After the End

by Alex Kidwell

  “Those are crosswords, hon,” Brittany told him with a smirk, putting down another card while George pretended not to be stealing a look at her hand. “I don’t think they’re a competitive sport.”

  “Oh, just you watch,” Clint informed her with a grin. “Come on, Mama Banner. Best two out of three? Bruno can time us.”

  We all settled back in, Brady paging through a magazine, sprawled out on the seats with his back pressed to my side. One of my arms was draped around him, and he played idly with my fingers as he read about the latest celebrity gossip. I drew, slowly at first, absent doodles. But gradually they turned into sketches of the family, of the sadness and worry under their smiles, of the strength each of them wore like a cloak. We hunkered down, this gorgeous family and me, and we waited, as I knew how to do. The waiting I had much experience in.

  No one was hungry, but George and I went to get sandwiches at noon anyway. George was a nice guy. We talked in the elevator down to the street. He taught art to kids ranging from fifth graders to high schoolers, and by the time we returned, arms loaded with subs and sodas, I was laughing at his impersonation of a twelve-year-old trying to assure him the reason his sculpture was falling apart was not because he had done it the night before and it wasn’t dry, but because he was attempting a homage to Picasso.

  George was an easy guy to like. He clearly loved his wife, his family, and his job, and he approached all of them with a steady calm I thought would go well with what I’d seen so far of the Banners. We distributed the sandwiches and I settled back in next to Brady, giving him a sideways look. “Eat,” I commanded him. He grumbled, but obligingly unwrapped the sub and took a bite, shifting so he was back resting against my side.

  “So,” I started, hesitantly, “tell me more about Christmas.”

  There was a beat and then Brady grinned at me fully, squeezing my hand. “Oh, man, you are in for it,” he decreed and Claire was beaming at me across the room. “Mom goes all out. Tree, lights, the whole thing. And it’s never not snowed. Even if it’s only a dusting, Mom always gets her white Christmas.”

  “It’s just not Christmas without snow,” she informed us, looking pleased. “I think Quinn will have a wonderful time with us. Bruno, we’ll have to get him a stocking. Remind me to find a nice pattern once we get back home.”

  “Mom knits all our stockings,” Brady explained off of my puzzled look.

  “Mine has a fire engine on it,” Clint told me happily. “And a Dalmatian in a Santa hat.”

  “We have a whole week of things to do,” Brittany said, stealing a bite of Clint’s sandwich once she’d finished her own. George and I exchanged a grin—he’d told me she’d do that. “Sledding, if we can, or going for a sleigh ride. Sometimes we even carol, if the weather’s good enough. We string popcorn and we bake. It’s kind of like Norman Rockwell, only we drink more.”

  “Brittany!” Claire interjected, sounding scandalized.

  “Well!” Brittany was laughing, leaning back against her sister. “We do, Mom. Your eggnog is lethal.”

  “It’s Christmas,” Claire defended. “What’s the point of Christmas if you can’t have a little nip of eggnog?”

  “You’ll love it,” George assured me, arm easily looped around Belinda’s waist. “Brady’s Christmas Eve dinners are legends.”

  “Then I definitely can’t wait,” I said with a smile, squeezing Brady’s hand.

  The swinging doors opened and a woman in scrubs stepped through, going up to Claire and lightly laying a hand on her shoulder. “Claire.” She smiled. “I heard you and your whole clan were here. That’s good.”

  “Everyone,” Claire introduced, “this is Sara. She’s the nurse on duty for this floor and she’s been taking care of our Bea.” We all nodded, but no one’s mind was on pleasantries. Sara had news; I could sense the breathless waiting as we watched Sara’s face carefully.

  “She’s awake,” Sara said with a smile. “Very groggy, but awake. I was coming out to bring you in to see her.”

  Claire clapped both hands to her mouth, closing her eyes and swaying a bit, gratitude and tears tracing across her face. “Oh, thank God,” she whispered, one hand going down to firmly grasp at Bruno’s. “Oh, thank God, our little girl.”

  “Follow me,” Sara told them gently. “Probably not all of you at once, but I’ll bring you in in groups, if that’s all right?”

  “Yeah, sure,” Brady said, gripping my hand so tightly it ached. His voice cracked a little at the edges. “Mom, Dad, go give her a kiss from us. We’ll come in a minute.”

  The rest of the family sagged back into their chairs, watching as Claire and Bruno made their way through the doors and out of sight. Hugs were exchanged, relief so palpable it felt like it’d taken a seat next to us. Brady dragged a hand across his face, and I leaned into him, resting my chin on his shoulder. “It’s going to be okay,” I told him softly.

  He smiled at me, taking my hand. “I know.”

  I STAYED behind in the waiting room while the rest of the family had their moment with Beatrice. Brady had invited me to come, but I felt strange intruding on that. There would be time enough for Beatrice to meet me when she wasn’t groggy from surgery and being embraced by a whole whirlwind of giddy, relieved relatives.

  Settling back into my chair, I returned to my sketching. The soft drag of pencil lead against paper was soothing, and I relaxed into it, legs hooked up over the arm of the uncomfortable bench seat, head pillowed on mine and Brady’s jackets. It was only when I felt a dry kiss to my forehead that I realized the family had all filtered back in, sharing smiles and clinging to each other’s hands like children after a long storm had passed.

  “She’s talking,” Brittany told me, smile beautiful in her relief. “Cracking jokes, the jerk. We’re all going to grab some dinner and then take shifts tonight.”

  “I signed us up for the late night watch,” Brady told me, a question in his eyes. Unsure if he should have. I just nodded.

  “Sounds great. I’ll show you the best place to steal coffee. The answer is always ‘bribe the nurses’.”

  Brady chuckled and held out his hand to help me up. We shrugged on coats and he wound the scarf around me, the blue soft against my cheek. It had been his, been a part of him I kept close. Now it was just mine. Like he was. Like I was to him. We belonged, in a way that hadn’t been simple or easy at all to navigate through, but it had been right. It had fit, even when it hurt. We fit together now, his arm draped across my shoulders while we walked, his family bumping around us, surrounding us completely.

  There was a little diner across the street and we all filed in and helped the waitress push tables together until we had enough room for us all. I wound up sandwiched between Brady and Belinda, and the two of them play fought over the basket of bread we were brought until I stole the last roll with a triumphant grin.

  We ordered soups and salads, huddling together over our coffee mugs and talking about absolutely nothing. George’s class stories and Clint’s news from the firehouse mingled into Claire and Brady discussing the perfect way to cook a turkey and Bruno insisting his clam and sausage stuffing was the real star of the show. They’d relaxed, some of that tense, horrible worry fading into familiar smiles and old stories dragged out again to remind them they were still whole. The family was still as it once was; bigger, now, in fact, instead of smaller.

  Loaded up with to-go cups of coffee, kissing and hugging everyone good-bye, Brady and I went back to the hospital. “Mom wanted first watch,” he told me, gloved hand curled around mine as we watched the floors ding past in the elevator. “But she and Dad look so tired.”

  “It’s good,” I told him. “I’m glad we’re staying.”

  He smiled at me then, softly, and we kissed before the doors slid open. He kissed me and I felt like I was coming home. Or finding my way to someplace new, someplace I was learning to feel comfortable in. It was different from Aaron and me. Not better, not worse. It was Brady’s, and I couldn’t begin to
compare the two.

  Beatrice was asleep when we crept in. There was a long sofa that folded out into a bed; we climbed in under the sheets, curling up together. By some unspoken agreement, we got ready for sleep in silence, winding up with my arms around Brady, our heads resting on the same pillow.

  “She looks like you,” I whispered after a long moment watching as Beatrice slept. She had the same cupid-bow mouth, the same golden curls spilled out around her.

  “We look like Mom,” Brady murmured back. “Britt and Bel look like Dad.”

  “It must be nice. Having siblings.” I sighed and shifted a bit, resting my hand across his stomach. “I like your family.”

  “I’m glad.” His voice sounded exhausted; I could see the tense weariness in his shoulders, in the set of his jaw. “They like you too.” Pausing, he turned in my arms to face me, a crease in his forehead. “You didn’t have to say yes to Christmas, if you didn’t want to.”

  “I know.” Kissing the tip of his nose, I smiled at him. “I wanted to.”

  He smiled at me. I loved it when he smiled. Brady’s face seemed made for it, and it eased something inside of me, some tense, ragged edge smoothing away at the sight of it. “I think you’ll really like it,” he assured me, fingertips tracing a path across my cheek. “It’s peaceful and we’ll take over the attic. Dad installed huge windows up there, you’ll have loads of light to paint by.”

  “That sounds perfect.”

  “And there’s cranberries.” The creaky voice broke in and Brady sat up, immediately climbing out of the bed to go to his sister. Beatrice was smiling wearily at both of us, lids heavy as she blinked, trying to keep her eyes open. “The cranberries are the best part.”

  “I wouldn’t know. Someone hogs them every year.” Brady sat on the edge of the bed, fingers combing through his sister’s hair. “Hey, sleepyhead. How are you feeling?”

  “Like I got hit by a truck,” she responded, but she managed to stick her tongue out at Brady, patting his knee clumsily. “And like I can feel you fretting from here. Don’t worry, Brady, ’m just fine.”

  “Sure you are.” Brady leaned down to brush his lips against her forehead. “You’re a regular superwoman.”

  “Invincible,” Beatrice agreed. Her gaze went to me and she smiled again, holding out one hand. “You must be Quinn. I’ve heard a lot about you.”

  I stood, a bit awkwardly, but I took her hand in a gentle shake, shooting Brady a look. “Have you? I’m not sure if that’s a good thing or not.”

  “Oh, no, trust me.” Bea settled back against her pillows, a mischievous glint in her eyes. “It’s very good. You’re the first guy whose last name I’ve heard.”

  Brady groaned. “Okay, sis. Enough talking. You should rest.”

  “Come on, resting is boring. I want to talk to your boyfriend.” Beatrice smirked up at Brady and I was struck all over again by how similar they looked. Brady had given me that teasing look more than once. It must be a family trait. “So, you’re doing Banner Christmas, huh?”

  “Yeah,” I returned, sitting on the opposite side of the bed. Brady’s hand found mine easily, an almost unconscious gesture. “I’m all in for chestnuts roasting on open fires and something nipping my nose. The whole nine yards.”

  “You know, you’re going to be the first guy Brady’s even introduced to Mom and Dad, much less brought home for the holiday.” Beatrice wrinkled her nose at me, smiling. “So, you good enough for my brother?”

  “Bea….” Brady protested, hiding his face in his hand. “God, you don’t just ask stuff like that.”

  “What?” She was giving Brady an entirely innocent look. “I just suffered a trauma, Bray.” Those wicked brown eyes went back to me, Bea folding her hands on her lap expectantly. “Well?”

  “Probably not” was my answer, and it seemed to please her.

  “Is Brady your first boyfriend?”

  “Come on—” Brady’s expression was kind of hilarious, really. I shared a grin with Beatrice.

  “No. I had a partner for a little more than ten years. His name was Aaron and he died about two years ago. Before that, I dated three men, none of them for more than a couple months.”

  She absorbed that and nodded, considering me. “You want to get married again?”

  Hesitating, I nodded, and she immediately followed up the question with, “What about kids?”

  “She really is just like your mom,” I muttered to Brady, who had given up trying to interject protests and was sitting there looking resigned.

  “You don’t have to answer her,” he informed me, shooting her a glare. “She’s being nosy.”

  “Well someone has to ask these things,” she returned haughtily. “This is a big deal.”

  “I like the idea of kids,” I answered into their bickering, and both of them turned to look at me. Brady’s face softened, and I found myself smiling a little at him, shyly. “Aaron and I didn’t because we never got around to it. We were both busy. But I think we would have. And I think I’d like it, if”—I arched an eyebrow at Beatrice—“I was involved with someone like that again. I wasn’t really married to Aaron, not legally. It wasn’t legal when we were together. So marriage is kind of… I don’t know. I think it’d be nice, to have the piece of paper and all that.”

  “You were married,” Brady murmured, squeezing my hand. “Paper doesn’t mean anything, not really.”

  It was my turn to smile at him, and I shrugged. “Well. He was mine and I was his. So I guess that’s a marriage. And yeah, kids, if I got to have that kind of relationship again.”

  Beatrice was watching us both with a little smile. She leaned back against the pillows, looking satisfied. And exhausted. I was tired just watching her fight to keep her eyes open.

  “Okay. I guess maybe I’ll share the cranberries with you.”

  I laughed. “Thanks.”

  Beatrice nudged her brother. “You promised you’d come home early so I can help you design office furniture. Don’t forget.”

  “Bea is a great craftsman,” Brady told me.

  “Craftsperson,” Bea corrected him sleepily.

  “Right, craftsperson.” Brady smiled, running his hand through her hair. “She creates the most beautiful things. She’s going to make me a desk.”

  “And wooden bowls, but that’s a surprise,” she mumbled, head listing to the side as her eyes drifted, finally, closed. “With dragons.”

  “Dragons?” I asked, amused, but she was asleep again.

  “I love fairy tales,” Brady explained as we stood, as he tucked the covers more firmly around his sister. “My sisters used to tease me that I really just wanted to be a knight when I grew up.” He shot me a little smile. “They weren’t wrong.”

  As we climbed back into the bed, the springs creaking under us, the sheets too thin to be truly comfortable, I couldn’t find it in me to complain. Beatrice was alright. She’d been talking and laughing. She didn’t have that hollow, pale look of the nearly gone. And Brady was right there, his body curled around mine, arm slung across my waist. We were together and everything really was going to be fine.

  Chapter 8

  “TRACY! I can’t find my tie. Do you know what I did with my tie? And my shoes. And oh, God, my notes. Anna wanted me to give a speech and I can’t find my notes or my shoes and—”

  Grabbing my shoulders, Tracy forced me to stop pacing around the small back room. “Quinn. Breathe,” she snapped at me.

  I tried to obey, but it felt like a thousand panicked butterflies were beating their wings against my stomach. Pressing my hands to my chest as I heaved in air, I stared at her, wide-eyed. “I think I’m having a heart attack.”

  Tracy, good friend that she was, rolled her eyes at me. “You are not, you big baby.” Finding my tie draped over the back of a chair, she hooked it around my neck and tugged it straight so she could tie it. “Okay, repeat after me. You are going to be fine.”

  I gave her a skeptical look, but Tracy simply arched one eyebr
ow at me, waiting. Giving in, I muttered, “I’m going to be fine.”

  She nodded, tying the knot in my tie, making sure it was perfect. “You have worked hard on this show.”

  “I have worked hard on this show,” I parroted back dutifully.

  “It’s going to be a success,” she prompted.

  I sighed, again giving her an exasperated expression, but Tracy simply met my gaze. “It’s going to be a success, Quinn,” she told me again.

  “Fine.” Shaking my arms out, trying to disperse some of that nervous energy, I nodded. “It’s going to be a success.”

  I wasn’t exactly brimming with confidence about that fact, but Tracy fussed over my jacket, making sure the collar was even, and she looked so damn calm. Everyone had looked calm, even Annabeth, who kept breezing in and out of the room, telling me how much longer I had until I needed to make an appearance. How the hell Brady had managed to put this all together while doing his normal jobs and with Beatrice still in recovery, I’d never know. He was superman. I was lucky I’d finished the last piece two nights before the exhibit.

  Speak of the devil. Brady poked his head in with a grin. “Knock, knock.”

  “Your boyfriend is freaking,” Tracy greeted him dryly. “And I need to go make sure my wife doesn’t need anything. Can you take over?”

  “I’ve got him,” Brady smiled, kissing her cheek. She patted his shoulder affectionately and took off, black dress swishing around her knees, heels clicking across the wooden floor. Brady himself was in a charcoal gray suit and a green tie; all together his outfit made him look indescribably good. I kind of wished my whole art show was just him on a pedestal. It’d be the most beautiful thing in the room by far.

  “I have to give a speech,” I told him miserably.

  Brady chuckled softly and ran his hands down my arms. He’d insisted I get a new suit for the occasion. I thought I looked ridiculous. He said purple brought out my eyes; the plum tie and waistcoat, though, I was pretty sure just made me seem like a kid who’d wandered into his dad’s wardrobe. “You have to say a few words, that’s all. Hi. Thanks for coming. Try the veal.”