The Lifetime of A Second

by Jennifer Millikin

  “So you came here to get away from it?”

  “Sort of. I’d recently begun to get letters from the husband of the woman who jumped in front of me. They were,” she pauses, her lips twisting, “not nice, I guess you could say.”

  “How not nice?”

  Getting up from the bed, she walks to the dresser and opens the top drawer, coming back with a stack of envelopes.

  “Here,” she says, climbing back into bed and setting them between us. Instead of lying back down she sits cross-legged. I sit up, doing the same, and reach for the first envelope.

  By the time I’m through them all, I can barely see straight. Fury clouds my vision. This man is delusional. Brynn isn’t safe. No wonder she was so mean when she met me. Anybody in her position would protect themselves the way she did.

  “Brynn, do the police know about this?” I hold up the last letter, the worst of them all.

  She shakes her head.

  “They need to.”

  She shrugs, defeated. “I can’t. I just can’t bring myself to report him. I already took his family, whether I’m innocent or not. It happened. My car. Am I supposed to hurt him further?”

  “If he’s going to hurt you, then yes, you need to nail that fucker to the wall.”

  “He’s not going to hurt me,” she says, but it’s without conviction. She wants to believe he won’t, but deep down she’s not certain.

  “He doesn’t know where I went. And”—her eyes are timid, but she forges ahead—“Brighton is only a stop along the way. I needed a safe place, a job, and anonymity.”

  Her revelation hits me like a bullet, piercing my flesh and ripping through my insides. “You’re not staying in Brighton.” The words leave me hollow.

  She shakes her head. “The plan has always been to make as much as I can until my parents can help me. They have their fishing business, and the high season starts now.”

  “And then?”

  “My end destination is Brazil. On a beach, renting out lounge chairs to vacationers.” She takes the last letter from my hand and stacks it with the other ones. “Somewhere I can fade into the background, and watch everyone around me live.”

  I hear what she’s not saying, and I wonder if she hears it too. She’s not just running from the crazy husband and father who wants to hurt her. This is some sort of penance. I have no idea what it feels like to be involved in the death of someone else, especially an innocent baby. Or to have my name smeared in the media. It sounds like she should be suing them for slander.

  “You weren’t part of my plan, Connor.” She runs her fingers down the length of my arm. Her lips twist.

  I nod, trying desperately to recover from the proverbial kick in the nuts she just delivered to me. “You’re still planning to leave?”

  She nods, but it’s so small, so imperceptible, it makes me think she doesn’t want to go through with it. “Every day takes me a little farther from what happened. One step closer to a semblance of normalcy. I want a life where I don’t need to use door alarms anymore. Where I don’t have to fear recognition. For that, I need distance.”

  I wish she weren’t right. I wish I didn’t understand. I wish I had it in me to guilt trip, manipulate, and coerce her into staying.

  I slip a curled finger under her chin and tip it up. “Promise me something?”

  “I can try.”

  “Don’t leave without telling me.”

  Her eyebrows pinch. “Wouldn’t it be easier if one day I was gone? If neither of us had to go through the heartache of a goodbye?”

  “I don’t think so.”

  She sighs and looks at me. The pain in her eyes hurts me too.

  She doesn’t mention the promise again. Neither do I. We’re different. I want to put myself through the experience. She wants to avoid it altogether.

  I stay with her that night. It’s not only that I want to protect her. Now there’s an invisible clock, ticking away every second we have together. I want to bury my head in the sand and forget about it, want to bury myself in her and pretend her problems don’t exist. I settle for curling my body behind hers and slipping into her in a luxurious and unhurried pace.

  At the crack of dawn, I leave to go home and change. I take a shower, dress, and go to my parents’ house.

  Typical Monday. Yet my life is now anything but typical.

  15

  Brynn

  Supposedly the truth will set you free, but I didn’t know it could also open up a well in your soul, allowing you to go deeper and feel more.

  I’m walking a tightrope of emotions. Too far to one side and I’ll never get to experience Connor the way I want to. Too far to the other and I’ll abandon my plans to some unknown detriment.

  I’ve been thinking about that almost constantly for the past two weeks. Probably since the moment I woke up in Connor’s bed that first morning.

  This far removed from my old life, it’s too easy to think maybe there isn’t that much danger after all. Distance was what I needed. Maybe it’s what Eric Prince needed too. If I’m not there to threaten, he’ll give up. Can’t terrorize a person who’s no longer available.

  Every day that passes, the line becomes more and more blurred.

  I’m pretty sure it’s all Connor’s fault. Why does he have to be so easy to like? Why does he have to have a crooked grin that I only see on his face when he’s inside me? If I’d never let my guard down and allowed that to happen, his crooked grin would be a secret. A secret sex smile. That’s what he has, and just knowing that I know that about him makes my chest do this warm, tingly thing.

  This is why each day is getting more difficult. How am I supposed to stay the course when Connor is now on it too? It’s like I’m trying to drive the getaway car and he has tossed tacks on the road, like some kind of cartoon. Which is obviously a terrible analogy, considering I no longer drive.

  Connor will be here soon to pick me up for our double-date with Anthony and Julia. Dinner at some bar and grill place. Bowling. Things normal people do on a Saturday night. I’m not kidding myself though. I’m still not normal. Normal people’s hearts don’t race when they drive over speed bumps.

  But I’m trying. Connor is patient with me. He doesn’t challenge the quiet that takes me over at times. When I go off in my own mind, he doesn’t try to bring me back. I know he wants to, and I also know he’s not sure if he should try. The problem is, I’m not sure if he should try either.

  I’m ready early, so I go visit Walt.

  Usually he opens his door before I have a chance to knock, but tonight I have to bang on it twice.

  My fist is raised for a third and much more insistent knock when he shouts from inside, “I’m coming, I’m coming. Keep your pants on.”

  He opens the door. There is blood on his forehead, and I can’t tell how big the wound is because the blood is smeared. It’s darker around the edges, like it has begun to dry. “Walt, what happened?” I reach out but curl my fingers back in.

  He opens the door all the way and retreats into his home. Stepping in, I shut the door with my foot and follow Walt to the kitchen.

  He stands at the open fridge, pulling out different items. Bags of deli meat, cheese, a loaf of bread, and lettuce. He tosses each one by one on the counter, and leans back down to search for something. After a moment he grabs a jar of pickles and stands, shutting the refrigerator door.

  “Want a sandwich?” he asks, shuffling over to the counter.

  “No thanks. Are you going to tell me what happened to your forehead?”

  He ignores me, attempting to open the jar of pickles. When it doesn’t open he sets it down too hard on the counter and growls. It’s a gravelly, bearish sound. I hear the frustration behind it.

  “Walt?” I come up to stand beside him at the counter and gently elbow him out of the way. “Let me do it.”

  “I’m not helpless, you know.” Still, he walks away and sits in a chair at his little kitchen table.

  “I never said you wer
e.” The lid twists away from the pickle jar with a pop. “Although you are kind of being an asshole today.”

  “Sorry, sorry,” he mutters.

  “Do you want tomato on your sandwich?”

  “Yes.” After a moment he adds, “please.”

  I assemble the sandwich and place it in front of him, then go back to the fridge and take out a cold can of beer.

  “Do you want this? Might be refreshing.”

  He nods, his mouth full, and I crack the top. I slide it over to him and take a seat across from him.

  “Now will you tell me what happened?”

  He nods, looking at the table top. I follow his gaze to a screwdriver with a black and yellow handle. “I’m a grown man. I’ve been a grown man for a long time. I was tightening the screws in my TV stand. It’s old but it’s fine, just needs some attention now and then. The damn screwdriver wouldn’t work.”

  I give him a look.

  “My hand works just fine, thank you very much. Not my fault the damn thing flew up and hit me.” He takes another bite and chews angrily.

  “I think you’re lucky you were working with a flathead and not a Phillips.”

  His bushy eyebrows lift, and I grin. I’m proud of myself.

  “Well, look who knows her screwdrivers.”

  “I’ve picked up a few things from Connor.”

  “Try not to pick up an STD. Or that other one, what’s it called? Gonorrhea.”

  I exhale and cross my arms. “Walt, you are beyond words.”

  “What? I’m just saying. I’ve noticed his truck over at your place an awful lot during late hours.” He sets down his sandwich. “Do you know what you’re doing with that boy?”

  I think back to last night and try not to let the smile I’m feeling show on my lips. After dinner at his parents and a banana split at that cute shop in town, we were so ready to be alone that we couldn’t make it to either of our houses in time. He’d pulled into the farthest parking spot at a deserted park and I climbed on top of him. Thank goodness for tinted windows.

  I push down the memory and turn my attention back to Walt. “What do you mean?”

  Walt swallows the last bite of his sandwich and drinks the remainder of his beer. He places the empty can sideways on the plate. “I mean, does the boy know this place is only a stop for you?”

  “I’ve told him.”

  “What does he say about that?” He sits back, his stomach pushing against his plaid button-up. The white fabric of his undershirt peeks through a button he has missed.

  “He doesn’t say much. He hasn’t asked me to stay, if that’s what you’re getting at.”

  “I’m not getting at anything. It was just a question. But the boy must have some opinion on the matter. Most men would.”

  “He asked that I say goodbye first. That was all he said.”

  Walt folds his arms. The frown on his face looks more at home than his infrequent smiles.

  “What?” I ask, agitation in my voice.

  “Do I get a goodbye too?”

  I look down to my empty hands in my lap. “I didn’t agree to say goodbye.”

  “Did you say no?”

  My head shakes, the small hoop earrings I’m wearing gently bump my skin.

  “Then don’t say no to me either.”

  I cough, hoping the sting of tears I feel behind my eyes will stay back there.

  Leaving becomes harder each day that I stay.

  “Did you guys know Brynn has another special man in her life?” Connor leans back in his seat and looks from Anthony to Julia, then back to me. We’ve just placed our order for dinner.

  “Who said you’re special?” I ask, my lips smiling around the straw in my mouth. I sip my grapefruit juice and soda water.

  Julia laughs and Anthony snorts.

  “Who’s the other man?” Julia asks me.

  I roll my eyes. “His name is Walt, and he’s eighty-two years old. He’s kind of like a prickly pear cactus. His needles hurt, but he grows sweet fruit.”

  Three bewildered faces turn to me.

  “Come on!” My hands fly through the air in front of my face. “Don’t tell me you have no idea what a flipping prickly pear cactus is.”

  “Coming up empty, Brynn.” Julia’s trying not to laugh.

  “Ugh.” I cross my arms. “You higher elevation snots.”

  Connor laughs into a fisted hand, his shoulders shaking. “We’re snots? You’re the one from Snottsdale.”

  “Correction.” I hold up one finger. “I had a Phoenix zip code.” Maybe another time I’ll tell him I grew up in Scottsdale, a suburb of Phoenix, and the nickname is totally undeserved. Mostly, anyway. Well, maybe it is a little. Ok, fine, it’s deserved.

  I jostle my shoulder against Connor’s. “How did that nickname make it’s way all the way up to the pines?”

  “It took a left at the prickly pear cactus and went due north.” Anthony is laughing so hard while he’s talking the words barely come out. Everybody understands him anyhow, and Julia laughs until she has tears rolling down her cheeks.

  “Anyway,” I say loudly, reaching my hand into the bowl of pretzels and tossing some at Anthony. They bounce off his forearms and onto the floor.

  Connor and Anthony start talking about the car he’s repairing this week. Julia is kind, funny, and easy to be around. Despite this, I’m wary. I can talk to her all day about basic subjects, pop culture, and common knowledge, but I’m not sure how to go past that. I’ve been burned at the stake by people I considered friends.

  “So,” Julia begins. “What brought you to Brighton?”

  “Change of scenery,” I say, gesturing outside. “Summer is better up here.”

  “Will you go back to Phoenix for winter?”

  I steal a glance at Connor. He’s talking fast and punching the air. I guess they’ve moved on from the car repair. Turning back to Julia, I say, “Probably not.”

  She winks. “He’s quite a catch, right? Snatch him up now. I know a lot of ladies in my office who would love to know how this guy hasn’t been on their radar.”

  “Tell me about your work,” I say. Good Lord, I want to change the subject.

  “I work in the mayor’s office. Right now I’m in charge of planning the first annual Independence Day Parade.”

  This is something that should be exciting, but Julia isn’t smiling.

  “Uh huh. Okay.” I nod my head, encouraging her to say more. She doesn’t say anything, so I ask, “What’s the problem?”

  “I don’t think anybody even knows the parade is happening. I’ve been working on it for months, planning and getting communities, programs, and businesses signed up to make floats. But when I ask people around town if they’re coming to the parade, they look like they’ve never heard of it.” She sighs, and it’s such a crestfallen sound it’s like I can hear her spirit sinking.

  “This event is for everyone, yes?”

  Her eyes are interested and confused. “Yes.”

  “And your goal is to increase attendance?”

  She shrugs. “I guess so.”

  “What have you done to market it?”

  “It’s on the home screen of the city’s webpage. Next week we’ll hang a banner from the street lights where Main Street begins.”

  “How will you inform and entice all the people who haven’t recently visited your website or driven through that light?”

  She shrugs. “I don’t know.”

  Taking a pen from my purse, I grab a paper napkin from the container at the end of the booth.

  “Here’s what you’re going to do.” I uncap the pen and start writing. When I’m finished, I slide it across the table to her.

  “This is”—Julia glances up to me and back down to the napkin—“incredible. How do you know about all this?”

  I wave my hand in the air. “A past life. It’s not hard. Honestly. You identify your product, and who wants it. Then you take it to the places where they put their eyes.” I recap my pen and
slide it into my purse. “Easy peasy.”

  Julia reads over my notes. “The grocery store idea. I mean, duh. So perfect.” She looks up at me. “Thank you. I’ve been stressing about this like crazy. You have no idea.”

  Our server interrupts Julia to drop off our food. Connor and Anthony remember their dates and ask us what we’ve been discussing.

  “Oh my gosh,” Julia says, stuffing an onion ring into her mouth and chewing. “Brynn basically just snapped her fingers and solved all my problems with the parade. I was so stressed but now”—she makes a show of taking a deep breath—“I can chill.”

  “Are you chill enough to try that thing I want to try?”

  “Anthony,” Connor complains. “Are you for real?” He balls up a napkin and throws it on the table. “We do not want to hear about your requests in the bedroom.”

  Julia reddens. “That’s not what he was talking about.”

  I ignore them and eat my sandwich. Fried chicken. With pickles. I mean, really? Has anything ever been this delicious? I hear them again when Connor says body shot.

  “No, I’ve never done one, dipshit. I just want to know what they’re like.” Anthony holds up his hands. “Sue me.”

  “They’re not that exciting,” I say, retrieving a pickle from my plate and popping it into my mouth. “You either take the shot and then lick the salt off someone, or you drink the liquor out of someone’s belly button. It’s not that great. Unless you’re talking about the ones that happen at house parties or frat parties, and those can get crazy.” I meet the eyes of three surprised people. They’re more surprised than they were about my prickly pear cactus comment.

  “Not that I would know,” I add. “I’ve never done one, but I’ve seen them a lot.”

  Connor kisses my temple. “What else is in this beautiful head of yours?” he murmurs against me. His breath tickles the baby hairs at my hairline.