by Kristi Rose
I try not to wince but he’s so close. It takes every ounces of inner strength I have to stand my ground. I can’t make out the words because they come out too fast and garbled. Suddenly, the wind stills in an eerie intermission, a pause before the next onslaught. Will stops screaming.
“Will, we have to go.” I use the calmest tone I can muster under the circumstances. “A hurricane is coming.” I try to grab his arm, a critical mistake. He bucks like a bronco and pushes me with a force that sends me back yards.
I get up, gesture for Brinn to wait as he’s moving toward Will, ready to charge. He doesn’t look very happy with standing back. But there’s no time to explain. I run to Will and try a new tactic. “You have to get out of here. Now.” I gesture to where we parked the truck. “We have a ride waiting for you. It’s totally protected and no one will know you’re in it.”
“You’re lying,” he screams. “They always know where I am. You told them. You do this to me. Why do you do this to me?” He lunges at me before turning back to the water and walking into it.
I have no option. He must be saved from himself. I run up behind him and take him out at the knees. He drops like a sandbag; the tide is high and briefly he’s underwater. His arms flail madly in what I assume is panic from being submerged.
“OK, help now,” I yell to Brinn, and for fear he can’t hear me, cast him what I hope is a pleading look. I get my arms under Will. He’s so freaking heavy that I only drag him a foot before I’m exhausted. The cold water must have shocked him into a state of paralysis, as he doesn’t fight me.
Brinn pushes me aside, grabs Will under the shoulders, and starts running backward up the beach. We make it half way to the boardwalk when Will comes to his senses and begins protesting by kicking and thrashing. He pulls away, crawls through the sand like a crab for a few feet then scurries to his feet.
“You crazy bitch,” he screams and lunges at me, arms swinging madly. I block with my arms and sweep my leg wide, knocking him off his feet again. He’s in the sand and continues to rant at me and the voices that only he can hear.
“Knock him out,” I plead to Brinn. “Cold cock him, please.”
“Seriously?” He steps closer to Will.
“Yes, it’s the only chance we’ve got. Hit him,” I scream before scooping to snatch up a handful of sand. I toss it in Will’s face to distract him.
Will tries to deflect it. He sputters and rises up, his trunk coming off the sand. When he’s at the right angle, Brinn clocks him. Catches him just right in the jaw, which snaps his head to the side and sends him into the sand, out cold.
“Come on, grab his feet,” Brinn yells over the rain, as the wind’s picked back up in a haunting howl.
I stagger under the weight of his feet and legs. We make it to the boardwalk and Brinn flips him up over his shoulder, fireman style. We fight the wind and powerful rain to make it to the truck. It’s a mad dash to the hospital, where the adventure only gets started.
Chapter 25
The hospital in Daytona is evacuating patients and the triage queue puts Will somewhere in the middle. I’m tempted to toss out my father’s name, his financial status, and profession, but I know that’ll only bring them into the loop and it’s likely Will wouldn’t want that. Instead, I have Daanya reach out to his physician, who has a brief conversation with the doc in Daytona. Will’s given a shot that sedates him and we wheel him back to Brinn’s truck to make the long drive to Gainesville, the hurricane chasing our heels.
I fret over Will, whose head lolls around in my lap as drool snakes out the corner of his mouth. I don’t care that we were soaked to the core, dried partially while at the hospital in Daytona, got soaked again going back to the truck, and have dried to a stiff crispness, sand sticking to patches of our skin. Discomfort and pain is in watching Will suffer. Knowing that there’s a beast within him and I can’t even pretend to understand it or know how to handle it. I try not to think of him going through this before and wonder if he felt alone.
The ride is quiet. I focus on Will and Brinn on driving. I can still hear him screaming, a constant, high pitch ringing in my ears.
Trigger. The word is on a repeat in my head.
Did my presence cause this?
It takes us an hour longer than normal to reach Shands, where we get Will admitted and his treatment begins. Daanya pieces it all together for me as she works with many of Will’s doctors. According to her, Will believed his current medicinal regime was starting to affect his quality of life through anxiety, increasing episodes of obsessive compulsion, and those repetitive jaw movements he calls Tardive Dyskinesia. That’s why he switched to the new trial. Unfortunately, they’re speculating the new drug wasn’t as effective for Will as it had been for others.
If I voice my fears to anyone in the room, they’d tell me that today was about medication and not about me being here. But I have to wonder if the reaction to this new medicine would’ve been different had I not been around.
Regardless, talking to Daanya and the doctors introduces me to a different insight into Will’s life and the obstacles he faces each day.
He once said, “Every day is chaos and a risk for me.” Now I understand just how that is.
Daanya gives me the keys to their house and Brinn forces me to leave the hospital. There’s nothing I can do but watch Will sleep. The ride is silent except for the brief directions the GPS gives. We pull into the driveway and I take one look at Will’s house and burst into tears.
It’s so normal, with its large yard, front and back, evenly trimmed shrubs, and oversized ficus in the front. It’s an illusion. No one would look at this house and know it belongs to a person with a mental illness. There’s no stereotypical sign of the betrayal of my brother’s brain, no junk in the yard or shutters resting crooked against the house. I realize how even I was lured by what I wanted to see and what I expected to see.
“Hey, it’s going to be OK.” Brinn pulls me into his arms. I rest my forehead on his shoulder and hold tight as the sobs escape me.
“It’s never going to be OK, at least not for Will. I know things could be worse. I know I should be thankful but I’m devastated all over again. I didn’t know what to do out there. I feel helpless and ignorant—”
“You’re the last thing from helpless. You faced several obstacles to find him and you did. He’s getting great care because of you.” He’s rubbing my back and suddenly I’m exhausted. The rain continues to beat against the earth and small rivers run down the streets and through people’s yards.
“But what about tomorrow or the days after that. How can I help him?” I ask the question I’m sure a million other families have asked a million times.
“I don’t know the answer except to say that you have to take it day by day.”
I nod, knowing this can’t be riddled out with a book or one visit to the hospital.
“Let’s go inside,” I say once I’ve pulled myself together. I exit on his side and use Daanya’s key to let us in. Thankfully, the power is still on and after becoming familiar with the kitchen, I immediately make a fresh pot of coffee and find I’m famished.
“Do you want something to eat?” I ask.
Brinn’s taking in the surroundings, the eclectic mix of Daanya’s Hindu taste and Will’s travels and science fiction bent. Books on Dr. Who and Buddhism rest on the coffee table, a mix of architectural sketches hang on the walls. Most are of doorways and windows. Some of arches. Books are stacked in corners but the place is clean and simply designed.
“Did you expect it to be different?” I ask, wondering how he now perceives Will. Remembering how I felt about the outside of the house.
I know I feared that maybe it wouldn’t look...typical? Maybe I expected what I saw all those years ago in his closet. Tons of drawings pinned to the walls.
“I dunno. I suppose so,” Brinn says and picks up the remote.
The TV is small and sits in the kitchen, resting on a counter, likely used
for news and the occasional sitcom but not on longer than thirty minutes. Brinn turns it on and the Weather Channel pops up, the last channel my brother or his girlfriend was watching.
I open the fridge and take a quick assessment. “I can make us an omelet.” But I don’t wait for an answer because the weather reporter assigned to Daytona Beach comes on the screen. The station does a quick intro and I hold my breath.
“The city of Daytona Beach and surrounding areas are the target of this storm. Currently, we’re experiencing the calm of the storm’s eye but cities as far north as St. Augustine and as far south as Sanford are feeling her effects. Spin-off tornadoes have been spotted inland in Winter Haven and Sebring. Hurricane Layla has left most of the Daytona Beach residents without power. We’re told the intercoastal areas were hit the hardest. Flooding being their biggest problem at this moment. Inland, the speedway, and airport have taken a direct hit as well as. Locals are anxiously awaiting word about the famous Daytona Beach Pier, which took a hit from Sandy. Is it still standing? Only time will tell. For now, Volusia and Flagler County brace themselves for the worst as we wait for those Cat five winds to come ashore and for the eye of the storm to pass. Back to you, Tim.”
I swallow and watch Brinn, who has done nothing but rub his hand over his chin, repeatedly.
“The insurance came through on the new plane, right? I know you said it did but tell me again,” he says without looking at me. He stares at the footage of Hurricane Layla’s winds as a tree bends at a ninety-degree angle in protest.
“Yes, it’s in the paperwork folder. I even called to reconfirm earlier today before I came to see you.” I step toward him, reach out gently, and take his hand, massaging the calluses on the pads of his palm. “It’s gonna be OK.”
Brinn nods but his face is pale and his lips are pressed into a thin line. He pulls his hand from mine and rests it on his knee.
I hope I’m right. Screw hoping. I’ll make sure it’s going to be all right.
“I gave up my adjunct job. If this hurricane does serious damage, it’ll leave me unemployed, but I could pick up more flight instruction time, I suppose. If there’s a runway left, that is.” He’s talking more to himself than me.
I have no platitude that will ease his pain. Everything he’s worked for might be gone and I can’t help feeling partially responsible for that. If I have to sit the bar and become a lawyer, if I have to work for my parents, whatever the cost, I’ll make this right for him. But for now, we’ll get through this moment together.
“Why don’t you take a shower and I’ll make us something to eat. There’s nothing we can do at this moment for Will or the office.” I shift and try to tuck my hands in my back pockets but they’re crusted shut.
“I’ll run out and get my flight bag in a second.” He glances at me before returning to stare at the television.
It worries me that he barely looks at me. “Brinn,” I whisper.
He looks up and I understand now what I am seeing. He’s afraid. Of what I cannot be sure until he says, but going against Mark’s orders, losing the plane, possibly his house, not knowing about his brother, the list is endless. His phone vibrates on the counter and he snatches it up.
Briefly, his face visibly relaxes and his eyes meet mine. “It’s Vann. He and some friends decided that west Volusia wasn’t far enough and they drove to Tampa.”
I smile and rub his arm. Salt from the ocean clings to his skin “The rest is replaceable.”
“Yeah, but let’s hope we don’t have to replace anything. Did you mention a shower?”
“Come on.” We find the guest shower and I get it started, heating up the bathroom while he runs out to get his bag. I sip at my coffee and watch the news as I wait for my turn. The mood is not one that fosters showering together, and I use the moment alone to steady my hands and fight back the urge to have a good cry. I constantly check my phone for any update from Daanya and further toy with the idea of calling my parents, but my best guess is that this might have happened before and they were never notified. So I wait.
“Anything new?” Brinn comes toward me. He’s wearing a plain white undershirt and it accentuates the cut of his chest and the bulk in his arms, and he’s paired it with low-slung jeans that fit all the right areas nicely. He’s toweling his hair dry and when he finishes I hand him a mug of black coffee.
“No, just that the westerly winds are coming on shore now.”
“Jeez, I hope I don’t lose everything,” he mumbles.
“It’s going to be all right. It’s a blip on the screen. These things help us appreciate the highs.” I say it with the most convincing tone I can muster, but I’m not sure if either of us has any hope left to believe in those words.
“I can’t afford to start over.” He stares at the pictures on the screen, his jaw flexing.
“It’s a stressful night,” I say more to myself than to him. He’s very clear on how stressful the night is for both of us.
He turns from the screen to look at me. “Let’s just hope it’s gonna be better tomorrow.”
What are the odds of that happening?
“I’m going to take a shower.” I shuffle to the bathroom and peel the scratchy clothes off. I step under the hot spray and expect to fall apart in this safe space. But as the water washes over me and I clean the sand out of the scratches Will left on my arm, I don’t fall apart like I thought I would. Instead, I start making mental lists. Contingency plans of what we’ll do if the hurricane does the unimaginable. Plans about Will and when or if I ever do bring our parents into the picture. Plans about how I can help Brinn if there’s some loss at the shop. Plans that I know will require rebuilding of some sort. Plans to stay. The lists give me a sense of peace and control, and when I step out of the shower, I’m braced for the worst but feel armed and ready for the challenge.
We watch the news, drink coffee, and scarf down the spinach and Gouda omelets I made. I doze on the couch as we wait for some word about both storm fronts, Will’s and Daytona’s.
It’s not until after midnight that Daanya texts me to say Will’s been stabilized and is resting peacefully. They’re less worried he’ll experience psychosis. It’s not long after that when the scenes from Daytona Beach start to come across the airwaves and it’s terrible. Worse than terrible, horrific. I’ve seen pictures of Katrina and Andrew. I helped with the clean up after Sandy and this new hurricane, Layla, appears to have joined their ranks. She’s cracked Daytona like an egg and scrambled the city, leaving a debris field miles far and wide.
I reach for Brinn but he steps away, moving to put his coffee cup in the kitchen sink. Briefly, he looks out the window before resting his elbows on the counter and burying his head in his hands. The newscaster confirms that the airport’s been leveled, including the airfield and surrounding hangars and businesses.
Chapter 26
Brinn left early to go assess the damage at the airfield and I stay behind to follow up with Daanya about Will. But, discovering I’ll be unable to get a visit with Will until further notice, I score a rental car and drive back to Daytona to see what I can do to help Brinn.
I pull over to take a call from Mark, who tells me everything is lost and he’s cashing in. Not going to rebuild. I sit on the side of the road trembling long after the call is over.
What will Brinn do? The dream he’s had since he was a kid is gone. He gave up teaching at the university to focus on buying into the school. Now that’s gone too. I scroll through all the options I know of and mentally make a list of ideas to help him get back on his feet. He’ll have a hard time seeing past all this devastation. Who wouldn’t?
When I pull my car alongside the curb in front of their house, Vann gives me a wide-eyed look that almost makes me stay in the car. Almost. Their house managed to come out only requiring small repairs to the roof. Others down the street were completely wiped out.
Brinn gets out of his truck and hands Vann bags of take out. He doesn’t
look at me.
“Is there something you need?” he asks as he heads back to his truck. He pulls a sign and frame from the bed of his truck.
For sale by owner it reads.
I flick my gaze to the sign. “You’re selling the house?”
His face is dark, his anger barely checked. “Vann’s moving away for his Master’s program. He needs his half of the house to pay for school.”
“Oh.” I suppose I thought he was calling it quits.
“Why are you here, Josie?”
“I wanted to say I was sorry for the shop. Mark called. I know you’re—”
“What is it you think you know?” He swings his gaze to mine and there’s a steely glint found there.
So that’s how it’s going to be?
We face off in the driveway. I’m not in a good place. I’ve spiraled into a tenuous stream of thought where I’m questioning if I leave mass destruction in my wake. Does anyone I get attached to come out unscathed? I know Brinn well enough to know he’s in a bad place too. Understandably so.
“Do you blame me for this?” My voice is low and the question is carried by my shock and confusion. I never told him to come with me.
“You should go. I’ve given it a lot of thought and it’s time we call this quits. Whatever this is. We chalk it up to getting exactly what we both needed and walk away. But it needs to be over. And you should go. Now.” He nods as if to give his words the exclamation point they lack.
“You do blame me.” Anger sparks through me. I plant my hands on my hips and level him with a glare.
“I don’t blame you. I blame myself for getting caught up with you. For not staying focused.” He holds the FOR SALE sign between us. Like I’m going to kick him in the knees or something.
Well, OK, there’s some validity to that concern.
“But—”
“You’re chaos. You’re in the moment. That’s how you live your life. It was a good thing while it lasted but it’s time to end it. I need more than the moment. Especially right now. I need to focus on the future, and I don’t even know what that looks like. Just move on with your plans and let me get about the business of figuring out mine.” He steps away.