The Lifetime of A Second

by Jennifer Millikin

  Using a kitchen towel to dry my hands, I inform Brynn she can compliment my mother herself. “She wants to meet Vale Handyman Services newest employee.”

  “When?”

  “Sometime soon.”

  “Right. Um, okay.” She clasps her hands in front of herself, twisting them. “I need to brush my teeth. I’ll be right back.” She turns from the room. In a moment I hear water running, then the faint sounds of bristles scrubbing teeth. I walk to the living room and look around. There are no decorations, no pictures, nothing to show that a person with a personality like Brynn’s lives here.

  Weird.

  Brynn’s silent on the drive to work. She stares out the window, but her muscles are tense. Normally I’m fine with quiet drives, but it’s hard with a near-stranger sitting in my truck. Especially one who confounds me as she does.

  “Brynn?”

  “Hmmm?” She looks at me.

  I had no question, really. No reason to say her name.

  “What’s your last name again?” Lame. I already know it, but I seized.

  “Montgomery.” She continues to look out the window as she answers.

  “Thanks. That will help me when I Google you later.” I smile because it’s a joke, but to Brynn, it’s obviously not a joke. Her head whips toward me, her face pale.

  “Hey,” I say softly. Without thinking, I reach over and find her, my fingers brushing along the outside of her forearm. “I was just kidding.”

  She nods, a quick, almost manic motion. “Sure,” she says, her voice shaking. “No big deal.”

  The hand that was touching her goes back to the steering wheel, even though I really don’t want it to. I want to keep touching Brynn. I want to sink into her obvious agony and shoulder some of the burden. I don’t even know why.

  The next four hours are spent changing locks. The house we’re working on is a new-build, and the homeowner wants new locks now that they are moved in.

  Brynn is smart, strong, and a quick learner. Teaching her what to do isn’t as hard as I thought it might be. Her eyebrows furrow as she listens to me, and she purses her lips. When she concentrates, the tip of her tongue darts out and rests against her upper lip.

  By the time we’re done it’s later than I thought, and my stomach is rumbling. I find her finishing the last lock. “Lunch?” I ask her.

  She tucks her hair behind her ear and steps back. “Can you check this, please? I want to make sure it’s done right.”

  I reach out, testing the lock, and nod. “Good work. It’ll keep the bad guys out.” I wink at her, but somehow I’ve misstepped again. Her eyes cloud with fear. Dammit. Every time I open my mouth, I’m saying the wrong thing to her.

  She clears her throat. “Lunch would be good.”

  I find the homeowner and say goodbye, letting them know my mom will send them an invoice.

  We head for my truck and climb in. “Where to?” she asks. “I haven’t explored much past my house.”

  “Route 66 diner. They make my favorite sandwich. My mom’s best friend works there, and so does your neighbor, Cassidy.”

  I slow to a stop at a red light and look at Brynn. She’s drumming a beat on her thigh with her fingertips and gazing out the windshield. It’s not hard to see what Cassidy saw the day she met Brynn, but I see what Cassidy missed. The hollows in her eyes, and the fear that slips through the cracks of her tough exterior. There is far more to her, and I don’t think she will ever give it away.

  From our handful of interactions I’ve learned not to ask her personal questions, so if I want to learn about her, I’m going to have to get creative.

  “What did you think of today?”

  I’m shooting for a casual tone as we get out of my truck and walk to the diner. She’s one step ahead of me and gets to the door first. She reaches for the handle, but I’m faster, reaching around her and pulling open the door. She stiffens, looking up at me before stepping in.

  “This isn’t a date. I can open a door.” Her voice is quiet, matching the volume of the diner. It’s late for lunch, and there are only a few people in here eating.

  Irritation surges. “It’s called basic manners, Brynn. It doesn’t mean I think this is a date.”

  “Sorry,” she mutters.

  Her apology takes me by surprise. I was expecting a scathing reply.

  Snagging one menu off the small hostess stand, I lead her to a nearby open booth. “Let’s get you fed. I think you might be hangry,” I say, sliding in.

  Brynn laughs, and then covers her mouth with her hand. She slides in across from me, dragging the menu with her as she goes.

  “You’re slipping,” I tell her, sitting back and resting my arm across the top of the booth.

  She looks up. “What are you talking about?”

  “Your tough girl act. It’s slipping a little. You just laughed,” I point out. “Next you might smile, and then a pig will fly by the window, and who knows what else might start happening.”

  “Hell might freeze over?”

  I shrug. “Anything is possible.”

  She looks back down to the menu. “I’ve been known to smile a time or two.”

  “I’ll be on the lookout for that,” I tell her, waving at Mary as she comes out from the kitchen. Mary’s hands are full, but her eyes grow wide as she takes in the beautiful girl sitting across from me.

  I usually eat here alone, or with my mom, sometimes with Anthony, but definitely never with a girl. Not since Desiree. After she left town, Mary informed me she never liked her anyway, and promised next time she’d tell me what she thought about someone. There hasn’t been a next time, but the way Mary is hurrying over it looks like she’s remembering her promise. This ought to be interesting.

  “Well, hello there,” Mary says when she arrives. She sets down two glasses of ice water and Brynn looks up. Mary grins and Brynn actually has a normal response. She smiles.

  “Is it cold in here?” I ask, teasing her. Her foot swiftly connects with my ankle.

  Mary gives me a curious glance and refocuses on Brynn. “I haven’t seen you in here before.” She sticks out a hand. “I’m Mary.”

  “Brynn Montgomery,” she answers, shaking Mary’s hand. “It’s nice to meet you.”

  Brynn and Mary make small talk, and I try not to fall out of my seat. Since when is this girl nice? I don’t know what to do with nice Brynn. Mean Brynn is better. Mean Brynn can be kept at arm’s length. Mean Brynn—

  “Connor?”

  “Huh? Sorry, I—” I shake my head. “Never mind. I was somewhere else. What did you say?”

  Mary scrunches up her eyes, like she’s trying to figure me out. It’s the same face she makes when she’s looking at her iPhone.

  “I asked if you wanted your usual.”

  I shake my head. “Monte Cristo this time. Thank you, Mary.”

  “Umm hmm.” She gives me an extra long look before she turns to Brynn.

  Brynn holds the menu out to Mary. “I’m not sure where he went just now,” she says to her, but she smirks at me. She’s enjoying this far too much.

  “I think I know where he went,” Mary says as she turns to go.

  Brynn either didn’t hear Mary, or she’s acting like she didn’t. “Today was fun,” she says, reaching for her straw and pushing the ice around her cup.

  “Fun?”

  “Yeah. It’s useful knowledge.”

  “I suppose so. You really only need to change locks after you’ve moved in somewhere.”

  “Sure,” Brynn agrees quickly. I think maybe she’s placating me.

  “Or you could buy some of those floor alarms like you have,” I say as casually as I can, trying not to make eye contact with her. Pushing my straw aside with one finger, I drink from the cup and keep my gaze down. I’m trying not to look interested in her answer. Nope, I haven’t been dying to know why you have that floor alarm ever since it blared in my face this morning.

  When she says nothing, I try again. “Those are pretty cool.�
� Those are pretty cool? That might be the dumbest thing I’ve ever said.

  She looks at me, her face blank, but the nearly imperceptible twitch of her lips tells me she’s trying not to show emotion. Whether it’s laughing, frowning, or smiling is anybody’s guess.

  I switch tactics. “What do you do for fun? When you’re not learning handyman skills from someone as devilishly handsome as me, I mean.”

  She rolls her eyes, but they look happy. At least if she won’t crack a smile, I can see her eyes glimmer.

  “Back home, I was a nightclub promoter. I taught a barre class, and I went to Mexico to visit my parents.” Her voice gets softer, so I lean in to hear her. Something takes over her whole face as she talks. Wistfulness, I think, and maybe despondence. Fear of her clamming up keeps me from asking why.

  “My parents retired to Mexico five years ago. They have a sport fishing tour company, and they take people out and help them fish. They fish themselves, too, and sell it to local restaurants. I loved going, but…” Her eyes lift, meet mine, and it’s like there are steel shutters dropping down over windows. Looking away, she takes a deep breath and asks, “What about you?”

  Her voice has changed. She is eager to turn the question to me and relieved that she didn’t keep talking. Like she caught herself from whatever she was about to say. I start slowly, thinking about what just happened, but soon I’m talking at a normal pace as I tell her about my dad.

  “It’s hard to see him this way, but there’s nothing anybody can do about it. It might actually be more difficult to watch my mom. She has always been caring and nurturing, but I doubt she ever thought she’d have to care for her husband this way.”

  “In sickness and health, Connor.” Brynn tips her head, watching me.

  “I know. I just… I don’t know.” I sigh. How can I say what I mean without sounding like a jerk?

  “You wish she didn’t have to go through this?”

  I nod. “More than anything, I wish he didn’t have to. This might sound awful, but,” I pause, watching her. I’ve never said the words out loud, and I’m afraid to now.

  Brynn reaches out, placing her hand on mine, and I don’t even think she knows she’s doing it. “I won’t judge.” She exhales softly. “Believe me, I’m in no position to.”

  The warmth of her hand spreads out, circulating through me. Her gaze is kind, her eyes rapt.

  “I feel angry at him. His body, I mean. Resentful, too.”

  One side of her mouth curls up. She squeezes my hand. “That’s normal.”

  “Do you know from experience?”

  Her touch disappears, her hand returning to her lap, and she shakes her head. “It’s normal to resent what other people do, and the effects it has on you.”

  “How do you know—”

  “Are there any other ways it’s affecting you?”

  She has barged into my question, and I know what she’s doing, but I allow it.

  In my mind, I see my house, the blank canvas in the unfurnished living room, the pristine drop cloth. The place looks like it’s waiting for an artist to arrive, not like one lives there already.

  “I used to paint. On canvas. But he got sick, and the family business needed to be run. It’s their sole source of income.”

  Mary swoops in quietly, sliding our lunches across the scratched table and refilling our waters, then ducks out. I think it means she likes Brynn. The place is nearly empty now, and there can’t be much for Mary to do. She would stay and chat, but she wants Brynn and I to be alone.

  Brynn lifts a French fry to her mouth. “What did you paint?”

  “Everything. Anything. Whatever resonated with me.”

  “Did you sell them?”

  “A few.” I hear the pride in my voice. There’s an incredible feeling that comes with knowing someone wants your work in their home.

  “That’s great, Connor.” She bites into her sandwich and sighs contentedly. “I didn’t realize how hungry I was.”

  Picking up my sandwich, I take a bite. An idea forms in my head, and I chew on the notion at the same time I’m chewing my food. It might be stupid, and when I say might be I mean it definitely is, but would it really hurt to try?

  “You can see my work sometime, if you want.” Using a napkin to wipe breadcrumbs from my lips, I look at her with what I hope is nonchalance. My insides feel the opposite of that.

  She takes another bite and chews slowly. Is she aware that across the booth I am dying a slow, painful death brought on by extreme hope?

  She swallows and reaches for her water. “I don’t think that would be a good idea,” she says, wrapping her mouth around the straw. Her gaze drops to the table, avoiding mine.

  She says nothing after that, and I fall silent too. The air is thick and filled with awkwardness. We finish lunch without another word. Our second silent and annoying meal of the day. When I’m done, I hop up and go to the cash register where Mary sits reading a paperback book.

  “How was everything, hon?” She takes the credit card I’m holding out.

  “Great, as always.”

  “I like your new employee.” She laughs at my confused look and winks. “I called your mom. I needed to get the scoop on who was with you.”

  “Just an employee,” I say, taking back my card and slipping it into my wallet.

  “She seems nice. That’s all.” Mary gives me a pointed look.

  Brynn arrives beside me and thanks me for lunch. We say goodbye to Mary and head for my truck.

  Mary called Brynn nice.

  Nice Brynn put her hand on mine and let me tell her all about my dad.

  I really like nice Brynn.

  I hope she goes back to being mean Brynn soon.

  5

  Brynn

  That was close.

  What the hell was I thinking?

  It’s him.

  Connor Vale.

  Extensive knowledge about the inner and outer workings of a home, and now I’ve learned his painting skills were honed by a canvas, not a wall.

  Today I watched his hands. I couldn’t help it. He touched me with them. Twice. And I touched him once when he was talking about his dad. I snatched my hand back as soon as I realized I’d done it.

  Our afternoon job consisted of rehanging an in-cabinet garbage can. It sounded ridiculous to me at first, but Connor explained that the garbage can places too much weight on the brackets and that’s why they were bent. He suggested a whole new system where the can rolls on gliders installed on the bottom of the cabinet, and the homeowner agreed. We went to the hardware store for the pieces that weren’t in one of the built-in toolboxes in the bed of his truck, and the whole time he was showing me what to do, I watched his hands.

  He has strong, deft fingers, certain of their movements. Capable. The skin on his palm, just below the start of his fingers, is slightly hardened. Callused, I guess, but not in the way I’ve always thought callused hands would be.

  His hands are where I focused my fixation, because I cannot afford to have my gaze travel anywhere else. It was hard enough to sit across from him at lunch. Holding his gaze when I wanted to hide my face? That took strength. There’s one surefire way to make him look away from me, but then he would know about my past, and that’s completely off-limits. It’s a good reminder to keep my head down, make as much money as I can until fishing season comes to Mexico and my parents can make enough to help me get out of the country.

  As much as I don’t want to be, I’m intrigued by Connor. A man who takes over his family business, even though he is good at the same thing he happens to be passionate about? He’s a genuinely good person. Of course, I already knew that. I did step out in front of his truck and he hasn’t said a word to me about it.

  It’s still dented. I noticed it but didn’t say anything. I don’t have the money to pay for it right now anyway. I’ll have to ask him about it soon. I have no idea how much something like that will cost.

  What a way to start my temporary life in Bri
ghton.

  I’ve managed to cause an accident, get a job doing something I know zilch about, and anger an old man. On the plus side, Cassidy said hi to me when I was out front watering Ginger’s flowers, so I guess my first impression didn’t terrify her too much. I said hello and nodded, still not sure how friendly I should be. Friendliness comes naturally to me, and snuffing it out takes work. I was voted friendliest person and nicest smile in high school, something Connor would probably never believe. It’s also how I got my old job. Club-promoters don’t scowl.

  It’s funny what tragedy will do to a person. The smiles it will rob you of, both present and future. The present smiles can’t be summoned, and future ones never surface for fear of perceived happiness. How dare I be happy?

  One of his letters said exactly that. I know he hates me, but I don’t think he understands how much I hate myself.

  I’ve made too much.

  I wasn’t paying attention, and I poured the entire package of noodles into the boiling water. I could save it and eat it again tomorrow night, but I don’t want to. I want the company of another person. Someone else’s thoughts, the sound of their breathing, simply existing nearby me.

  Cassidy comes to mind first, because she’s closest. But, no. I can’t deal with Brooklyn.

  Definitely not Connor. There’s only one person left.

  He opens the door as I’m walking up. “What do you want?” Walt grunts.

  “World peace. The end of child hunger. I could really go for a sea salt brownie if you have one.”

  He makes an undistinguishable sound and waves a hand at me.

  I make my way up his steps and hold out the spaghetti. “I hope you’re hungry.”

  He eyes the food. “I already ate.”

  “The early-bird special is more of an afternoon snack, don’t you think?”

  Walt cracks a small grin, and I’m close to one myself. Breaking through his wall feels like a victory.

  He backs up, holding open his door. “Come in, then.”