FIVE
The following morning Brianna marched across the lawn and rapped on the stranger’s door. When he didn’t answer after a minute or so, she turned to double-check something. Yep. Car in the driveway. Likely he’d seen her coming and decided to hide out inside the house. He must suspect an impending confrontation. Or maybe he was still sleeping. It was Saturday morning, after all.
Well, she wouldn’t back down. Not that easily.
Brianna knocked again, a little louder this time. She half- expected to hear his dog barking in response. Instead the door swung open, and she found Mr. Trouble with a capital T himself standing on the other side. Wow. He was a lot taller than she’d guessed—at least six feet four—and wider than she might’ve imagined, too.
No. Wider wasn’t the right word. He certainly wasn’t chubby. Just. . .solid. Especially around the shoulders and upper arms. Did he lift weights? Man. She gave him another quick once-over, trying not to be too obvious. Yep. Solid.
Mr. Campbell’s face lit into a smile, and she couldn’t help but notice his deep, well-placed dimples. And that dark, wavy hair really suited him, too. She blinked hard and gave him a curt nod as she struggled to stay focused.
His opening line caught her off guard. “You’re Bree!”
Okay. So he had what turned out to be the richest velvety voice she’d ever heard; so what? She wouldn’t let that distract her. Other charmers had tried to get to her in the past, but she had seen beyond them, hadn’t she?
“I’m Brandon Campbell. It’s great to finally meet you.” His emerald-green eyes seemed to come alive with excitement as he reached for her hand, and as she took it Brianna suddenly couldn’t remember why she’d stopped by in the first place.
“Yes, well. . . ,” she managed, as she tried to collect her thoughts.
“I feel like I already know you.”
“You do?”
“Yes, though I half expected you to be Abbey, bringing me a slice of chocolate cake.”
How did he know Gran-Gran had baked a cake? They stood there for a few seconds, his large hand dwarfing her own. Finally she pulled free from his welcoming gesture and attempted to compose herself.
“I, um, really need to talk with you, Mr. Campbell. It’s pretty important.”
His expression changed immediately. “Of course. Come on in.” He gestured for her to join him inside. Did she dare?
She took a tentative step inside. Though his home was the mirror image of her own, the decor was the polar opposite. No knickknacks or doilies. In fact, there didn’t appear to be much of anything on the walls, at least not yet. Just a large flat-screen TV and a couple of leather sofas.
So. Mr. Trouble with a capital T is a minimalist. Maybe he just couldn’t be bothered with decorating.
Just then Brianna noticed the stereo, situated on the wall joining their two houses. Bingo. She looked around for signs of the dog but couldn’t find any. Likely he had crated the beast upstairs. Or. . . ,her mind wandered. Maybe the mongrel had taken to roaming around the tiny fenced backyard, digging holes under the fence and scaring children in nearby houses. Regardless, the offending canine would have to be kept under control if he wanted to live in this neighborhood.
Brianna focused on the matter at hand. “Look, Mr. Campbell—”
“Please. Call me Brandon.” He gave her an inviting smile. She shifted her gaze to the floor, unsure what to make of him.
“Brandon. I know you’ve only just moved in, but I need to talk with you about my grandmother.”
A look of concern registered in his eyes. “She’s okay, isn’t she?”
“Well, physically, yes.”
“That’s a relief. You had me scared for a minute.” He motioned for her to take a seat on the larger of the two brown sofas, which she did. Then he joined her, gazing intently into her eyes as he spoke. “I just love that grandmother of yours. She’s completely amazing. Quite a little spitfire for being eighty-four. And a great cook, too—but then again you probably already knew that.”
“Well, yes, but—”
“That pot roast was the best I’ve had in years. And she bakes a mean apple pie.”
“Oh? She brought you pie?”
“Yes. Even gave me the recipe. I didn’t have the heart to tell her I can’t bake my way out of a paper bag.” His boyish laugh reverberated around the room, and Brianna couldn’t help but smile. “Still,” he continued, “those yeast rolls were my favorite. I’ve never tasted anything like them. Never.”
“Yeast rolls?” Hmm. Why hadn’t Gran-Gran mentioned any of this?
“Yeah. They were manna straight from heaven.” He shrugged. “But I guess I’m giving you the wrong impression. I don’t want you to think the food was what drew me in. Abbey has the best personality in town. It’s her strong suit, for sure.”
“R–right.”
“And her stories.” He chuckled. “To be honest, she had me laughing till my sides hurt. I could probably tell you anything you wanted to know about almost everyone in your family, right down to naming names on your family tree.”
Okay, this was weird. Gran-Gran had talked about one brief visit with Brandon Campbell, nothing more. Maybe she’d been trying to butter him up. Regardless, this fellow, kind or not, needed to know what a nuisance he had become.
“She’s really won me over,” he continued. “And the best part is, she’s agreed to pray for me, and I really need that.”
“Yes, well, look—I hate to bring this up,” she started. “But my grandmother is—”
“Say no more.” He jumped up and sprinted to the kitchen, then returned with a pie plate in his hands. “She’s missing this, I know. I promised to bring it back to her last night but forgot.”
“No, I didn’t come about a plate.” Brianna shook her head, growing more confused by the moment. “In fact, I didn’t even know you and Gran-Gran were this. . .acquainted. I actually came because she seems to be a bit put off by you right now.”
“Put off?” He gave her a confused look.
“Perturbed might be a better word,” she explained. “And I don’t really blame her.”
“You don’t?” His eyes reflected genuine concern.
Why do they have to be such a great shade of green? Focus, Brianna—focus.
“I’ll get right to the point.” She stared him straight in the eye, to make sure he understood the severity of her words. “My grandmother’s blood pressure has always been a little high. But yesterday, with that stereo of yours blaring—”
“Stereo?”
“And that dog barking nonstop—”
“Dog?”
“All the noise is wearing her out. She can’t take it anymore. And since I’m the one responsible for her care, I need you to understand that whatever concerns her, concerns me. So if she’s upset by the noise coming from your place, I’m upset, too.”
“Well, that would be understandable if—”
Brianna interrupted him by raising her hand. “Look. I don’t want to cause unnecessary trouble. That’s the last thing I want or need. Gran-Gran is a great neighbor. Always has been. Ask anyone on the block.”
“Well, I never said—”
“I can’t remember a time when she’s ever had a run-in of any sort with anyone in the neighborhood. My grandmother means everything in the world to me, and I’m going to rush to her defense if she’s wounded in any way. If anything were to happen to her. . .” Brianna’s eyes filled with tears, and she used the back of her hand to swipe them away. After a deep breath, she finished her sentence. “If anything were to happen to her, I don’t know what I’d do.”
He gave her a blank stare, and she had to wonder at his coldness. Did he not care that her elderly grandmother had been inconvenienced? Was a frail senior citizen’s health of no concern to him whatsoever? How could that be, after all the kind things he had said about her? What sort of man was this, anyway?
“So. . .” She rose to her feet and took a couple of steps toward the d
oor. “I’ve said what I came to say.”
“Well, I can see that, but. . .” His eyes, once bright, had darkened with concern.
“No apologies, then?” She stared him down, hoping he would do the right thing.
“I, uh. . .I’m sorry about this. . .misunderstanding.”
Misunderstanding?
He handed her the pie plate and muttered a quiet “Please give my regards to Abbey.”
Brianna took it from him and turned to walk out the door. The look of sadness on his face almost caused her to turn back at the last minute.
Almost.
❧
Brandon pulled back the blinds and peered out the front window as Brianna shot across his lawn, pie plate in hand. She moved away from his house like a woman possessed.
“What was that all about?”
He raked his fingers through his hair with his free hand as he thought back over her accusations. Not one of them had been true, though she clearly believed them to be. The only time he’d turned on his stereo since moving into the duplex was late yesterday afternoon when Abbey stopped by for a second time. She’d insisted he play his Frank Sinatra CD for her. Track 3, if memory served him correctly.
Brandon smiled as the memory registered. Abbey had waltzed around his living room like a prom queen—alone at first— and then she’d gestured for him to join her.
Okay, so he’d felt awkward whirling around the room, too. In the beginning. But she’d won his heart and eventually his feet.
So why the accusation? And what was all that about a dog? He hadn’t owned a dog since junior high school.
At that moment something occurred to Brandon, something that almost made him sick to his stomach. Was it possible. . .could it be. . .that Abbey suffered from delusional thinking? Dementia? That would certainly shed light on her apparent on-again, off-again behavior. Childish and carefree one moment. Frustrated and accusing the next. And it would more than explain Brianna’s possessiveness where her grandmother was concerned.
“No way.” He shook his head as he contemplated the idea. It would certainly explain a lot, wouldn’t it?
As the potential reality set in, Brandon released his grip on the blinds. They fell back into place.
If only he could’ve said the same thing about his heart.
SIX
Less than an hour after the visit from his neighbor, Brandon received the call he’d been waiting for, with news of the all- important press conference.
“We’ll make the announcement this afternoon,” Coach Carter said. “So be prepared for a media blitz.”
“I’ve had a couple of calls already,” Brandon acknowledged. “One from a local paper, and another from a cable sports affiliate.”
Carter sighed. “You know how this goes. News always leaks out. What did you tell ’em?”
“Just said ‘no comment’ and hung up.”
“Perfect. Just keep it up till after we make the announcement, okay?”
“Of course, Coach.”
“Those reporters will get all their questions answered in a few hours anyway,” Carter explained. “I hope you’re up to the attention.”
“I’ll manage. Where should I meet you?”
“At the stadium in the press room.” Carter went on to explain that Alex Mandel, the team’s owner, would be there, as well as Mack Burroughs, general manager. “Be there by 2:15,” Carter instructed. “We’ll need time to prep and to get you into your new jersey. How does the number seven sound to you?”
“Perfect.”
“Great.” Carter switched gears. “Did you get the playbook I sent over?”
“Got it.”
“Memorize it. Only two days till your first game.”
“Yes, sir.”
The coach’s voice softened slightly. “And Campbell?”
“Yes, Coach?”
“Welcome to Pittsburgh, son.”
Brandon noticed the cell phone trembled in his hands as he stammered, “Thanks, Coach,” then ended the call.
He plopped down on the sofa and began to pray. Words of thanksgiving escaped his lips. They weren’t planned or rehearsed but rather flowed out of a heart filled with gratitude. Opportunities like this didn’t come along often; he knew that. He would not take this one for granted. And he would use every chance he had to thank God. . .publicly.
A peal of thunder caught his attention, and Brandon rose to look out the window. Great. An incoming storm. Well, no problem. He didn’t need to leave for a couple of hours.
Minutes later he sorted through his closet in search of something to wear. As he dressed he tried to imagine how the afternoon would go. He could hear it all now. . .the clicking of the cameras, the stirring of the reporters, as the general manager stood and approached the microphone.
“Ladies and gentlemen, I’d like to present the newest member of our team,” Mack Burroughs would say. “Number seven, Brandon Campbell.”
Reporters would interrupt with questions, likely wanting to know details of his trek from Tampa to Pittsburgh. They would criticize some of his past plays. Then the real chaos would begin. Those hoping to elevate their ratings would likely stir up old rumors about his wild past and possibly even start a few new ones.
He shuddered as he thought about it. A heaviness filled his chest as he contemplated the past—the man he used to be, the one reporters had chased from bar to bar in Tampa less than a year ago. Rumors—some true and others not so true—had almost destroyed his career and his personal life.
B.C. Before Christ.
Those same initials once represented his name—Brandon Campbell—but had quickly been replaced with a name far greater. A wave of relief washed over him as he remembered. . . the past was truly in the past.
He hoped Pittsburgh’s reporters would leave it there.
Brandon showered quickly then dressed for the press conference, careful to look as presentable as possible. Then he called his mother to tell her about the upcoming meeting.
She answered on the third ring, and he opened with the question that always seemed to stir up trouble. “How would you feel about living in Pittsburgh, Mom?”
“It’s cold up there.”
“Well, yes, but I hear it’s beautiful in the winter. And you’ll love the bridges.”
“It’s cold up there,” she repeated.
“Yes, but you’ll be plenty warm in that new house I’m going to buy for you,” he coaxed.
“I’m perfectly happy in my mobile home,” she said with a hint of laughter in her voice. “How many times do I have to tell you that? I’d get lost in a big house. Give me something small and quaint any day.”
“Still. . .” He hoped to convince her she could learn to love it in Pennsylvania, in spite of her Tuesday canasta group and her Monday/Wednesday date at the YMCA for water aerobics.
He jumped into an explanation of the press conference he would soon attend, and the pride in her voice let him know she cared deeply about all he was going through. As the conversation drew to a close, she offered to pray for him.
“Of course,” he agreed.
Not that he could’ve stopped her. His mama had been known to stop a crowd in a supermarket for a prayer meeting.
Oh, how he missed his mama.
After she wrapped up the prayer, Brandon ended the call with the same words he always did: “Love you, Mom.”
“I love you, too, Brandon. But remember—”
“I know, I know. . .” They said the words in unison, as always: “It’s cold up there.” He snapped his cell phone shut and smiled. One way or another, he would talk her into it.
At 1:30 Brandon could wait no longer. The storm appeared to have passed, though the roads were plenty wet. And even though the roads weren’t likely to be crowded on a Saturday, he still wanted to leave early.
He grabbed an umbrella and shot out the front door. As he made his way toward the driveway, something—or rather someone—next door caught his eye.
Abbey.
>
He nodded and smiled but hoped she wouldn’t wave him over for a chat. He didn’t want to hurt her feelings, but he had no time to visit today.
Hmm. Not that she seemed to notice or care. No, she seemed intent on reaching her mailbox. . .a woman on a mission. Abbey clutched her umbrella in one hand and waved with the other as she made her way toward the metal box at the end of the drive.
Brandon climbed into his car and backed out of the driveway. He’d gone no more than a dozen feet or so when he noticed something. He brought the car to a halt and looked around but saw nothing. Abbey had disappeared from view.
He scrambled out, fearing the worst. Right away, he caught a glimpse of Abbey on the ground, her umbrella bouncing across the lawn as the wind picked it up. Brandon sprinted in her direction, rain pelting down and soaking him to the bone. He knew, even before he drew close, that she was in dire straits. Her gut-wrenching cries broke his heart.
“Abbey. I’m here.” He knelt down beside her on the drive- way, his slacks now soaked. Her left leg appeared to be twisted beneath her in an awkward position, but he knew better than to move her, at least not yet.
She looked up with pain in her eyes. “Oh, Brandon!” she cried out. “Look what I’ve gone and done. I’m such a clumsy old lady!”
“No, you’re not. The driveway is slick. It could have happened to anyone. Where does it hurt?”
“My h–hip.” Her hands trembled violently, likely as much from fear as pain. Though, from the looks of things, she was clearly in tremendous pain.
“I’m not going to try to move you just yet,” he explained. “But if you can, hold on a minute while I get your umbrella.”
After locating it and securing it over her, he flipped open his cell phone and dialed 9-1-1. Within seconds an operator came on. He explained their predicament, and the operator assured him help would arrive shortly. In the meantime, she instructed him to keep the patient calm and still.
Red, White and Blue Weddings: Red Like Crimson, White as Snow, Out of the Blue Page 18