by Marcelo, Tif
Guilt overcame her; she’d overstepped. “I don’t mean that you haven’t had your struggles, Brandon. It’s that I had mine too.”
She halted there. Explaining more would have dug into their deepest issues, and none would be easy to discuss or solve in the next few minutes. There was too much between them, including everyone under this morning’s tent who was relying on them. So she said nothing else for the rest of the ride to Kilig.
Minutes later, they drove onto Kilig’s lot. Tammy was already there, setting up her camera, the tripod at her side. She waved.
As Brandon started to get out of the golf cart, Geneva reached out and pulled him back by the elbow. “I’m sorry that I didn’t tell you about the offer, Bran.”
“Just keep me posted, okay?” he said, sincerity in his voice. “We just want to make sure we can pick up where you leave off.”
Stung, Geneva could only nod at his words.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Brandon hammered the final nail into the final board on the last window at the restaurant. They had been at it since lunchtime, securing houses and equipment, and at 5:00 p.m., the sky was a dark gray, and wind had picked up.
“That’s it,” Mike said, after a swing against the plywood on the window he tended to. He looked at his watch. “It’s time for me to get out of here.”
Brandon spied his phone. It was a half hour before he was due back at Puso, as planned by Chris. The whole family and the on-site staff were expected to hunker down together.
He walked up to the parking lot with Mike. “Stay safe. And thanks for hanging back to help out. Hopefully we’ll just be pelted by a mild storm.”
“Wilmington isn’t reporting a ton of damage, but you never know. We’ll be good, though.”
Brandon nodded, though inside him another kind of storm was brewing. It had started as an annoyance when he was sideswiped with the realization that Geneva had contemplated leaving without telling him, and then a sense of foolishness at his expectation that they were on the same level of intimacy. And as the day had progressed, the vibe on the resort had become ominous. It had become a ghost town. Employees had left to deal with their own homes, to stock up on last-minute necessities in case the storm worsened.
And God, he hated storms. He’d been able to cast his nerves aside most of the day, mentally occupied with Geneva’s possible early departure and physical work. He’d taken his uncertainty and insecurity out on every nail he hammered. He was thankful that at least tonight he would be with his family when Oscar came through.
Mike climbed into his truck and, with one final honk of the horn, made a U-turn and headed down the hill.
Brandon did one last walk around the restaurant and inspected the plywood boarded up against the windows. He looked out over the sound. The water, normally mild even during high tide, had waves that broke forcefully over the surf. There were no ships on the horizon, no birds skimming the water. Far away was gray haze.
He’d better get going.
As he started his golf cart, his phone buzzed in his pocket. It was a text on their family group chat.
Beatrice:
Everyone should head this way.
A series of thumbs-ups against the text showed acknowledgment.
Brandon:
Done at the restaurant. Does anyone need help?
His brothers answered, each with a no.
Beatrice:
Can you check on Geneva? She’s at the storage warehouse. She hasn’t texted me back.
Brandon:
I’m on it.
As he got going, it started to sprinkle, pelting gently against the top of the cart, but Brandon knew, as he watched the trees bend with the wind, that it would only be a few minutes before it became full-fledged rain.
When he got to the storage warehouse, he found the doors locked and the parking lot free of golf carts.
Brandon:
She might be driving to you. Not at the warehouse. I’ll check her place in case.
Beatrice:
Not here yet.
Back on the treeless main drive, he pulled the hood of his sweatshirt up over his head. Normally he would have known where Geneva was—their proximity to one another via text and their shared schedule enabled that. And perhaps this was why he’d felt hurt that he’d had no idea that she’d been contemplating an early leave. He’d thought . . .
That was the problem. He shouldn’t have assumed, even if it was about their working relationship. After their awkward photography session and that conversation where they’d both said some zingers, they’d parted ways without another text.
Brandon passed Geneva’s turnoff and decided that he would check Ligaya, just in case. To both his worry and relief, her golf cart came into view. Through a sliver on one of the windows, he caught the shine of her lights.
He came around the front; the screen door slapped open and closed.
He yelled into the screen. “Geneva?”
“Bran?”
“Yep, it’s me.”
“Oh my God, come in. Come in!” Panic laced her tone. “I’m in the loft.”
“What’s going on?”
“I can’t find Luna.” Her voice shook. “She hates storms, hates them with a passion, and I thought I would get back in time before she realized one was coming, but I can’t find her.”
Brandon systematically scoured the living room and bent down to look under her seats. “I don’t want to add alarm, but how do you know that she didn’t leave?”
“Because I kept the door closed and locked when I left. One thing she hates more than storms, it’s the outside. She’s in here, and I can’t leave her. And anyway, I already searched. Even if she was outside, she wouldn’t have gone far. She never does.”
Thunder crashed down. Outside, the rain strengthened. Geneva’s face appeared from the edge of the loft, and it was wrinkled in worry. “Brandon, you don’t have to stay. You can go.”
“Come with me. If she’s in here, she’ll be okay.”
“Are you kidding? I’m not leaving without Luna. She’s my ride-or-die. She’s been with me every day for three and a half years.” Her face disappeared once more, and a singsong tone followed. “Luna, sweet sneaky thing, where are you?”
Brandon weighed his options. He could insist they go. Cats were resourceful, and if Luna was in here, she would remain indoors. Only minutes remained before the start of this storm. But the shake of Geneva’s voice, the way she was now searching every corner—Brandon knew that Geneva’s attachment was true and unbreakable.
This realization was a chisel and pried his heart from his chest cavity. Geneva had claimed she was a rolling stone.
She wasn’t, not really. Not with Luna.
So there was only one thing to do. He had to help her find this darn cat. If she loved this cat that much, if she loved this cat as much as he had once loved her, then she wasn’t leaving without her.
Brandon started from the door and searched every hiding spot in the living room twice: under the seats, behind them, in the planter of the fake tree. Then he moved to the kitchen, spied under the tables and chairs; he searched in the kitchen cupboards, top and bottom. He peeked behind the refrigerator.
“She’s not up here.” Geneva’s voice echoed. “She has this way of fitting herself into everything. And she’ll do it if she’s scared.”
The only room left was the bathroom. Brandon peeked his head inside—which was a mistake, because the bathroom smelled of Geneva. Her perfume, her shampoo, her body wash. Her lotion. The thought of these things on her body turned up his temperature.
They might have only spent three weeks together, but in that time, he’d found out everything about her, down to the kind of lip balm she used at night before she went to bed, before he kissed it off her for another round of lovemaking. He knew that while she preferred to keep a small wardrobe, her skin care was complicated, with a mix of organic, Korean, and Japanese brands.
Once, he’d had the pleasure of
being her apprentice, and she’d applied a serum to his face that didn’t bring out the glow to his skin more than his ravenous need for her. Yes, that night had also ended up with them frolicking in bed.
“Where are you?” Geneva’s voice woke him from his trance.
“Here!” His voice croaked. As he stepped out of the room, something caught his eye. He halted, then let out a long breath of relief. “Oh, you sneaky Luna.”
The cat was hiding behind the toilet, crouched and hidden in the shadows.
He gave her the side-eye, careful not to make any sudden movements. Then again, the increasing sound of rainfall reminded him that they were losing time. As it was, it would be a heck of a time to drive up to the main house.
Brandon whistled the first tune he could think of: “Mary Had a Little Lamb.” Then slowly, he bent down. Perhaps the tune worked, because Luna eyed him without much suspicion, tail curling. And by golly, she didn’t resist as he plucked her from the ground.
“Oh thank goodness!” Geneva rushed the open doorway, relief playing across her features. Her hair and shirt were wet from her initial outside search.
Still, she was beautiful even in this worried state. Lips glossy and skin now shades darker than even days ago, Geneva glowed. She scooped the cat into her arms, and in feeling the brief contact of her skin against his, Brandon had the urge to take the extra step forward and bring both of them into him, their conversation earlier be damned.
Whether she left or stayed, he would always care for Geneva.
“Thank you, Bran. I was starting to get scared. You stubborn cat.”
His first thought: How many more cats would he need to save to smooth what they had between them? His second: What did he want between them that was realistic? All he knew was that this proximity to her was a rush.
Perhaps that was why the idea of her leaving was like blunt force to the head. That she’d considered it without telling him meant she was willing to let this go without thought.
Thunder sounded, and it broke the moment. Brandon cleared his throat; they had to get back to Puso. “We’d better go.”
“Okay.” She nodded.
But as he followed her to the porch, it was clear that the drive up would be dangerous.
The rain had ratcheted up a notch. The wind whirred like white noise throughout the tiny house. The surf crashed on the beach. Sand swirled. There was just enough light in the sky that five-year-old Brandon’s imagination would have run amok on what monsters lurked out there.
“Crap,” she said. “It’s pretty strong now.”
“I don’t think we’ll be able to make it with the golf cart.” He took out his phone while a sliver of his anxiety inched up his spine. “I’ll text everyone. It’ll be okay.”
“Just breathe, Bran.” Chris’s voice was directive through the phone, which was pressed against Brandon’s ear. “It’s going to storm until dawn, so you’ll have to hang in there with Geneva until then.”
“Okay,” Brandon said, though he knew he was still far from okay. After he’d texted the family group chat, Chris had immediately rung back. Right then, his kuya was not a big brother but a friend. His support system.
“This is not a repeat,” Chris said.
“No, it’s not,” Brandon declared. In his head, he counted off where each of his family members were.
They’re home, not even a half mile away.
Geneva is here with me.
Geneva and her darn cat. “Everyone is accounted for,” he added, just as his therapist had instructed. Say it aloud.
“And you?”
Months after his parents had died, Brandon had blunted his feelings so he could express the swath of his emotions but couldn’t get to the depths of them. Except for when he was angry. Or when he was worried. Or when it stormed. In these occasions, his body had crumbled like tissue placed in a cup of water. What had been a reliably jovial and relaxed Brandon became one who tensed over changes.
It wasn’t just he who’d exhibited their grief. Beatrice had become an insomniac; Chris wouldn’t leave his office; Gil drank to excess. They’d turned to one another, true, but the lost couldn’t lead the lost.
Beatrice had dragged him with the rest of the siblings to family therapy, where all of them had sat in different chairs and muddled through their collective loss. Eventually, they’d attended therapy separately and found their own paths on the slow and arduous journey to healing. His siblings, as complicated as their relationships with one another were, had unified under their efforts to heal.
But the wound never really closed. It scabbed and protected for a bit; then something would tear through.
Brandon’s task was to name his emotion and walk himself through the emotion. It had been hard and still was. The shock of an event became like a boulder that he could see neither over nor around. Putting what he was experiencing into words was as complicated as stringing together letters dumped out into a pile.
“I’m anxious. It’s dark outside,” Brandon said.
“Okay.”
“The wind is really loud. I don’t like how it’s howling. But I’m safe.”
“Good, Bran. You are safe. You’re with Geneva. We are all okay.”
“Yes. We are.”
From behind Brandon came cursing, and he turned to see Geneva coming down from the ladder, with Luna scurrying away with a final screech. Luna was reflecting the chaos of the storm and vacillated between howling meows and hissing.
“What’s that noise?”
“It’s the cat.”
“Darn animals. Tell you, Dad had a reason for not having them. Do you know how many times Beatrice’s dog has nipped my heels?”
Brandon shed a couple of tears at Chris’s comedic timing and sniffled. He pressed his fingers against his eyes. “Thank you for calling.”
“Hey, it’s what kuyas are for. And anyway, it makes me feel better to talk to you. I don’t like not having you all around when stuff like this happens too. It’s why, during Maximus, Beatrice called you a million times. I’m sorry I was too proud to call you myself. You needed me, and I wasn’t there.”
His mention of their fight reminded Brandon that he had Mulberry Road to bring up, but at the moment, he didn’t have the bandwidth. What he wanted was the ability to breathe easy and not slip into his foggy thoughts. “I wasn’t there for you either.”
“But you came here. You’re pretty brave.” His brother’s voice trailed off. “Call me straight away if you need anything tonight. I don’t care what time. The phone will be right next to me.”
“All right.”
Brandon bade his goodbye and hung up. His heart had slowed; his conversation with Chris had eased his breathing. Through the screen door, he watched Geneva try to coax a frightened Luna from the top of the fridge. She was talking to her cat as if she was a human, with this absolute care.
His chest tightened, but now it was for an entirely different reason. Here was more proof of something he both cheered and dreaded. Geneva was capable of commitment.
The truth was right there, in plain sight. Geneva had to choose to stay, with anyone. Four years ago, he hadn’t been her choice. And just because he’d allowed himself to fall into the same behaviors with her didn’t mean he should expect her to reciprocate. She had to choose to stay in Heart Resort; he didn’t have say over it.
Brandon repeated what his brother had reminded him of. This was not a repeat, and that applied to him and Geneva too.
He couldn’t make it one, if he intended to survive it with his heart intact.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
“Looks like we’re staying put until dawn,” Brandon said, thumbing through his phone. He’d just entered from taking a phone call on the porch.
Geneva was holding a shaking Luna. She ran a hand down the length of her body and glanced at her open doorway, through the screen door. The porch had provided some protection from the rain, but the whistling wind had swept droplets of water into the living room. They w
ould have to close the door soon.
Which would render them together, and alone.
Geneva wasn’t sensitive to small spaces, but right then, she could guess how many steps she was away from Brandon. It was too few.
She wasn’t over their conversation from earlier today. Though their teamwork to find Luna had broken up the tension between them, since then, she had replayed this afternoon on loop.
I don’t mean that you haven’t had your struggles, Brandon. It’s that I had mine too.
Could she have been more insensitive? Could she have been more selfish? She had deserved a snub after that.
And still, he’d chosen to stay to find Luna.
“We’re going to be okay,” Brandon said, finally plopping down on one of the seats. It was the second time he’d said it, as if she needed the reassurance.
Was she scared of the storm? A little. But Ligaya was on pilings; it had survived a tropical storm just two months ago. It had been inspected since then. And she’d been in storms in her tiny RV van.
She respected storms, but she wasn’t scared of them.
Fear, real fear, was what happened to her when she couldn’t steer the ship but could see the iceberg coming. Fear was about feeling helpless when she had the opportunity to affect something and failed. Right then, she and Brandon had done all they could with what Mother Nature was challenging them with.
No, it wasn’t fear she was feeling right then but vulnerability. For the next several hours, she would not be able to avoid Brandon. Ligaya, after all, was only three hundred square feet, and her emotions were like live wires. Since she’d arrived at Heart Resort, it was as if she was undergoing her own renovation, except stuck at demo.
“Well, I’d better get to work.” She spun and made to climb the ladder. The place had never seemed smaller.
He snorted, watching her. “Work? Now?”
“Weren’t you just outside working?”
“That was a phone call.”
“The rest of the world doesn’t have Tropical Depression Oscar coming through, and I’ve got a business to run.” She focused on the coordination of her hands and feet making contact with every rung. Brandon didn’t push boundaries, and that loft would be her boundary. “We’ve got internet and power and water, which means we might as well take advantage. Don’t you think?”