The Lifetime of A Second

by Jennifer Millikin

  “Yeah, I guess.” I turn, leading the way to the front door and opening it. Brynn locks the door, and I climb into my truck. Cassidy is out front, putting Brooklyn in the car. We exchange a wave, and I see her say hello to Brynn.

  Brynn’s response is lukewarm. A halfhearted wave, a poor excuse for a smile. Cassidy is the nicest, most trusting person I’ve ever met, and I bet she wants nothing more than to be friends with Brynn.

  Join the club, Cassidy.

  We work the rest of the day in awkward quiet. If unspoken thoughts were pieces of furniture, they’d be lying haphazardly between us, and I’d trip over every single one. What’s more annoying is that things were fine this morning, until she saw me with that book. Whatever sent Brynn into a tailspin has to do with that.

  Or maybe it’s this mystery person.

  Elizabeth.

  I’m not sure how she’s going to act this evening.

  She’s been tense all day. She dropped a wrench two inches from my toe. She helped me install a garbage disposal, if helping really means sticking your head under a sink and barely moving.

  We’ve finished up at the last house, and we’re headed to my parents’ place. Her nails click a rhythm as she drums her fingers on the armrest of the door.

  “Doing okay over there?” I throw out the question because oh my god it’s weird in here. It’s killing me.

  The worst part is that now I know a different side of her and I can’t stop thinking about that. She makes little pleased sounds in the back of her throat when I kiss the soft skin just behind her earlobe, and I’d give anything to hear that again. She tastes like rays of sunshine and cherries and peppermint, and basically everything I’ve ever tasted and liked.

  She’s so beautiful, and she wears her hurt right out in front of her. I want to assemble the hurt into a ball and throw it off a cliff, but I can’t do any of that because she won’t let me into her space. Not literally, and definitely not figuratively.

  “I’m fine,” she says, curt.

  Truth be told, I’m starting to get pissed. Why can’t she just say what’s on her mind? It’s a good thing my parents’ house is around the corner, because I’m two seconds from pulling a Brynn and letting her know just how pissed off I am.

  We pull into the driveway, and Brynn does the weirdest thing. She leans forward, peers out the windshield, and smiles at the house.

  “This is adorable. I love the river rocks and wood beams. It’s like a cabin, but…not. I don’t know.”

  She gets out and meets me at the front of my truck, next to the garage.

  “That would be my dad’s work.” I reach out and smack the smooth surface of a stone. “He created this facade. It took forever, arranging it all so it fit together nicely.”

  “Did you help?”

  I eye her. It’s the nicest tone she’s had with me since I picked up that book. In my head, I’ve been referring to it as Pandora’s box. “Yes. That was years ago, when I was in high school. I was less than thrilled to be helping him.”

  My mom had guilt-tripped me into staying home from camping with Anthony’s family and helping my dad. If I’d known only eight years later my dad would be sick, I wouldn’t have made her talk me into it. If only I could go back in time and say yes every time he asked me to do something with him.

  “You want to go in?” Brynn has walked a few feet away, closer to the front door. She waits for me to catch up. I stride past her and lead her inside.

  “Mom? Dad? Brynn and I are here.”

  “Connor, we’re out back,” my mom shouts, her voice sailing through the house.

  “Come on,” I say, grabbing Brynn by the hand as I go. If she’s having a reaction to me touching her, I can’t tell.

  The sliding glass door is wide open. We walk through and out onto the screened-in porch. Mom sits with a magazine in her lap, and Dad is in the chair beside her.

  “Well, Brynn. We finally get to meet you.” Mom sets down her magazine and stands. She’s smiling at Brynn and holds open her arms. I’m not sure what Brynn’s going to do. I think she’s made it perfectly clear she’s not one for invasion of personal space or strangers touching her, but of course Brynn doesn’t do what I think she’ll do. She steps into my mom’s open arms and gives her a squeeze. My mom rubs her back a couple times. Dad’s eyes meet mine and I shrug.

  Brynn lets my mom go and when she pulls back, she lets out an embarrassed chuckle.

  Mom grins. “You needed a hug, didn’t you?”

  Brynn nods.

  I can’t help the irritated stream of air that escapes my lips. I’ve been around her all day and very available for a hug. What the fuck?

  Mom puts her hands just below Brynn’s shoulders. “It’s nice to meet you, Brynn. Connor has stayed very tight-lipped about our new employee.” She gives me a pointed look. “I’m going to grab the peach iced tea I made this afternoon.”

  She leaves, and I introduce Brynn to my dad. He tries to smile at her, but it’s more of a bare-teeth growl as he attempts to make his facial muscles work.

  Brynn doesn’t miss a beat. She smiles happily at him, bending at the waist and taking his hand. “It’s lovely to meet you, Mr. Vale. Your handiwork on the front of your house is stunning. It took my breath away when Connor pulled in. Thank you for hiring me. I needed this job very, very much.”

  Tears prick my eyes and I have to look away. Fucking stupid. Why would watching Brynn show such kindness to my dad make me emotional? I’m probably just shocked she’s capable of kindness. Yep. That’s what it is.

  He responds slowly, telling her thank you. “Connor needed help. I’m glad he found you.” It’s my dad’s voice, but the words don’t sound like his words. They are thick, like his tongue is too big for his mouth.

  Brynn winks at him. “I’ll try to keep him in line. It’s hard though. He nearly broke my toe today when he dropped a wrench next to it.”

  My mouth falls open.

  Brynn laughs. “Okay, maaaybe it was me who dropped the wrench next to Connor’s toe.” She makes a funny face and my dad laughs. The asinine tears return, pricking the backs of my eyes. Dad hasn’t laughed in a while. Why don’t we make him laugh more? Mom is preoccupied with his care, and I’m running the family business, but that’s no excuse.

  Mom returns then, carrying a glass pitcher and four blue plastic cups nestled inside one another.

  “What’s so funny out here?”

  “Brynn,” Dad says.

  “She’s funny and a good hugger. Sounds like a keeper.” She gives me one of her looks over the pouring of the first glass of tea. I roll my eyes and reach forward, taking the glass and handing it to Brynn.

  “Tell me more about the business,” Brynn says, sipping her tea.

  The sun dips lower and sneaks across the porch, bursting through Brynn’s golden hair and making it shine. Her throat bobs as she swallows and I have an urge to press my nose to her neck, taking in her sweet scent. I’ve never responded to a kiss the way I did to Brynn’s yesterday. This girl has something I didn’t even know I was missing because I’ve never had it before.

  Mom launches into the story of Vale Handyman Services. “There I was, pregnant with Connor, when David came home and said he’d been let go. He told me not to worry, that he had a plan. And he did. It started out with just a few houses, and then I made flyers and attached them to every public surface I could find. Business was booming after that, and it hasn’t stopped since.”

  “That’s great.” Brynn nods and smiles. “American spirit and ingenuity.”

  Mom leans forward, and places bent elbows on the table. “What about you? How did you end up in Brighton?”

  I lean forward too. Am I finally going to learn something about Brynn?

  “Just looking to get out of Phoenix. Summers are hot, and I wanted some cooler temps.” She shrugs one shoulder. “That’s about it.”

  Liar.

  My mom knows Brynn isn’t telling the truth. I can tell by the way her mouth twitch
es, but she leaves it alone. She’s the one who suggested Brynn is afraid of something, and she probably knows not to push the subject with her.

  “Like most people,” Mom says, going along with her story. “I swear this town shrinks by half in the wintertime.” She gets up from the table and looks at Brynn. “I hope you’re staying for dinner. I didn’t confirm with Connor, but I made enough for four.”

  Brynn gazes at me. I can’t tell from her look if she wants to stay or run.

  “Sure,” she says, switching her eyes back to my mom. “Can I help you?”

  Mom says yes, and Brynn gets up.

  “Hey Brynn,” I say, before she disappears into the house. “Why don’t you tell my mom all about your sour beef and dumplings.”

  She looks back at me, shooting daggers with her eyes. I laugh, knowing I’ve just forced her to tell my mom about her friendship with Walt.

  “Quit pestering that girl,” my dad says, when my mom and Brynn are gone. “She likes you, you know.”

  I snort. “It doesn’t feel like it.” I take a drink and set down my cup.

  “She does. She looks at you when you’re not looking at her.”

  Huh.

  “I’ve never noticed,” I murmur, swiping my thumb across the drops of iced tea sliding down the outside of the cup.

  “That’s because you aren’t looking.” Dad grunts a laugh. His face muscles strain, trying to assemble into the right formation to show laughter, but they only manage a partial expression.

  I bite my lip and try not to show any sadness.

  Mom comes out a few minutes later, Brynn behind her. They set food and plates down on the table.

  Brynn is happy and calm, breezy and chatty. She asks my mom questions and makes my dad laugh three more times.

  I have no idea who this girl is, but I know I like her.

  The question is, who will she be once we leave?

  11

  Brynn

  I shouldn’t have done that.

  Being myself was the worst thing I could’ve done.

  Someone who’s savvy, who remembers her endgame, would’ve declined dinner. She wouldn’t have let the familial warmth cloud her judgment the way I did, but it felt so good to be hugged by Connor’s mom. Watching a smile struggle onto his dad’s face felt like the best gift in the world.

  I wasn’t always this frightened, anxious person. I used to be vivacious. That’s what my old boss called me. I had moxie, and I was fun. I created a scene inside the club that made people want to be there, having what I was having because if they had what I was having, they could be as happy as me.

  For a little while tonight, I was me again.

  We’re in Connor’s truck now, on the way back to my place. We pass through the bigger streets, come to life with the collective exuberance only a Friday night can create. Crowds of people hang out on the stadium-style concrete seats of the amphitheater. Teenagers laugh and playfully shove each other. Families push strollers, and couples hold hands.

  Connor must notice me taking it all in, because he says, “We could stop if you want.”

  “No,” I say quickly. I’ve been too happy tonight, too carefree. I’m way past the limit of happiness I’m allowed in one day.

  “Okay,” Connor says, and I can tell he’s trying to cover the hurt in his voice.

  “It’s not you, Connor.” My voice is low. I feel awful.

  “Right,” he says, but the word is empty.

  We arrive at my house, but I don’t get out right away. There’s so much I want to say and so much I cannot say. I’m searching, trying to find a spot somewhere in the middle where I can land safely. Trouble is, I don’t think that exists.

  I turn to look at Connor and find him watching me. His eyes flicker over my face and down to my neck.

  “Can I paint you?”

  I jump at the sound of his voice. “Why…why would you want to do that?”

  He lifts his chin and closes his eyes. “For me to paint, I need to feel certain things. Emotions. I use my hands to communicate those emotions, and when I’m around you, I have enough emotions to carry me through three paintings.”

  He opens his eyes and looks at me.

  “I guess what I just told you isn’t why. That was my need to paint. I want to paint you because you’re beautiful. I want to make sense of you, and I don’t know how else to do it. You’re a mystery. A question mark in human form.”

  “You can paint me.” The words tumble from me, and as I say them, I see how this is the perfect solution to my problem. I can’t tell Connor specifics, but if this will make him happy, help him make sense of me, then I’m a willing participant. I want to be understood.

  Connor licks his lips and bobs his head. “I’ll pick you up tomorrow afternoon. Is that okay? Do you have plans?”

  I give him a derisive look and he chuckles. “I don’t know, maybe you have plans with Walt.”

  “Actually, I do. I’m taking him lunch and then I’m going to help him with his backyard.”

  Conner’s eyebrows pull together in confusion.

  “He has junk everywhere,” I explain. “I can be ready by five.”

  “Then I’ll be here at five.”

  Small butterflies take flight in my stomach. Connor is going to paint me.

  I reach for the door handle. “So I’ll see you tomorrow?”

  Connor’s eyes me tentatively. “Can I kiss you goodnight?”

  Another thing that’s a bad idea. “Yes,” I answer, ignoring the internal chiding happening in my brain. Will it really hurt anything? Just one more kiss?

  I let go of the handle and move over, so I’m closer to the center. Connor takes my face in his hands. Just when I think he’s going to kiss me, he starts talking.

  “Don’t attack my mouth like you did before. That was so embarrassing. For you, I mean. Not me. I was the victim—”

  I squeal and smack his arm, and then he kisses me. His lips are soft and strong, giving me what I need and taking just as much. I don’t want to stop. Not at all. It’s Connor who pulls back first.

  “Brynn, what did I say about attacking me? I swear, it’s like you didn’t hear a thing I said.” He grins playfully.

  I narrow my eyes, my breath still coming in pants. “Do you want to paint your big toe tomorrow? Because you might have to. Turns out I might be busy after all.”

  Connor snaps his fingers. “That’s it. I’ll paint my toe with your face as the nail.”

  My top lip curls. “Ew. Connor, that’s gross.”

  He laughs. “Five o’clock, Brynn. Be ready.”

  A thought pops into my head. “How should I ‘be ready’ for you to paint me?”

  “Just be yourself. Wear a shirt that tells everyone you have an attitude long before you open your mouth and prove it.”

  “That’s it. I’m getting out.” This time I not only grab the handle, I actually open the door. “Bye, Connor.”

  “Bye, Brynn.”

  He waits for me to get inside before he leaves. I laugh to myself as I set my stuff down and plug my phone into the charger. It isn’t until I’m in the shower that I realize what I forgot.

  I climb out, cautious. Now that I’ve remembered, the danger feels real. Reaching for a towel, I wrap it around myself, ignoring the drops of water from my wet hair that slide down my bare upper back. I creep down the short hallway and to the front door. Using my foot, I slide the door alarm into place. Next, I go to the back door and double check that one is still in place, and then, for good measure, I look under the bed and check the closet.

  My towel loosens, falling down my torso as I sit on the end of the bed and take a deep breath.

  One day, I won’t look under beds. I won’t use door alarms. I won’t fear a monster in the distance.

  “What the hell is that?”

  Walt wrinkles his nose and looks at the package with disdain.

  I shake it. “What does it look like?”

  He turns his face away from me. “I
don’t need those.”

  “Yes you do, and badly, too. I can see the hair from here, even though you’ve turned away. They reach out, like tentacles. One day I fear they might be so long they’ll poke my cheek.”

  Walt grumbles and takes the nose hair trimmers from my outstretched hand. “Am I supposed to thank you?”

  I grin, happy he has accepted them. It was a gamble buying them for him. “I’ll be the one thanking you when you put them to use.”

  Walt tosses the plastic container on his kitchen counter. “Are you here to help me or nag me?”

  I get up from his small table and go to the door leading to the backyard. “Come on. Did you get those heavy-duty garbage bags?” I dropped by two days ago to give Walt a small shopping list for today’s project.

  “I got everything you asked for, and a couple more items.” He points to the side of the house. Containers of brightly colored flowers sit in a row, and beside them are two bags of soil and mulch.

  “Flowers?”

  “Don’t go getting misty-eyed. I’m still a grumpy old man.”

  I roll my eyes. “Yeah, you can totally be a grump while sitting on your porch and staring at pretty flowers. Let me know how that goes for you.”

  The work in Walt’s backyard isn’t easy. He has years of junk piled everywhere. Wooden pallets, plastic five-gallon buckets, various tools strewn about, coils of chicken wire, an abandoned clothesline, and other things for which I have no name.

  We’re an hour into sorting when I ask him why he has all this stuff.

  “I had plans for it all, I guess. Sometimes, things don’t go the way you think they will. I’m sure you know that by now, but there’s a difference between knowing that, and being on the other side of those unfulfilled plans.” He pokes a foot at the short end of a wooden plank. “This is all just unfulfilled plans.”

  “Do you ever think of fulfilling any of these plans?”

  He laughs, a harsh and disbelieving sound. “No, Brynn. Not anymore.”

  I focus my efforts on filling a bag with wood chips, rusted screws, and other random crap.