All She Wanted (Letting Go)

by Deese, Nicole

  A blinding light interrupted my wishing.

  Briggs

  Maybe she left a note? Maybe she didn’t want to text, but had written it down somewhere inside?

  I knew I wasn’t being rational, but trying to rationalize how you’re not being rational in the middle of a crisis, just doesn’t work. I grabbed the key to the house out of my glove box and threw open my door, leaving the ignition running.

  I ran through the rain to the front door. As I shoved the key into the cold metal lock, I startled back at the sound of a voice.

  “I thought you weren’t coming back until tomorrow.”

  I threw my head to the left, but couldn’t see her. The glaring light from my headlights was pointed in the opposite direction, leaving nothing but shadows on the porch. I fought the impulse to yell…to rant…to roar at her in frustration, but the tenderness in her voice had melted all those reactions away.

  I moved closer to the direction her voice had come from, straining to see her silhouette in the darkness. About two feet away, my eyes finally adjusted enough to see the outline of her body. She was sitting on the porch swing, but there was no movement to it. Her knees were drawn-in, her arms wrapped around herself.

  I knelt down in front of her, a few inches away.

  “Charlie, sweetie…are you hurt? Did something happen tonight, where’s your car?” The gentleness in my voice was surprising, even to me.

  She lifted her head from her knees and seemed to look at me, or at least look toward me—I couldn’t see her eyes.

  “In the garage. I parked it inside before the rain started.”

  She doesn’t sound drunk.

  I took a deep breath. “Charlie, I’m gonna go shut off my truck. I’ll be right back.”

  “Fine.”

  There was that unnerving word again. I turned off my truck and in the process, the motion detector light came on. I could see Charlie now, fully illuminated.

  “Can I sit next to you?”

  “If you want to.”

  “I do.”

  “I haven’t been drinking if that’s what you’re worried about.”

  She turned her face toward me, laying her head down on top of her knees while keeping eye contact.

  “I can see that,” I said, pushing the swing to rock back a bit, “I’m sorry I wasn’t here today, Charlie. I forgot. I know it must have been a hard day to spend alone. Were you...out here thinking about Alex?”

  It was like swallowing a live roach to even say his name, but to my surprise she shook her head no. I waited, giving her time, but what came next was a statement I couldn’t have prepared for.

  “My mama killed herself when I was five.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  Charlie

  I hadn’t planned on telling him. I had never told before.

  Not to Sasha, or Jackie, or even to Alex.

  Simple was easy for people to understand, complicated meant even more complicated relationships. I didn’t want it following me, or the word I couldn’t bring myself to say aloud: Suicide. It was bad enough that I had to tell my grade school friends I was in an “art club” on Tuesday afternoons—a club they could never join, primarily because it didn’t exist. Therapy wasn’t a world most kids were familiar with. I wasn’t about to isolate myself even more by becoming the foster kid who had lived in a glorified hole for the first five years of her life and who had consequently found her mother dead next to several empty pill bottles.

  That truth was hard to swallow.

  Briggs stared at me. Even as the motion light clicked off, I could feel his gaze like a warm touch on my face. I knew he was confused. I lifted my head up again, shifting my gaze back to the inky sky. The rain had picked up in intensity, as had the wind. I shivered involuntarily. Briggs quietly took off his jacket and put it over my shoulders.

  “Max and Julie—my mom and dad—adopted me. I was born to Abigail Dawson, she was my mama. My life was…difficult, although it took me years to understand just how bad it really was. I had a very skewed definition of normal. She wasn’t mentally stable, and rarely got out of bed, leaving me to fend for myself. I was always worried about her. I wanted to fix her, and make her better. But one day, when I got back from another unsupervised wandering…she was dead. I found her that way. It was two days before anyone came for me. I went to live with the Lexington’s after that.”

  “Charlie, I…I-”

  “I know. It’s ugly—there’s no other way to say it.” I exhaled, “Today was just a big, fat reminder of it all.”

  He seemed to contemplate this as his hand moved to the top of my head. With slow, steady movements he stroked my hair. I closed my eyes, letting the rhythm calm me. It reminded me of something my mom—Julie Lexington—used to do for me when I had had a bad dream. She would come into my room and sit on my bed and stroke my hair. Sometimes we would get up together and she would make me apple cinnamon tea, my favorite. She never made me go back to sleep right away. It was as if she knew what was waiting for me there—or who was waiting for me: Mama.

  In my relaxed state I felt the piece of paper slip through my fingers and flutter down in front of us. The sound was barely that of a whisper as it hit, but Briggs heard it, and reached for it a second later.

  “What’s this, Charlie?”

  I swallowed, the burning hole in my gut still raw, still open.

  But again, I surprised myself.

  “It’s the note, the one Alex left for me. The one where he tells me that I’m only good as a solo instrument,” I laughed, but there’s no humor it in.

  I felt Briggs tense beside me. He stared at it, “And he…he reminds you of your mom?”

  “Not my mom…my mama. And yes, now he does.”

  “How?” he asked. It was a curious question, but there was something deeper it in that I couldn’t quite identify without being able to see him clearly.

  “Because in one way they’re the same,” I sighed, “Neither of them wanted me in the end.”

  Briggs

  I stopped touching her hair.

  Her words were a rare form of suffocation, like breathing through a wet washcloth.

  “Charlie…you believe that?” I asked, my voice cracked with emotion.

  “He never loved me, Briggs. And neither did she. I offered myself to them both, gave them everything—was willing to be anyone, do anything to make them happy. But in the end, they let me go.” Her voice changed to a whisper, “Like I meant nothing to them at all.”

  There were no tears, but every word she said was marinated in a thick sadness, the kind that had taken years to flavor.

  I gritted my teeth against the anger that welled in me—particularly toward Alex. I wanted to hurt him—to hurt anyone who had hurt Charlie. I couldn’t understand why or how someone could do that to her, but I felt confident that no one ever would again.

  Not if I had something to say about it.

  “You are not nothing to me.”

  She looked up at me. I reached for her face, cupping her cheek as she relaxed into it. That one movement lit my veins on fire.

  “I’ve never told anyone that…before now.”

  “And I’ve never wanted to kiss you more…than I do right now.”

  My words came out choppy, breathless, but I couldn’t contain them anymore. She made no sound, but I could sense her approval as she leaned toward me. With my right hand still firm on her face, I pushed it back to grip the nape of her neck. My other hand was anchored on top of the porch swing. I leaned in slowly, letting the heat from her breath guide me. And the instant my lips brushed against hers, I was overcome with a feeling I had never known.

  Her lips were softer than I had imagined them—sweeter, yet the seconds ticked by unbearably fast. I craved more, but I wouldn’t take advantage of this moment, this rare vulnerability she had shown me. I broke away, planting my lips firmly against her forehead instead. I let my heart rate level out again before I spoke the words that rang in my head like an anthem
.

  “I want you, Charlie.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  Charlie

  Disoriented, I flailed my arm onto my nightstand, whacking my phone to the floor with a bang.

  What day is it? What time is it?

  I reached for my phone; my alarm playing some annoying country song that Briggs must have set last night. Had it really only been six hours ago that we had been sitting on the porch swing together?

  I smiled then, remembering our kiss.

  And what a kiss it had been.

  I bit my lip in silent appreciation. I hadn’t expected anything like that to happen last night: Briggs leaving the station early, the conversation about mama, the kiss—all of it seemed like a distant dream.

  But it hadn’t been a dream.

  The kiss had been far too short, but wonderfulness can happen in less than ten seconds—this I knew firsthand. He had been so gentle, so tender, so kind. Just thinking about it made the butterflies take flight in the base of my belly again.

  And then I remembered something else.

  The words. His words.

  “I want you, Charlie.”

  We had sat in silence for several minutes as I let his statement soak into my bones. There was so much I wanted to say to him—yet the emotional toll of my day had left me utterly spent. Briggs must have felt my exhaustion because without another word, he pulled me to him, putting his arm around my shoulders while he rocked us both on the swing.

  Yes, there was more to be said, but midnight on the day of my would-be-wedding, was probably not the best timing for that conversation. It was simply enough to know that there was more, that possibly we were more.

  I climbed into the shower, the steam and heat easing my tired muscles. I closed my eyes as I stood underneath the hard stream hitting my shoulders, neck and scalp. I reached for my body wash. I laughed as I squeezed the peach creamy-substance into my hand, remembering something Briggs had said before I turned in for the night.

  He had sighed deeply, leaving me to believe that something profound would follow such a pensive act, but instead he asked why I always smelled like peaches. I, of course, told him that it was my natural scent, and that he shouldn’t be jealous that he wasn’t born with one. He had laughed, even though it was a blatant lie on my part. The truth was, that Briggs smelled like the log cabin my parents owned on Lake Owens. He smelled like natural comfort.

  In the early hours of the morning, Briggs had talked a lot about Cody, what it had been like to watch Angie raise him from a newborn in the home they had shared for the first few years of his life. He told stories of him as a toddler and of the funny things he had said as a child. But what struck me the most was the undercurrent of what he didn’t say. There was no question how much Briggs loved the boy, but I sensed there was something deeper than the typical bond shared between uncle and nephew. And then I knew.

  Cody represented hope.

  My heart had tugged at that revelation.

  We had both lived in homes where hope did not exist, where love did not abound. I knew without asking that he wanted Cody to have the life that he didn’t. I would want the same if he were my nephew.

  Tori had invited Briggs and I out to her parent’s house for Sunday brunch today—which in Texas, ultimately meant attending a church service together first, but after Briggs was called into work Friday night, I assumed the plans were off. Kai had assumed otherwise.

  Kai texted late last night letting us know we were both still welcome and that he hoped to see us in the morning. I had to admit, it did sound fun, but going anywhere with Briggs sounded fun to me. I wore my sleeveless, blue wrap dress, which tied at my hip and slipped on my wedged heels. I left my hair down, letting the waves dry naturally as I applied my makeup.

  As I walked down the stairs I could hear him in the house, smelling the brewed coffee.

  “Hey there, good morning,” I said, as I rounded the corner from the stairs into the hall.

  His back was to me as he poured a cup of coffee, glancing over his shoulder to smile at me. My stomach dropped.

  That smile should be illegal.

  “Good morning to you, Shortcake. Ready to go?”

  “Yes, I’m ready.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  Briggs

  Tuesday. Tuesday. Tuesday.

  My heart seemed to pulse the word over and over on repeat, bringing a new round of torture as I counted the minutes. I had to tell her soon. My every thought was one I wanted to say aloud, but more than ever I wanted to do it right—for Charlie’s sake. If that meant waiting a couple more days so I could talk to Chief, I would do that.

  I could live for days on the memory of that kiss alone.

  As I watched her sip her coffee with those same sweet lips I had felt against mine last night, I hoped they would be the only lips I would ever kiss.

  Did I really just think that?

  And yet I knew what the answer was without a second thought. Imagining any other woman in my future made my heart recoil. Charlie was my one in six billion.

  On the other hand, picturing her with anyone else would make waterboarding seem like a pleasant way to spend my eternity.

  Just two more days.

  I had pulled grown men from burning buildings, rescued children from twisted metal prisons after car-accidents, and defended Angie from her abuser. I could wait until Tuesday.

  “So since I finished up at the office last week, I’m gonna stay home tomorrow so I can clean and grocery shop before my folks get back. They fly in late afternoon I think, so I want everything to be ready for them.”

  “Oh, okay…that’s a good plan,” I said, thinking it would also give me one less day to screw up before I talked with Chief, “I start on rotation again tomorrow.”

  “Oh, okay,” she said.

  We both took a deep breath.

  “Yeah,” I added absently.

  It was weird to think about not working at the station with Charlie anymore, or going days at a time where I wouldn’t get to see her, or nights that I wouldn’t get to watch her walk inside her house, or mornings that I wouldn’t get to make her coffee.

  The new normal we had created was coming to an end—correction, it already had. Tomorrow would solidify that truth even more.

  “So when do you think you’ll move back…to your old place?” she asked, pulling me from my thoughts.

  “I should probably do that later this evening since I’ll be at the station till Wednesday night. Good thing I really only have a couple of duffle bags to pack.”

  She sat quietly, as if lost in a thought land far away—maybe it was the same land I had just visited.

  “Hey,” I said, reaching across the seat for her hand. She looked over at me, “Nothing’s going to change but our schedules, Charlie. We’re friends. You can’t get rid of me that easily.”

  The word betrayed me as I spoke it, but I couldn’t say more—not yet. She nodded and smiled at me briefly, but there was something in her eyes that told me she wasn’t exactly satisfied by my declaration.

  I took another deep breath.

  Tuesday. Tuesday. Tuesday.

  Charlie

  Kai and Tori saved us seats at church, and next to them were a row of people who seemed just as excited to see us, though I had no idea who they were. Tori introduced them as her family members. Her parents, her sister, her brother in-law and then the cutest baby girl I had ever laid eyes on.

  “Oh my gosh, she is adorable! Tori, is this Kailynn—your flower girl?” I asked, letting the little princess grab my finger and shake it over and over.

  “Yes, isn’t she sweet?” Tori asked, kissing her on the head as she held her.

  “That doesn’t even begin to describe her…wow. I will have to become best friends with your sister so I might get a chance to get on the babysitting list,” I said.

  Stacie laughed and reached around Tori to touch my shoulder as she spoke.

  “Charlie, you’re welcome to hang out with
Kailynn and I anytime…we usually start our day together around four a.m., so believe me, when I say anytime, I really mean it,” Stacie said dramatically.

  I laughed hard as Tori rolled her eyes. I was gonna enjoy getting to know her family. It was hard to believe that in just two weeks I would be with them all again on Tori’s big day.

  We slipped into our seats. Briggs was at the end of the row while I sat in between him and Tori. I looked down at our aisle and my heart warmed. Is this what it feels like to have a big family?

  The band that played was awesome. I was easily distracted by how in-sync they were, watching each other’s movements, following and transitioning flawlessly to each new song. It was impressive. As my emotions started to rise to the surface, a rogue thought forced its way in.

  “But there are other instruments, which were only ever meant to stand alone, to solo. We, unfortunately, both fall into that latter category, Charlie. And two solo instruments should never share the stage.”

  I hated that statement.

  I hated even more that I had memorized it. That it haunted me the same way mama did—lurking in some dark corner of my mind. I didn’t want to be a solo instrument for the rest of my life. I didn’t want to be alone.

  I wanted this.

  I looked down the aisle again at the row of family and friends, and then to my right at Briggs. How does Briggs see me? Like a shiny, solo instrument, or as one that could compliment?

  Our uncomfortable conversation in the truck came back to my mind then as the congregation continued to sing. He was moving out…tonight. I knew it was coming, obviously. But deep in my core was the building of a feeling that I wasn’t going to be able to shake off anytime soon. Yes, I wanted to let things progress naturally, I had made a commitment to myself to never again force my hand in a relationship, but what if…what if natural only turned out to be friends?