The Girl In Between series: Books 1-4

by Laekan Zea Kemp

  I looked around Bryn’s house, examining every detail from the mismatched dishes in the cabinets above the stove to the worn copies of Buffy The Vampire Slayer in her DVD collection next to the television. I wondered which way her room was and if I might be able to see it if I acted like I was looking for the bathroom.

  It was so strange to be standing there in her house without her. I was hyperaware of every sensation, the cold air spilling from the vent above my head, the buzz of the light fixtures, the smell of clean laundry. It was electric, waiting for her, and every second I thought I heard someone outside the door I felt like I was going to explode.

  “Ya’ll need anything else? Have you had a chance to eat since you landed?”

  “We stopped and grabbed something on the way,” my dad said.

  “Good.” I could tell Bryn’s uncle was stalling.

  “Is Bryn coming back?” I asked.

  The second I said it I realized how stupid it sounded. This was her house. Of course she was coming back. But for some reason the look on her uncle’s face made me think that maybe she wasn’t.

  He gripped the island with both hands. “Roman, Bryn’s in Germany.”

  “What?” I took a step back, confused. “For how long?”

  “I’m not sure. She went there to undergo some experimental treatment for her…”

  “I know,” I said.

  “They’re not sure when they’ll be back. The hospital’s set them up with a hotel for at least three months. But it could be longer.”

  “But…” I tried to say something but I couldn’t. There was nothing to say. Bryn was gone. Out of the country. Out of my life. I’d asked for it. I’d done this.

  He put a hand on my shoulder. “I’m sorry. Have you tried calling her? Maybe sending her an email?”

  “I…can’t.” My throat felt like it was splitting open. “I need to talk to her in person.” And I needed to see her. Now that the shadows were back I needed to make sure she was okay.

  Bryn’s uncle cleared his throat, wringing his hands as he spoke. “I know she’d like to see you, Roman. If…” He stopped, gripped his forehead. “What if you went to see her?”

  “In Germany?” my dad said.

  “I can make the arrangements.”

  “No. It’s too far. It’s too expensive.”

  “Don’t worry about any of that. I’m heading over there this week anyway. I’ll take care of everything,” Bryn’s uncle said.

  My dad shook his head. “We can’t let you do that.”

  “Dad…” I eyed him, pleading.

  “Are you sure you can’t just call?” he said, his own eyes worried.

  “It’s really no trouble,” Brian said again, a hint of desperation in his voice too. It made me even more anxious.

  My dad was quiet, still waiting for my answer. But I’d already given him one. We were already standing in Bryn’s kitchen. 5,000 more miles was nothing. Unless…

  “What if she doesn’t want to see me?” I said. “What if she’s—?”

  “She wants to see you, Roman.” Brian looked me in the eye. “I know it.”

  Bryn’s uncle offered for us to stay at Bryn’s house, my dad taking the master bedroom, me taking Bryn’s room. I’d almost said yes, I wanted to, but it felt too intrusive. Because I knew that after I told Bryn what I’d done she might not want me anywhere near her, let alone sleeping in her bed.

  We walked through the door to our hotel room, both of us immediately sinking down onto the bed, totally drained. Our flight wasn’t scheduled to leave for another two days and my dad had spent the drive back trying to think of things to do to fill the time.

  “It’s a big city,” I’d said. “I’m sure you’ll find something.”

  I felt bad for wanting to leave, for knowing that I would no matter what my dad said. But I had to go to her.

  “You’re really leaving?” he asked.

  “He offered. I don’t want to turn him down.”

  “You could. If you’re not ready. It’s so far away, Roman, and—”

  “You know I have to go to her.”

  He was quiet then, “I almost lost you once, Roman. Your accident…what if—?”

  “You won’t lose me,” I said. “I promise.”

  The words split me open. Because he wouldn’t be this protective of the old me, the me before the accident. But he’d spent the last year at my bedside, taking care of me the way he had when being a dad was new and everything was terrifying. Now he couldn’t let go. Not again.

  “Dad, I promise. I’ll be careful.”

  I didn’t know if he believed me but if he didn’t I knew there wouldn’t be enough time to change his mind. I just had to keep my promise, I just had to show him that I could.

  We hadn’t talked about the past since I’d woken up from the coma, about what had been broken before the accident, what still was. The truth was the old Roman wasn’t someone my dad trusted. The old Roman would steal money out of his wallet and disappear for days at a time and come home smelling like weed and beer and vomit. The old Roman hated his dad and sometimes his dad hated him back.

  But when I woke up in that hospital bed and saw the way my dad pretended like none of it had ever happened, I was relieved to play along. But that didn’t mean things were suddenly fixed, all it meant was that we were good at hiding things that were broken. Something we’d learned from living with my mother.

  “I promise,” I said again, trying to make it sink in.

  “I know,” my dad finally said. “I know.”

  27

  Bryn

  We stood on the street, the echo of a hundred different dialects swirling with the warble of fountains and footsteps on the pavement, stilted sighs and the click of cameras.

  I checked the time on my cell phone again but only forty minutes had passed since the last time I’d checked. The day was dragging, and while there was a part of me that was relieved, there was another part that just wanted it to be over. I needed to get back to the hospital.

  I waited for my mom to read off some historical tidbit about the cathedral like she’d done at all of the other places we’d visited. But she was quiet, her neck craned, eyes scaling to the tallest tower.

  The detail-work was so intricate—the spires and windows and doorways carved into fine lines so precise they looked like they might cut you open. We spent hours just walking around the exterior, taking in every silhouette and statue, something tangible carved into every inch of stone. It felt ancient and it felt alive and I waited for it to make me feel alive too.

  We’d visited a few of the local museums, my mom reading to me from the informational plaques like she used to do at the outdoor exhibits when I was a kid. Every piece we came across—sculptures and paintings and installations—she’d read the description, circle the piece, and then watch my face. She waited for a reaction and so did I. But it never came.

  I’d just stare down at my hands, fingers curled and covering my scars as I burrowed them into my coat pockets. But now…I had to look. Not because I wanted to and not because I’d forgiven myself, but because it was too magnificent not to. And suddenly I wasn’t so angry anymore that my mom had forced me to come.

  We followed a group of people inside, my shoe skirting across someone’s heel as they came to an abrupt stop. My mom and I both looked up and then we saw why.

  From outside the church, the scale was startling, but inside it was even more severe. Arched columns and stained glass windows stretched into infinity and I could barely make out the painted scenes as the mid-day sun poured inside.

  We wandered around for the rest of the afternoon, dizzy as we followed the ornate marble floor down long hand-painted hallways, discovering staircases and small loft spaces that overlooked the street down below.

  “Where to next?”

  My mom was eyeing a mural back near the entrance but I stared into the sunlight streaming through the windows, pointing straight up.

  “The tower…?�
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  I nodded.

  “That’s over five hundred steps.”

  “I know,” I said.

  “And you’re not tired? We’ve had a long day and you know if—”

  “I want to do it.” But it was more than that. There was a part of me—that defiant indignant part that had been there through every surgery, every hospital visit, and every step of my diagnosis—that made me feel like I had to.

  She crossed her arms, hesitant. “On one condition. You get tired we come straight back down.”

  “Deal.”

  “And that is up to my discretion.”

  “Okay.”

  “You start turning blue and I’m calling an ambulance.”

  “I’ll be fine.”

  We paid the three euros before embarking on the circular stone steps. It was dizzying at first and I could tell the narrow space was making my mom anxious.

  “Jesus, Bryn.” She huffed something like a laugh.

  “And you thought I’d be the one out of shape.”

  We finally reached the bell tower and then a metal staircase that narrowed into another tight spiral all the way to the top. Halfway there I was already out of breath. I tried to ignore my mom’s warning and not worry whether or not I’d pay for this little adventure later but when my calves started to shake, the trek down still looming, I couldn’t help but wonder if I’d made a mistake.

  But then we finally reached the top and I knew for certain that I hadn’t. From the top of the spire you could see the entire city of Cologne—museums and railways and the boats floating along the Rhine. The people down below looked like pebbles, the same wind that carved between the small spire windows tossing them along the pavement.

  “Worth it?” My mom was doubled over, hands gripping her hips.

  I looked down at my knees, still shaking, though I wasn’t sure if it was from the climb or the view.

  “Worth it,” I said.

  I brushed the stone, peering at the city down below one more time, following the silhouettes of buildings and the dark smudges of trees until they were lost to the horizon, everything a different shade of red. And beyond that was infinity. People in other towns with other cathedrals. There were people out there, people I’d never get to meet living in places I’d never get to see and suddenly I’d never felt so far from anything.

  “Okay?” My mom’s hand was on my shoulder.

  I pressed my face to the wind, forcing the tears back. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

  My mom squeezed me. “Are you sure?”

  I stepped away from the window, letting go of the view. But I couldn’t stifle the want inside me and even worse I couldn’t stifle the truth. That I might always want. That I might die wanting. Roman. The world.

  “What’s the matter, Bryn?” She saw the tears before they’d even started falling.

  I couldn’t lie but I also couldn’t tell the truth. “I’m just glad we came up here. I’m glad I got to see it.”

  “Oh, Bryn.” Her lips slipped into the faintest smile, those parts of her that couldn’t help but feel everything, recognizing themselves in me for the first time. “We’ll see whatever you want to see.” She kissed me on the head. “We’ll see everything.”

  Everything.

  When we finally emerged back on the street it was getting dark. We took a taxi back to Old Town near our hotel and had dinner at an outdoor café.

  My mom took a long sip of her wine. “I definitely think I earned this today.”

  “Thanks for going up there with me.”

  “Thanks for dragging me. It was…” She exhaled, looking out over the river.

  “Awesome?

  “Something I’ll never forget.”

  “Me neither. This trip, it’s not so bad, I guess.”

  “We’ve had a rough start but it can only get easier from here. And from now on we’re going to keep doing things like this, stopping and smelling the roses, you know?” She smiled this tired sheepish smile and I knew that second glass was finally hitting her.

  “Are we?”

  “Yes. No more schedules, no more deadlines, no more appointments. You’ve finally graduated and I think it’s time we started having some adventures.”

  “Adventures. This coming from the woman who irons her jeans.”

  “People change. Hey, you might not remember, but I’m fun.”

  “No. Really?”

  “Really.” She pointed while still clutching her third glass of wine, some spilling over the top. “I’ll have you know I once stole your grandfather’s car and got drunk off wine coolers at the Watermelon festival.”

  I snorted. “Wow. You’re such a rebel.”

  “That’s right and to this day neither of them knows about it. Not even your aunt knows. She thinks she left her favorite dress in the backseat of some guy’s car but really I buried it in the backyard after I puked all over it.”

  “That’s disgusting.”

  “Trust me, it was very attractive.”

  I laughed. “Before or after you puked?”

  “You don’t think I can pull off puke?” She straightened. “I’ve got classic good looks in case you haven’t noticed. I’d look hot in a fucking potato sack.”

  “Mother!” I squealed. “Language.”

  She pinched my cheek. “Oh my good, reliable, responsible, boring daughter.”

  “I’m not boring.”

  “We both are. But that’s okay because it ends here and now. Where do you want to go next? China? Maybe Italy? You know I begged your grandparents to send me to Rome for a graduation present. Obviously that didn’t work out.” She stared off down the path for a long time, wistful smile slipping from her face. Then she turned to me. “I’ve been meaning to ask you something.”

  “What’s that?”

  Whatever she was about to say seemed to sober her for a moment. “Roman…”

  I picked at the fraying seam on my napkin. “What about him?”

  She pressed a finger to her temple. “It’s just, I don’t think I understand what happened between you two. How you met…”

  “Oh.” I wasn’t sure what else to say.

  “Honestly, I’ve been trying not to think about it. Because when I do nothing makes sense anymore. He was in a coma and you…” She looked at me and asked me the same question Dr. Banz had already attempted to answer. “How is that possible?”

  I hesitated before just telling her the truth. “I don’t know.” For a second she looked afraid and I scrambled for something more concrete. “There are theories like Dr. Banz said. Some people call it mutual dreaming where we somehow interact with other people while we’re asleep.”

  “So it’s happened to other people?”

  I nodded, twirling the straw in my glass, trying to seem unconcerned. “Some people even teach the practice of it, like yoga or meditation.”

  “All of that still sounds so mystical,” she said.

  “Maybe because it is.”

  “Sounds like something your grandmother used to go on about.” She waved a hand. “Well, back when she was more spiritual and less…bitter.”

  “She’s just lonely.”

  “I know.” My mom tipped her chin into her hand. “But she was always telling me to pay more attention to my dreams and not to eat junk food before bed because somehow it would contaminate them, things like that. That old lavender under the pillow trick is nothing new either, by the way. I remember she used to stick mushrooms in my hair while I was sleeping to try and make it thicker.”

  “Did you?”

  “Did I what?” She took another sip of her wine, letting herself relax again.

  “Did you pay more attention to your dreams?”

  She pursed her lips as if her subconscious was swatting away thoughts before settling on the right one. “Sometimes.” She met my eyes. “What Dr. Banz said about you and Roman, about it being fate, people have always relied on dreams for things like that, to tell them who they’re meant to be with. I remember
your aunt used to have this recurring dream about the mailman.” She stopped to laugh. “She was terrified she was going to end up married to that fifty year old beer gut.”

  “Obviously she escaped that one.”

  My mom smiled. “It was just a dream.”

  Curious dread tied me in a knot as I said, “Did you ever have a dream like that?”

  She paused, staring into her glass. “Before I met your dad I used to dream about his birthmark.”

  “The one just below his hairline?” I thought of the freckles that scaled my dad’s neck, the ones that always looked like tiny footprints disappearing beneath the collar of his shirt.

  She nodded and then she grew quiet for a long time. I stared at her face, trying to decipher it, but it wasn’t painted with regret or even sadness. She was thoughtful and then she smiled.

  “It wasn’t until almost a decade later that I realized Brian had the same one.”

  And then I smiled too.

  “Maybe there is something to them,” she said.

  “Maybe.”

  When she finished her last glass of wine I helped her out of her chair, leading her down the path along the Rhine that led to our hotel. She held my waist and went back to ticking off names of all of the places we should visit next.

  “Oh, what about somewhere in South America? We could see the wild penguins in Argentina.”

  “Sure,” I said, examining the street signs and trying to remember the way back.

  “Or maybe South Africa. Bryn, we could go on a safari.”

  I finally spotted the lights of our hotel rising behind the shops but when I tried to pull my mom across the street she stopped.

  “Brian?”

  She said it under her breath but when I turned I saw my uncle standing under a streetlight. He spotted us, heading in our direction, and then I saw someone else, a silhouette still lingering there in my uncle’s shadow.

  My mom rushed into my uncle’s arms, time both racing and standing still as they disappeared around the corner together. And all the while I just stood there. Staring at him. Waiting for him to disappear.

  But he didn’t.