by Terry Odell
He stopped two paces from Blake. Shorter than his brother by two or three inches, Brian had the build of someone who got his muscles doing physical labor, not in a gym. But he wore the same wary expression she’d seen on Blake in the bus. She took a step backward as they studied each other, like dogs defining their territory.
After a long moment, both men stepped forward. Blake’s brother spoke first.
“Didn’t think they let high-power suits grow whiskers. Thought the long hair was already pushing the envelope.”
Blake’s eyes crinkled. “You’re looking good. Married life agrees with you. How’s Stacey?”
“She and Torrie are visiting her mom. I’m swamped with work and Stacey’s a little under the weather at the moment.”
Concern flashed through Blake’s eyes. “Sorry to hear it—nothing serious?”
Brian grinned. “Nah. She was the same way with Torrie—puking her guts out every morning, but it passed in a few months.”
Blake clapped his brother on the shoulder, then grabbed him in a close embrace. “You never said anything.”
“Like you call? Besides, it’s still early. We’ve only been sure for a couple of weeks. Don’t want to jinx it.”
She heard the hesitation and wondered if there had been problems with another pregnancy. She glanced at Blake, who was grinning as wide as his brother.
“Congrats, Bri. And same goes for Stacey. How’s Torrie taking it?”
“We haven’t said anything—like I said, it’s early and nine months is an eternity to a four year old.”
She watched the worry disappear from Blake’s face, quickly replaced by joy and then a hint of wistful envy.
Blake looked her way. “Hey, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to ignore you.” Blake gestured to her. “Brian, this is—”
She stepped forward and extended her hand. “Emily.”
* * * * *
Blake came out of the men’s room and joined his brother while they waited for Kelli.
“You gonna tell me what this is about? I can’t picture you in trouble.” Brian cocked his head toward the restrooms. “Her? You got something going? Mister No Strings?”
Blake shook his head. “Long story and the less you know the better. As a matter of fact, if you forget we’re here, it might be smart.” The thought someone might find his brother sent a new fear through him. What about Stacey, Torrie and the one on the way? Had he made a terrible mistake?
“Stacey’s going to hate that she missed you.”
“Yeah—so she can take my head off for being too busy to be an uncle.”
“You know her—forgive and forget.” The look Brian gave him said things weren’t going to be quite so easy between them.
Before he was forced into the territory he’d been avoiding for years, Kelli strode out of the restroom and joined them.
“Shall we go?” she said.
Brian’s gaze broke away from his and he bent down for Kelli’s bags. “I’m parked down the block at the coffee shop like you said.” He took Kelli’s bag.
Kelli looked at him with a crooked grin. “Sorry about the James Bond approach.”
Blake picked up his duffel and followed Brian out the door. Kelli shouldered her gym bag and fell in behind him, dropping back enough so Brian couldn’t hear her. “If you’re right that nobody with Hollingsworth Industries knows about Brian, we should be fine, you know. Hollingsworth hasn’t shown himself to be very good at digging.”
“Nobody knows about Brian. Trust me. And we’re not staying with him, anyway.” He concentrated on the rhythmic clatter of the suitcase wheels as they approached Brian’s ‘55 Chevy Nomad. Dad’s station wagon. Keeping cars running had been a survival skill both boys had learned early on—one of the things that had held them together during their teens. He helped Brian load the luggage, then pulled the front door open for her.
“You can ride shotgun,” he said to Kelli.
“No, you take the front. I’m sure you and Brian have things to talk about, and I’ll crash in back.”
Talk to Brian. He’d managed to avoid it for years. Still, his brother had dropped everything to help them, no questions asked. Blake nodded and got into the front seat. Without glancing his way, Brian turned on the ignition.
After driving in silence for twenty minutes, Blake glanced over into the rear seat. Kelli had tucked her legs under her, pillowed her head on her jacket and appeared to be asleep.
“Car’s in great shape.” Blake kept his voice low, telling himself it was to keep from waking her and not to disguise the emotion that tightened his throat and made his voice quaver.
“She still takes top prizes in car shows.”
“Everything else okay?”
He saw the muscle in Brian’s jaw working before he answered. “Fine. Look, you’re family. I don’t know what’s going on, or why you feel you have to stay away, but we’re here. Always were, always will be.”
“It wasn’t you, Bri—never was. You’ve got to know that.”
“All I know is you couldn’t get away fast enough. You made the life you wanted and if you’re happy, I’m glad for you.”
Blake pinched the bridge of his nose and counted to ten. “I couldn’t take it anymore. It didn’t mean the same to me as it did to you and … Dad. But I shouldn’t have hurt you. Or him.”
“You want forgiveness? Hell, I never blamed you. Envied you for a while, even. But you’re going to have to work out the rest of it with yourself.”
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Kelli stir. He cleared his throat. “So, how’s the old place? You using it much?”
Brian’s eyes darted to the rearview mirror. He must have seen Kelli sit up, because he accepted the change of subject without skipping a beat. “Now and then. Stacey and Torrie were out there not long ago while I was away on a job. Stacey’d been working on a couple of new canvases, but now that she’s pregnant, the smell of paint makes her sick. There should be some basic supplies. Flip the circuit breakers and you’ll have light and heat. Clean sheets, towels, and we restock the pantry before we leave. Truck’s in the garage.”
“If all goes well, we should be out of here in a couple of days.”
His heartbeat quickened as they drove through the town where he’d spent his last years at home. The old brick buildings that comprised the town square looked exactly the same, although the trees were taller. Library, Police Station, Fire Department and City Hall.
“My God, it’s hardly changed. Same old Stanfield.”
Brian chuckled. “Not exactly—there’s an Osco Drugs instead of Stadler’s. Grant’s Grocers is an IGA now. There’s even talk of a Kmart. If you’re serious about lying low, you might want to avoid the hardware store. Old man Vogelsberg’s still there. Deaf as a post and can’t see much, but I wouldn’t put it past him to recognize you—or Sammy will. He took over for his dad, but the old man’s always hanging around. At least he was last time I was here.”
“Shit, he was ancient when we lived here.”
“I think he was one of those guys who looked old at forty and stayed there. Besides, everyone looked old to us then.”
“Any other surprises?” Blake asked.
“Well, Fred Bozeman’s police chief.”
Blake snorted. “Bozo Bozeman? Voted ‘Most Likely to Spend his Life in Prison’ Bozeman? You’re shitting me.”
“No shit. He lost about a hundred pounds and the two hundred he still carries is pure muscle.”
He shook his head in disbelief. Brian turned his head toward Kelli for a moment. “You all right back there?”
Chapter Twenty-Two
Kelli watched out the window as they drove into the night. After passing through a residential neighborhood, they left the streetlights behind. She rolled down the window and sniffed the air. A damp, earthy smell overlaid with manure wafted in. Trees, illuminated by the Nomad’s headlights, lined sections of the road. An occasional porch light in the distance was the only indication there were houses ou
t here.
She heard the click when Brian flicked on the blinker and had to grab the armrest as he made a sharp left turn.
Brian apologized. “It doesn’t matter how many times I’ve been here, the driveway always sneaks up on me at night.”
In the car’s headlights, she saw a wide front porch, not much different from the house at Camp Getaway, down to two Adirondack chairs flanking the front door. The house itself was a simple one-story bungalow, with a large window on either side of the door. Brian left the headlights on while they gathered their bags and climbed the four steps up to the porch. From up close, she saw the door was carved oak with a leaded glass view pane.
Brian stepped forward and put a key in the lock. He pushed the door open and handed the key ring to Blake. “Here. I’ve got to get back.”
In the shadows, she saw the strain on Blake’s face. She’d caught scraps of conversation between the brothers and although there wasn’t any obvious animosity between them, they spoke across an invisible barricade.
Blake took the key and clapped his brother on the shoulder. “Thanks. For everything.”
“Call when this is over, okay?”
“I’ll do that.” Blake stood there, one hand on the door while Brian got in the station wagon and drove away.
She carried her bags inside, stopping beside an entryway table to let her eyes adjust to the darkness.
“Wait here,” Blake said. He edged behind her and a flashlight beam appeared, shining a narrow shaft of light around the room. “I’ll be right back.”
Moments later, lights came on in another room. Blake reappeared and flipped a switch on the wall next to the front door and light filled the space.
His eyes roamed the room and she followed his gaze to the white fabric-draped ghosts of furniture. From their shapes, she surmised she was standing in an entry hall with a living room to her right, a dining room to her left. She strolled over to what must be the couch and reached for its cover. Gathering it up, she heard Blake’s sharp intake of breath.
She snapped her head around. “What? Should I leave it covered?” Underneath the cloth was a plaid sofa, its arms and base made of oak. Simple, elegant lines. She ran her fingers down the smooth wood of the armrest.
After a moment of silence, Blake said, “It’s late. Bedrooms are down the hall.” His voice was hushed, almost reverent. “Take your pick. I’ll be a couple of minutes.”
When she went to retrieve her luggage, Blake sidestepped out of her way and lowered his head. She granted him the space he seemed to need and went in search of a bed.
Her carryon wheels echoed down the hallway. Her sneakers squeaked on the wood floor. Leaving her luggage, she opened the first door. This had to be Stacey’s studio, with a lingering smell of oil and turpentine. An easel and a work table sat in the middle of the room. The windows were bare, to let in maximum light. A small bathroom adjoined the space and connected to another room.
That was probably an office, although it, like the living spaces, was filled with shrouded furniture. Bookshelves lined one wall. Blake had promised her internet access—he’d said Stacey used a computer to keep in touch when she retreated to this house. She peeked under one cloth and discovered a massive oak desk, with a computer monitor on top. She’d set up here tomorrow.
It was already tomorrow. Yawning, she went back into the hall and worked her way through the rooms on the other side. A large bedroom and bath. A queen-sized bed. She pulled the quilt down, relieved to find sheets already in place. But this should be Blake’s room. After opening the window to air out the mustiness, she checked out the last room.
A playroom. Child-sized table and chairs. Toys on shelves. No bed? Kelli went to ask Blake what he wanted to do about sleeping arrangements. Although they’d slept together, the tension that had arisen between them made her suspect they’d do better apart. She walked back to the living room and found it empty.
Muffled sounds came from the dining room. She crept to the doorway, then stopped. Blake had uncovered the furniture, unveiling a dining room set unlike anything she’d ever seen. A pedestal table, squared off at one end, rounded on the other, was inlaid with oak panels trimmed by a much darker wood. Teak? Mahogany? The base was the same dark, rich, wood, with gracefully curved legs. Blake circled the table, his feet shuffling along the polished wood floor. He moved from one chair to the next, his fingertips tracing a carving, or running along the edge of a back.
Each of the eight chairs was different, from the wood to the style. Some with rounded backs, some square. Some with turned legs, others straight. Some simple, some ornate. She was about to enter the room, until she saw his hands clamp down on one of the chairs—a cherry wood, she thought—and scrape it along the floor away from the table. Such a disrespectful sound for such an elegant setting. She gasped when he picked it up, as if to throw it.
“Damn you,” he said in a choked voice, then put the chair down, lowered himself into it and rested his elbows on the table. “Why?” Blake gazed upward, then dropped his head into his hands. She realized from the shaking of his shoulders that he was crying. She retreated half a step, then paused. No. He’d been there for her. She crept into the room and put her hand on his shoulder.
He flinched, but didn’t pull away. He seemed lost in his misery, beyond being embarrassed at his show of emotion. She kneaded the taut muscles of his neck and shoulders until the tears had run their course.
Taking his hand, she urged him to his feet. “You need to sleep.” With an arm around his waist, she walked with him to the bedroom. “You want to talk? I remember someone telling me it helped.”
One corner of his mouth turned upward. “Maybe another time.” He sank to the edge of the bed, head drooping. She stood in front of him and when he raised his head to look at her, she straddled his lap. His arms wrapped around her, as if he might collapse without her support.
She pulled his face down to meet hers. Their kisses were slow and gentle. Clothing came off one piece at a time. Hands explored. Comfort turned to warmth and then to quiet passion.
Later, much later, she lay beside him, her head in the crook of his shoulder. Her fingers toyed with the coarse hair on his chest, still damp with sweat. “You okay?”
His chest rose as he inhaled, then sank with his exhale. “Aside from fucking up my life, yeah.”
* * * * *
Blake stared into the darkness, at shadows that drifted like smoke as the tree branches outside the window swayed with the breeze. In the distance, a train whistled. Kelli’s breath was warm on his chest. He waited for her to ask more questions, but she remained silent. Somehow, he knew she wouldn’t press. Only the gentle play of her fingers on his chest told him she was awake.
Their lovemaking had rocked him to his core. It had crept up on him as quietly as a kitten. She’d been there, offering comfort. He’d accepted it, taking from her and she gave and gave and gave all of herself. It had been so slow, so tender, he’d been sure it would last forever and then without warning he was at the point of no return, exploding into her, knowing she joined him.
He wasn’t exactly sure when things had shifted from having sex to making love with Kelli, but there was no question in his mind she filled all his empty places.
As if under their own volition, his words sprang forth, flowing like lava from a volcano. “I hated him. Hated the life he dragged us around.”
Her hand stopped moving and found his. Interlaced their fingers.
“If I knew anything, it was I couldn’t live that life. As soon as I graduated from high school, I left. I didn’t care if I was a third of their livelihood. All I could think about was making something more of myself than a lousy carpenter.” His voice seemed to echo between them.
“I told myself it would be easier with one less mouth to feed. I never knew—never cared—how hard it was for just the two of them. I worked three crappy minimum-wage jobs—never mind I could have made more money in construction—but I refused to go there. I got my deg
ree and bluffed myself into a step-above-entry-level position at Hollingsworth Industries.”
Kelli remained silent, but her hand squeezed his tight as a vise.
“Dad’s custom furniture started to sell. The old man was doing what he loved. But by then, his health was shot. He never let on. Brian knew, damn him. He never told me—didn’t want his kid brother giving up his dream out of guilt.”
He dragged himself to a sitting position, leaning against the headboard. “I never said goodbye. Never thanked him for sacrificing his entire goddamn life for us. Never told him I loved him. That I was proud of him.” His throat burned and the tears threatened.
Kelli scooted up beside him. “He made the furniture—that dining room set.”
“This place was his catalog. Yeah, he and Bri made almost everything here.”
She squeezed his hand again. “Except for one chair. The one you were sitting on, right?”
Crap, she could see everything. He flung back the covers and stormed across the room, slammed his fist into the wall. “I did that one in high school. It’s not up to his standards—definitely a learner’s piece. And he left it there, with all the good ones.”
“Is that why your Chicago place is so … different?”
He shook his hand against the pain in his knuckles. “I hired a decorator. Told her to rip out the walls, do whatever she wanted, as long as there wasn’t a stick of wood in the place.” He made a sound that might pass for a laugh as he remembered. “We did have a bit of a battle about the closet—she insisted on cedar and I relented.”
“Come back to bed. Please.”
He crawled back into bed and snugged Kelli to him. “When Dad died, Brian got the business, I got the house. Maybe Dad thought I’d come back for good if he left me this place.”