To Have

by Kali Brixton

  “Nothing in between,” we finished her statement in unison, punctuated with laughter. My mom had been a nurse for years, but Daddy’s agitation with his slow progress after the stroke had tested the infamous patience of Lynn Kasen, with neither one of them coming out unscathed. I leaned my chin on her shoulder, spying her work of art currently cooking on the stove.

  She shifted her head back to kiss my forehead, then returned to her task. “You always make me smile, Gracelyn. Have I told you lately how much I love you?”

  “You and Rod Stewart both did this morning.”

  I earned a grin from her, knowing how much she adored her 70s rock stars. The rest of us had eclectic tastes in music, but she and Mason were classic rock kindred, neither one of them finding a song past 1995 worth listening to, give or take a random exception or two. “Well, I’m glad to know Mr. Stewart, and I could oblige.”

  I smiled and leaned back on the kitchen island. “Mase coming over tonight?”

  She stirred the mixture in the pot thoughtfully. “He said he had something going on with work; I’m sure we’ll catch him another time.”

  Mason’s hatred of Deacon was a poorly kept secret within the family, causing more than one tiff between my parents and him over it in private. Mom and Dad had tried to raise us to be kind and welcoming to others, but Mason had never warmed to Deacon, even before he came to live with us. I sometimes thought it was because they were so much alike—too many cooks in the kitchen and all that jazz—but my gut told me it was more than that. Whatever it was, if Mason shot down my mom’s cooking, that dislike of Deacon hadn’t waned a bit over the last two years. Although considering my own feelings towards him, I couldn’t necessarily fault Mason, even though that would disappoint Mom and Dad. Speaking of him. “Is Daddy awake?”

  “He may be drifting off, but you should be able to catch him before he takes a quick nap.”

  “I’ll be back down to help. I wanna see him for a second.” I patted Jesse on the head on the way out of the kitchen, his velvet ears, and big brown eyes always a welcome sight.

  I shimmied up the steps, the old boards creaking under my weight. I noticed the door to Grey’s old room was slightly ajar when I walked past it, the sound of water splattering against tile signaled he was getting cleaned up from the day’s labors in our formerly shared bathroom. When I reached the end of the hall, I softly knocked on Mom and Dad’s bedroom door and cracked it open enough to see if he was still awake. Steely gray eyes met mine, and I smiled big, happy I caught my own Man of Steel before he drifted off.

  “Hey, Daddy.” I leaned over, giving him a kiss and a hug, perching myself on the edge of the bed.

  “Muh-my girl.” The stroke had caused his speech to struggle, but any time my Dad called me his girl, it was pure perfection to my ears. The soothing colors and soft textures of their bedroom made it an oasis for rest, but for an able-bodied, middle-aged man whose independence had in part been stolen, this room had, in some ways, become an airy cage for him. His light brown hair had crossed more into salt and pepper territory recently, and the laugh lines on his face had become more prominent with each passing year. My dad was a handsome guy, but his kindness was what drew so many people to him. I took one of his strong hands in mine and waited for him to sign his questions with the other.

  “Have a good day?”

  He mumbled slightly and gave me the so-so hand gesture. Our version of sign language had become a mainstay over the past several weeks since he nearly left us. He rubbed the tip of his thumb over his other fingers in a circular fashion. I couldn’t help but chuckle at his nickname for me.

  “Your little accountant is doing just fine, thank you. How are you?”

  He gave me a weak thumbs-up, heavy eyelids starting to droop. He made the sign we had come to realize was the business, but he wasn’t lucid enough, and I wasn’t prepared to have the conversation Grey and I had been putting off for a while just yet. Mom’s medical remedy must be potent for it to bring down the mighty Charles Kasen so quickly. A good nap always did me a world of good, so hopefully, this would settle his nerves a bit and buy Grey and me a little more time.

  “Daddy, I’m going to let you sleep, but I’ll be back to visit, okay? We’ll talk shop then.”

  A gentle squeeze and fluttering eyelids signaled his consciousness was fading, sleep pulling him under its spell. I kissed him on the cheek, and he put his fist in the center of his chest—our gesture of affection.

  “I love you too,” I whispered as I covered his fist with my hand. “Sleep sweet.” I lifted myself from the bed and straightened the covers over a now-slumbering figure. I leaned against the door, remembering the day I first believed my dad would pull through—somehow, some way.

  Two Months Ago

  I laid my head on my mom's chest, burying myself into the comfort of her arms. Daddy was in intensive care, and Mom wouldn't leave his side until Mason begged her to get some sleep and had me drive her home with explicit orders for her to eat and rest. For zero military background, Mason had always been comfortable stepping into the leadership role, doling out responsibilities and orders when everyone seemed like they were lost. I usually rolled my eyes internally when he went on his Sgt. Killjoy benders, but at that moment, I was grateful someone was able to take the lead when the rest of us were in shambles. I took Mom home and decided to stay the night, hoping she would follow Mason's instructions if I were there with her, reminding her what a bear he was when people didn't listen to him.

  After forcing a frozen meal down when neither one of us was hungry, I told her to lie down and I'd take care of what few dishes were in the sink. A quick wash and rinse later, I spread the ivy-covered dish towel over the stove handle to dry and clicked off the kitchen light. The last three days had worn on me as well, and as much as I wanted to be there with Dad, I was on autopilot and knew the rest would do me some good as well. Passing through the living room, I reached for the light switch on the tall pewter lamp, jumping out of my skin when I realized Mom was lying down on the couch, a blank stare over her face.

  I clutched my chest, willing my racing heart to slow to a gallop. “You startled me.”

  “Sorry. Just didn't want to go up with you down here by yourself.” That may be what she said, but I heard her true meaning loud and clear: I don't want to sleep in that big bed alone.

  The tick of the old grandfather clock in the corner filled the silence. With all of us out of the house and with Daddy's future uncertain, all I could think was this could be the sound of my mom's future. I sat down on the edge of the big, overstuffed couch into which my mother had nestled herself. Her favorite gray wrap cardigan was wound around her, but her free arms lifted to comfort me—one rubbing my back, the other perched on the hand I had on the edge. “I'm sorry, Mom.”

  She patted my back softly, the way only a mom can, and she moved further into the couch that was perfect for my dad, brothers, and—well, for the comfort of our big guys. I turned and flattened myself against her side, resting my head on her chest and flinging my arms around her waist. My mom was an average size woman—petite with a little extra padding, she'd always say. But, when she threw her arms around you and held you captive in her embrace, it felt like this woman was as big as a mountain, sheltering you from the harsh winter winds of reality. There was nothing on this earth like being wrapped in one of her amazing hugs.

  We laid there for a while, lost in our thoughts until Mom broke the silence. “Did I ever tell you how we found out you were a girl?”

  I softly answered no, unable to say it anything louder for fear of the avalanche of tears already threatening to spill over breaking loose at the sound.

  “It was about three weeks before we had the ultrasound, and your dad woke me up in the middle of the night. I thought something was wrong because he was all teary-eyed. I asked him what was wrong, and he just replied, ‘I met her.’ I had no clue what he was talking about, so I asked him who she was. He looked straight at me, put his hand on my st
omach, and with complete conviction said, ‘I met our daughter. She's perfect, Lynn.’”

  My heart squeezed at the story.

  “I thought he was just tired, so I told him to go back to sleep. He leaned up and laid his head on my stomach. ‘She has the boys' eyes and hair like the sun.’ He described you, right down to the freckle under your left eye. When we went to do the ultrasound, I thought your dad was going to be disappointed when the doctor said you were a boy. You know what your dad did?”

  A small shake of my head answered her back, tears already running down my cheeks.

  “He looked at the doctor and said, 'Look again. My little girl’s in there.' So, the doctor did another one and still said you were a boy. When we were on the way home, he was so mad because he knew you were a girl. He even called the doctor a few choice words—which I won't repeat,” she chuckled, bringing a laugh to my quivering lips.

  “He wouldn't even help pick out a boy name; I had to decide that one on my own. I think he thought picking out a boy's name would put the nail in the coffin of having a girl. Anyway, the months flew by, and I ended up going into labor two weeks late with you. I was worried you were going to be like Grey—never in a rush.

  I laughed a watery laugh, knowing how my brother Grey took his sweet time leaving the womb when Mason, true to form, came charging out as soon as they got Mom in the delivery room. Grey had always joked that he just wanted to have some space to himself for a while, seeing as how Mason "hogged all the room."

  “But, when we got to the room, and the nurses got everything situated for the doctor, that's when you came. Your dad always said you were considerate, even in birth. You were content to wait your turn and made your entrance when everyone was ready.”

  I felt a sense of pride surging within my soul. Even as a 21-year-old college graduate living on my own, I relished my parents’ approval.

  “I heard Dr. Matthews say, 'Well, I'll be,' and asked your dad if he wanted to cut the cord. I couldn’t see you, but I saw your dad’s huge grin as he looked down at you, and I knew everything was okay. After they got you cleaned up, Dr. Matthews congratulated me before he left to go help with another delivery. I was still out of it a bit, but I wanted to see you so badly, so I asked Charles to bring you to me. When he walked you over, he kept looking straight at you, like he couldn't believe you were here. Just before he leaned down to put you in my arms, very quietly, he whispered to you, 'Hello, Gracelyn. I’ve been waiting to see you again.'”

  I buried my nose in my mom’s chest, trying to quiet my cries and fears that I might never hear my middle name sung in his voice again.

  “When the excitement had died down, I asked him how he knew. He said in that dream he had of you before the ultrasound, he saw a beautiful little girl with long blonde hair and big green eyes with just a touch of gray. Both he and that little girl were in a field full of daisies, and she was twirling around in a pretty blue dress. When she noticed him, she stopped and just stared at him. When he said hi to her, she ran right into his arms and yelled, 'Hi, Daddy!', like she had been waiting there on him to come to get her—like he was her hero.”

  Because he was. Because he still is.

  “He'll be okay, Gracelyn.”

  I cleared the rocky lump in my throat. “How do you know?”

  “Because both of his girls need him to be.” I loved my mom’s optimism, but I all I could think about was him lying in that bed, looking so frail. Nevertheless, she forged ahead. “I know you don't remember much about your Papaw Joe, but he and your daddy were very close. Once when you were just a toddler, Papaw Joe asked Daddy what it was like having three sons.” Mom was the second-born of five girls, so I'm sure Papaw Joe was genuinely curious.

  “He didn't know I was listening, but I heard him chuckle and say, 'They are three of the best blessings I’ve ever received—but there's nothing like my girls, Joe.'”

  I wiped the tear away that mourned the fall of my Superman. My dad didn’t know how to be anything other than my hero, and I couldn’t lose that piece of him, even if it meant he had to hang up his cape forever and put on his dark-rimmed readers in its place. I removed my head from the doorway and quietly pulled the door closed, trying to keep the noise down even though those pills meant he was blissfully unaware of the sound of his daughter’s heartbreaking. I placed my hand on the solid wooden barrier that separated us, thankful for another chance, saddened that our hope in his recovery came at the loss of his feelings of self-worth and independence. I sighed deeply with the knowledge that this journey may be a long and painful one for him and Mom, wishing I take even just a tiny portion of worry and burden from their shoulders.

  My sigh was loud enough to cover the squeak of the bathroom door opening because one slight turn and a step to the left had me running into a wall. A solid wall. Built with bricks of muscles and a chest dusted with dark hair. Dark hair that tapered down his toned torso, leading to bare hips and… “Oh my God!” my shrill scream earned a bay from Jesse and caught my mother’s attention.

  Jesse bayed, and my mom’s distant voice carried down the hallway. “Charlotte? Everything okay?”

  “Yeah, Mom,” I answered with a slight yell. “It was just a spear…” Dear. Lord. “Spider! Just a spider!” Taking in the…situation before me and ignoring the pleased look on his smug face, I turned the volume way down and harshly whispered, “Why are you naked?!” And holding me against your hard body?

  Deacon looked like I had asked him if the sky was blue. “I just got a shower.” His amusement died when he took in my face, a deep furrow settling in his brow. “Why are you crying?”

  “Because I’m scarred for life now.” I rolled my eyes and tried to make the lie sound convincing. The heat from his warm presence, the way droplets of water freefell off his longer ebony-stained locks, was slightly intoxicating to my racing heart. Nope. Shut that down right now. Hands flew over most of my face, masking my embarrassment and cheeks that were I’m sure now the color of crimson. “Why were you standing in the middle of the hallway?” I groaned with displeasure.

  “I was on my way to get some clothes from Grey’s old room. How exactly is you running into me my fault?” he asked, shock lacing his words. Another sigh left him. “You tripped on my foot. I thought you were gonna fall.”

  As if you’d care to break that fall. “Well, as you can see, I’m fine.” More lies. I chanced to peek out one eye from between two now spaced fingers. He released my arms and took a step back, his hand partially covering an impressive… Fingers clamped together tightly again, and I knew I’d need some heavy-duty abrasive to scrub that image from my memory. “Can’t you put a towel on or something?”

  He huffed, and I heard the sound of fabric rubbing across the rug. The swish and slide of cotton against itself sliced through some of the tension. “Better?” The stone-colored towel wrapped its way around his waist—a towel that was a little bit thread-bare and a whole lot of revealing when it came to what was hiding underneath that scrap of fabric. “I was just trying to save you from getting hurt.”

  It seems like hearts don’t matter in this equation. My hands dropped from my face to my hips. “Next time, save the towel.”

  “Why? You planning on making this a habit or something?”

  “In your dreams…”

  “Every night. But I’m not the only one who’s naked, beautiful,” he smirked with a wink.

  I needed to steer this conversation away from the word naked and fast. “Why didn’t you just get a shower at home?” Because I’m a glutton for punishment and can’t steer clear of naked people gathering places.

  “Grey brought me over and said I could borrow some of his clothes for dinner so that I wouldn’t be so late.”

  “Well then, go find them and cover all that up.” I motioned circularly towards his body with an open hand.

  His smile grew broader. “As you wish, Sunshine.”

  I rolled my eyes before sidestepping him, huffing my way down the hall.
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br />   “And Charlotte?” I stopped at the top of the stairs, waiting for whatever he felt he needed to add, my back to him to hide the mess of emotion that was splashed across my face. I heard a few long strides and felt the heat rolling off his body caress me. A drop of water splintered as it hit between my neck and shoulder, and the warmth of his breath licked at my ear. “That blush when you get caught looking at things you shouldn’t? It’s adorable.”

  Chapter Eight

  Charlotte

  My face was still burning hot from the awkward exchange in the hallway when I found my way back to the kitchen. Thankfully, Mom was turned toward the stovetop, stirring the egg noodles into the pot. Needing a cool breeze, I buried my face in the fridge, pretending Mom’s yogurt selection was the most fascinating thing in the world. The frosty air kissed my face and cooled down some of the evidence of humiliation that was still painting my face red. If only it could freeze my heart solid.

  “Daddy asleep?”

  “Yeah. He didn’t make it long after I checked in on him.”

  “Bear of a man, but a lightweight when it comes to pain meds,” Mom chuckled as she continued stirring. “Can you assemble the salads for me?”

  I reached into the fridge to gather the ingredients. Maybe I could pepper in some arsenic in a certain someone’s bowl? It was a dangerous train of thought because pepper put me in mind of peppermills, which reminded me of—don’t even go there, Charlotte Kasen.

  “Did you see Deacon?”

  So much for that. “Yeah, I…bumped into him.”

  “That’s nice. It’s so good to have him home.” I took a drink of the water bottle she had set out for me and took a sizeable sip, hoping it would get me out of having to agree to with that statement. “Did he kill that spider you saw?”