by Graves, Jane
"You do what you have to do. I could go on, but I think you get the picture. So how about we give it a rest now?”
She looked at him defiantly, daring him to challenge her again. Instead, he eased up next to her, took her by the shoulders, and stared down at her.
"All I want to do is get to know you,” he said. “That’s all. But it’s hard to do that if you won’t tell me where you came from or what you’re thinking.”
Kelsey’s defiance slowly melted away, and her shoulders sagged with resignation. "You are so weird."
He let out a dramatic sigh. “What is it this time?”
“Do you realize you're the only man on earth who wants to know what a woman is thinking? It's supposed to be the other way around."
"Yeah, well, I'm one of a kind." He took her face in his hands and gave her a gentle kiss. "Tell you what. I need to take Boomer for a walk. Why don't you come along? We can order the pizza when we get back."
Kelsey finally nodded. At least now Brett had the answer to the question he'd asked her a week ago. He knew who'd hurt her. He just had no idea how to make the hurting stop.
* * *
Ten minutes later, Kelsey was sitting on a bench next to Brett, watching Boomer and his canine play group beneath the light of a couple of street lamps. Boomer play-growled with a Pug-like dog, then bounded after a tubby Lhasa Apso. He met every dog that approached him with a panting doggy smile and a tail-wagging invitation to play.
"Boomer has a lot of friends here," Kelsey said.
"Yep. He's a love at first sniff kind of dog."
"So where did you get him?"
"About a year ago, one of the waiters at Gianelli's said he'd gotten a puppy, but he was getting too big and he couldn't keep him anymore. Once I saw him, I wondered how the guy had missed the size of his paws, which is a pretty good indication of how big a dog is likely to get. I mean, when they're the size of Frisbees…dude. Get a clue, you know? He's gonna be a big dog."
"You live in a pretty small apartment. I'm surprised you adopted him."
"Yeah, but when the guy said that if he didn't find a home for him he was going to take him to the pound, where he’d probably eventually be put to sleep. I didn’t know if the guy was bluffing or not, but I didn’t want to take the chance. So in the end, Boomer got a home, and I got somebody who's happy to see me every time I walk through the door."
"How did you ever get him past Edwin? There's a twenty‑five-pound limit on dogs in our apartment building."
"You really don't know the answer to that?"
Then it dawned on her. "Oh, my God. What did it cost you?"
"Let's just say that for the money I slipped him under the table, Edwin should be wearing designer T-shirts and eating caviar on his Cheetos."
Kelsey smiled, then turned to watch Boomer and his friends. No doubt about it—a more social animal had never been born. He and Brett were made for each other.
They sat there a long time in silence, watching the dogs play. After a while, Brett put his hand over hers. She turned her hand over and held his, thinking how good it felt to be with him. Then she thought about what he'd said about wanting to get to know her, and he was right. If this went any further between them, how could she tell him that any discussion of her life before they'd met was off limits?
"I know you think I'm being terrible to my mother," she said quietly. "But you have to understand how many times we've been through this. I just can't do it again."
“I hear what you're saying. I know it’s hard for you.”
“She always says she’s going to change, but she never does. Never. She’s had problems as long as I can remember.”
Brett nodded.
“Actually, if it had just been her to deal with back then, it wouldn't have been so bad."
"What do you mean?"
More memories surfaced, each one worse than the last. Kelsey almost changed the subject, but when she glanced at Brett, he was looking back at her with such understanding that she found herself telling him something she’d never told anyone else.
"She brought men home," Kelsey murmured, staring at her hands. "A lot of them. Sometimes just overnight. Sometimes they stayed for weeks. You can imagine what I heard through the walls. I used to hide my head under my pillow and pray it would stop.”
Brett sighed and squeezed her hand.
“Some of the guys were pretty bad,” Kelsey said quietly. “Alcohol. Drugs. But there was one I actually liked. He took me to McDonald’s and even helped me with my homework once. I remember thinking please. Please be nice to this one. But it didn’t take long before my mother went off on one of her binges. She got screaming drunk and threw an ashtray at him. He left after that and never came back.”
"So where was your father?"
"Better question. Who was my father?"
“Oh, boy,” he said. “I'm sorry. That's rough."
They sat in silence a while longer. Boomer trotted up to Brett like a toddler checking in with Dad. Brett scratched behind his ears, and he galloped off to play again.
“Thanks for the concert today,” Kelsey said. “That was nice.”
“Glad you liked it.”
"It reminded me of something when I was a kid."
Brett froze. “Is that a bad thing?”
"No. It’s one of the only good things I remember.” She inhaled silently, then released the breath. “There was a woman who lived across the hall from us. She played the guitar. At night, when the chaos stopped and everything finally got quiet in that apartment, I could hear the music. It felt…I don’t know. Like I was on this beautiful island where everything was calm and peaceful. Everything around me was wild and crazy, but for those few minutes, I didn’t feel it. I used to close my eyes and pretend that woman was my mother and she was playing the guitar just for me. It was so nice when everything else around me wasn't.” She turned to look at him. “So that’s the kind of life I had as a kid. Pathetic, isn't it?"
"You turned out okay."
"Sometimes I'm not so sure about that."
"What do you mean?"
She didn't want to say it, because it made her sound even more pitiful. For Brett, life had been a breeze, so it was hard to sit next to him and not fervently wish she was somebody else, somebody who wasn't so wary and suspicious. Somebody who could see life through different eyes.
Through his eyes.
"You’re right,” she said, her voice a near whisper. “I do have hang-ups. I read a book about it once. It talked about how kids who had childhoods like mine tend to grow up with control issues. They felt helpless as kids, so they overcompensate as adults. In case you hadn’t noticed, I kinda like to be on top of things.”
Brett flashed her a tiny smile.
“And all I ever saw of relationships was my mother and all those men.” She paused, hating to say it. “Maybe it took something from me I can’t get back."
"No. That's not true. All the right feelings are in there. You just have to let them out."
Kelsey wasn't sure she believed that, but something about the way Brett said it made her feel as if it was at least possible.
"If you thought your mother was telling the truth now,” Brett said, “that she'd never have another drink again, would you forgive her for what she's done?"
“She’s not telling the truth, and she will drink again, so I guess that’s a moot point, isn’t it?”
Brett sighed. "I know it’s bad between you two. But maybe this time she’ll stick to it.”
“Fine. I hope she does. But she’ll be sticking to it without me.”
"Are you sure about that?"
Kelsey was silent for a long time, feeling the push-pull of fantasy versus reality. "Of course I'd like things to be different," she said finally. "But what kind of a fool would I have to be to think it would ever happen?"
“There's always hope."
Hope? He just didn’t understand. If you kept getting hit with a hammer over and over, the next time somebod
y holds it over your head, what do you do? Hope for the best, or prepare for the worst?
Of course she wanted more. She was desperate to wake up one morning in another world, one where she had a mother who was sober and normal and all the bad memories had disappeared. But Kelsey had no doubt her mother would go to her grave with a bottle in her hand, and when that happened, she had no intention of shedding a single tear.
14
The next morning, Brett woke after Kelsey had left for work. As he lay there staring at the ceiling, thinking about getting up, Boomer made a stab at jumping up on the bed, missed and fell back, then finally hauled his butt up there. He turned around once, then collapsed next to Brett. He stuck his nose under Brett’s arm, nudging him hard.
“I guess you have to pee, huh?” Brett said.
He pulled on some clothes and ran his hands through his hair. Then he made a cup of coffee in a travel mug, grabbed Boomer, and headed to the dog park. He sat on his usual bench, and a few minutes later, Mrs. Paxton showed up with Tinkerbelle. She carried her her tote bag that contained her current crocheting project and a book or two. Boomer saw them coming and galloped over to meet them. The dogs circled and sniffed, and then they ran off together to do what dogs did. Fortunately, Mrs. Paxton had gotten over her fear that Boomer was going to snatch up her little darling and swallow him in a single gulp, and now the two dogs were fast friends.
"Hello, Mrs. Paxton," Brett said as she sat down beside him. "Lovely morning, isn't it?"
"It's muggy," she said. "The humidity has been terrible lately."
Brett smiled. "Don't think of it as humidity. Think of it as atmosphere."
"Atmosphere," she muttered, as if it was a dirty word. She pulled her crocheting from her tote bag and started in.
Brett took a sip of his coffee. "So what are you making there?"
"Booties for grandbaby number four. My daughter is due any day now."
"Congratulations."
"She's hoping for a boy, so I'm doing them in blue. If it's another girl, blue will just have to do."
"I'm sure your daughter will appreciate them either way."
Mrs. Paxton nodded, her fingers flying over the yarn. "I noticed you and Kelsey Morrison are keeping company."
"Yes, ma'am. We certainly are."
"With her borrowing your robe and all." She gave Brett a sidelong glance that said she hadn't been born yesterday. "I've seen you with other girls, you know. Coming and going."
"Yes, ma'am. There have been one or two."
Mrs. Paxton turned slowly to stare at him.
"Six or eight?" Brett said.
She looked away again and continued crocheting. "Kelsey's not just any girl, you know. She came along with me to the hospital last year when I broke my wrist. Made sure Tinkerbelle was taken care of."
"That's nice."
"She got that no-good super of ours to unstop Bridget Grakowski's sink."
"Yeah, I heard about that."
"She helps Gloria DeVita out with those three kids of hers, too." Mrs. Paxton shook her head. "But I don't know if there's any helping poor Gloria herself. Girl's got no sense at all."
"What do you mean?"
"That man she's seeing. He seems a little shady to me. Barely speaks. And all those tattoos. What's a man thinking when he does that to himself?"
"I don't know. I guess some guys just like tattoos."
"So what I'm saying is that I'm watching you," Mrs. Paxton said. "You treat Kelsey right, or you'll answer to me."
"You don't have to worry about that," he said.
“See that I don’t,” Mrs. Paxton said, and kept crocheting.
Brett finished his coffee. Then he called to Boomer, and they left the dog park. As Brett jogged with him back to their apartment building, he thought about what Mrs. Paxton had said about him hurting Kelsey. He had no doubt the woman had her Evil Eye ready just in case it became necessary to curse him through eternity.
As they got off the elevator and stepped into the lobby, Brett remembered Kelsey’s mother showing up there yesterday. Would there ever come a time when the two of them could reconcile?
Then he remembered the piece of paper.
He turned and looked at the trash can by the elevator. He dug through it, hoping somebody hadn't emptied it since last night.
Ah. There.
He pulled out the crumpled paper, opened it, and saw an address and phone number. He looked at it a long time, telling himself he needed to toss it away again. After all, Kelsey was right. Her mother had been terrible to her, and she had every right to hate her forever. Brett didn't feel too kindly toward her himself. But what if Kelsey had a change of heart someday? Wouldn't she want a way to get in touch?
Finally he stuck the paper in his jeans pocket, telling himself he'd hold on to it for safekeeping. But he couldn’t get involved. It would be a huge risk for him even to suggest that Kelsey needed to make amends with her mother.
He’d discovered Kelsey was warmer, softer, sweeter than she ever let on. More caring about other people than he’d ever imagined. But there was still a darkness about her, an edge he wasn't sure he could ever wear down. He still had the feeling that one day he could push her too hard, the shade would come down again, and she'd be gone for good.
* * *
The next evening when Gianelli's opened, Brett felt more relaxed than he had the day before. He’d taken care of a whole list of administrative tasks that afternoon. Then half an hour before they opened, he’d made sure the condiment setups were in place on the tables, the bar was stocked, and the bathrooms were clean. Greg was currently pouring ice over the beer behind the bar, and Andrea had arrived and was waiting on customers.
But where was Paul?
Twenty minutes later Andrea was waiting on a party of six and more customers came in, so Brett took a few orders and delivered some appetizers. A few minutes after that, Paul swept into the kitchen. He grabbed an apron and put it on.
"Hey, Brett."
"Hey, Paul. Did something come up this evening?"
"Uh…no. Why?"
"You're late for your shift again."
"Oh. Sorry about that."
"That's all you have to say? 'Sorry about that?'"
"Who covered my tables?"
"I did."
"Thanks, dude. I owe you one."
Paul smiled and gave Brett a clap on the shoulder, then started past him. But Brett was looking for more than a halfhearted apology.
"Hold on just a minute," Brett said.
Paul turned back. "What?"
Brett leaned in and spoke softly. "You have to start being more conscientious and get here on time."
"Is it really such a big deal?"
"Yeah, Paul, it is."
Paul frowned. "Jerry never cared if I showed up late every once in a while."
"It's been more than that, and you know it. Is it so unreasonable to expect you to show up to work on time?"
"Shit happens, dude. Will you lighten up?"
"This place is my responsibility."
"Christ," Paul muttered. "I knew this was going to happen once you took over. You're the boss, so now you're turning into an asshole. You used to be really easygoing. What happened to that guy?"
Paul left the kitchen, totally dismissing Brett, and that annoyed the hell out of him. No, he didn't like confrontation, but clearly it was going to take more of it to get the point across to Paul. If he stepped out of line again, they were going to have more words. And Brett couldn’t think of anything he was looking forward to less than that.
He remembered what Kelsey had said, that the slackers were the only ones who would have a problem with him. Maybe that was true, but one bad apple could definitely spoil the whole barrel. If Paul chose to trash him behind his back, he could turn every employee in the place against him.
* * *
The next morning, Brett had just thrown on a pair of shorts and a T-shirt and clipped Boomer’s leash to his collar when he heard a knock at
his door. He looked out the peephole and got a shock.
Kelsey's mother?
He felt a sudden rush of anger at the woman who'd caused Kelsey so much pain. He knew he should just ignore her until she went away, but if he didn't open the door, would she sit on the same bench she'd sat on before and wait for him to come out of his apartment? Worse, would she still be there when Kelsey got home?
He decided he'd see what she wanted, then send her on her way.
He opened the door. Carlene turned and met his gaze. The family resemblance was strong between her and Kelsey. They both had the same golden brown hair, the same wide-set eyes. But while Kelsey radiated health from every pore, Carlene had a deep‑fissured, sallow face that made her look as if she'd lived three hard lives in the span of only one.
"Mrs. Morrison," he said.
"Carlene. Please. And you're Brett, right?"
"Yes. Kelsey's at work."
"I know. That's why I'm here. I was hoping I could talk to you. Do…do you mind if I come in? For just a minute?"
Brett knew if he let her in, he was making a mistake. But she looked at him so plaintively that he finally backed up a step and opened his door wider. Carlene walked hesitantly into his apartment. As Brett closed the door, she said, "When you two got off the elevator the other evening, it was nice to see her smile. It's been a while."
"Why are you here?"
Brett's words came out a little sharper than he intended, but after what Kelsey had said about her mother, he wasn't feeling particularly charitable.
"I'm here because you're a friend of Kelsey's," Carlene said. "Actually, from what I saw, you're more than just friends."
Brett was silent.
"Are you two serious about each other?"
"I'm not sure I should be talking to you about my relationship with Kelsey."
"That's okay. I understand." Carlene sighed. "Well, as you could probably tell, she and I don't exactly get along."
"Yeah. That was pretty clear."
"Did she tell you why?"
"She told me a few things."
Carlene hugged the strap of her shoulder bag and peered up at Brett. "Look, I know whatever she told you, it was bad. But I want to put it behind me. I want Kelsey to put it behind her, too."