"Do you need a car, maybe?" Journey asks.
Right. "Yeah, uh—" Journey tosses her keys over to me. "Thanks."
I leave the kiss-butt fest behind, feeling an abundance of emotions at once as I circle around the floor searching for the elevators. I call it a win after walking the entire floor only once. Then there’s an additional win when I find the elevator to be empty.
Brett’s hand prevents the doors from closing, and me from being alone between these metal walls. I hit the lobby button and lean back against the wall-railing.
The elevator was empty.
"I’m sorry if I overstepped my bounds. I figured you were hungry. I know hospital food isn’t great."
"You didn’t overstep," I say, my words sounding cold and emotionless. "Thank you for thinking of us."
"I know this isn’t the best time to ask, but did I make you mad? I wouldn’t want to be the source of added stress."
"Nope.”
"Is it because I know my way around The Barrel House?" he continues.
"Nope," I repeat, running my fingers across my forehead to avoid eye contact.
"Are you just angry in general?" he continues.
The doors open and I walk out before him, thankful I at least know how to find the exit on this floor. "Melody, wait up," he calls after me.
9
"Will you stop," Brett says, grabbing the back of arm as I step one foot out of the sliding door.
I have no choice but to comply with this strong grip on me. I turn to face him, standing beneath the dimly lit awning. "What do you need?"
I realize I have no real reason to be snippy to the man who brought my family dinner, but my emotions are already out of control, and I can’t find it in me to be sweet and gracious. "You’re not okay."
"No sh—obviously, I’m not okay. My dad is dying in there," I hiss, pointing at the sliding doors.
"I know," he says. "I know we haven’t talked or seen each other in years, but I want to help. My dad is distraught too; he’s been a mess since he found out. I know he’s planning to visit him tomorrow."
"Yeah, they’ve been close for as long as I can remember," I agree. "I imagine he’s not taking the news well."
Brett wraps his hand around the back of his neck and bows his head for a moment. "It’s hard for me to watch people suffering. If I’m not helping, it will eat me up. I’m not the kind of person who can sit around knowing there’s something I can do, even if it’s just bringing food."
"You were a soldier, weren’t you?" That must be what this is; the urge to always help others.
"Marine, yes. Was. I’ve been out for a couple years now. It was too hard with Parker."
"What about Parker’s mom?" I know I’m pushing for information that is none of my business, but he seems to make my family his business so ... why not?
"I’d rather not talk about her if you don’t mind."
"Bad divorce?" I press, and I know I shouldn’t.
"Never married," he replies. "Anyway, I want you to know I’m here and I want to help you and your family. Honestly."
"Thank you.”
"Let me walk you to your car," he says. "They don’t light up this parking lot too well at night."
"I’ll be okay."
"I insist," he says, keeping his pace steady beside me. I almost forgot Journey, and she got a spot up front, so I’ve already walked past her car by the time I realize I’ve gone too far.
"Oh, crap. The car is back there," I say, stopping short. "God, I’m not thinking straight." I pivot and head back toward the hospital.
“It happens when there’s too much to think about."
He stops walking as I enter the space between Journey’s Jeep and the mini-van parked less than two feet away. I thumb through her key chain, searching for the car key, but all I see are house keys. "She didn’t give me the car key," I groan.
"Let me take you home, and I’ll bring you right back. My truck is right there," Brett says, pointing two cars down.
I debate going back inside to get the right key, but the thought of walking the halls again makes Brett’s offer seem better. "Fine.” Journey probably knew she gave me the wrong keys, then told Brett to walk me out.
Brett speed walks in front of me to the passenger side and opens my door, letting the sweet aroma of his cologne dissipate before closing the door. Once he makes his way around the truck to his seat and encases us in the small space, he’s almost too close and the faint scent is now stronger.
His truck is nice, brand new, it seems. The seats are leather, and the interior is spotless. A sense of peace fills my body, helping me relax into the seat.
Brett turns the key in the ignition and hits a few buttons on the dash. One button is a seat warmer, which is a nice bonus feature. I don’t have my winter jacket with me since I left it in Journey’s Jeep earlier, and it’s colder than I thought it would be tonight.
"Where about is your house?"
"Do you know where Parka Street is?"
He types the street onto the display screen between us. "The GPS will," he says, smirking.
"House number twenty-four.”
Without much conversing, we pull out of the parking lot, but the longer we’re driving, the more questions continue to percolate. "I find it odd we were on the same flight the other day. Why were you in South Carolina?”
He chuckles as if he knows something I don’t. "I don’t know if it’s as odd as it seems. I was at an exhibition for my dad’s business, but he called and told me I needed to leave a day early and get on a flight the next morning to head back because your dad needed help in the shop. That’s when I found out what was going on."
I guess our situation a little less of a happenstance now, but the odds of being next each other—was a weird coincidence no matter how he wants to spin this. "There was only one flight going out of Charleston to Burlington that day."
"Yeah, I was thankful for the one available flight. I didn’t find out what was going on until the night before, as well,” I tell him. "My dad doesn’t like to make anyone worry unless it’s necessary."
"I can understand," Brett says. "I didn’t know his daughter—you—had moved out of Vermont, so I didn’t think it could be you sitting next to me, or the reason you looked familiar."
"Makes sense," I say, turning my head to stare out the dark window.
"Life is full of surprises, but I guess that’s what keeps the days interesting, right?"
"Some surprises," I correct him. "Some, I could do without."
A minute of silence passes, but I hear a few sighs, and Brett clears his throat twice. It’s obvious he has something to say.
"Do you remember making barrel forts in the back room when we were younger?"
The question shocks me because of his assumed memory issues. Those days feel foggy to me because I’m a couple years younger, but I somewhat recall he and Journey stirring up the trouble I followed along with.
"I think we got in trouble that day.” I know we got in trouble that day.
"Journey and I did, but you were too young to take the blame for lifting empty barrels," he says, laughing at the recollection.
"You have a good memory, I guess.” I keep my focus out the window and away from whatever look he might have on his face.
“I like to think so.” The urge to scoff at his remark is strong. The GPS tells him to turn and he does. He pulls into my parents’ driveway and puts his truck into park. I don’t bother to wait to see what he’s doing to and hope he gets the hint I don’t need his help. I hear a second door slam, continuing my nightmare.
“What kind of dog do you have?”
“A wild killer beast. He attacks people he doesn’t like.”
“Wild killer beasts are my favorite,” he says without skipping a beat.
I unlock the front door and step inside to my wild killer beast whose paws are on my shoulders, and tongue is lapping up the side of my face. "Benji, get down," I scold.
It takes Ben
ji less than a second after he drops back down to all fours for him to realize there is someone else with me. Someone he doesn’t know. I wish I had one of those protective dogs who might growl a little to show Brett who’s the boss, but no. Benji is a lover. My sixty-pound dog has his paws on Brett’s chest and his tongue hanging out the side of his mouth. "Is he a husky?" Brett asks.
"I told you, he’s a killer beast."
"You are definitely a husky," Brett says to him. "Look at those miss-matched eyes, a blue and a brown. My brother, Brody, had an Aussie-husky mix, and the same kind of eyes. He was the friendliest dog."
"Was?" I ask, grabbing Benji’s leash from the coat hook.
"His ex-wife took the dog and left the kid. Totally normal, right?"
"You’re both single dads?"
"Not by choice, but yeah—life happens. The girls are only a few years apart, so we keep them together as much as possible."
I can’t get soft. That’s nice of him, but I feel like I’m missing part of this story too. Unless, his wife died, but he said he wasn’t married, so I’m still not piecing together his story.
"Wow, that’s—"
"It’s crazy, but life happens, right?"
I don’t know. All I can think about is life ending.
I get Benji hooked up, but Brett takes the leash from my hand. "Take a breather. I’ll take him for a quick walk."
Rather than argue, I comply with his suggestion and plop down on the foot bench beneath the coat hooks. I’m sure Benji will take Brett for a ride. The second he sees any hint of a living creature at this time of night, he takes off.
My point of coming home to let Benji out was to keep moving and stop my mind from spinning out of control, but now I’m staring at the wall beneath our staircase at a family portrait taken fifteen years ago. I’m looking at each set of our eyes, wishing I could feel the way I did then. Not a worry in the world and no thought that life wouldn’t continue this way forever. I would pay any amount of money to have my innocence back. I might leave the feathered bangs behind, though. In fact, I think Mom, Journey, and I would all agree on this fact. But Dad, he has a full head of red hair, which I can hardly remember. After the chemo five years ago, it grew back much thinner and left him with a thin balding pattern within a year or two.
I forgot I had my phone in my back pocket. Nor did I realize I was sitting on it, but the reminder hits me hard when I feel the vibration. I snag the device and look at the display, my heart pounding with nerves, hoping it isn’t Journey or Mom with catastrophic news.
It’s Ace.
Ace: I’m thinking about you. Do you want me to come up there for a bit and help you out?
It’s been years of waiting for this man to notice I was alive and worth hanging onto, and now he wants to pretend like he cares. I type out a quick response before he gets any spontaneous idea of purchasing an airline ticket.
Me: Thanks for thinking of me, but you don’t need to come up here. We have everything under control.
The phone rings almost immediately after I see the "read" receipt pop up beneath my last sent text message. I stare at his illuminated face on the display and debate whether to pick up. I need him to know this isn’t going any further, and he’s staying put. I figured regret would hit him after a day or two, but it’s not enough for me.
"Why are you calling?" I answer.
"Mel, my heart is breaking over here. I want to come be with you and at least sit by your side. I still love you and this is killing me."
"Ace, it’s—"
"He’s such a good boy," Brett announces, whipping through the front door. "Where do you keep the treats?" Brett pauses when he sees me on the phone.
"One sec," I whisper after cupping my hand over my phone.
"Oh, sorry. I’ll look in the kitchen," he whispers in return.
"Who’s that?" Ace asks. I hear anger filling his voice.
"A family friend," I respond.
My first crush. My first kiss. My first heartbreak.
"Who?" he continues.
"Brett Pearson." I doubt the name will mean anything to him.
"The guy you were head over heels for in high school?" Ace counters. This information, he can recall but taking out the trash on a Monday is way too much for his overloaded mind.
"Ace, I have to go. This is not a good time."
"I’ll call you later," he says.
"No, no. This is ... we’re over. I need you to respect my decision.”
"I will fight for you, Mel. I’m not just going to get over you."
A tightness in my throat entices me to hang up on him. I can’t deal with the stress of Ace’s lingering feelings right now. He’s in South Carolina, and he can stay there.
"Is everything okay?" Brett asks, returning with Benji following in his footsteps.
"My ex is in denial."
"Your ex?" I realize I didn’t divulge into my personal fun-facts on the plane ride, and we have exchanged very few words other than conversations about The Barrel House, and memories from our childhood I hardly remember.
"Yeah, it’s a long story. To sum it up: he’d rather not commit but would love to have a wife around to do her wifely duties."
"Ah, I’ve seen the type. Good for you for doing what will make you happy. It’s not always an easy decision to make."
"I take it you know from experience?" I know my eyes are narrowing in on him, trying so hard to figure out his story, but by the downcast look I see, I can tell I’m no closer to figuring out this puzzle.
"No, I can’t say I’ve been through anything similar. I’m sorry, though. My brother, on the other hand, he should have seen the red flag warnings years before they had a daughter, but like I said ... life happens."
My phone rings again, interrupting our conversation, and I glance down once more at the display, assuming it would be Ace calling back, but it’s Mom this time.
"Mom? Is everything okay?"
"Yes, yes, sweetie. Your father fell asleep so we want to let him rest. We’re heading home now. Are you still at the house?”
"Yes, Brett took me home because Journey ... mistakenly ... gave me the wrong keys."
"Yes, we’ll go with a mistake," Mom says through a sigh. "Okay, are you staying with me tonight, or did you want to stay with Journey?"
"I’m staying with you.”
"Thank you," she whispers. "I’ll be home in a few minutes."
"Okay, love you." I end the call and drop my phone down onto the bench.
"Is your dad okay?" Brett asks.
"Yeah, visiting hours are over, I guess, so you don’t need to bring me back."
Brett seems uncomfortable for the moment and takes a second to glance around the foyer, spotting the same family portrait I was staring at a few minutes ago. A smile tugs at his lips. "We’re lucky to have good families, huh?"
"We are."
"Out of all my friends' parents, your parents are the only ones who stayed together aside from mine. It' has been sad watching their generation fall apart."
"I’ve always thought the same, but I guess luck can’t go on forever."
I think Brett forgot about my situation for the brief second he spoke his thought out loud. "Yeah. Hey, have you eaten anything since you left The Barrel House today?"
I close my eyes and shake my head. "I’m not very hungry."
"You need to eat something," he says, walking past me, back into the kitchen, which he apparently knows his way around. "Your mom keeps a stocked fridge like my mom, huh?"
"Always."
I follow Brett into the kitchen and watch as he pulls out lunch meat and cheese, then circles around until he sees the bread box. "Sit down," he says.
"Are you always this demanding?" I ask, pulling out a seat from the table like he demanded.
"When someone needs help, yes, I am. Sit."
"I don’t need help, Brett."
"That’s bull. You will need to be a lot more convincing to stop me from making you a sandwich."
"Mind if I make myself one too?"
"Knock yourself out.”
"You’re so kind," he responds, opening the drawers in search of a sandwich knife he finds rather quickly.
"I try."
Though I’m in a daze as he slaps together two sandwiches, I realize I am staring at the tattoos peeking out beneath his cuffed sleeve on his left arm. Then there’s the definition of muscles in his arms—they flex and tighten with each move he makes. I wonder what kind of job he had in the Marines. "Were you ever deployed?"
"Twice. The first time to Afghanistan and the second time to Okinawa in Japan. Once I got back from Japan, things changed a bit."
"Oh," I reply, wondering if he’ll elaborate.
He doesn’t. Instead, he brings over two plates with sandwiches, places them down, and returns to the counter to clean up his mess.
A man who cleans up after himself. They do exist.
As Brett sits down to eat his sandwich, Mom comes through the front door. I hear the release of her belongings fall to the bench, and the buttons from her coat hit the wall as she places it on the hook. Her keys are the last to clamber as she drops them in the glass bowl on the entryway table.
Black smudges line the slight bags beneath her eyes, and her face is pale. She looks like she’s past the point of exhaustion. "I’m glad someone is eating up the lunch meat. I was starting to think it was a waste," she says. "Brett, I can’t thank you enough for everything you’re doing. I called your mother to thank her for watching your daughter so you could help us as well. Elizabeth and I are planning to have lunch tomorrow. It’s been a while since I’ve seen her. It will be nice to catch up."
"She’s been worried about you. I think she tried calling a couple of days ago," Brett says.
"Yes, she did, and I just—"
"No excuse needed. She knew," he says.
Brett seems to inhale his sandwich within a few bites, takes his plate to the sink and cleans it before replacing it in the cabinet where he found the dishes. Mom gives me a look and smirks with an approving look. Except I wasn’t seeking approval.
Bourbon Love Notes Page 8