Rash and Rationality

by Ellen Mint

  “I…I dunno. That’s more of a family thing. Not really for friends of family.”

  “Nonsense. Besides, you already met her at the block party last May.”

  That had been awkward to say the least. When her new coworker had asked if she had anything planned that night, the next thing she knew, she’d been standing in a park while a massive family had shared barbecue and shot off fireworks.

  “Here’s your stupid book.” Marty handed it to his brother. “What’s he bugging you about?” he asked Brandy directly, but Eldon answered.

  “About attending mother’s birthday. And you should not hand over the merchandise until a customer has paid. What if I ran off with it?”

  “I’d kick you in your knees.” Marty grinned wide as if would do it. “And come on, Brandy, you’ve gotta. It’s her fiftieth, so she’s gone all out. Please. Please, please! She likes you.”

  “She likes me?” They’d only traded a few words a year back and maybe one or two sentences when she’d stop by the store to round up her son. Did Marty talk to his mother about her?

  A confounding churning that had to be the sudden sugar rush dropped in her stomach. She hadn’t done the mother-meet since what felt like another lifetime. But that wasn’t what this was. Marty’s a friend. Nothing more.

  “Okay,” Brandy gasped, causing both brothers to smile wider. “I’ll come. Should I bring anything?”

  “Your bright smile,” Marty answered, causing her to grin and blush in response. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to ring up my brother before he pulls a runner.”

  Eldon crossed his arms as Marty yanked the book back and prodded at the old cash register. “I had no intentions to steal it. I was only pointing out a potential flaw in your business dealing.”

  “Uh-huh, right. I’ve got my eye on you. Try anything and you’re going on the board.” Marty slapped at a blank wall, which his brother stared at. “I’ll make a board, then put you on it. Banned from the store, danger to society. Think of the scandal for our poor mamá.”

  Grabbing the bag with his book, Eldon sighed at his brother. “I don’t know why I bother. Good luck with him,” he said to Brandy. “I’m afraid he’s going to be in an even more obnoxious mood than usual.”

  “Oh?” she asked, but Eldon was already out of the door, walking crisply away. Marty whistled to himself as he dug through the other holds. He looked the same to her.

  It wasn’t until she’d vanished into the back that it hit her what he was whistling—a love song.

  * * * *

  She had nothing to fear. Marty was his usual happy-go-lucky self, even if Brandy took the front while he put his back to work unloading the latest shipments. A handful of customers wandered in, mostly to escape the omnipresent heat baking the sidewalk to sweatbox standards. They all got a chuckle out of the Jaws reenactment above their heads, then slipped back out into the heat.

  The tourists always grew thick as deer flies the closer it got to the fourth. When the streets were flooded with marching bands, firework casings and drunks in flag regalia, she was lucky to get a second to see Marty. Most days she tolerated the job, but that week ranked worse than Christmas and Black Friday combined.

  Sticky, exhausted and no doubt sweating because the A/C had broken down for the tenth time, Brandy wished she had somewhere to escape to in July. But taking a vacation was out of the question. For starters, she had rent to pay, and there was no money to go anywhere else.

  A handful of kids paused outside the store, one hanging off the massive gorilla statue they’d ‘inherited’ when a tattoo parlor went out of business. The phones were all out, snaps taken as they dangled back and forth around the unimpressed ape. Brandy felt ancient watching the people who were maybe a couple of years younger. At their age, she’d already been…

  It didn’t matter.

  As a distraction, she yanked up the box Marty had dropped off. She wouldn’t risk the counter, as thirty pounds of hardbacks could shatter the cheap glass. Instead, she placed it on her chair, slit the tape and ripped open the box.

  Headlights, blood smeared on the grill and hood, a body crumpled below tires. The images strobed against her vision, Brandy’s hand lashing out to grip the wall. She struggled to swallow back the rising bile, her head spinning when the word Car leaped from the title.

  “Damn it,” she cried, knowing she was running away from nothing more than a box of books, but having to. “Damn it, no. Not again.” Brandy knocked against her head as if a small gremlin would answer and get out of her skull. The acrid stench of spilled oil and gas burst from her memory into her nose.

  In a panic, she reached the back room and yanked open the door. A cleansing breath filled her lungs, then another. Instead of ripped-apart mud and flashing lights, she soaked in the piquant smell of afternoon sun striking a back-alley dumpster.

  “Hey.”

  Crap. “Hi,” she said, a crooked smile knotting about her lips as her gaze focused on the man curled up amongst the maze of boxes.

  Marty wiped off his pants and stood. He was maybe a half an inch taller than her if he wore new shoes. But in that moment, she felt like he towered above her, both as a protector and source of shame in one. A powerful urge to fall into his arms rose from her traitorous brain, but she turned away to stare at the mountain of packing peanuts in the trashcan.

  “Don’t tell me, the register’s on fire,” he said as if completely unaware of her near panic attack.

  Brandy slotted on a wider smile and turned to him. “No. No, I just…” Wanted to see you. “I was wondering if you were doing anything tonight.”

  What?

  He shrugged, then slung a box up onto his shoulders. Marty had what she’d call a dancer’s body, sturdy yet also willowy. But when he’d hoist fifty to sixty pounds of merchandise like it was nothing, she couldn’t deny watching his surprising muscles at work. In a totally platonic way. As friends do.

  “I shall check with my trusty butler,” he said with a laugh and twisted around his phone. “Jeeves says that I am available for a fortnight. Whatever that is. So…?”

  “Oh, I… Mel, she gave me this pack of super-cheap DVDs, and I was wondering if you wanted to come play movie roulette tonight.”

  They’d been doing it on and off for a few months. Get together, pick a random movie from a DVD collection that cost a buck, then watch it. The last time, she’d even broken out some of her old gear and made parmesan cheese popcorn, which he’d inhaled—literally. Marty didn’t do anything by half measures.

  Soft brown eyes caught hers, and he asked, “What shall be our poison of choice?”

  “Um, there’s a comedy pack with tons of Laurel and Hardy. An old spooky horror one.”

  “So lots of cheesy skeletons and bats on strings,” Marty said with a laugh.

  They’d spent all Halloween lost in the Vincent Price oeuvre, hiding under a small blanket fort. It’d been fun. It was always fun with Marty. That was just him. “And, uh, one romance collection. Which, you know, we don’t have to…”

  “What? You think I’m too young to handle the kissing scenes?” Marty laughed when his phone jangled to the same song he’d been whistling before.

  He dove for his pocket, his movements frenzied as he prodded at the screen. Furious typing commenced, then deleting, then even more typing. All the while, Brandy stood there, uncertain if she should leave him to whatever it was. Mr. Fensin didn’t like it when no one was at the front.

  “Yes!” Marty cried. He clutched his phone tight to his chest and bounced in a full circle. “Yes, yes, yes!”

  “What?” Brandy asked, enthralled with his exuberant but uncoordinated dance of joy. “Did you win the lottery?”

  “She agreed to a date!”

  Her smile dropped. “Oh. Who?”

  “Janeth Willows.” He damn near purred her name, holding his phone close to his face. Was he taking a freaking screenshot of her texts?

  He hadn’t talked about anyone lately. Anyone like tha
t. Brandy furrowed her brow, trying to remember, when it struck. “That woman you…”

  “Rescued from certain doom.” Marty sighed in rapture.

  “I was going to say bent my bike for.”

  “Oh, shit!” He stared at the same green polo he always wore. “I have to get ready. I have to… Can I ask you a tiny favor?” Marty’s mania switched to sweet begging so fast it whipped Brandy’s head around.

  “It better not be to use my bike again.” The dent she hadn’t cared about before instantly became a major issue.

  “Would you mind closing tonight?”

  Oh. So his date was… “Um.” Her tongue burned and her face flushed, but Brandy nodded her head.

  “Thank you.” Marty grabbed her hands and pulled her close in a half-hug. She went limp, trying to not be aware of the body she’d almost run to for salvation. After glancing around once, he dashed for the front of the store.

  Brandy trailed after him, watching as he punched his code into the cash register to sign out. “Why are you clocking out?”

  “There’s so much I have to do.” He glared out of the window. “I don’t know if there’s enough time.”

  “Wait, what? Are you leaving work now for a date?”

  Marty dashed for the door, not even pausing as he left her fully in the lurch. “It’s got to be perfect!” he shouted one last time before escaping out into the street crammed with pedestrians.

  “So I guess movie night is off,” she muttered to herself. Pausing beside the display window, Brandy watched him until he turned around the block. It wasn’t like she had planned it, really. Or was invested. It just seemed like a nice thing to do, with him. Not with him, with him. Just as friends.

  Always friends.

  “I’m sending that Willows woman a bill for my bike.”

  Chapter Four

  “Damn it!” Brandy raced to yank the pot off the stove, but she wasn’t fast enough as the milk spilled over the sides. It hissed in boiling rage, causing her to curse stronger under her breath while flipping all the dials off. The evil pot rested right smack dab in the middle of her electric burners, daring her to try to warm it up again.

  That was what she got for wanting some homemade mac and cheese for once.

  “Problems?” Mel called from the dining room. It also happened to be the living room and laundry in her tiny place. She’d thought about getting one of those fancy dividers to pretend she had a real dining room, but had never gotten around to it.

  “I miss gas.” Brandy switched on a new burner and began the long wait for it to heat up. “My old kitchen was…” Her voice cracked and she glared into the small pot on a tiny stove in a minuscule apartment.

  “Hey.” Mel’s voice cut close, nearly causing Brandy to whip the spatula against the wall. Her friend paused beside the fridge, taking in the mass of take-out magnets, before she continued, “You thinking about him?”

  “Right now, the old stove,” she said, really not wanting to pick at that wound. It should be five layers thick in healed skin, but somehow it kept getting ripped open.

  That was the problem. There was no way of escaping what she’d lost because he’d…it was all around her.

  “You ever think maybe it’s time to let go?” Mel asked in such a soft voice that Brandy took a moment to make certain she heard it right.

  “I’m hardly hanging on.”

  “You still wear the ring.”

  Even knowing it wasn’t there, Brandy glanced at her left hand. The tan line had faded from a long winter without a gold band on it, but the lump above her heart lingered. Thanks to the ring’s exposed prongs, scratches that never seemed to heal were etched into her skin. Her hand hovered right above the small bulge in her bra that hid a shattered dream.

  She didn’t want to cry. Two years on and Brandy was sick of it. Sick of having people learn about her tragic story, coo in false sympathy and tell her that things would get better. If she had to hear about God and doors one more fucking time…

  “B.” A warm hand caught her arm and Mel’s no-nonsense face softened. “If you ain’t ready…”

  “I am. I think, I mean, I want to be. But then I feel like I’m, I’m letting him down. How dare I move on when he’s…”

  “What would Kevin have wanted?”

  Her slow stirring through the bubbling milk paused. Brandy stared into the creamy depths as if it was the veil between the living and dead. “He’d want me to add mustard to this,” she said to her friend.

  It brought a single laugh from Mel, who shook her head so her tight spirals of hair all boinged perfectly. “Have you thought about getting back on that horse?”

  A flash of Marty smiling as he ran out of the door burst through her skull. He was so damn happy rushing off on a date with this strange woman. Practically danced down the streets. And what did she care? He could date whoever he wanted. She’d never given him a second glance before.

  They were friends.

  “I don’t even know how to do it.”

  “Come on, it’s like riding a bicycle,” Mel said, causing Brandy’s entire face to turn as red as her liquor’s namesake. “All you need are the proper tools in your hands and it’ll come right back.”

  Now burning clear up to her hairline, Brandy wished the damn milk would boil over so she could cool off. “I don’t use, there aren’t a lot of…what do you mean?”

  “Don’t be coy. I know you’ve got a piping bag around.”

  “Oh! You meant about the…” Brandy gasped as she realized her friend was talking about her previous life in baking. But at the glint of mischief across Mel’s face, Brandy collapsed right back into her black hole of misery. “That’s been a long time too.”

  “You made those cakes for my Christmas party.”

  “Right, and the fondant cracked, my marzipan wouldn’t set and I covered the whole thing in a cinnamon buttercream to hide the mess. Hardly good work.”

  At seventeen, Brandy had met the love of her life. Not only had he been sweet, handsome, funny and caring, he’d believed in her. It had felt strange at times to be married while almost every other girl she knew was in college, but they’d lived in a cozy place together, and thanks to Kevin’s parents, she’d had her first ever bakery to run straight out of pastry school. It would have been a perfect life.

  “Can you hand me the cheese?” Brandy asked, pointing to the mass Mel had helped her grate.

  As the cheddar and swiss melted into the milk, Mel said, “I don’t want to push you or nothing, but I’ve got a gig.”

  “Really?” That drew her full attention from the cheese that still needed its mac. “I thought Seasons Caterings was shut down for good?”

  “I got a boost from a certain crowd funding source and it’s back. Even booked a few parties for the summer. BBQs mostly, so ribs and sides. But I could really use help from the most talented baker in the city.”

  “Mama Moe’s won’t give you the time of day,” Brandy said, folding in the noodles. She had to add a few spirals to the elbow as her pantry was getting bare.

  Mel slammed a hand to her hip. “Don’t go playing that humility song, girl. You’re good. And if I had your desserts, it might give Seasons Caterings a fighting chance against the big boys.”

  “I’ll…” She wanted to say no. That she barely turned on her oven unless it was to throw a frozen dinner into it. “I’ll think about it.”

  “Great,” Mel responded as she gathered up both bowls and forks to trek out to the dining area.

  They were always walking on eggshells around her, Brandy knew. Well, the few who’d remained in her life after the accident. Even the ones she’d thought were good friends had started to fade. Maybe they’d missed Kevin too much to be near his widow, or maybe they’d been annoyed at how she’d shut herself up in the apartment she couldn’t afford anymore.

  Widowed at only twenty-four, she’d wanted to be veiled to the world. Like those old Victorian ladies in mourning for decades, shuffling around the house i
n a black robe while cobwebs built up across the windows. But those windows and robes cost money, which a meager life insurance wasn’t going to pay for.

  And, she hated to admit to herself, sometimes she enjoyed being out in the sun meeting new people. Living her life without him.

  “While I love the chance to hang,” Mel said with her fork half stabbed through a macaroni, “the invite for tonight came about rather suddenly.”

  Brandy didn’t wince or give any hint that the probing question had hit pay dirt. In a nonchalant voice, she said, “I asked Marty to come over too, but he’s busy.”

  “Oh? Seemed like he’d run ten miles to your place if you were cooking.”

  “He’s got a date. With some woman, Janeth Willows.” Brandy scoffed, making air quotes.

  “That name rings a bell,” her friend said.

  “Janeth. Ba! How up your own ass do you have to be to add an h to Janet?

  “Uh-huh.” Mel smiled wide.

  “What?”

  “You know what. Them brown eyes are looking rather green.”

  Brandy laughed so hard she parted her congealing cheese. “Please. Jealous of what? Marty? He’s just a…” She frowned at Mel’s knowing smirk. “He’s a friend, okay. Nothing more. Never been, never gonna be.”

  “Then what do you care if he’s seeing someone?”

  “They aren’t seeing each other, it’s a date. First one. And I’m not jealous. I’m annoyed at him for running out on me.”

  There was that damn look again.

  “At work! It was his day to close up, but I had to stay late. Not that I had anything to do. Still. Oh, and he smashed up my bike. So…yeah!”

  Her gaze drifted away from her phone long enough for Mel to stare in confusion at Brandy. “He broke your bicycle?”

  “Not on purpose. It was when he was saving that Janeth lady.” Because he got to ride in and whisk her off her feet, hair blowing in the breeze. Probably lifted her in his arms across the handlebars, the pair riding off into the sunset while he leaned closer to… “The brakes are completely shot because of it.” Brandy scowled, hating that she put even a second’s thought into his romantic rescue. That was also Marty’s fault, since he couldn’t stop going on and on about it.