by Marcelo, Tif
A tear dropped and slid down her cheek.
He looked away—he couldn’t do tears.
“I love you, Bran,” she said. “You’re right, and I’m sorry. But I don’t know how to explain that I can’t stay, not until I can figure things out.”
“I’m sorry too. It’s just too bad that love isn’t enough, because I have so much for the both of us. Maybe my brother’s right? That I’m looking for things that aren’t there, and I’ve got crap judgment.”
Geneva pressed her hand against her heart.
But it was Brandon’s heart that was breaking. It was shattering into pieces.
Movement from the right took Brandon’s attention, and he spun. His siblings were at the door, with Beatrice up front, a hand over her mouth.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
Day 10
Weather: overcast, 80°F
Sal and Rhiannon looked at Geneva with stunned expressions from across Ligaya’s kitchen table.
“Do you have any questions?” Geneva closed the design binder and handed it to Rhiannon. “You’re really at the home stretch, and in fact, you can get started on this house after she’s all cleaned.”
Rhiannon took the binder into her arms and held it against her chest like a precious package. “How about the last house, Sinta? Are you really going to leave it up to me?”
“Yes.” She smiled. “You helped me fix up all of these houses, Rhiannon, and you have a touch. I know that you want to do other things in college, but consider Sinta part of your thesis of everything you learned thus far in this faux internship. Just like the house’s name—put everything you love into it.”
“I still don’t understand why you’re leaving now, Ms. Geneva.”
“The next job calls.” She offered a smile, which was the most she could do. “Thank you for meeting me so early, especially so last minute.”
“Of course I was going to come. I wouldn’t leave without saying goodbye,” Rhiannon said with a stricken expression.
It was a stab to Geneva’s heart, and she looked away.
Sal clasped his hands. “We’re going to be fine, Ms. Geneva, but the question is, will you?”
“Speak for yourself, Mr. Medina. I’m not ready to do this by myself,” Rhiannon said, voice rising to a soprano tone.
Geneva took Rhiannon’s hand. “You’re not by yourself. First of all, you have this book; you have Sal. And, you have me.” She pulled her phone out of her back pocket. “Phone call, video chat. There are no office hours for either one of you, and unless I’m in the middle of something, I’ll answer.”
“Even if it’s a phone call about school? What if I still have questions about that?”
Geneva didn’t hesitate. “Of course I’ll pick up. I want the play-by-play.”
Sal nodded solemnly. “I hope you’ll forgive me if I overstep my boundaries here, but please don’t be too hard on yourself, Ms. Geneva. Whatever happened, it doesn’t mean you have to stay away.”
“Well . . .” She stood, the stress of pressure on her temples now heavy and persistent. It was from the last day of work, from tossing and turning in bed last night and the night before, from this anticipation of leaving a place that she’d grown to love. “I wish it could be that easy, but at the very end of it, it’s not all up to me. That goes for me coming back.” She heaved a breath. “Okay, guys, it’s time for me to get ready. I want to see Beatrice before I go. It’ll only take me a half hour, forty-five minutes at most. Sal, I’ll meet you at the reception office for my ride to the airport?”
“Of course.”
Sal and Rhiannon stood, and she walked them to the door. After they hugged, the two descended the steps.
As Geneva turned to walk into the house, she heard her name called.
Beatrice was at the bottom step. She wasn’t wearing her sunglasses, and the evidence of the last thirty-six hours of disappointment, shock, and tears was on her face. After all the siblings had witnessed Geneva’s conversation with Brandon—a conversation that she would never want to repeat or remember, ever—it had been a somber dismissal for everyone. There were no parting words, not even from Chris. They’d all simply retreated to their corners.
She’d texted Beatrice repeatedly and even shown up at her door last night to no answer. Thank God for Nita, who’d anticipated her departure by scheduling her flight the other day. She and Brandon had made a big enough mess as it was.
“Hey,” Geneva said. “I’m glad to see you. I came over last night, but . . .”
“I stayed in Nags Head. May I?” Beatrice gestured to the round table at the front stoop. She lifted a clear container that showcased a purple dessert.
“Ube cake. The big guns. I must really be in trouble. Of course you can come up.”
“Chef Castillo brought it in today, and I thought of you immediately.” Beatrice trudged up the stairs, her skirt flowing around her. She sat and popped open the clear container. Two forks were laid at its side at the ready.
Geneva picked up her fork and stuck it into the ube cake. Her appetite was nonexistent, but the dessert was so special that she felt compelled to eat it. “I should have been honest. I should have told you a long time ago.”
Beatrice nibbled on the cake on her fork. “You should have. But I understand why you kept it a secret. We all keep secrets.”
“Not like this. Not this big.”
“I own a home that none of my siblings know about, and I want to leave the family business. That’s pretty big.” Beatrice shrugged. “When did it start?” She lifted her eyes briefly to Geneva’s face. It was a demand for the full truth.
So, Geneva told her. As Beatrice took bites of the cake, Geneva recalled their affair years ago, and then their story today. She didn’t stop there. She filled her in on her parents, on the two jobs still in limbo, and on her persistent nightmare of being swept away from herself.
Beatrice lowered the fork next to her plate, then looked up. Her cheeks were wet with tears. “I had a feeling. I had a feeling, and I pushed it aside. You were both hurting at the same time. He holed himself up in that house, and you were so out of reach. I didn’t know how to help either one of you. Or maybe I was scared to.” She reached across to Geneva. “But I’m not upset.”
“You’re not? But you said you didn’t want for us to be together.”
“I was presumptuous in thinking that you wouldn’t stay together. That’s my issue, my hang-up, not anyone else’s.”
“Bran is one hundred percent right, though. The presence of love isn’t enough sometimes. We have to want to accept it, and each other, where we are. Maybe you were right to be presumptuous. You always seem to have a feeling about these things.” Geneva swallowed the rising tide of simultaneous heartbreak and relief.
“Can I tell you something?”
“Of course you can.”
“I don’t hate the idea of you and my brother together. This is me being selfish, but if it brings you closer to me, all the better. You are already my sister.” Beatrice offered her hand. “My offer still stands in Nags Head, Geneva, for as long as it takes. Before you and my brother, there was always us. You and I can still be partners even if you and my brother are not.”
Geneva took her hand, relief running through her. But what the both of them knew was that as much as they would try to make these words true, Geneva could not return to being a partner to just one and not the other.
Gatlinburg, Tennessee
Weather: partly cloudy, 85°F
At nine that evening, Geneva was driving through a sleepy seniors community. The roads were empty; the streetlights were the only signs of life.
Still, she could’ve driven down this street blindfolded. All the blocks were reliably square, the houses perfectly spaced apart. It was a planned community that would be accessible for most seniors, with wide sidewalks and even wider streets. Along with the occasional car parked in the driveway, there were also golf carts for the short distance to the park, the community center with
a pool, the man-made lake, and the neighborhood grocery store.
She passed a golf cart with a flamingo float secured to its roof, presumably from a lake trip. The sight of it made her smile; she’d seen a share of that in the Outer Banks. And of course there were the golf carts at Heart Resort.
She stifled a cry.
This is a repeat.
Geneva pressed on the gas to distract her crumbling spirit. She rounded the turn, to the sixth house on the right. It had gnomes in the front garden and a bird feeder strategically placed so it could be viewed from the kitchen window. Two chairs banked a small round table on the covered front porch. Parked in the drive was a red convertible Beetle with its top up.
She sniffled as she watched shadows play against the windows of the home. All the lights were on. On the passenger seat, Luna purred her support from inside her carrier. She had been an angel the entire flight, crying only once, when they’d driven off the resort.
I can do this.
It had been eleven months and two weeks since Geneva had been home. It had been a brief stay. She’d been restless and excited, ready to take on one more thing. She’d wanted to go. Being home was a reminder of a life of what could have been. What she’d seen in her parents was the lack of time.
But now, as she got out of her car and dragged the duffel out of the trunk of her rental, she realized that the restlessness was a cover-up. It was a cover-up to avoid admitting that she wanted to reevaluate, that she wanted to rest and maybe even change course. It was a cover-up to keep from digging into her emotions. It was a cover-up for her vulnerability.
The door was already open by the time Geneva stepped onto the sidewalk of the house. The outline of two people darkened the threshold.
You can just show up.
Since leaving the resort this afternoon, she’d finally allowed the tears to flow.
“Neva?” Her mother met her on the walkway. “Oh my goodness.” Though shorter, Lisa Harris wrapped a strong arm around her and led her forward.
Her father waited at the door. He was tall, though much leaner now. His smile was sincere, eyes bright.
“I’m sorry I didn’t—”
He shook his head, cutting her sentence off. “You’re here now.”
And he wrapped her in his arms.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
Day 14
Outer Banks, NC
Weather: cloudy with afternoon sun, 85°F
Heart Resort was back to a bustling, pristine resort. Roads were lined with cars from local businesses invited to the grand opening event, families of resort staff, the press, and the seven couples who’d jumped in as its first customers.
Even the road behind the gates teemed with racing golf carts. As Brandon witnessed another cart fly by, he slipped on his short-sleeve resort polo over his pressed chinos. He ran his hand under his chin and against his cheek, newly shaven for the event.
But despite his outwardly groomed appearance, inside he was a mess.
His phone buzzed with his ten-minute warning for when he had to be at the restaurant. After turning it off and ignoring the hundreds of unread text messages in his family group chat, he stuffed the phone into his pocket and walked out the door.
Chris was waiting for him outside, leaning on the hood of his golf cart. “I thought I’d give you a ride to the site.”
Brandon avoided his eyes, and he sure as heck was going to keep trying to avoid his presence. “Thanks, but I’m walking.”
“Then I’ll join you.”
“Suit yourself.” Brandon strode down the hill with one brief backward glance at him and Puso in the background. The house was really such a sight, exactly the kind of house their mother would have loved for them to grow up in. His parents used to show them pictures of their family homes in the Philippines, cozy and surrounded by trees. They’d talked about the birds and feeling one with nature. One of the reasons why they’d picked their little town house in Annapolis was because there were still the trees and the beautiful views of the water, though it was proximate to DC.
Did Tennessee have similar foliage? Or did the other places where Geneva had her next projects have Heart Resort’s vibe?
Where was Geneva?
How was Geneva?
His brother was making small talk, something about the day’s schedule. The tone of his voice was so casual, so nonchalant, and it acted like an annoying poke against his back. Brandon had successfully worked around him the last four days. He didn’t want to hear about the bad judgment he had falling for Geneva. Nor did he want to argue about the house. The family hadn’t come to a decision on the sale, and after this grand opening, he planned to climb back on the Rubicon and head north with Garrett, who had returned for this event. Everything else he’d face later.
“Hey, can you slow down a little?” Chris said. “Hey. Wait.”
Brandon now wished he had taken the option of riding with him in the golf cart. At the very least the length of this conversation would have been cut short. So Brandon stepped out toward the sound of music in the air.
The other day, neither Brandon nor Geneva had needed a single beat to dance to the waltz. At the heart of it, with just the two of them, they were perfect. Or so he’d thought.
I can’t stay, not until I can figure things out.
Maybe my brother’s right? That I’m looking for things that aren’t there, and I’ve got crap judgment.
Had he really said that to her? Had he categorized her under “crap judgment”?
Behind him, Chris kept talking, and against logical thought, Brandon turned and lifted his arms.
The anger burst forth like lava. It came out hot and unrelenting, no longer held up by a proverbial barrier. “You know what? I’m tired of this—I’m tired of you trying to talk away my anger. I’m going to sell Mulberry Road. Kuya Chris, I can’t do it anymore. I can’t keep it up—I feel beholden to that house and everything in it. God, I feel beholden to everyone. To you. What I need . . . what I need is for you to support me, in doing what I want to do, at times when I want to put myself first. I need for you to tell me that even if I’m selfish, and even if I make mistakes, that it’s all right. That you’ll still be there.”
“God, Bran.” Chris wrapped his arms around Brandon for the first time in forever. It was a real hug. The kind their father used to give them, without pretense. Their father had been a stoic man; he hadn’t expressed his emotions and love, unlike their friends’ fathers. Their father had shown his love in other ways, much like Chris—in the things they did. But every once in a while, he’d take them into his arms and squeeze them until they all giggled and laughed.
But Brandon wasn’t laughing now. He was tearing up. He was crying like a baby, with hot tears that he couldn’t halt, not since he’d lost his parents.
“I’m sorry,” Chris said. “I know I’m tough to deal with. And that’s not an excuse, because I know I should listen.”
“I try to do the right thing.”
“I know you do. This is all on me. I keep thinking, if Mom and Dad were here . . .”
“I miss them. I’m so mad. I’m so mad they’re not here.”
“Yeah.” Chris kept hold of Brandon, and for that, he was grateful; otherwise he would have fallen apart. “Yeah, me too.” He stepped back and laid a hand on each of Brandon’s shoulders. “I want to make this better. I want to help you. It’s been a bear, trying to make this place work, but I am here. I can come up to Annapolis. I can help get it ready for sale. Anything. You are more important than this town house, and I won’t let it get in between us.”
Brandon sniffed, but he found that while he felt tons lighter, there was more regret that he carried in his chest. “I let Geneva go.”
“Oh, Bran, getting involved with—”
“Please, I don’t want to hear—”
“Let me finish. I was going to say that getting involved with Geneva was the smartest thing you ever did, because she is a wonderful person. As are you. Let me help y
ou.”
“I don’t know how . . .”
Chris slung an arm around his shoulders. “Let me give you a couple of lessons only the husband of a writer can. Have you heard about an arc?”
Brandon shook his head. “How does that have anything to do with Geneva?”
The gate opened, revealing Gil in his golf cart. His face was scrunched into a scowl. “Filipino time doesn’t work for grand openings. My God, Beatrice is about to lose her mind. Get in.”
Brandon and his brother climbed into the cart, with him in the back seat.
“The conversation isn’t finished,” Chris said, looking back.
“What did I miss?” Gil said. “CliffsNotes before we get to the ceremony.”
After Chris delved into the rudimentary explanations, Gil said, “Oh yeah. This is going to be a team effort. Even I know about the grand gesture.”
Brandon was not emotionally present at the ceremony. Throughout the welcome speeches, the fireworks, and the welcome barbecue, his to-do list occupied most of his mind. That night, he knocked on Puso’s guest room door.
Garrett opened it with a flourish. He was still in the Heart Resort polo—because he insisted that he was an honorary staff member—and the bright logo was matched by a megawatt smile.
Tammy Dirks, the resort PR, was sitting on his bed. She had a glass of something bubbly in her hand.
“Whoa.” Brandon took a step back, all at once shocked and impressed. “I mean, hey. Sorry, man . . .”
“Aw, don’t leave. It’s sparkling cider—want some?” He lifted the bottle for show.
“No, I’m good!” He didn’t want to be there any longer than needed. Garrett was a goofball, but a shy goofball, and Brandon didn’t want to ruin their vibe. “We can talk later.”
“Uh-uh, Bran. Just tell me. Did you guys make a decision?”
“Yep. It’s a yes. I want to counter, and I have a bigger plan . . .” He gestured to Tammy, who was now scrolling through her phone. “Let’s get on this, after.”
Garrett leaned down and whispered, “After this, we’re going to walk on the beach. Will Chris mind? I know it’s an exclusive resort and all.”