The Bright Effect

by Autumn Doughton

  As soon as I hit the bottom of the stairs, sweet and buttery smells waft toward me. Intrigued, I follow them into the kitchen.

  “What’s this?” I ask. I don’t think anyone has cooked in this house since November, but the signs of cooking are all over the counter—dirty bowls and measuring cups. And I swear I smell a roast cooking in the oven.

  “Darn it, I was hoping to surprise you,” Nancy says as she straightens from whatever it is she’s working on. “There’s a roast cooking. It should be ready in a half an hour.”

  “We’re having dinner here?” I ask, stunned and scarcely breathing. “I figured you’d be at church tonight.”

  “It was time for a little break,” she says simply. “You know I’ve been going to a grief group there?”

  I shake my head. I didn’t know that actually, but in a way it makes sense.

  “Two nights ago someone from my group talked about getting back to the normal, everyday things and something about that rang true for me.” She takes a breath. “I don’t know that I’m ready for normal, but I can certainly make dinner today of all days.”

  Then she steps back from the counter and reveals a round cake iced with chocolate frosting and two pink and white striped candles in the center. She halts when she sees me looking down at the cake and asks tensely, “Is this okay?”

  “Is that a birthday cake?” I ask, even though I know the answer already. It obviously is.

  Daddy enters the kitchen before Nancy can answer me. He still needs to shave and there are dark grey circles under his eyes, but at least he showered so that’s progress. Perplexion flashes across his face as he glances between Nancy and me, taking in the scene.

  “I didn’t think anyone would want to celebrate,” Nancy starts to explain. “But it felt wrong not to at least acknowledge the day somehow.”

  Realizing that I’m holding my breath, I let it out. Nancy is right, just like Audra was right. I don’t feel like celebrating my birthday, but I do want to celebrate Daphne’s. She deserves that much.

  “I think that sounds like a fine idea,” Daddy says in a scratchy voice. He turns to Nancy and wraps his arms around her waist and kisses her gently on the top of her head. It’s such a normal gesture, but it’s one I haven’t seen in a long while.

  “It’s her favorite,” Nancy says softly.

  “Red velvet,” I say, smiling despite the tears welling up in the corners of my eyes.

  “And chocolate chips sprinkled on top,” she adds, tilting the cake slightly so I can see.

  “I think she would have loved it and encouraged us to eat it before dinner.”

  “You think?” she asks me.

  Daddy and I both nod as we sit down at the counter.

  Nancy smiles a sad smile. Then she gets out the serving plates and finds a lighter. “I know that none of us really feel much like singing,” she says, her hand poised above the candles, “but do you want to go ahead and make a wish, Amelia?”

  Daddy turns to me questioningly. “It is your birthday too, darlin’. It’d be a shame to let a wish go to waste.”

  “Actually, I want something better than a wish. Daddy, can I ask you for a huge favor?”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

  Bash

  “I thought that was you.”

  I sit up in suddenness and blink at the person who has discovered my lunchtime hiding place in the library. It’s Rachel, my ex-girlfriend, in all her blue-eyed and long-legged glory. She’s cut her hair recently and the choppy, strawberry-blond ends fan across her chin.

  “Hi, Rach.”

  “What are you working on?” she asks as she knocks her bag to the floor and slides into the chair next to me, getting close enough that our arms touch. “Still doodling?”

  “Yeah, I guess. Just working on some new designs for shirts.”

  “Seth told me about that,” she says, eyebrows raised. “And about you getting into school in Florida. It’s pretty impressive. And here I always thought you’d end up as a professional groupie for Seth’s band.” She says band with finger quotes because, like most of the school, she doesn’t give him nearly enough credit. “But I guess I was wrong. Bash Holbrook is going to be a college boy.”

  “Thanks,” I say, embarrassed. “How about you? What are you doing next year?”

  She shrugs. “A little bit of this and that. You know Mandie’s, that sweet shop over on Brady Avenue?”

  I nod. “Sure do. Carter is head over heels for their apple cakes.”

  She smiles. “Well, I got a job there and the owner says he’ll make it full-time after graduation.”

  “That’s great.”

  “You should come in and see me this afternoon. You could bring Carter and I could slip him some apple cakes and we could talk.”

  It’s an innocent enough suggestion, but there’s something in the soft way she says it that has me thinking that Rachel is asking me to do a lot more than talk.

  It’s not that I don’t consider taking her up on it because I do. I’m tired of feeling lost and being so goddamn angry all the time. I don’t want to be tortured anymore and it should be a simple thing to do—to let go. Rachel is beautiful and, despite everything that went on between us, there’s something familiar and comforting about her. The problem is: no matter how I turn it over in my head, she’s not Amelia.

  “We can’t today, but maybe another time.”

  Rachel slowly looks over my face then seeming to decide something, she points to my sketchbook and asks, “Do you mind if I look?”

  It’s strange. Rachel and I dated for almost a year and she never asked to see my sketches and I never offered, but now that she’s sitting here with her big blue eyes on me, it seems so obvious that she should see them.

  “Sure,” I answer.

  She takes her time working through the pages. “You know… I didn’t know.”

  “Know what?”

  She looks up at me and bites her lip deliberately. “That you were this good.”

  “Thanks—I think?”

  “I would have encouraged you more.”

  “I doubt it. You didn’t like anything that occupied my time.”

  She laughs—an honest and relaxed laugh. “You’re probably right about that. But I’m at least vain enough that I would have asked you to do one of me.”

  She turns the sketchbook toward me, showing me a charcoal drawing of Amelia that I did from memory. In it, she’s leaning against the window of my truck, her face turned up and her features mostly washed out by moonlight.

  Then Rachel says, “Bash, did I ever tell you what happened with us?”

  My guts lurch in surprise at the question. “You didn’t need to. It was pretty straightforward,” I say. “You dumped me.”

  “Actually, you dumped me.”

  I give my head a shake. “Technically maybe, but that was because—”

  “I know, I know,” she interrupts. “I cheated on you.”

  Shifting uncomfortably, I wave her off the topic. “This is history, Rach. We don’t have to do this. I know that you didn’t want to deal with Carter and—”

  “Carter had nothing to do with it,” she says firmly. “Maybe I wasn’t the best with him, but I liked Carter just fine. And see, I loved you.”

  My mouth opens a little. Rachel and I never said the word love. “Rachel—”

  “Let me finish,” she says. “I loved you, but then your mama died and you were so closed off and it got to where I couldn’t even talk to you. I wanted to be there for you, but every time I tried, you barely seemed to notice me. And I know what I did was wrong—I’m not making excuses for that—but I’m telling you how it was. I never wanted to be with that other guy. I only wanted you to see me.”

  “Why are you telling me all of this?”

  Rachel hesitates. “You know I’m not the type to be gracious, but I’ve watched you. And I’m not saying it didn’t kill me a little to see you with someone else, but…” She sighs and her eyes go to the drawing of
Amelia. “Bash, there was a time not that long ago you didn’t think you’d ever smile again. But you did. And maybe if I had been stronger or if I’d had more hope, I would’ve been around long enough to be the one you were smiling at.”

  ***

  “You know what Mrs. Ruiz says?” Carter asks.

  “What?”

  “That Florida is crawling with shark teeth,” he says and then frowns. “But I don’t think she meant that the teeth were really crawling. I think she meant they’re everywhere along with arrowheads and all kinds of other cool stuff.”

  “Then we’ll have to schedule a shark hunt as soon as we’re settled in the new place.”

  “Can you tell me about it again? The new house?”

  “I’ve only seen pictures same as you,” I remind him.

  “I know, but I like to hear you talk about what it’s going to be like.”

  “Okay,” I say, smiling. “It’s painted yellow with a dark blue door. And it has three bedrooms.”

  “One for you and one for me and one for Seth,” he supplies.

  “That’s right. And we’re going to set up your room just like you want it.”

  “And I can even get those glowy stars for the ceiling?” he confirms for the hundredth time.

  “Absolutely. Now, one thing you have to remember is that the kitchen and living room are a little small.”

  “But that’s okay,” he says, nodding, “because it’s got a big backyard. With a fence and trees and lots of other places for Jinxy to hide.”

  I laugh. “Exactly.”

  I’m almost shocked at how well everything is coming together. The house in Gainesville is going to be ready for us the first week of June. And I think I’ve found a renter to take over the Green Cove house who can move about a week later.

  The timing is so good that I’m starting to worry that it’s too good. Usually, when things are going well in my life, it’s a sign that everything is about to turn to shit.

  “Do you think there might even be room for a dog?” Carter asks as I make the turn onto our street.

  “A dog? You might be pushing your luck there,” I say. And then I catch sight of something unsettling. “What in the—?”

  Carter asks, “What is it?”

  I shake my head hard. “Nothing, bud.”

  But it’s not nothing. There’s a silver mercedes parked at the end of our driveway and for a terrible moment I’m afraid the county has sent out another social worker, but then I realize there’s no way in hell a social worker would be driving a car like that.

  Then who?

  Whoever he is, I think he must be waiting on pins and needles for me, because I don’t even have the truck parked at the curb before the door to the Mercedes opens and a suit steps out with a briefcase clutched in one hand.

  I do a double-take. It’s Amelia’s dad, but I have no idea what he’s doing here. The last time I saw him he was rotting in his office with a bottle of bourbon. Now he’s showered and shaved and wearing polished shoes and coming forward with his right hand outstretched.

  “Hello.”

  All of a sudden, him being here hits me with full force and my heart misses a beat. “What’s wrong? Is Amelia okay?”

  Mr. Bright drops his hand and makes a placating motion. “Yes, yes, everything is fine with Amelia,” he says. “I was hoping you and I could have a chat.”

  A chat? With the father of my ex-girlfriend? Thoughts speed around my head—none of them good—but I’m not sure how to extricate myself from this situation, so I cross my arms across my chest, control my expression and say. “Sure thing.”

  Mr. Bright takes in the change in my body language and raises his brow. I think he’s about to ask me something, but Carter interrupts by hopping down from the truck and asking, “Who are you?”

  “My name is Bill Bright, and you are?”

  My brother straightens his spine. “I’m Carter Holbrook.”

  “Nice to meet you, Carter. Amelia told me you were quite a kid but she didn’t mention how tall you were.”

  “Like Amelia Bright? Do you know her?”

  “Yes, sir.” Mr Bright smiles down at Carter. “She’s my daughter.”

  “Is she here too?” Carter asks uncertainly, looking around Mr. Bright for any sign of her.

  “No, I’m afraid I came alone. I have something I’d like to talk to your big brother about if that’s okay?”

  “What about?” he asks in curiosity.

  “Well…” Mr. Bright raises his eyes to meet mine and I take the hint.

  “Carter, why don’t you go play a videogame?” I suggest, giving his shoulder a quick squeeze.

  “But before you said no videogames until after dinner and homework.”

  “If I changed my mind are you going to argue with me?”

  He shakes his head vigorously and races ahead of us to the door. “It was nice to meet you Mr. Bright!”

  “Nice meeting you, Carter,” he says before turning back to me expectantly.

  I’m not sure what to do here. “Would you like to come in?”

  “That would be nice.”

  Feeling completely off-kilter, I awkwardly lead Mr. Bright through the front door and down the hall to the kitchen. Seth is standing over the counter holding a half-eaten hoagie.

  “Hey man, I was thinking—” He stops talking when he sees that there’s someone behind me. “Oh, sorry. Hi?”

  “Seth, this is Mr. Bright, Amelia’s dad. And this,” I say, motioning between them, “is my friend Seth.”

  Seth swallows down the bite he’d been working on and wipes his hands on his jeans so that he can greet Mr. Bright. “Nice to meet you.” He looks back and forth then snatches up the paper plate with his hoagie. “Well, I guess I’ll give you guys some space.”

  “Thanks.”

  When we’re alone, Mr. Bright sits down at the table and, unsure what to do, I offer him something to drink.

  “Water is fine,” he says, getting situated and pulling some papers out of his briefcase.

  Water I can do, I think, reaching into the cabinet nearest the sink. I’m careful to inspect the glass to make sure it’s not gross or spotty, which I know is probably ridiculous. It’s not like Amelia’s dad hasn’t already noticed the threadbare sofa he passed or the empty pizza box on top of the trash can or the scuff marks all over the kitchen table.

  “So what’s all this?” I ask, placing the glass of water down. “Did I win something?”

  He looks up from his papers, confused. “Excuse me?”

  “Sorry, bad joke. I…” I shake my head. “Why are you here?”

  “It’s pretty simple actually. I’ve come to offer my legal services to you in the custody case for your brother. That is, if you want them.”

  I’m too shocked to speak right away. I drop down to a chair.

  Mr. Bright keeps talking. “Before agreeing to anything, you need to understand that custody is not my area of expertise. That’s not to say that I’ve never dealt with the family courts, but this is not my specialty. Amelia said that your court date is already set for May 11th, which doesn’t give us a lot of time. I could ask for an extension, but then you’ll be living in uncertainty for longer.”

  Still reeling, I shake my head. “Wait—you really want to help me? But how? Why?”

  “My daughter told me that you needed counsel and…” He shrugs. “She speaks very highly of you. The fact that you managed to win her over tells me enough.”

  “Thank you, but you should know that Amelia and I broke up.”

  “I am aware of that Sebastian—or do you prefer Bash?”

  “Uh—Bash is fine. And if you really mean all this—about taking Carter and me on—I can pay you,” I say, not wanting him to think I expect a hand out. “I’ve been saving up the extra money I make from t-shirts.”

  “T-shirts?”

  “Yes sir. I’ve been selling my designs to a website.”

  “An entrepreneur?” he asks, nodding in appro
val. “That will go a long way with the court. And as for payment, we can discuss the details later. Right now, I’d like to focus all of our energy on developing a strategy. I’m going to ask you a lot of questions and I’m going to need complete honesty from you. Bash, I can’t help you if I don’t know what we’re up against. Do you follow?”

  “Yes sir.”

  He sits back and appraises me. “Tell me son, are you ready for this fight?”

  “I’m ready.”

  ***

  About the worst thing in the world to wake up to is the sound of sirens cutting through the night.

  I’m out of bed like a flash, my brain trying to catch up as I make a dash for Carter’s room. He’s perfectly fine—sleeping with his arms and legs thrown out like a starfish. His bear and blanket are dangling precariously off the side of the bed so I step forward and move them closer to his pillow.

  Seth must have heard the sirens and had the same idea as me because he appears in the open door.

  “He’s okay?” he whispers.

  “He’s fine,” I mumble, exiting the room and closing the door.

  “I wonder what they’re for.”

  “I have no clue.”

  The sirens are getting closer and more are joining in. Swirls of blue and red interrupt the dark calm of the living room. Seth strides to the window over the couch and uses his fingers to separate the blinds.

  “Holy shitballs,” he exclaims. “They’re right next door!”

  “No,” I say, but sure enough, there are at least three cop cars with lights blaring outside my nextdoor neighbor’s house.

  “They must be here for Paul.”

  “Do you think it’s bad?” I ask, thinking of Paul’s mother, Sandra.

  “Considering all the crap he was knee deep in, I’d say, yeah, it’s probably very bad.” He moves his fingers, letting the blinds fall back into place. “But there’s only one way to find out.”