Brooke & Ben: Before Fate Interrupted

by Kaitlyn Cross

  “Shocking.”

  “And laid down in front of one of the tombstones in the front yard and had Joe’s kids bury me in leaves, like a fresh grave.”

  She bit into the candy bar, her eyes tightening with the tale.

  “Later, when the kids came walking by in their freaky little costumes, I exploded from the leaves like a rising corpse and latched onto their ankles.” His face lit up as he relived the night in his mind. “And I mean, I squeezed hard, too.”

  Brooke stopped chewing. “You are so going to get sued.”

  Will fanned a dismissive hand through the air at her. “Nobody got hurt.” His face suddenly sobered. “Although, three kids did pee their pants, which, if my calculations are correct, is a new Burnett family record.”

  “Dad!” She stifled a laugh, afraid to wake her mother. “That is horrible.”

  “Two moms yelled at me.”

  “I bet they did.”

  “But one of them was so frickin hot it was worth it.”

  Brooke drummed her red nails against the countertop in disapproving fashion. “I hope you got it all on video.”

  “Of course.” A smile grew from ear to ear. “I already uploaded it to America’s Funniest Home Videos! Gonna win me a hundred thousand dollars!”

  She shushed him. “What’re you going to do with a hundred thousand dollars?”

  “Put in a panic room.”

  She arched an eyebrow and then kissed him on the cheek. “And that’s my cue. Night, dad.”

  “How was your girls’ night out?”

  “It was fun.”

  He nodded slowly. “Do you want to watch Terminator Salvation with me? We’ll share the Beats, yo.”

  She yawned and stretched her arms back.

  “I’ll make popcorn and we can sprinkle M&M’s all over it like we did when you were little.”

  “I have to work at noon and can’t function on four and a half hours of sleep like you can.”

  He opened his mouth to say something else and then responded with a crestfallen nod. “Goodnight, sweetheart.”

  She smiled thinly and turned for the hallway.

  “Brooke?”

  She stopped without turning, the floorboards creaking beneath her.

  “I’m glad you’re home, even if just for a little while.”

  Her heart fluttered in her chest. She looked over her shoulder. “I love you, dad.”

  The ghost of a smile tugged at the corners of his lips. “I love you, too, sweetie. You’ll always be my baby girl and your mother and I will always be here for you.”

  She nodded, a lone tear sneaking down her cheek that she hid from him, just like the truth about what happened that night. “I know.”

  Chapter Ten

  The next day everything reminded Brooke of Ben’s extraordinary gift. The rolling pin, tubes of premade dough, and yellow bananas haunted her thoughts like guilty pleasures in the dark of night when people are supposed to be sleeping. She pushed harder with the rolling pin, flattening the dough into a giant pancake against the stainless steel table. This was the last thing she needed right now. Another case of hitching her horse to the wrong wagon would only complicate an already complicated situation, and embarrassing herself – or anyone else – further was the last thing on her to-do list.

  Despite that, Ben’s face bobbed to the surface again. Water dripped from his strong chin onto his rounded pecs, each drop sparkling in the bright sunshine like fine jewels. He smiled and waved for her to come in. She looked down and realized she was just as naked as he was but didn’t try to hide it. The water felt warm against her toes so she took a bold step forward. Small rings rippled across the water’s surface, the sun kissing her bare skin. And that’s when she saw it.

  “Brooke.”

  It barely broke the surface before submerging again. She tried to ask him what it was but her voice was gone. He shot her a crafty wink and it broke the surface again, gracefully rising into the air. She tilted her head back to look up at it, squinting in its halo-like glow. Harps strummed and angels sang as water dripped from its rounded head that knew how to please her just right. She wanted to grab it. Ride it, screaming and laughing and begging for more.

  “Hello? Earth to Brooke.”

  Brooke stopped the rolling pin and looked up. Mrs. Randall rested her hands on the hips of her white pants and raised her gray eyebrows, examining Brooke from the other side of the kitchen where Randall’s Catering lived and breathed. “Good heavens, girl, what in the world did that poor dough ever do to you?”

  Brooke blew a loose strand of hair from her face. “Huh?”

  Mrs.Randall shifted in her black Nikes and folded her arms across her red polo shirt with a Randall’s Caterings logo on the pocket. “Okay, what’s his name?”

  A sharp cringe sliced through Brooke. Sometimes Mrs. Randall knew her better than she did. “What’s whose name?” Brooke asked, trying to sound normal and failing.

  “The guy you’re daydreaming about. Do I look like I was born yesterday?” Mrs. Randall held up an arthritis twisted finger. “Don’t answer that, you little wise-ass.”

  Brooke started the roller back up with both hands and tried not to blush. “I’m not thinking about anyone.”

  “Come on, out with it, girlie, before you put a sinkhole in my table. I may have lost some spring in my step but I still remember that look in a girl’s eye when I see it.”

  Brooke stopped to brush flour from the apron that matched her red work shirt. “It’s complicated.”

  Mrs. Randall grinned, putting rows of yellow teeth on display. “So was the Thompson party last week, but we got that figured out now, didn’t we?”

  “I don’t really feel like talking about it.” She grabbed a pie tin from a wire rack and brought it over to the table. “I’m sorry.”

  Mrs. Randall expelled a burst of hot air. “Don’t be sorry, dear. I’m just being a nosy old lady, trying to live vicariously through you young girls.”

  Brooke flashed a tight-lipped smile and wrapped the dough around the rolling pin and carefully lifted it from the table.

  “If it’s none of my business it’s none of my business.” She began loading cans of Sterno into a wicker basket. “I guess I just can’t help but wonder what the touch of a man feels like in this day and age. After all, it’s been a long time since Nathan passed.” Mrs. Randall let out a wistful sigh and dropped another can into the basket with a soft kerplunk. “But I swore…”

  “You’d never leave him for anyone else,” Brooke finished for her. “Can’t leave someone who’s already gone, Mrs. R.”

  Brooke’s boss stopped with a Sterno in her hand to shoot Brooke a sideways glance. “I suppose you’re right.” She dropped the can into the basket and grabbed another.

  Brooke took a break to lean against the table. “What I wouldn’t give to find someone like that.”

  Mrs. Randall smiled weakly, pausing to stare at a bowl of fresh strawberries through far-away eyes. “He certainly was something special.”

  “But that was so long ago. How do you…”

  “It’s not easy, I can tell you that.” She shook her head. “But I have made my bed and now I’m going to lie in it.” She smiled and set the basket down. “Alone.”

  Brooke laughed lightly, watching her boss gather up some buffet servers. She started to ask a question and then stopped, uncertain if she should or not. “What do you miss the most?” she finally asked, dispensing with her doubt.

  Mrs. Randall set a silver server down on a counter against the wall and kept her back to Brooke. She grabbed a clean towel and started polishing. “I miss waking up and feeling him against me before my feet even hit the floor.” Her voice quivered a little around the edges. “Now, that’s how you start a day.”

  Brooke’s eyes turned glassy as the thought of losing someone like that tore at her heart. In the end, she couldn’t help but wonder if it was even worth the pain that, inevitably, would one day come knocking. “Does it ever ge
t any…”

  Mrs. Randall turned to her with sad eyes. “No.”

  Brooke swallowed thickly. “How did you two meet again?” She already knew the answer but also knew it would bring a smile to the widow’s face.

  Mrs. Randall began polishing the silver again. “I had a flat. It was late and dark and raining, and there weren’t any cell phones back then. When you broke down you were S.O.L..” She snorted, her mind replaying a memory she would never forget. “When Nathan showed up I didn’t know whether to hug him or run for my life.” She took a mournful breath. “I was all alone and even back then there was no shortage of crazies. Stranger danger my mother used to always say. But that man swapped out that tire with the spare like he worked for Dale Earnhardt’s pit crew, a smile on his face the entire time.” A soft laugh tripped over her lips. “Clothes all sopping wet...” She broke off to inhale another doleful breath and let it out. The smile Brooke knew was coming bloomed across her wrinkled cheeks. “My own personal superhero.”

  “He just came along out of the blue?”

  She dabbed at the corner of her right eye with the back of her hand. “Right out of the blue. Complete stranger.”

  “Sounds like some pretty amazing luck.”

  Mrs. Randall looked up. “Luck had nothing to do with it.” Her voice lowered to a whisper like she was afraid to say her next words out loud. “It was fate.”

  Brooke’s eyebrows drew together. “How did you know?”

  Mrs. Randall lifted her brow. “Know what? That he was the one?”

  She nodded.

  “You just do. You can feel it glowing in your bones when you first see them.” She held Brooke’s captivated gaze. “Some people shine, and some don’t.”

  “So you knew right away? That night?”

  A warm smile replaced the gravity consuming Mrs. Randall’s face. “I knew something that night, and it didn’t take long to realize what that something was.”

  “Love?”

  “Not just love, Brooke. Something more than that. Something that will stand the test of time.” She stuck a bony finger into the air like a tenured professor. “There’s a big difference. Anyone can fall in love! It’s the staying in love that is the true testament in the end.”

  Brooke nodded her understanding, even though she didn’t completely understand. Ben’s handsome face ran through her mind again. She blinked him away and turned back to the apple pie. “I think I’ll finish this when I get back from lunch.”

  Mrs. Randall checked her thin watch. “Lunch? It’s almost four o’clock. I eat dinner in one hour.”

  “Lost track of time, but I’ll be back soon.” Brooke pulled her apron over her head and deposited it on a nearby coat rack before brushing flour from her shirt.

  “Take your time, dear.” Mrs. Randall returned to the buffet servers. “The Donavon party isn’t until Wednesday night, but don’t forget about the rolls.”

  “Mrs. R?”

  The gray haired woman looked up, her mouth agape.

  Brooke twisted her fingers in the doorway and almost told her never mind. “Was it worth it? In the end?”

  Mrs. Randall’s cold blue eyes narrowed.

  “The pain, after Nathan...”

  “Oh, yes,” she said, saving Brooke from going any further. “And I’d go through it all over again for just one more minute with that man.” The fluorescents shimmered off her eyes. “Even if he was just lying next to me in bed, quietly reading Louis L’Amour while I read my Danielle Steel.” She smiled just as weakly as she spoke, her eyes traveling back in time to a place only she could see. “I’d go through hell and back for just one more minute of that.”

  Brooke stared at her, heart lodged in throat, trying to imagine having a connection with someone like that. Something so amazingly beautiful, yet woefully sad knowing that one day – sooner or later – it would all end. She swallowed against the lump in her throat and grabbed her black leather jacket from the rack. “I’ll be back soon.”

  Mrs. Randall’s face brightened again as if someone had flipped a switch inside her head, dispelling the darkness in the blink of an eye. “Take your time, dear.”

  ***

  An electric buzz filled the air, rising and falling in measured waves. The smell of rubbing alcohol coated the black painted walls from one end of the rectangular studio to the other.

  Ben shut off the needle and wiped a gauze pad across a colorful banner of shooting stars, smearing blood and ink across a wide foot that probably shouldn’t be crying out for attention. He had tried other suggestions – rear shoulder blade, ribcage, back of the neckline - but Lucy was dead set on that right foot. Ben had constrained an eye roll when she said it would liven up her flip-flops next spring. Doug and Janna were in the shop today and if Doug saw an eyeroll out of him like that there would be hell to pay. Ben wished they would take off on Doug’s new Harley for a nice ride while the warm snap held out. That way Ben could spend more time thinking about Brooke, which is exactly what this day needed.

  He looked up to gauge Lucy’s reaction, a confident gleam in his eye. “Okay, you can look now.”

  Lucy pulled herself from a self-imposed meditation – a calming ritual she and her girlfriends had perfected so well that Ben had wondered out loud if there wasn’t money to be made in it somewhere - and peeled her eyelids apart. She tucked a long strand of black hair behind an ear and bent for a closer inspection, chewing nervously on her lip. “Oh my God.”

  Ben glanced at Doug, who was – from out of nowhere – now peering over his shoulder. Ben couldn’t tell if it was an Oh my God, you have ruined my entire life, or an Oh my God, I love it. He cleared his throat and decided he didn’t want to know the answer.

  “It’s beautiful.” She wiggled her toes, the lights reflecting off her black polish.

  Relief swept across him like a cool breeze on a hot summer night during a power outage. He realized he wasn’t breathing and exhaled. A coin toss usually determined Doug’s mood these days and sometimes the slightest thing (such as ordering the wrong ink caps or disposable gloves) could throw him into a fit of rage. Let alone a customer complaint of any kind, which Ben had had happen only one time before when the purple ink had looked blue to a color blind kid.

  Ben wrote off Doug’s bad days to the steroids he took to give him an edge in the local body building competitions that rolled through town. Day to day, you never knew what you were going to get, especially the days preceding another beefcake event. But today the secret was out: Doug was in about as good a mood as a clown at a funeral.

  “Glad you like it, Lucy.” Ben stripped off his black rubber gloves and deposited them into a designated garbage can. “Remember to keep it clean with cool water. That will help limit any bleeding.” He handed her a small thing of ointment. “Rub some Aquaphor on it and don’t put the band aid back on.”

  “You’re work is so amazing,” Lucy muttered, too busy admiring her new ink to hear a single word he said.

  Ben checked to see if Doug had caught her kind words and cringed when he saw Doug had already gone through the curtain into the back of the shop.

  “You’re amazing.”

  He turned back around and smiled. “You’re amazing.”

  “Next time I see you at Goodson’s I’m buying you a drink…or five.”

  He laughed and squirted a dab of Purel into his hand. “Your happiness is all the thanks I need.”

  “Yeah, but five drinks might be the only way to get you back to my place.”

  His face turned red as he rubbed his hands together and switched tracks, giving her the post-care rundown one more time before ringing her up and wishing her a good day. The bell rang as she left the shop and stepped out into the bright sunshine, freeing him up to start wondering what Brooke was doing at this very moment. Probably getting ready to serve up some mutton with a side of steamed vegetables to the Society of the Haves at the new convention center downtown.

  “Next time talk her into something bigger.”
>
  Ben’s gut twisted at the gravelly voice behind him. He slowly wheeled to find Doug and his fifty-two year old muscles - veins worming through them like rotten apples and all – waiting for him, arms folded across his ridiculously bulky chest. Doug stood in front of the black curtain leading to the office and restroom in the back, glaring at Ben like a pissed off WWE star.

  He went to the glass counter filled with portfolios and earrings and popped open the register sitting on top. “Bigger tats mean bigger money, Ben,” he said, slipping some twenties into his faded black jeans. “Come on, man, you know that.”

  “She didn’t want bigger, Doug.”

  He slammed the drawer shut. “You have to make her want bigger!” He took a moment to compose himself and ran a hand through his jelled-up hair. “This job is about more than just being an artist, which is a big part – I get that – but you also have to be a salesman and learn to upsell.”

  Ben returned to cleaning his station and his thoughts about Brooke, determined not to let Doug get in the way.

  Doug hiked his pants up, his chest straining his Iowa Hawkeyes t-shirt. “Didn’t you ever take a business course?”

  Ben snorted. “Yeah, at the University of Tattoo Artistry.”

  Doug didn’t respond so Ben looked up to find him scowling. Doug came closer, a wallet chain bouncing against his hip. “Look, I know you’re good, Ben. You do some of the best work I’ve ever seen, but this job is more than that.” His breath reeked of coffee and cigarettes. “You have to go the extra mile to get from good to great. Comprende?”

  Ben sprayed the chair down with sanitizer. “I gotcha.”

  Doug slapped him on the back with a meaty smack, and headed for the front door. “Going golfing for probably the last time of the year. If you need anything I’m busy,” he said, pushing through a glass door with Iron Horse Ink stenciled across it. “Upsell, Ben!” he shouted just before the door shut.

  Ben watched him climb into a black Hummer and speed away like he owned the road, swearing to all that was holy he would never act like that when he owned his own shop someday.