by Girard, Dara
“Why?”
“I feel like hurting him.”
“I didn’t realize you were violent.”
He lifted a brow. “I could say the same.”
She sighed. “I’m sorry.”
He glanced up at her. “Now I believe you.” He returned to his breakfast. “I think you were saving that slap for him.”
“Because he pitied me too?”
“Yes, and because you loved him and he didn’t love you.”
Brenna sat down, clasping her hands together to keep them from shaking. “Do you know why people like me hate pity? Because pity means ‘something to be regretted’, something to be sorry for. As though we’re a mistake in life and everyone can look at us and say ‘Well I thought my life was bad, but look at you at least I’m not like that’. No matter how much I’ve succeeded. No one wants to be me.” She grasped her leg. “People see this.” She swallowed back tears; he’d never seen her cry. “So promise you’ll never say you pity me again.” She lowered her voice. “You can think it, but don’t say it.”
“I wanted to hurt you.”
“I know.”
Hunter rested his fork down. “I understand that I’m not your romantic ideal. Perhaps I’m no one’s romantic ideal.” He shrugged unconcerned. “That’s okay because I don’t believe the world can function on that. I’m a good man, I work hard and I’m decent to those around me. I don’t like admitting any weaknesses, but I will admit that my previous marriage, although years in the past, was—is—a sore spot. I was good to her. ” He sighed. “So I won’t pity you if you don’t mention her.”
Brenna reached out and touched his hand, hoping the gesture would express her thanks. “Another bargain?”
“Yes.”
She smiled gently. “Angelina lost a good man.” They heard the horn of the taxi outside.
He picked up his fork, quickly finished his food then stood.
She followed him to the door. “You aren’t really going to take my money, are you?”
“Of course I am.” He stuffed the money in his wallet. “Serves you right. You can’t go around slapping men because you feel like it. Besides it saves me from giving you a reason for really slapping me.”
“Like what?”
He gently touched the side of his face. “Ravishing a woman on top of her kitchen table usually gets me into trouble.”
“I don’t believe you.”
“You’re right.” His hand fell to his side all humor gone from his tone. “The last woman who slapped me did so because she saw in me something she didn’t want to see.” His voice dropped to a whisper. “A man who thinks she’s wonderful.”
Brenna took a step back. His words were too dangerous to believe. Yet she wanted to. “You think I’m wonderful?” She smirked. “You must be very lonely.”
He pulled her to him, his voice insistent. “It’s more than lust. No, listen to me. This coming weekend will be the last time I’ll ever see you and a part of me is glad because I’m not your Prince Charming and I can’t wake you from this dream you’re in. This dream where you’re just a woman with a bad leg and only successful in your career. A dream where you can’t see that you’re so much more than that. So much heart and compassion you’re too afraid to see.”
Tears built up in her eyes. Her voice was a whisper. “You’re hurting me.”
“Perhaps you’re waking up to the fact that you should be flattered, even grateful, that I’m here with you right now. That all last night I thought about making love to you. That right now I could hold you in my arms and bury myself in your sweetness, your gentleness because it’s there inside that armor, hiding behind that wit. That I think of caressing every part of you, kissing you. But I won’t because it wouldn’t be fair to either of us.” He released her. “I don’t love you. I doubt I ever will, but I admire you and if that’s not a good basis for a marriage I don’t know what is.” He opened the door. “You’re right, you’re in control. The choice is yours.”
CHAPTER NINE
Brenna shut the door determined to go on about her day, but she couldn’t. The kitchen seemed to echo with the accusations they had hurled at each other. The foyer pulsated with emotions so heated they permeated the walls.
She was afraid to be loved? Who was he to say such a thing? A man who didn’t even know her. Who didn’t know how much she had loved Byron in hopes that his care and kindness would blossom into a deep love for her. She had studied every smile, every gesture hoping that his pity would change into something more. Something deep and beautiful that she could cling to. She’d wanted his love. And yet an insistent whisper of doubt plagued her.
Why had she felt comfortable with him for so long? Why had she let his crumbs of affection sustain her? If she were truly starving inside, why had she waited—hungered—for so long? She quickly dressed then went to speak to a man who could give her some answers.
***
Her father, Crampton Garrett, lived alone in a three level apartment complex hidden deep in a wooded area. It gave the residence the feeling of a forest while providing the closeness of an urban town. Brenna stepped out of the car. The scent of newly cut grass hit her along with the harsh sounds of a leaf blower as workers pushed away grass cuttings, and a barking dog chased a squirrel up a tree. She walked to his first floor apartment. Though she hadn’t called she knew he was home. He always was.
After knocking, she heard his grumbling reply, his uneven footsteps and the thud of a mahogany cane against the tile floor.
“Hello, Brenna,” he said. There was no welcome or censure in his voice. Just a casual greeting that gave no indication of the months that had past since their last meeting.
Brenna stepped in and shut the door as her father headed for the cramped living room full of various newspapers and magazines. He was not meant to be a big man, but his large shoulders belied that fact, descending to a thick middle that was not quite fat, but far from trim. His gray hair had separated from his forehead years ago and kind brown eyes settled deeply in an ordinary face that rarely showed joy.
“It’s nice to see you,” she said.
He sat, resting his arms on the armrest of his favorite tan lounger. “You look well.”
“Thank you.”
He bent down, picked up a magazine and tossed it on another pile. “Your mother told me you’re getting married.”
She hesitated, wondering how much truth to share. “I’m not certain.”
He shoved on his reading glasses and lifted a newspaper. “Why not? You’ll probably do better than I did.” He unfolded the paper, disappearing behind it. “It’s different for a woman.”
“What is?”
“Marriage.” The paper fell to his lap. “How could I be a husband and father with this?” He gestured to his leg. “And then to lay the same burden on my off-spring.” He lifted the paper again, shielding his face. “It was unbearable.”
Brenna brightened her voice to combat his bitterness. “Stephen’s doing great and—”
“Great?” he scoffed. “The kid hasn’t progressed in years. Is that what he plans to do the rest of his life?”
“At least he’s happy and I’m happy. You don’t have to worry about me. I run an excellent business and you should see my apartment.” She sat forward, wanting to rip the paper away so he’d be forced to look at her. “I wish you would come and visit me. I’d love to have you over.”
The paper rustled as he turned the page. “Even after I abandoned you, your brother and your mother?”
“I told you all that is forgiven.”
He sniffed. “Forgiven yes, but never forgotten...” His voice drifted away leaving a cloud of discontent that threatened to choke the air.
She refused to let the rain clouds form. She snatched the paper, startling them both. “Look at me, Dad.” Brenna grabbed his chin when his eyes wandered to the window. “Look at me.”
Slowly his eyes met hers glistening with tears.
“I’m a success.”
His eyes drifted to her leg. “No, look at me. Stop being ashamed.”
“I’m not ashamed.”
“Then why do you make it so hard for me to love you?” The words floated for a bit only to slap her in the face.
Why do you make it so hard for me to love you? Why can’t you accept a compliment? Why does a man’s interest make you skeptical? All the questions hid the true one—Why can’t you trust anyone?
Would this be her future? Would kindness and care from others always be met with suspicion? Would her father’s legacy be not just a deformity, but his fear that he wasn’t meant to be loved? She realized how hard it must have been for her mother to have compliments discarded and affections ignored all because he couldn’t accept that they were real.
He grabbed her hand. His words eager yet defeated. “I don’t want to be this way, but I can’t help it anymore.”
She handed him the paper and stood. “You can, but it would hurt too much to try. It’s a risk to trust someone.”
“Bring your young man around...” he called as she opened the door. “If you want.”
Brenna turned and stared at him surrounded by his papers and magazines, the sunlight desperately filtering through the closed blinds. Here was a man who fought all his life against pity, when that was the only thing he inspired. “Goodbye,” she said, not just to him but also to her past.
***
Dr. Lopez gently touched her arm. An olive skinned man with intense brown eyes, he smiled at her with sympathy. “Are you ready?”
Brenna nodded. She bit her lip until she drew blood as the needle penetrated her muscle. There was inflammation in her hip joint. The flare ups occurred every few months and had become a part of her life, although she could never get use to the treatment. He sat after the injection and wrote something in her file then looked at her. “You had a cramp last weekend?”
“Yes,” she said in a quiet voice. “It didn’t last long.”
“Have you been doing your exercises?”
She licked the salty taste of blood from her lip. “Yes.”
He nodded. “Good. You can’t afford to lose what little muscle you have there.”
“I know. It still causes me pain.”
“When?”
“Oh certain moments.”
“Remember to regularly stretch or the muscles will lose elasticity. In several years we may have to replace your knee.”
Too bad they couldn’t replace the entire leg. “I know.”
“You’re doing an excellent job. I know the injections hurt.”
“I’m used to them.”
He tapped the folder hesitant. “Your insurance didn’t accept the last one.”
“I’m paying out of pocket.”
“This is getting costly. I’ll have to write something else down. Something they’ll cover.”
“Thank you.”
Dr. Lopez was right. The injections were very costly as were the visits. The insurance company didn’t cover either the visits or the injections because the treatments were considered ‘alternative’ and the drugs were considered ‘experimental’. Her out of pocket expenses put a big dent in her savings. However, fighting with them was tiresome.
Back home, Brenna took out her files and went over her coverage. The phone rang.
“Hi,” Stephen said. “I want to double date.”
“Why?”
“The banquet is this weekend, right?”
“What does that have to do with anything?”
“This will give you another chance to be together.”
Brenna clicked her tongue. “Won’t work, little brother. I’m the matchmaker in the family.”
“We’ll go to the Steak House.”
“No,” she said firm.
“You have to say yes or I’ll tell Mom you made this whole thing up.”
She paused. “You wouldn’t.”
“I would.”
“Beast. Pest. Rodent.”
He laughed. “See you Friday.”
“He could be busy.”
“Make sure he isn’t,” Stephen said then hung up.
Brenna stared at the phone then set it down. After their last discussion Hunter may not want to spend more time with her. But she wanted to see him again.
***
“Did the cane work?” Miles asked.
Hunter glanced at him. The last thing he wanted to talk about was Brenna. She was already wrecking havoc in his thoughts. “No. I mean she liked it, but that was all.” He shook his head annoyed he wasn’t being more articulate. “I told her about Angelina. She said some things and I...I don’t know how or why I let her get to me.”
Miles rested a foot on his desk. “We all have buttons that can be pushed.”
“Not me...at least not usually.” He picked up a stapler then set it down. “I don’t like anyone knowing them.”
“I doubt she’ll use it against you. You’ll never see her again after Saturday anyway.”
He wished that felt like good news. “Right.”
“And she’s not right for you anyway. I mean from what you’ve told me she has a bunch of insecurities.”
“No, no she has confidence, she’s very courageous. She’s just scared. She needs someone who will be gentle and patient with her.”
“And that’s not you. You have a plan, a schedule you live by. You don’t need her mucking that up.”
Hunter shoved his hands in his pockets and sent his friend a level glare. “I know what you’re trying to do and I want you to stop it.”
Miles folded his arms. “I’m trying to give you a reason to forget about her.”
“I know, but she’s the best prospective wife I’ve come upon in years. You should have seen the party she put together. Excellent. She’d be able to handle Randolph clientele with ease. I can’t believe I haven’t been able to convince her of the benefits of our match.”
“Have you tried being romantic?”
“Yes. A picnic, a fair. I’ve kissed her. Nothing seems to work. I’ve even been honest. You’d think a woman like that would appreciate such efforts.”
Miles grimaced. “How honest were you?”
“I told her that marriage was like a business and that she’d make a great employee.”
He scratched his head. “Wow. A beautiful line like that and she didn’t fall in your arms? I’m amazed.”
Hunter ignored his sarcasm. “She has a weakness. I know what it is, I just have to find a way to use it.”
“And there is of course, Plan B: Other women.”
Hunter stared at his desk. “She’s very clever so I have to alter my approach.”
“Or just choose another woman.”
“Perhaps being honest wasn’t the best strategic move.”
“Or you could save yourself the energy and find another woman. There are plenty out there.”
He glanced up. “Plenty of what?”
“Women.”
“Yes, I’m well aware of that but few meet my standards.”
“And I’m sure of those few none can match Brenna.”
Hunter twirled his pen.
“You know it’s dangerous the lengths a man like you will go to sleep with a woman. It’s not a good idea to marry someone just because you want to sleep with her.”
Hunter set his pen down. “This is more than sex.”
“You have a bad habit of fixing your mind on one thing and staying with it to the bitter end.”
“People who are easily swayed lack conviction.”
“So this is about conviction not an erection that won’t go away?”
Hunter scowled. “More like an irritant that won’t go away.” The phone rang. Hunter answered.
“I need you,” Brenna said.
He gripped the phone. His body responding to the urgency in her tone, giving credence to Miles’ words. “What?”
“My brother is a jerk.”
He regained control. “You want me to do something to him?”
&nb
sp; “No, well. He’s blackmailing me. He wants to double date or he’ll tell Mom everything. Are you free Friday?”
“Sure.”
“Thanks.”
He hung up and stared at Miles. “Yes, this is about sex.”
***
The Steak House was Stephen’s favorite restaurant—loud and noisy with cheap food.
“I’ve invited another couple to join us,” Brenna said once they were seated.
Stephen looked at her suspicious. “Who?”
“There they are.” She waved to Tima and her date. A clean cut man in khaki trousers and Hawaiian top. A diamond stud glinted in one ear.
Stephen glared at her. “What are you up to?”
She smiled. “Revenge.”
Tima sat and introduced her date, Ben Halton. He was helping with the set design at the theater.
Stephen and Fiona shared a menu. Fiona readily agreeing with everything he pointed to like an echo. Brenna finally lost her temper. “Wouldn’t it be nice to try something different? Instead of the same thing? How about the grilled snapper?”
Stephen nodded. “That sounds good.”
Fiona agreed. “Yes, that sounds good.”
Brenna groaned. Hunter nudged her and whispered, “Leave them alone.” She lifted her menu.
Once everyone had ordered, Brenna asked Ben, “So you’re going to start production at the Anandale Theater?”
“Yes.”
“What play?”
“The Glass Menagerie.”
Brenna frowned. “Oh.”
“You don’t like the play?”
No. She delighted in the tales of bad little children, she was sick of the syrupy sweet Tiny Tims and Little Nells invalid children with angelic hearts. How she loved the spoiled cousin in Heidi. She knew as a child she wasn’t angelic and that she dreamt of revenge. Of getting back at her tormentors in vicious ways. That she hated the teacher’s encouraging smiles and patronizing pats on the back as they calmly sat behind the protective shields of their desks while she entered the school battlefields in the halls and cafeteria. She’d never succeed as the tender hearted cripple; she was too cocky and annoyed them. Tonight she wanted to be different. “It’s a lovely play,” she lied.
“Your sister told me you’re a lighting genius, Stephen,” Tima said. “How would you like to see what we’re doing?”