The Lifetime of A Second

by Jennifer Millikin

  I smile. My mom hates complaining. I think she was a saint in a different life.

  “Mary called me and told me about Brynn.” She grins impishly. “She said Brynn seemed like a little more than an employee, and that she’s so pretty it’s hard not to stare. She also said that you had no problem staring at her.”

  Never mind. She’s not a saint. She’s nosy, and so is her best friend.

  I keep my gaze on my phone and act like what I’m doing is important. “I’ll be sure to appropriately thank Mary the next time I see her,” I say calmly to my screen.

  “Oh, please.” Mom waves her hand. It catches my attention and I glance away from my phone. “Don’t be so touchy,” she admonishes. “Brynn’s beautiful, so what? You can still do your job.”

  When I don’t say anything, she narrows her eyes at me and leans forward. “Right? You can do your job? Brynn won’t be a distraction to you?”

  I stare at her for another moment, drawing it out, and then palm my forehead with a dull smack. “I just forgot I didn’t do half my work this week because Brynn blinked and I was captivated.”

  Mom gives me a dirty look, searching her desk for something to throw at me. A balled up napkin is all she has that won’t cause real physical damage, so she tosses it. It bounces off my knee and lands on the ground. I grab it off the floor and shoot it into the wastebasket beside her desk.

  “Mom, I’ll be fine. Trust me. Brynn has less interest in me than she does one of the pine trees in her backyard.”

  She gives me a disbelieving look.

  “I promise,” I add, thinking of the way she practically leaped from my truck when I dropped her off yesterday afternoon, after we were done for the day.

  “Well, now I want to know why she doesn’t like you. She would be lucky to have you, and I’m not just saying that because I’m biased. You’re handsome, loyal, talented, responsible…”

  I let her go on for fifteen more seconds. After the week I had with Brynn, I need an ego boost. Although considering the source, I’ll have to discount fifty percent of what she said due to motherly preference.

  I hold up a hand. “Okay, Mom, I get it. I don’t think it’s that she doesn’t like me. Brynn is kind of like Fort Knox. She plays things close to the vest, and that includes most emotions, almost all thoughts that aren’t snarky, and a lot of details about her life. She’s told me some things, but…” I shake my head, recalling what she’s revealed, but I remember more what she hasn’t told me. Like why she came to Brighton and how long she’s staying. “She doesn’t give much away, that’s all I’m trying to say.”

  Mom nods slowly, thinking. She pulls a piece of hair from her cheek, tucking it back into her low bun. “Sounds to me like Brynn experienced something very painful.”

  The thought sends a jolt through me. In my mind I see and hear the piercing door alarm.

  Brynn is scared of something. Or someone.

  “Shit,” I mutter. “You’re right.” My head rocks from side to side sluggishly as I work through how I missed something like that. She doesn’t have an attitude problem. She’s hiding behind a wall, erected to keep her safe.

  My mom’s voice breaks through my thoughts. “Whatever happened to make her that way, I’d say she came into luck meeting you.”

  I look at her, eyebrows pinched. “What do you mean?”

  “You’re the best person I can think of to help coax someone from their hiding spot.”

  I nod as though I’m agreeing, and change the subject to the reason for my visit. I can’t talk about Brynn anymore. The thought of someone hurting her sends anger coursing through me, and the thought of consoling her makes me want to jump in my truck, speed to her house, and show her how she deserves to be touched.

  Clearly, that’s never going to happen.

  “Connor? What do you want?”

  I draw in a quick breath, surprised Brynn answered her phone. “How is your weekend going?” For real? Did I just say that? Lame with a side of extra lame.

  Brynn knows it too. The line is quiet for a moment, then she sighs. “I think you called me by accident.”

  “Maybe,” I respond, tipping my head back against my truck’s headrest. My ego is a tad bruised. Can’t she sound at least a little pleased to hear from me on a Saturday?

  She snorts. “Connor, did you mean to call me or not?”

  “No,” I say, lying through my teeth. “But since my butt decided to dial you, I figured I might as well make conversation.”

  Oh my God. No. No no no.

  All I can do now is pray she doesn’t think I’m making a crude junior-high joke about bodily functions.

  “Ummmm okay?”

  I have to recover from this. “I’m on my way to do something manly.” I glance at my boxing gloves as I say it.

  “Oh yeah?” She sounds completely uninterested.

  Even though she hasn’t asked me what manly thing I’m on my way to do, I tell her anyway.

  “Boxing?” Her voice perks up. “Is there a boxing place around here?”

  “The Knockout,” I answer, stifling my surprise. “It’s about twenty minutes away, in Still Creek.”

  “Oh.” Her excitement disappears. “That’s too far.”

  Right. The car thing. Another question I want to ask but I’m too afraid.

  “Maybe I could take you there sometime?” I offer.

  “I’ll check out their website. Maybe I can take a lesson…” Her voice drifts, dropping low on the last words.

  “What are you up to this weekend?” I ask, changing the subject.

  “This morning I walked to the grocery store. I needed ingredients for a new dish I’m trying.”

  “Oh yeah? Need a tester?”

  “Not unless you want to eat sour beef.”

  I make a face. “Sour…beef? Why would you eat sour meat?”

  “It’s not for me.”

  My whole body tenses. There’s someone else? Have I missed something entirely? I hate having to ask the natural follow-up question. “Who’s it for?”

  “Walt. It’s his favorite.”

  Angry breath pushes through my pursed lips. “Brynn, I told you about him. He’s crazy.”

  “He is not.” Her volume increases, and she sounds irritated. “I ate dinner with him last Monday. He is lonely, and grumpy, but he is not crazy.”

  “Brynn, you just arrived here. Take my word for it, okay?”

  “No. I make my own judgments, and I say he’s sane.”

  I smack the heel of my hand on the steering wheel. Why won’t she listen to me? Wouldn’t most normal people hear the word crazy and automatically turn in the opposite direction?

  “A few years ago, Walt backed his car into a young girl’s car at a red light. On purpose. They both got out of their cars, and Walt told her that she deserved to be hit, and then,” I shake my head, angry I even have to say this part to her, but if she’s not going to listen to my warnings, she needs to hear this. “He told the girl he was going to rip her fucking heart out.”

  True to form, Brynn is silent.

  “I’m sorry,” I finally say.

  Her response shocks me, but maybe it shouldn’t. I should be shocked at myself for expecting her to be anything other than oppositional.

  “Were you there?” she asks, her voice angry.

  “No, but—”

  “Did you talk to Walt about this yourself?”

  I sigh. I see where she’s going, I just don’t want to follow her there.

  “No.”

  “Have a nice day, Connor.” The line goes dead.

  “Fuck,” I yell into the empty space and toss my phone onto the passenger seat. Why is it everything I do manages to push Brynn farther away? I thought we could at least be friends, but now I don’t even see that happening.

  I press down a little harder on the accelerator. Now I really need to punch something.

  7

  Brynn

  My phone rings again, and I’m certain it’s Connor,
calling to apologize.

  He should be apologizing. To Walt, not me. Connor doesn’t know what he’s talking about, and he’s as bad as the people who judged me. Doesn’t he know you can’t judge a person based on what other people say about them?

  “What?” I snap into the phone.

  “Honey?” My mom’s voice is fuzzy and far-away sounding.

  “Mom, sorry.” I switch the phone to my other ear and hold it up with my shoulder so I can wash my hands before I start cooking. “How are you?”

  “We’re good. Your dad and I are good. How are you?”

  “I’m…” I bite my lip, looking down at my hands and the towel I’m using to dry them. “Hanging in there.”

  “Brynn? Are you sure?” Worry creeps into her voice.

  She’s always worried, especially since what happened, but never enough to come home. They came right after the accident, but eventually they had to go back to Mexico. Their livelihood is there. When the press coverage became brutal, I was happy they were gone and didn’t have to see what I saw, but I wouldn’t mind a hug from my mom, or my dad ruffling my hair.

  After that last letter, it’s imperative they stay gone.

  “Mom, I promise, everything is good. I found a job and I’m saving my money. Everything is going according to plan.” When I first told her what I was going to do, she agreed I needed to find a new path. I guess that’s the bright side of having adventurous parents.

  “A job? That’s great, honey. Where?”

  I laugh softly. “You’ll never believe it, but I’m working with a handyman.”

  She snorts disbelievingly.

  “I know. It’s not quite what I’m trained for, but it pays cash.”

  “Enough said.” She laughs. “It’s probably not the worst thing in the world for you to learn how to take care of things around a house. How is your boss?”

  Connor… He’s a lot of things. Handsome, for starters. He’s better-looking than any of the men I met in clubs, and I’ve met more than my fair share. Connor doesn’t have to try, and I think that’s what makes him even more attractive. He has gentle eyes that crinkle when he’s trying to hear everything I’m not saying. I know how he holds back, how he tries to ask questions that aren’t intrusive, but will tell him something about me. Like I’m an orange that has already been emptied of juice, but maybe he can squeeze a bit harder for the last few drops.

  “He’s okay,” I manage to say through all my thoughts. “Sometimes it’s hard not to say too much, you know?”

  “I’m sure it is, especially for someone as personable and outgoing as you.”

  I bark a bitter laugh. “You’re talking about someone who doesn’t exist anymore.”

  “Hidden, maybe, but I bet she still exists.”

  “Survival changes a person, Mom.” So does character assassination.

  “Honey,” Mom breathes the word, her voice full of emotion.

  The pain of it sweeps through me, thickening the base of my throat and filling my eyes. “Can we stop talking about this, please? Tell me about you and Dad.”

  Swallowing, I will myself to calm down while my mom talks about their days fishing. She’s telling me a funny story about a woman who tried to wear wedges on their last tour, and how she refused to take them off when they told her the shoes wouldn’t be good for being on a boat.

  “I think she was picturing cruising on a yacht, and she really should’ve listened, because she wasn’t too happy when she fell and got her white pants dirty.”

  I laugh along with my mother, grateful for the distraction. My dad calls for her, his deep voice saying something about the next charter, and she tells me she needs to go. As much as I don’t want to, I tell her I love her and say goodbye.

  I miss her more than ever right now, but I’m happy she and my dad are far away. I didn’t tell her about the last letter. In the beginning, when the first letter arrived, she begged me to tell the police what Eric Prince was doing. I refused. He’d already been through so much, how could I put him through more? He needed time to get over his suffocating anger.

  The last letter was the push I needed to do what I should’ve done right after the accident and I was cleared of wrongdoing. Get the hell out of that place. In a handful of months, I’ll disappear, and Eric Prince will hopefully find his peace.

  In the meantime, I’m going to learn how to make sour beef and dumplings, despite what Connor might have to say about it.

  When I’m done cooking, I make my way over to Walt’s.

  I’m only halfway up his front walk when he opens his front door. He’s wearing a gray newsboy cap and a frown.

  “What do you want, Bryan?”

  I stop in my tracks and point at him. “No sour beef for you.” Pivoting, I march through his yard. I’m not serious, but it won’t hurt for him to sweat.

  “Wait, wait,” he calls after me.

  I turn back around and raise one eyebrow at him. “You want to try that again?”

  He releases a short, exasperated breath, but does what I’ve asked. “Hi, Brynn.” He says my name like he’s a teenager being forced to greet an old aunt who insists on kissing you right on the mouth.

  I grin. “Much better. Come on.” I wave him my way. “I’m having you over for dinner.”

  Walt fishes his keys from his pocket and locks his front door. Although he’s slow down the stairs, he’s still in good shape, both mentally and physically. It appears, anyway. What Connor told me earlier has been nagging at me. There has to be some truth to what he said, even if it was probably turned backward and inside out by the time he heard it. Similar to my case.

  The truth: I ran over a mother and her infant in my car and killed them.

  The lies: I was drunk and the mother wasn’t committing suicide.

  Cassidy steps outside as we walk up.

  “Brynn? Walt?”

  Her astonishment is as plain as the color of dirt.

  I wave. “Yep. Hi.”

  She looks at Walt, her eyes growing wider, then back at me. I see her unease. I’ve seen it in myself enough times to recognize it in others.

  “Everything okay?” she calls out, her hand finding the porch railing. She leans on it and keeps her gaze on us.

  Walt rolls his eyes and makes an annoyed grunting sound.

  “Everything is fine, Cassidy. Thanks for checking.” I send her a goodbye wave, and open the door for Walt. The aroma of vinegar, beef, and ginger wafts out.

  He shuffles in and stops. “Sorry about that,” he says, turning back to me.

  “It’s okay.” I shut the door and lock it. “But you do have some explaining to do.” I walk past him to the kitchen.

  Walt follows. “It sure smells good in here.”

  Opening the fridge, I pull out a pitcher of tea and set it on the counter. “No dodging, Walt. If we’re going to be friends, I need to know why people are wary of you.”

  He leans a forearm on my kitchen counter and watches me move around. I take two plates from a cabinet, along with forks and knives, and set them at the small table against the wall. He tries to help me with the pitcher of tea, but I shoo him away. When everything is ready, I motion for him to sit down, and take the one opposite him, where the second setting is. Without a word, I fill his plate with his favorite food.

  Loading his fork, he takes a bite, and I see his eyes close in pleasure as he begins to chew. “It’s just like Daisy used to make it.”

  My eyes feel hot at the corners, and I have to blink back the sudden urge to cry. I take a bite too, finding it’s actually pretty good. The name doesn’t do the dish justice.

  “How long were you and Daisy married?” I ask cautiously.

  He takes another bite and wipes his mouth with a napkin from the stack at the center of the table. “Forty-six years,” he answers, taking a sip of his iced tea. “Daisy was a good woman. We’d only been married a year when I was called to Vietnam. She wrote me, and I wrote her. It wasn’t easy, you know? But we managed.” He
shrugs and falls quiet. Maybe he thinks I don’t want to hear more about it, but I do.

  “What else?” I ask. “Did you have kids?”

  “Daisy became pregnant soon after I came back from the war, but she miscarried.” He shakes his head, remembering. “She was devastated. After what happened, they told her she couldn’t have children. It changed things between us for a while. She became withdrawn, and I was angry.” He looks up at me, eyes squinting. “Why am I telling you all this?”

  I don’t think he’s trying to be rude, but his voice takes on that familiar growl.

  “Because I asked, Walt, and I’m interested, but you don’t have to keep going if you don’t want to.”

  Lifting his cap, Walt brushes his hands over his matted, sparse hair, and sets it back down. “Sorry,” he grumbles. “I don’t know why I do that.” He coughs, and I stay silent, waiting. “We had a hard time of it for a while. She even left me once, but I went and found her. She was at her sister’s house. She came home with me, and we were never apart again. Until she got sick, that is. After that, it was swift. Stage four, and all that.”

  His eyes grow shiny, and I don’t ask anything more. I take his plate, which I’m certain is cold by now, and place it in the microwave.

  “I’m sure you’ve heard from your boyfriend about what happened with that young girl,” he says while the food is heating. His gaze goes to his hands, folded on the table in front of him.

  Behind me the microwave hums. “Connor is not my boyfriend, and yes, he told me about the girl, but I’d rather hear about it from you.”

  He looks at me gratefully. “I don’t know what came over me that day. It was only a month since Daisy had died, but that’s no excuse. I could blame it on the war too. That kind of training never really leaves a person, but that would be an excuse also. The truth is, I just flipped a switch that day. She pulled up too close to me at a red light, and I stopped thinking and started acting.”

  “Did you really say…those words to her?” The microwave beeps, penetrating the thickness in the air.

  I take a few extra moments retrieving his food, but really I’m giving him the chance to answer without having my eyes on him. By now I know what he’s going to say, he doesn’t need me to watch him say it.