Somehow they had drifted from discussions of weeds to talking about Brynn’s father.
“He was never a strong man,” Mom had said. “He was never good at coping with reality. That was why he had those drinking spells, and why he was forever taking a nap. And in the end, it was why he left. Because things got too intense and he got scared and he ran away.”
Things got too intense and he ran away.
Leaving is what you do best.
The flowers blurred before Brynn’s eyes as the tears she’d been pushing down came crashing back. All she could remember was waking up on Hank’s sofa to see him smiling down at her. For one moment her world had been so brimful of love that there had scarcely been room left to breathe.
Is that your answer to everything?
Then reality had caught up with her. And she realized she was heart-deep in something she couldn’t control, something too intense. And she had run.
Just like her father.
* * *
HANK STILL WASN’T SURE why Ian had asked for him to be the one to meet him at the airport, but he wasn’t about to debate protocol with a man who had been through four flights, God knew how many time zones and a double whammy to the heart. He rearranged his schedule, asked his mother to take Millie for the night and steered the truck toward the airport.
Even with months of frequent Skype calls, Hank wasn’t prepared for the changes in his oldest brother. Ian’s beard looked fuller and bushier than when they were talking via computer. He was thinner, too, his face more drawn and weary. Hank suspected that the flights could be blamed for only a part of that.
The biggest surprise came when Ian folded him into a bear hug that went on and on. Hank had a feeling that the hands clutching his shoulders were those of a man who was just now letting go of the rope that had been keeping him upright. He patted Ian’s back as he would to Millie and glared at the people casting them curious looks.
“You’re looking good, Hankie.” Ian peered behind him. “No shadow?”
“Not tonight. She wanted to come but I figured it was even odds you’d be delayed, and it’s a school night, so she’s with Ma.”
Ian’s grin was almost like the one Hank remembered, but a little slower, a little less enthusiastic. “You’re such a Mr. Responsible now.”
“Yeah, well, that’s the good part about being the youngest. All the sense and brains trickled down to me.”
Ian needed to stop at the first coffee stand they passed, and his moaning over the half-and-half made Hank feel like a voyeur. Steaming large drink in hand, they staked out a place at the baggage carousel, making small talk about the flights, the people they saw, the overwhelming brightness of the fluorescent lights after months in a country where brownouts were the way of life. Hank figured they could get into the serious stuff once they were in the car. Not even then if Ian wasn’t up to it. But he’d forgotten that his brother had never been one for laying low.
“So Heather is back, huh? How’s that going?”
Well, hell. Hank hadn’t anticipated that he might be the one under the microscope. “It’s easier than I expected, at least so far. I think... Yeah. I think if we had tried this when she first left, it would have been a miserable flop. Too close, too soon, all that. But now, you know, the worst is behind us. We can do the water-under-the-bridge thing and focus on what’s best for Millie.”
“Guess that’s how it should be.” The hollow sound of Ian’s voice told Hank which direction his brother’s thoughts had veered. He held his breath, staring very intently at the gray rubber flap where the baggage would appear, as if wishing fervently for a wild African animal to come through the opening.
Thank God the first bags started popping through at that point. The crowd moved forward and conversation became limited to such important questions as, “That blue one yours?” There were times when routine and small talk were a hell of a savior.
It wasn’t until they were in the car, with a drive-thru behind them—apparently, Tanzania had neither McDonald’s nor Tim Hortons, judging from the way Ian was slobbering over his food—and an hour of quiet road ahead, that Hank dared to really talk again.
“So you’re staying with Moxie and the folks?”
“Yeah. That seemed like the best option, all things considered.”
Hank could understand Ian not wanting to go back to his own place yet. Too many memories, too many plans. Yet another experience he wished they didn’t have to share.
Ian crumpled the take-out paper and tossed it in the bag. “I’m going to regret that meal in about a half hour, but damn, it was good.”
That sounded like the brother he remembered. Maybe Ian would come out of this okay after all.
“I figure I’ll stick around for the festival, let Moxie feed me a bit, spend some time with all of you. But then, I think... I haven’t told anyone yet, so keep this quiet, okay?”
Hank’s hands tightened on the wheel.
“I sent Carter an email. Told him that since folks at the dairy were already used to me being gone, and I don’t feel like being everyone’s pity project, I’m gonna move on. Carter and...and her... They can come back here.”
For as many times as he’d been smacked by reality the past couple of weeks, Hank still wasn’t used to it.
Nor was he ready to have this conversation while he was driving.
“I knew there was a reason I took the back road instead of the highway,” he said as he cranked the wheel and steered into the parking lot of a farm supply store. He slammed into Park, killed the engine and twisted to face Ian.
“You’re going to leave again.” Didn’t anybody ever stay put anymore?
“That’s right.”
“So they can come back here and get off scot-free?”
“I’m not doing it for them, Hank. Trust me. There’s no martyr complex here.”
“Then why—”
“I told you. I don’t want to spend the next two years walking around, knowing everyone is whispering about how sad it was that my brother ran off with my fiancée. And you know God damned well that’s what’ll happen.” He glanced out the window. “Let them hear the whispers. That’s fine with me.”
“But...shit, Ian. It’s not right.”
“You want to tell me any part of this that is?”
There was no good answer for that.
Ian slumped in the seat and closed his eyes, reminding Hank just how tired his brother must be in so many different ways. He reached for the key, intending to get home as fast as possible, but Ian’s voice stopped him.
“I was already thinking about leaving the dairy.”
“You?”
“Yeah, me. The stuff I was doing in Tanzania—it worked for me. The dairy did, too. I was glad to be there, but when I was in Africa, I knew I was making a difference.”
“You’re not thinking about going back there, are you?”
One eye cracked open. “Did you miss the part where I said I wasn’t a martyr?”
“Must have forgot it in all the excitement.”
“I have some ideas. Nothing definite yet. I’m gonna take my time and do this right. As long as I end up doing good, and not doing it here, I’ll call it a win.”
“So are you looking at this as a permanent move?”
“I’m looking at this as... I don’t know. Coping. Making the best of a lousy situation.” He waved in the general direction of the steering wheel. “Moving on.”
Accept what’s happened and move on.
Dammit!
Hank fumbled for the key and cranked the engine, wondering if he could rev it loud enough to block out the memory of Brynn’s voice, the hollow hurt that grabbed him every time he thought of her leaving. No luck.
“Hey, Hank?”
“Yeah?”
> “How long does it take?”
Hank chanced a sideways glance. “How long does what take?”
“For it to stop hurting.”
“You’re asking me?” He shook his head. Like he was any expert. All it took was a mention of a yoga class, the sight of a woman pushing her hair from her face and he was back to aching for Brynn in a way he could never have imagined. He felt like he was one of those idiots in the circus who stands up against a target while someone throws knives at them. Every word, every thought was another blade headed his way, and most of the time he forgot to duck.
Though maybe that was because he would rather feel the hurt than lose the memories.
“Yeah, I’m asking you. I don’t— I mean, I didn’t think you were still holding a torch for Heather....”
Heather? When had she come into this conversation?
Hank stared through the windshield. Replayed the conversation. Then hit the brakes and turned into yet another parking lot as the truth slapped him in the face.
Ian had asked him how to get past the hurt and his first—only—thought had been for Brynn. Not for the ex-wife who had borne his child and walked out, but for the woman who had danced into his life mere months ago, rearranged it and turned it into something he barely recognized but knew deep down was the one he was supposed to be living.
Hank couldn’t tell Ian how to get over the loss of the woman he loved because he had never done that. He’d gone on without his child’s mother, yes.
But he had no idea how he was supposed to get over losing Brynn.
* * *
TWO DAYS BEFORE the festival, Brynn looked up from a stolen moment of peace by the river to see Moxie striding toward her.
“What fresh hell is this?” she muttered as she scurried to meet Moxie at the intersection of Insane and Exhausted. Which actually was a place she welcomed, as it made it easier to push away her appointment at the corner of Heartbroken and Lonely.
“Hey, Mox— Mrs. North. Everything’s proceeding as expected. A couple of last-minute snags, nothing I can’t deal with, but we’re on schedule and should be in great shape for the kick-off Friday night.”
“’Course we will.” Moxie glanced around the site, her gaze lingering over the stage, the trees, the cabins.
“And we got lucky with the weather. Have you seen the latest forecast? Clear skies, warm with a light breeze on Saturday, slightly cool at nights. We won’t have to worry about postponing the fireworks or moving any of the events.”
“No surprise there—not after all the time I spent reminding my Gordon that half the reason he’s up there in Heaven without me is so’s he can do the things I can’t do down here.” She shrugged. “’Course, I guess the bacon had something to do with it, too. Now, who did you find to do the wagon rides?”
For a few minutes they went over the final details, Brynn bringing Moxie up to speed on some of the more recent developments, Moxie putting things in historical and priority perspective. There were tweaks to be made, of course, but, again, nothing Brynn couldn’t handle.
“Sounds like everything is under control.” Moxie nodded as she looked around. “You never can tell what’s coming down the pike, but so far, so good.”
As far as Brynn was concerned, that pike had already handled more than enough.
Moxie pointed downriver. “You know what you’ll find if you go that way a mile or so?”
“What?”
“The cove. The one this town is named for. Comeback Cove.”
“Was it a fishing village in its early days?”
“Nah. Well, maybe. But it really took off because of the rumrunners.”
Well, that was a welcome distraction. “Seriously?”
Moxie nodded. “My uncle Bart made a pretty penny running hooch to the States during Prohibition. He said they used to carry blocks of salt with them when they were making their runs. If they thought the law was after them, they would tie the bottles to the blocks, toss ’em overboard in the cove and let the Feds catch them.”
Laughter bubbled inside Brynn, light and welcome. “Let me guess. Then they would come back when the salt had dissolved and harvest the bottles where they floated?”
“You got it.”
“A town built on illegal booze. I love it.”
“Well, there was a lot more that went into it over the years. But it just goes to show—sometimes, good things can grow out of something you would never believe could bring any—”
Her words were interrupted by the beeping of Brynn’s phone, signaling an incoming text.
“Sorry,” she said as she reached for it. “I hate to be rude, but with everything approaching, I’m amazed it hasn’t gone off five times already.”
“Not to worry. Take it.”
One look at the name on her screen—Taylor—and Brynn was ready to put the phone aside until Moxie was gone. Then she noticed that it was a photo message. On impulse, she opened it.
“Holy crap!”
The words were out of her mouth before she remembered that she was standing beside her employer. Moxie being Moxie, however, she didn’t seem the least fazed by Brynn’s outburst. Instead, she shuffled sideways to peer at the screen.
“Well, I’ll be.” Moxie’s voice was the gentlest Brynn had ever heard. Not that she could blame Moxie. She herself was blinking rapidly at the picture in her hands: Carter in shorts and a very loud Hawaiian shirt, Taylor in a T-shirt that spelled out Vegas in sequins, both of them sporting smiles brighter than all the lights of the Strip.
“Would you look at those grins,” Moxie said.
Brynn palmed a tear that refused to stay put.
“They look so happy.” She touched the screen, her finger settling on Taylor’s smile, and she realized she had got what she wanted: Taylor, happily together with the man she loved.
“Ten to one they get married while they’re there.” Moxie sighed. “Those grandsons of mine. I don’t think any of them are ever going to give me the chance to dance at their weddings.”
“Hank didn’t—”
No. Don’t ask about him, don’t think about him, don’t—just don’t.
“Him? Ha. He ran off to Vegas, too. Didn’t even let us know anything was up until they came back and told us. Surprise!” She punctuated her words with a sharp clap of her hands. “Though this time, it would be the right call. It wouldn’t be proper to have a big wedding with this one.”
“You know,” Brynn said slowly, “Taylor spent her whole life planning her wedding. She wasn’t obsessed, but she knew that someday she wanted to get married, and when the time came, she wanted to do it right. When she first got engaged to Ian she pulled out the files and was happy as a clam. But then she stopped talking about it.”
“Guess that was a sign.”
“Yeah. I guess you’re right.”
“When it’s the right man, all the rest fades away.” Moxie’s voice was soft, but the words went straight to Brynn’s heart. Some of the worry she’d been carrying for the past few days lifted, leaving her lighter and happier in a way she hadn’t expected.
“Thanks, Moxie. Hearing that—it makes me feel a lot better.”
“You’ve been toting a load of guilt over this, haven’t you?”
“I—”
“Don’t bother pretending, girl. You’re too much like me. I can see right through you.” Moxie poked Brynn’s arm. “Can’t let your family down, can you?”
Thoughts of her father flashed through Brynn’s head. She pulled herself a little straighter. “Not if I can help it.”
“No need to get your back up. There’s nothing wrong with doing what you can. Long as that’s what you’re supposed to be doing, of course, and not just a reason to keep from doing something else.”
That sounded like what Li
bby had said, about obsessing over things that didn’t matter because it was easier than thinking about things that scared the crap out of her. Except this was Brynn’s family. What could matter more than that?
Moxie had far too sharp a gleam in her eye. “You told Taylor you would help her fall back in love with Ian, and that never happened, so you feel like if you had done a better job, things would have turned out different. Right?”
“It sounds kind of silly when you say it like that. Egocentric, too.”
Moxie shrugged. “Nothing silly about taking your job seriously or telling yourself you can do something. Hell, how do you think I got through the first couple of years in charge at the dairy? But take it from me, Brynn. Some things are out of even your control. You can plot and plan and work all you want, but those other people are out there doing the same thing, and sometimes they’re going to win.” She patted Brynn’s arm. “Especially when there’s love involved.”
* * *
IT WAS WELL PAST midnight by the time Brynn had a chance to check email that night. She had spent the entire day on her feet, running from one fire to another, and as much as possible, she had enjoyed it. This was the part of a project she loved best—the days before the launch, when everything came together and all the little issues bubbled to the surface and she had to fly from one crisis to another. She was working on the edge, pushing her brain and resourcefulness and creativity to the limits. She felt strong and capable and more alive than she had in ages. She wouldn’t want to live at this pitch all the time, but every once in a while, it was a rush like none other.
At least, it usually was a rush. This time she wasn’t able to revel in the excitement. This time, each item crossed off the list was another reminder that her time here was coming to a close. On Sunday morning she would wake up and the festival would be over. In another week or so, Taylor would be back—a development that still knocked her sideways, but one she could well understand. Her opinion of Ian had climbed even higher once Taylor told her about his decision. She hoped he would find someone—soon—who could love him the way he deserved.
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