by Marie Force
“What’s that?” Saul asked.
Consumed by memories, Brian had forgotten his boss was there. “Nothing.” He tossed the flyer into the pile of overdue bills.
“All kidding aside,” Saul said, “I want you to take some time off.” When Brian began to protest, Saul held up a hand to stop him. “You did an outstanding job with the Gooding trial—masterful, in fact. But you’ll be no good to the people of this city—or to me—if you don’t take a break and recharge.”
“I’ve got nothing else I want to do.”
“That’s pathetic on so many levels I’m not even going to list them all. You’re still a young guy, and I imagine the women don’t find you totally repulsive. There’s got to be someone out there dying to spend some time with the celebrated attorney who put away that scumbag Gooding.”
“There isn’t.”
“You remind me a lot of myself when I was your age,” Saul confessed. “I have five kids who went and grew up on me while I was hiding out in this office.”
“I’m not hiding out.”
Saul continued as if Brian hadn’t spoken. “I hardly ever hear from them, and my ex-wife is now married to my ex-best friend.”
The story was well known, but Brian hadn’t seen the pain before.
“You’re a good kid, Brian, and a damned fine prosecutor. I don’t want you to end up old and alone like me.” He stood. “So no new cases until you take a vacation.”
“But—”
“Two weeks. Not one minute in this office—and I have spies who will report to me if you show your face. They may like you better, but I’m the boss.” On his way out the door, he added, “The two weeks start when you leave today.”
After Saul had walked away, Brian sat back and fumed. What the hell am I going to do for two weeks if I can’t work? The idea of filling all that time—and having all that time to think—left him feeling panicked.
Reaching for the reunion flyer, he read it again. The longings had been striking at odd times lately, like in the middle of a trial that had taken over his life the way nothing else ever had. Maybe it was the anniversary of the accident causing the melancholy. Whatever it was, it was starting to get on his nerves. He crumpled up the flyer and tossed it into the trash.
At the bottom of the second pile, he unearthed a crushed Chinese food carton. “Ugh,” he muttered, grossed out by the smell as he pushed it into the bag. Stuck to the desk calendar under the carton was the business card of the psychologist who had worked with the Gooding children to prepare them to testify against their father. The younger of the two kids, Christian, had been just five years old when he watched his father stab the life out of his mother.
Brian pried the card free of the paper calendar. Thomas Pellingrino, Ph.D., specialized in children who’d been traumatized by abuse, neglect, and violence. He had worked miracles with Christian Gooding, who’d been transformed from an uncommunicative child to an articulate witness under Dr. Pellingrino’s care. As Brian held the card in his hand, he wondered—and not for the first time—if Dr. Pellingrino might be able to help Carly.
Carly.
He didn’t think about her every day anymore. To function properly in a job that required his complete attention, he simply couldn’t allow thoughts of her to occupy his mind. While other memories from that time in his life had faded somewhat, he remembered her with a vividness that was almost disturbing. Her scent, the way her curls had wrapped around his fingers, the smoothness of her skin, her laughter, those soft brown eyes that could hide nothing from him, and the connection he’d spent half a lifetime looking for in others but had never found again. Oh yes, he remembered her.
He went out of his way not to ask his parents about her, so he had no idea what her life was like today. Even as he told himself he didn’t want to know, he knew he was lying. He wanted to know everything, and that desire to know had been growing stronger over the last few months. Why now? After all these years, why has the longing set in now?
Tossing Dr. Pellingrino’s business card into the drawer that served as his Rolodex, Brian stood and went over to the credenza. He picked up the picture of Sam on the rope swing at the lake. Taken in by his brother’s laughing face, Brian wondered if anyone ever thought as they smiled for a photograph that someday a particular instant caught on film would be all that was left of them. Between the picture of Sam and the one of Brian with his parents at his law school graduation was the group photo from the junior prom. Putting Sam down, he picked up the other one and studied it for a long time, for once giving himself permission to remember, to feel, to wish, and to regret.
For the first time in years, he slid the back off the frame and removed a second picture, the one he had hidden under the group shot. These two and the picture of Sam were the only photos he had taken with him when he left home. Brian’s arms were around Carly from behind. Her hands rested on his, the corsage he had given her decorated her wrist, and her auburn curls fell over shoulders left bare by a peach dress. Her pleased, contented smile said there was nowhere in the world she’d rather be than in his arms.
He missed her. The feeling came over him like a tidal wave, leaving him stupid and weak with need. Yesterday, in the courtroom, when the jury foreman had said the word he had waited months to hear—guilty—the first person he’d wanted to tell was Carly. He had tried hundreds of cases and heard that word many, many times before, but this was the first time he had wanted—no, needed—to share it with her. Why? Why now?
It’s got to be the anniversary of the accident, he reasoned, taking a long last look at the picture before he returned it to its hiding place and put the frame back together. There’ve been fifteen anniversaries. Why should this one be so different? He couldn’t answer that question nor could he explain the sudden overwhelming yearning for what used to be.
He pulled his wallet from his pocket. As he eased the piece of paper from the compartment where he kept it, he told himself that doing this—especially in his current state of mind—was a mistake. The vellum had grown soft with age, the folds sharp and pronounced. He opened it carefully, afraid not just of what it said but what it still had the power to make him feel. Every dream I’ve ever had begins and ends with you. No matter how much time passes, if you want to come home, I’ll be here. I love you always. Only you. Her voice, her essence filled him so completely it was as if he had last seen her only five minutes ago.
“Pointless,” he said out loud as he put the paper away. “This is pointless.” As he returned the wallet to his back pocket, he vowed to carry on as he had for fifteen years and to keep the past where it belonged. His determination to move forward, to continue putting one foot in front of the other, had gotten him this far, and it couldn’t fail him now.
Like a man on a mission, he quickly disposed of the third stack of paper. He wrote checks for the overdue bills and dug around in his top drawer until he found some stamps. It took another hour to go through his e-mail. When there was nothing left to clean, he collected the huge assortment of discarded clothes that were piled on the sofa where he had spent many a recent night, jammed them into his gym bag, and set the posted bills with the bag by the door.
Returning to his desk, he picked up his cell phone and was almost surprised to find he still had service after not paying the bill in months. “Hi, Mom,” he said when she answered.
“Hey! This is a surprise. Twice in two days?”
“Don’t get used to it,” he joked.
“All my friends down here are buzzing about you being on TV.”
“I did a phone interview with MSNBC earlier. That might be on by now.”
“I’ll watch for it. Did you get some sleep last night?”
“Not much. I was still kind of keyed up.”
“That’s a big high to come down from.”
“No kidding. Listen, Mom, I was wondering . . .”
“What, honey?”
“Do you think I could come see you for a week or so? Saul is kicking me out.”
“Are you serious? I would love that!”
He smiled. “You can’t fuss over me like I’m six, you hear?”
“I make no promises. When are you coming?”
“Would tonight be too soon?”
She paused, and he swore he heard tears in her voice when she said, “No, Brian, tonight would not be too soon.”
Late on his last afternoon in Florida, Brian lay on a lounge chair next to his mother’s and watched two young boys toss a Frisbee back and forth. After a busy day, the beach had cleared out, leaving just a few groups scattered along the wide expanse of sand. For the first time in longer than he could remember, Brian was completely relaxed. He hated to admit Saul might’ve been right.
“What do you feel like doing for dinner?” Mary Ann asked.
“I thought you were snoozing.”
“I was. Now I’m thinking about a drink and some food.”
Brian smiled. They’d had a great time together, and despite his vociferous protests, he had enjoyed being mothered. “I wouldn’t mind going back to that Mexican place we went to the other night.”
“I should cook for you on your last night.”
“That would take far too much energy.”
“I’m never this lazy. You’ve completely ruined me.”
“I was just thinking that you had ruined me. How am I supposed to go back to work after this?”
“If I know you, you’ll be back in work mode so fast you’ll forget you ever had a vacation.” She reached for his hand. “I’m so glad you came, especially since Dad had to cancel his trip.”
“I wonder what’s got him so tied up that he missed the chance to hang out with us.”
“Whatever it is, he’s not saying much about it.” She released his hand to run her fingers through her short mop of blonde hair. Even in her late fifties, Mary Ann Westbury was still an attractive woman.
“I’ll call him when I get back and see if I can get it out of him,” Brian said.
“If you do, tell me.”
“You know I can’t do that. Those of us in law enforcement—”
“Have to stick together,” she said in a long-suffering tone. “You know where you two can stick that.”
Brian laughed.
“You know he’s crazy proud of you. We both are.”
“That means a lot to me.” All at once Brian realized he was running out of time to ask the question he’d been trying to work up the nerve to ask all week. “Mom?”
“Hmm?”
“Can I ask you something?”
Something in his voice had her turning to look at him. “Of course you can.”
He hesitated, knowing he was about to open the door to a past he might not be ready to face, even now.
“What is it, honey?” she asked with concern on her face and in her voice.
With a deep breath, he asked, “Do you ever see Carly when you’re home?”
Startled by the question, Mary Ann studied him for a long moment before she replied. “All the time.”
“Is she, you know, still at her parents’ house?”
“No.”
Brian’s heart beat hard as he waited for her to continue.
“She works at Miss Molly’s,” Mary Ann said.
“Then she must be talking, too.”
Mary Ann shook her head.
“But how does she waitress if she can’t talk?”
“Everyone in town knows her. They tell her what they want, and she brings it to them. It’s pretty simple.”
Suddenly he needed more. He needed everything. “How long ago did she leave the house? How did it happen?”
“From what Carol told me, about a year after you left for school, Steve reached his limit. He told Carly she could either get a job or go to school, but she wasn’t spending one more minute locked up in that house. He told her if she didn’t do it, he would kick her out of the house.”
Hungry for more and filled with questions, Brian forced himself to stay quiet and listen.
“Until then, I guess Carol had been running interference between Carly and Steve. But Carol had reached her limit, too, and couldn’t stand another minute of watching that beautiful young girl wasting away in her room. So she stood by her husband. She said it was one of the worst moments of her life. The next day, Carly came downstairs in her uniform and walked out the door like she’d been doing it every day.”
“Wow,” Brian said, exhaling a long deep breath. He couldn’t help but wonder what might have been different for Carly—for both of them—if Mr. Holbrook had made his stand a year earlier.
“She’d been back to work a couple of years when she rented the apartment above Carson’s.”
Brian conjured up a picture of the general store in downtown Granville.
“She still lives there.”
He said nothing as he watched the sunset and tried to imagine Carly’s life.
“She walks everywhere. I see her all over town. She’s always happy to see me, always has a hug for me and your dad, too.”
“She still won’t get in a car?”
“No.” Mary Ann shook her head as she raised her lounge chair a notch. “You’ve never asked about her before, so I didn’t tell you any of this when it happened. I figured you wouldn’t want to know.”
“It wasn’t that I didn’t want to know. It just seemed better to make a clean break.”
“So what’s changed?”
He shrugged. “I’ve been thinking a lot about home lately. I’m not sure why. I suspect it’s the anniversary of the accident and all that.”
“If you’re thinking about home then it’s only natural you’re thinking about Carly, too.”
“I guess.”
She raised an eyebrow. “Bri? What’s going on?”
He knew he shouldn’t be surprised that her mother’s intuition had kicked in. “I miss her.”
Mary Ann’s eyes went soft with emotion. “Of course you do.”
“I’ve always missed her, but I haven’t let myself dwell on it, you know? I had to stay focused on school and then work. But lately I miss her more than ever. I don’t get why it’s happening now.”
“Maybe it’s finally taking too much energy to run from the past.”
“I haven’t been doing that,” he said hotly.
“Sure you have.”
“What was I supposed to do?”
“There was nothing else you could do.”
“You’re confusing me.”
“When you left for school and said you wouldn’t be back, we didn’t believe you. Dad gave you until Thanksgiving. I said Christmas.”
“You must’ve been disappointed when you were wrong.”
“No. We were amazed, Brian. You don’t often see that kind of strength in someone so young.”
“It didn’t feel like strength. It felt like cowardice.”
“Why would you say that?”
“I was wrong to leave her the way I did, to walk away from her at the lowest point in her life. Leaving was easy. Staying would’ve been the courageous thing.”
Mary Ann was incredulous. “How can you say that? Leaving took everything you had and then some. Your courage was awe-inspiring.”
“Really, Mom,” Brian said with disdain. “That’s kind of overstating it a bit, isn’t it?”
“No, it’s not. You didn’t let losing Sam and the others derail you. If that’s not courage, I don’t know what is. You didn’t let what happened ruin your life.”
“Didn’t it, though?”
Her eyebrows knitted with confusion.
“My life is my job. When Saul forced me to take a vacation, I panicked. Fortunately, my mom was up for hanging out with me for a week. I have no idea what I’ll do with next week.”
“Brian,” she said, her eyes bright with tears.
“I’ve been satisfied with living the way I do for a long time. Why should I suddenly be so dissatisfied?”
“You’ve had your share of disappointm
ents.”
“You mean Beth and Jane?”
“To start with.”
“They didn’t disappoint me. By the time Beth told me she’d met someone else, I was relieved.”
“She was so sweet. I wish you could’ve made it work with her.”
“I didn’t love her. I married her because I liked hanging out with her. She deserved more than that, and she found it with Joe. I’m glad for her.”
“I know you didn’t love Jane,” Mary Ann said with distaste.
“Jane and I had an understanding. We had the same job, the same crazy hours, the same kind of ambition, and we were both tired of being alone all the time.”
“You would’ve been better off alone. There wasn’t an ounce of warmth in that woman.”
“I didn’t marry her for her warmth,” Brian said with a lascivious grin.
“Ugh, don’t say any more.” Mary Ann groaned. “So if you had an ‘understanding,’ what went wrong? Not that I was heartbroken when you two broke up, but I’ve wondered what happened.”
“She changed the rules by wanting more.”
“And that didn’t disappoint you?”
“Not like you think it did. If you aren’t in love, what does it matter?” He paused and then added, “You know what she said to me before she left?”
“I have a feeling I’m not going to like this . . .”
“She said being with me was like biting into an Easter bunny, and instead of finding rich chocolate, you discover the bunny’s hollow and the chocolate’s fake.”
“That’s outrageous!” Mary Ann huffed. “You’re a kind, wonderful man who was far too good for the likes of her.”
“She was right, Mom.” He looked out at the ocean for several minutes. “Do you know that since I left home, I’ve never told anyone, and I mean anyone, about what happened on May 19, 1995? Not Beth, not Jane, not anyone.”