Every Time I Think of You

by Tracey Garvis Graves

  I took two more turns, emptying the magazine each time. “Your turn,” I said, smiling at him. “Show me what you’ve got.”

  Brooks was either very comfortable shooting a gun, very confident, or both. His accuracy was impressive.

  “You’re really good,” I said.

  “Thanks. It’s been about three months since I last shot. I figured I’d better take my own advice and get some practice in.”

  He reloaded and shot again.

  “What time is it?” he asked.

  “Almost eight.”

  “Do you want to go again? We’re paid up until eight fifteen.”

  “Sure.”

  We both took another turn and then packed our guns back into their carrying cases.

  I zipped my hoodie when we got outside. The October air became chilly once the sun went down, and I shivered.

  “Are you cold?” he asked.

  “I’m okay.”

  Brooks started the car and turned on the heat, adjusting the vent so it pointed my way. On the way home he said, “When I asked you the other day if there was a guy around, you said there was, but not anymore. What happened?”

  His question caught me off guard. It also sparked a flicker of hope that maybe he was asking for a reason other than mild curiosity. “Oh.” I paused and then answered honestly. “Elliott and I weren’t enough for him, I guess.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t be. It’s better to know these things sooner rather than later. It was hard on Elliott, though.”

  “Hard on you, I imagine,” Brooks said.

  “Yeah. That, too.”

  Brooks drove into the parking lot of my apartment building and parked in one of the visitor spaces. “I’ll walk you in.”

  When we reached my door, I said, “I’m glad we did this. I feel more comfortable already.”

  He nodded. “Keep practicing.”

  Knowing that Kayla would have the chain on the door, I knocked and waited for her to open it.

  Brooks laid his hand on my arm. “Listen, I know I sound like I’m repeating myself, but please be careful. Call me if anything happens. If you need me, I’ll come.”

  I had never aspired to play the role of damsel in distress, but right then it was hard not to picture Brooks sitting high up on that white horse again, ready to swoop in and save me. And really, would that be so terrible?

  Kayla opened the door, and before I went inside, I turned to Brooks and said, “If I need you, I’ll call.”

  He smiled again, and I met it with one of my own, and I was still smiling long after I closed the door.

  CHAPTER 26

  BROOKS

  No two cases of ALS are the same, and the progression of the disease is impossible to predict. Some who are stricken have symptoms that progress slowly over a number of years, while others experience a sudden and rapid decline in their condition.

  It appeared that my mom would fall into the second group.

  The reason I’d stayed late in the newsroom before I picked up Daisy to go to the shooting range was because I’d started going home for an hour or two during the day when my mom was still somewhat alert and coherent. I’d ask the nurse to give us some privacy, and at my urging, my dad would finally leave Mom’s bedside to take a break and have lunch. I’d sit down on the chair he vacated.

  “Brooks,” my mom said on the first afternoon I’d come home. I’d had to lean in close in order to catch the rest. “Did you know the sound of a child’s voice is like music to its mother, no matter how old that child is? I can’t speak very clearly, but there’s nothing wrong with my ears.”

  I’d swallowed the lump in my throat and talked to her for fifteen minutes straight. None of it was especially interesting—I mostly shared snippets about my job or reminisced with her over stories of my youth—but she hung on every word. Every day since then, I tried to come up with things to say that I knew would make her happy. She’d join in, sometimes asking questions or adding something to the conversation, but mostly she listened.

  When I arrived home at noon the day after I took Daisy to the shooting range, I said, “Do you remember Daisy, the nurse who came by and introduced herself when you were in the hospital?” I took off my jacket and settled myself in the chair next to the bed.

  She nodded.

  “I took her to the shooting range last night.”

  “On a date?” Due to the weakening of the muscles that controlled her facial expressions, her smile looked more like a grimace.

  Or maybe it was meant to be a grimace.

  “If it was a date, I’d have taken her someplace nicer than the shooting range,” I said. “She bought a gun for protection and I thought it would be good for her to get some practice.”

  “Did you have a good time?”

  “We did. She’s a nice girl. Smart. Very devoted to her son.”

  “She’s beautiful, too,” my mom said. This time, the grimace was definitely meant to be a smile. “I remember.”

  “She is.” Daisy was one of those women who got prettier every time you saw them. When you finally realize they’re beautiful, you wonder how you could have possibly overlooked it in the first place.

  “She’s alone?” my mom asked.

  “Yes.” A man would undoubtedly come along to replace the boyfriend who’d left.

  Probably soon.

  The thought of Daisy finding someone new bothered me, but my stay in Fenton was temporary and I had no right to an opinion about who she might spend her time with in the future.

  Our short conversation seemed to have already tired my mom out, and her eyelids began to flutter. The last words she said to me that day took a while for her to utter. I waited patiently beside her bed, straining to hear them.

  “A life without someone to love is a life not fully lived. Don’t waste yours.” She looked at me imploringly.

  “I won’t, Mom. I promise.”

  *

  A little over a week later, Nina, the daytime nurse, called my dad and me into the kitchen as soon as I walked in the door for my afternoon visit.

  “I’d like to talk to you about breathing assistance for Mary,” she said. “We could begin with noninvasive assisted ventilation, which would involve the use of a portable, bedside BiPAP machine. It delivers air through a mask and will help her breathe in and out. If you’re in agreement, I can reach out to Mary’s physician and her respiratory team to initiate the process.”

  “Of course,” my dad said. “Brooks?”

  “Absolutely.”

  “The effects of underventilation can be very serious,” Nina said. “I think you’re being proactive by taking this step.”

  My dad pulled out a chair and sat down at the kitchen table. He rubbed his eyes and said, “Do you know how much time we have left with her?”

  “Not a lot,” Nina said. “The BiPAP will ease her symptoms, but it won’t stop the progression of the disease. I’m so sorry.” She squeezed my dad’s shoulder on the way out of the room.

  “Think I’ll sit with you and your mother during your visit,” he said. “Don’t feel much like I need a break today.”

  “Sure, Dad.”

  The three of us spent the afternoon hours together that day, and every day afterward until the end. My dad and I took turns talking and my mom listened.

  They would be the hardest and the best days we ever had as a family.

  CHAPTER 27

  DAISY

  Though I never knew exactly when he would appear, I had always looked forward to Brooks’s visits. They not only gave me the opportunity to receive updates about the case, but knowing that someone besides Pam and Shane was at least tangentially looking out for Elliott and me felt good.

  Knowing that it was Brooks felt even better.

  When a neighbor had knocked on my door recently, I was disappointed when I looked through the peephole and Brooks wasn’t standing there. The night we went to the shooting range, he’d told me to call him if I needed him, bu
t he hadn’t said anything about stopping by or staying in touch; I’d come to the disappointing conclusion that I might not see Brooks again for a while. Maybe I wouldn’t see him at all.

  I was in the middle of trying to get my kitchen sink to drain so I could start dinner when the knock came. Trying not to get my hopes up, I dried my hands and walked toward the door. When I peered through the peephole and saw Brooks, I smiled.

  I opened the door, not caring that I had a big grin on my face, and said, “Let me guess, you were in the neighborhood.”

  Brooks was smiling, too. “Technically this town is small enough that I’m always kind of in your neighborhood.”

  “That’s true. But sometimes people call first instead of just dropping by,” I said. Therefore giving unprepared single mothers time to ditch their ponytails and yoga pants for something a little less casual.

  “Do you want me to stay out here in the hallway and call you first?” he asked.

  “Do you still have my number?”

  “Of course I do.” The way he said it—like my phone number was information that was important to him—made my insides flip around a little. “But maybe I could come in since I’m already here.”

  I held the door open wide and he walked across the threshold. He stopped within a few inches of me, close enough that I could smell his cologne, fresh and slightly woodsy.

  His expression was serious when he said, “But if you want me to call first, I will.”

  “That’s okay,” I said. “Mostly I find it amusing. I’d just like to point out that with a little advance notice, I can look a whole lot better than this.”

  He studied me, his expression quizzical. “There’s nothing about the way you look right now that I don’t like.”

  Wait.

  What?

  Did that mean Brooks was a fan of yoga pants and ponytails, or was this more of a general statement? Was this the first time Brooks had noticed the way I looked, or had he noticed me from the beginning? If Brooks liked girls who were low-key, would he not like the way I would look if I was all dressed up? Like if we were to go on a date? What if I wore lipstick and high heels and a dress?

  I am a little bit insane right now.

  I closed the door and locked it behind him, and I didn’t need to look in a mirror to know that my cheeks were flushed.

  “Hey, Elliott,” Brooks said.

  Elliott was putting together a puzzle in the living room. He smiled and waved. “Hi, Bwooks.”

  “Did you hear something about the case?” I asked.

  “No. Not yet.” His tone was briskly efficient, and instead of explaining the reason for his visit, he followed me into the kitchen where I resumed scowling at the sink.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “The sink is backed up.”

  “What happened?”

  “I don’t know. It was working fine earlier today.”

  “Did you drop something down it?”

  “Not that I know of.”

  Brooks peered into the sink. “There’s no disposal and that’s a fairly wide opening. If I had to guess, I’d say that something has made its way down into the pipe and gotten stuck.” Brooks bent down and looked in the cupboard underneath the sink. “I can take a look at it. Can you get me a towel, a bucket, and a wrench?”

  “Sure. I’ll go grab them.”

  Brooks took off his jacket and draped it over the back of one of the kitchen chairs. He crouched down and began removing the box of dishwasher detergent tabs and the cleaning supplies I’d stored under the sink. I retrieved a towel and a small toolbox from the hallway closet and the bucket I kept Elliott’s bath toys in. After turning the valve to stop the water flow, Brooks spread out the towel on the bottom of the cupboard.

  “See this?” Brooks asked, pointing at a U-shaped pipe. “I bet that’s where we’ll find whatever’s causing this.”

  “Is it difficult to remove?” I asked.

  “Nope. Just messy.” He stood, and after removing his tie, he unbuttoned his white dress shirt, starting with the cuffs and moving to the top button at his collar. Once unbuttoned, he removed the shirt and laid it and his tie on top of his suit jacket, leaving him in a white T-shirt. “First we need to get the water out of the sink. Do you have a medium-size bowl, preferably plastic?”

  I reached into a cabinet for a bowl and handed it to Brooks. He used it to transfer the water from the sink to Elliott’s bucket.

  Once he’d gotten almost all the water out, he handed the bucket to me. “Okay, go flush this.”

  After I returned with the empty bucket, Brooks set it underneath the pipe and lay down on the floor, his head disappearing under the cupboard as he used the wrench to loosen the threaded caps on both ends of the pipe. He handed me the wrench and removed the pipe, which released a big gush of water. Some of it splashed onto Brooks, soaking the front of his T-shirt.

  “Sorry about that.”

  “It’s okay. Told you it was messy.”

  He came out from under the sink and sat up, holding the bucket. He reached his hand in and smiled. “Hey, Elliott,” he called out. “C’mere.”

  When Elliott came charging into the room, Brooks held out a grimy, wet army man. “I think I found something that belongs to you.”

  “Bwooks!” Elliott grabbed his beloved toy and threw his arms around Brooks’s neck, knocking him off balance. “Fank you.”

  Brooks patted him on the back somewhat awkwardly. “Hey, you’re welcome.”

  “Go wash that off in the bathroom, okay?” I said to Elliott. “Make sure to turn off the water when you’re done.” I turned back toward Brooks. “You’re a lifesaver. Elliott has been distraught over losing that toy. We’ve looked everywhere except, obviously, down the drain.”

  “It was no problem.”

  Noticing Brooks’s wet T-shirt I said, “Let me get you another towel.”

  After putting the wrench and bucket away and grabbing a fresh towel from the linen closet, I walked back into the kitchen in time to see Brooks strip off his white T-shirt.

  Wow.

  I’d had no idea what Brooks had been hiding under those proper suits of his. Who knew he was so… defined. His broad shoulders tapered down to a narrow waist, and he had the kind of long and lean muscles I preferred over bulging biceps and a thick neck. His skin looked smooth and flawless.

  Clearly he works out.

  “Daisy?” Brooks held out his hand for the towel. He was trying to hide a smirk.

  Stop staring at him.

  “Here,” I said, handing him the towel.

  “Thanks.”

  He blotted his chest and then lay back down and put the inner workings of my sink back together.

  “Would you like to have dinner with us?” I asked, holding my breath as I waited for his answer.

  “Sure,” he said, and if his head hadn’t been shoved under the sink, he’d have seen the smile that lit up my face.

  I threw Brooks’s T-shirt in the washing machine and tried not to ogle him as he slipped back into his dress shirt. He left the top two buttons undone and didn’t bother with the tie.

  “Do you like chicken parmesan?” I asked.

  “It’s one of my favorites, actually.”

  I pulled a bottle of pinot noir from the wine rack on the kitchen counter and held it up. “Would you like a glass of wine?”

  “Sure. That’d be great.”

  I poured two glasses and handed one to Brooks.

  He took a drink and then leaned against the counter and watched as I put a pot of water on to boil and took the chicken cutlets out of the refrigerator. “Can I help you with anything?” he asked.

  “I think you’ve helped plenty,” I said. “Time for you to relax.”

  Elliott sat down at the kitchen table, a coloring book in one hand and a fistful of crayons in the other. After digging the army man out of his pocket, he set the toy on the table.

  Brooks took his wine and sat down across from Elliott. Neither of them s
poke, but Elliott shot quick, furtive glances toward Brooks, and I was almost certain that the picture Elliott was working on would be presented to Brooks upon its completion.

  “So, how did your army guy fall in the sink?” Brooks asked. He lowered his voice conspiratorially. “Was he on an important mission?”

  Elliott looked up from his drawing. “Yes!”

  I smiled as I dipped the chicken cutlets in egg and dredged them through seasoned flour. Elliott sounded as if he was overjoyed to find someone who could relate to such a thing.

  Brooks took a drink of his wine and said, “I bet his platoon is happy that he’s back.”

  “What is a pwatoon?” Elliott asked.

  “Platoon?” Brooks said.

  Elliott nodded.

  “It’s a military unit.” Brooks reached over and picked up Elliott’s toy. “It’s like a whole group of these army men.”

  “I only have this one guy. Mama never telled me about pwatoons.”

  What Elliott said was true. It had never occurred to me to explain anything military-related to Elliott. To me, the army man was just a toy, and Barbie dolls would always be more my speed. But a man would probably have spent hours talking about that kind of thing.

  The water had finally come to a boil. I placed the spaghetti in the pot and started browning the chicken in melted butter.

  “So, tell me about this mission,” Brooks said.

  “My army guy had to hide under the bananas ’cause a bad man come to the door. He was ’fraid the bad man would hear him.”

  I froze.

  I set down the container of marinara sauce I’d pulled out of the fridge and listened.

  Brooks was every bit as sharp as I thought he was because he said, “And then what happened?” His tone was gentle and patient.

  Elliott seemed to sink down in his chair. His voice was noticeably quieter when he spoke again. “The bad man said, ‘Tell me,’ but Nana said, ‘No. I won’t.’ Then he said, ‘Shut up!’ and Nana cried. The bad man would find Ewiott next. He would tell Ewiott to shut up and he would make Ewiott cry, so Ewiott hided and waited for Mama. Ewiott was so quiet, but he could still hear.” Elliott put his hands over his ears and starting rocking back and forth.