she could stay with me for as long as she wanted or needed to, I don’t want her to think that I’m the only one who can help her. The only one who can be there for her, though I know a big part of me is in love with the idea. Flattered by it.
“I know you probably don’t want to be remembered about what you lost, what it was like to go through that,” I say, bringing her up to the porch, and holding her steady, “but my friend Harlow and his two brothers — all of them ex-seals and no strangers to combat — above all done phenomenal work. They really know how to help people who served and lost people to war, Juliet. I really think they could be good for you. Thery’re the Smith brothers, and this charity has really done a lot more good than anyone ever thought it would. It’s really helped vets and their families go on living after experiences that would make most people want to end it. Want to be trapped by it, hoping one day it will go away. “And Brynn, one of the brothers — his wife, Riley, the other brother, is a lawyer who supports seals who have been treated badly — so there are a lot of avenues for people who need some good in their life after so much bad. She nods at me, almost like she’s wondering what good is this going to do her. What any of this has to do with her, but I can’t stop myself. I keep talking about my other friends involved in the charity. The different aspects of it. “They have a lot of good clients, so…”
It’s at this point that I really realize Juliet’s not really listening. She’s not even really “with me” at this point. She’s just huddled in on herself, looking like I just asked her to take the jump off the Empire State building.
I sigh, mentally kicking myself for too much enthusiasm. For pushing too much too fast with her. Especially with that dumb little invite of mine for her to accompany me on the conference.
“Look,” I say, opening up the doors to the cabin for her and myself, deciding maybe I should busy myself with making a snack or some early dinner, “I can’t imagine the kind of trauma you’ve been through, and I’m sorry if I’ve been blathering on like an idiot, putting too much on you too fast, but I just want you to know there’s more help out there for you. That there is a way from trauma into healing and wholeness.” I grab her shoulder tentatively, hoping she doesn’t start attacking me again. I would hate to be back to square one like that with her. Especially after so much closeness.
Luckily for me, she doesn’t move to drop kick me or anything like that. She just stands there and lets me touch her. Then hug her.
“No worries, Juliet. You don’t have to do anything you’re not ready for.” I stroke my fingers through her hair. “You can take it all at your own pace. Your own speed. I just wanted to share that with you to give you hope for your future.”
Chapter 20
Juliet
I know he means well. I know he’s just trying to help, but I can’t even think about going anywhere right now. Especially not anywhere that will remind me of what I’ve lost. My dad. Though all that was left in my heart when enemy forces chose him to be the one to die, to never come home. I know Brandon has friends he thinks will help. I know he’s been through trauma himself, but I’m just not ready. I just don’t see how any of this is going down me. Not right now. Not for the foreseeable future. I’m still too vulnerable.
I follow him into the house, listening halfheartedly as he tells about some of the cases that Riley and his brother Brynn won in favor of mistreated veterans. A lot of cases of malpractice. Surgeries and rehabilitation treatments gone bad. Technology and assistive devices failing catastrophically to function, or failing to deliver on their purported benefits. These make up the majority of the cases. But there are a few against higher-ups in certain platoons. Some cases where the subordinates have sued their officers for lack of due diligence, or providing the necessary payments and services after returning from deployment.
Brandon speaks of all of these as if he’s speaking about Jesus or mother Mary. With reverence. Respect. Awe, as if the very idea that two people couldn’t have such a positive impact on the disadvantaged and the downtrodden is a miracle. And I suppose it is, given how ruthless and heartless most of this world can be.
Especially to those who sacrifice their lives and bodies for freedoms most people take for granted.
Still, though, I don’t really see what any of this has to do with me. Yes, I lost my father to combat. Yes, I’m suffering horrible trauma because of it, but I’m not eligible for half of these services. And my “trauma” is probably nothing compared to what these actual soldiers and fighters and medics have gone through. I’ve never been on the actual battlefield. Just grown to hate it, now that it stole my daddy from me.
Finally, Brandon turns to me. He must finally realize I’m not really listening. After all, the response I’ve given to all of his stories is just a paltry, “That’s great that you’re a part of this. You’re really lucky to be a part of something so positive and dependable.” I mean it to sound genuine, but I’m too consumed with my own issues to be authentic. As respectful and open as I want to be. As I was, before he brought up traveling. Facing my demons. Facing the loss of my father head on.
Brandon walks toward me, saying, “I know this is a lot for you to take in,” he whispers, cradling my face in his hands. They’re still chilled from the time outdoors.
“I just don’t know what this has to do with me,” I say, afraid of my honesty. “Why any of this matters to me.”
“You could be very valuable to the charity. Very helpful to Harlow’s mission.”
I scrunch my eyebrows at him, really confused. “Me? Helpful?” I back out of the hold he as on my cheeks. “How? Why?”
Brandon shrugs. “Who knows? You could start a related chapter to the organization. The charity. Maybe something for the children and spouses of fallen soldiers, you know? People like you. People have been through the worst day of their life, having received the worst news on the face of the earth.” He pauses, drinking in my gaze. A gaze I really don’t want to give him very much right now. “There is a way through your pain. And that way is to transmute it into something helpful. Something useful to others, and useful to you. Not just as something to haunt and terrorize.” He takes my face back in his hands, kissing me on my forehead, then my nose and cheeks. “That’s just one way you could be of help and service, Juliet.” He runs his fingers through my hair again, letting them come to rest gently around my neck. “But I’ve talked your ear off enough as it is. I’ve given you enough to think about.” With a final kiss to the top of my head, he moves away and back toward the door. Toward the porch light he’s left on. “I’m gonna go bring the firewood in.” He heads out the door, adding, “then I’m gonna get something started in the hearth for us and then maybe whip up some tacos, if you’re up for it.”
I nod, still terrified by the idea of flying. I’m going anywhere except to my dad’s funeral, which I don’t want to go to anyway. I don’t even remember when it’s supposed to be.
That’s part of what I tried to forget by coming up this way. Part of what I tried to pretend didn’t exist by cliff gazing the way I was yesterday when we first met.
“Sure,” is all I say.
But it’s too late for him to hear. He’s already gone out side to collect the wood and bring
it in and before there’s no tendrils of light left. Already, they’re hard to come by.
I can see why he didn’t want to leave this mountain, I think, staring out into the dreary twilight. The idea of going back into “normal” society — even for help and friendship or solidarity or whatever — that’s too much. That’s too scary. I rub my arms, suddenly feeling cold. Though it’s not from the fact that I’m still just in my bra. It’s from the idea that I may someday have to face real days and nights without dad ever coming back. Without him ever coming through that door. And I don’t want to deal with that.
I want to ignore that, for as long as possible.
I can see why he would stay up here. It’s easy to get stuck, once you put down roots.
Chapter 21
Brandon
A few weeks later.
Over the last couple of weeks, things between Juliet and me have been going well. Less like we’re strangers who met on a cliff side, and more like an actual couple. A committed couple at that. We’ve shared a lot of cool, intimate details with each other in these last few weeks. Most notably about families, siblings and having kids.
While I can’t be sure what Juliet wants, she seems fond of the idea of having little ones. I don’t know what it is. Something in the way she talks about being able to look after them, care for them, teach them life skills as much as book knowledge — it’s cute. Adorable in a spunky, older-sister kind of way, except with a more motherly vibe.
Myself, I’m not turned off by the idea of kids. Not necessarily. I just don’t know if I’d be any good at it. A good father, or as emotionally available as I’d want to be. I know that I would hug and kiss and protect any little ones I had, but part of me is afraid that I’ll go into being the tough dad. The traditional disciplinarian, since that’s what I was raised with. A switch or belt across my backside when I didn’t behave, but I know that you don’t “do that” anymore with kids.
Not if you don’t want to be considered abusive, so I don’t know. I am equally terrified by the idea as I am excited about it.
Still though, we don’t talk about it all that much. Just enough to satiate curiosity, though I can’t help thinking there is more to it than that. Though we’ve had sex of few more times in the last couple weeks, and I’ve tried to be more careful with not spilling in her (that time on the breakfast table is inexcusable, no matter the situation), I can’t help but feel this extra weight to everything. This extra bit of static energy or something, when she’s around me. Like there’s something else happening between us, and I’m just not smart enough to figure out what it is.
Either way, I don’t have too much time to sit around and think about it. Worry about what else might be going on between us that I’m not aware of, because over these last few weeks, I’ve started my construction job. Not only started it, but really gotten into a rhythm with it as the on-site manager and lead.
Time flies faster than I thought it would at that job. Maybe because I’m so comfortable with all the guys and few gals I have working for me on various projects. Maybe it’s also because I don’t really have to go “off mountain” for some of those construction oversight jobs, but I feel right at home. Not as challenged or out of my element as I thought I would be.
Of course, I don’t feel great about leaving Juliet by herself. Especially not since I’ve had longer and longer evenings as of late. Some of them have really carried on beyond dinnertime, which is when I usually like to be home.
And, unfortunately for me, tonight is even more of an exception. Which is why I hate having to call her on my cell phone, like I’m doing now, just in the shelter of my truck and the tarp that’s been set up over our work area. While the last three weeks have warmed up some parts of Albuquerque, we’re still getting little cold snaps here and there.
She picks up like clockwork. The way she answers, it’s like she already knows I’m calling with bad news. “Gonna be late again tonight?” she asks me, no longer surprised or irritated by the possibility.
“Uh, yeah, sorry about that, hon,” I say. Furtively, I glance out to the crew, who’s now having to drag out floodlights and other things to work in darkness by. “It’s gonna be a really late night for me tonight. I’m gonna have to stay practically overnight at the site, Juliet.” I pause, hearing the sigh I know she doesn’t want me to hear. Feel the weight of loneliness and boredom that she doesn’t want me to feel but I do. “I’m sorry about it, but there’s no way around it.” I clear my throat, trying to do a mental inventory of what we have in the kitchen and in the fridge. Thank God I went grocery shopping last weekend. That at least means she has something besides canned chili to make herself for meals. “You gonna be okay by yourself at the cabin tonight?”
“I’ll be fine,” she says. I know she’s not really “fine.” I’ve heard that tone in enough females to know that there’s nothing fine about this situation, but we both know I can’t do anything about it, so she’s just telling me what I want to hear.
“Look, I’m really sorry about it, Juliet,” I add. “If I could get away tonight early, I would. But that’s not the way this job’s going.”
“It’s fine, Brandon. It really is. I’ll be okay. I’ll be fine by myself.” Her voice goes quieter. “I was living by myself before you came, remember?”
“I remember,” I mutter, hating myself for leaving her so often at night now.
“Be safe. Be smart,” she says. “You know how your arm acts up when you work it too hard.” She’s never sounded more like a wife than she does now. And I love it. I love being scolded by her like this, even if I know she has every reason to be angry with me.
“I’ll take it easy,” I say, monitoring some of my workers. They’re getting a little rowdy and lazy. Not a good combination at this time of night. “And I’ll make it up to you, Juliet. I promise.”
“Just come home to me in one piece.” That’s all she says. After that, she hangs up, leaving me to work my late-night shift alone.
Still, I can’t help but wonder if she’ll really be all right. If she’ll really handle herself okay all alone at the house.
Chapter 22
Juliet
Phone call with Brandon finished and squared away, I decide to give my mom a call. I haven’t talked with her much in the last couple of weeks. Talk to her briefly shortly after arriving at Brandon’s, just to let her know I hadn’t been abducted or kidnapped, or was dead in a ditch somewhere.
In addition to sleeping much better these last few weeks since first coming to stay with him in his cabin, I’m feeling more confident in myself. Much more like self. The person I was before tragedy struck, and I had the worst birthday news of my entire life.
Since sharing some of my history with Brandon — particularly memories of my work in various hair salons as a stylist — “hair artist” as they call them now — I’ve been really thinking about it. Going back. Maybe talking to my old friend Cristina, my boss at the salon I used to work for in Albuquerque, and seeing if she’ll let me come back to work.
I’ve never really felt good about just quitting the way I did. Just up and abandoning them the way I did, but it was just too hard with everything to do with my dad. It’s still is hard to deal with the fact that he’s gone, but after spending so much time by myself at the cabin with nothing of my own to do, I’m beginning to understand why Mom left. Why she went all the way to Denver, even before dad was killed.
Being left to think about yourself too much can drive anyone crazy.
So, needless to say, I’m glad when Mom picks up. “Juju bear,” she says, “I was beginning to wonder when I would hear from you next! How are things going with you? Are you still staying at the cabin with that Brandon friend of yours?”
“Yeah, Mom,” I say, “I am.” I begin to pace a little bit. I know there’s a couch right there I could sit on, but I don’t feel like I can sit still.
“Well? How are things going with him?”
“Fine, Mom,” I say, sweeping
my bangs out of my face. While they still have some of their edgy style, they’re looking more like split ends than anything. Something I should really take care of. Especially if I’m thinking about going back to work at the salon.
“You don’t sound fine,” says Mom in her usual way. Her don’t-you-lie-to-me tone. “Something’s going on with you, juju bear. Don’t think I can’t hear it. I can.”
“Brandon’s working late again.”
The sound of crinkling grocery bags intervenes on Mom’s end. “Hasn’t he been working late most of the week?” A pause. In it, I hear her unpacking cans of something. Little plastic bags filled with other things. Probably herbs, knowing my mom. “And you’ve been down to his worksite a couple of times, haven’t you?”
I wander toward the kitchen, wondering if I should just make up that box of mac & cheese, even though I’m not a fan. “Yes, and yes, Mom,” I murmur. “He has been working late most of the week, and I have been down to see his work a couple of times, but he’s gonna be gone really late tonight. Like, really, really late. And I’m just feeling…” I sigh, not sure what I’m trying to say, or what I even have the right to say, given the circumstances. I’m the one who decide I wanted to stay with him, so I know it’s not really fair of me to be so frustrated with how much Brandon gets to go out and do things, while I’m still stuck around here. It’s not like he’s forcing me to stay at the cabin, but it’s just… I don’t know… Different. “I’m feeling bored, okay? I’m feeling like I need something for me to do. Something from me to put my energy into, you know?” Saying these things, I decide to open up the cupboard and take out the box of mac & cheese anyway. The little blue box of childhood happiness that never really made me that happy.
Hold Onto Me_A Secret Baby Romance Page 9