“This isn’t about Michael!” I yell for the first time since my parents sat me down and told me the news. “You’re happy and I’m glad you are, but I’m not, okay? I’m not happy seeing another man sit in Daddy’s chair or cook on his grill. It hurts me, every single time. And maybe I’m the one who’s wrong here. Maybe I need to do the growing up, but I don’t know how to do that. All I know is that I need my mom and dad, and I don’t recognize either of you right now.” Mom drops her hand, and I back away, hating that I’m hurting her but also knowing it’s the only option for me right now. “I need time. Time to figure out how to cope with this new reality. And I can’t do that while you’re acting as if everything is rainbows and butterflies. I’m sorry, Mom, but I just can’t.”
“I knew you were angry with your father. I guess I didn’t want to see that you were angry with me, too.” Tears snag on her eyelashes.
I shake my head. “Mom . . . I’m angry at everything right now.” It’s the most honest I can be, and it’s enough for her to nod and let me leave, even though I know she doesn’t want to.
On the edge of completely breaking down, I flee from the house that’s no longer mine and run to my old faithful truck, slamming the driver’s door as hard as I can. The steering wheel gets my next dose of fury. I punch it, once, twice, four times until my knuckles burn from the contact.
The pain doesn’t help.
I set my forehead on the steering wheel as those cursed tears that never stop flow down my cheeks once again. How, after twenty-nine years of life, am I in this place? What did I do to deserve this for my life? I’ve been good. Kind to people. I prayed, went to church, went out of my way to make people feel loved and welcome. “I did everything right,” I cry out.
Once again, no answers are given. No explanations or comfort.
Instead, a new feeling creeps in, though to call it a feeling is a stretch. It’s more like a void, a numbness that seeps into my limbs, climbing into the chambers of my heart.
Emptiness replaces the anger and the hurt, and somehow, the nothing feels a whole lot better.
sixteen
The next five days are an exercise in avoidance. Me avoiding my mom’s cautious, are-you-ready-to-talk-yet texts, and Bryson apparently avoiding me, though I’m not sure why.
He’s been cordial enough, still allowing me to use his backyard for Bentley’s training. But the first day I came back, he hung outside for five minutes, hardly looked me in the eye, and then bolted. The second time, he simply texted that he’d left the gate open for me.
It’s probably a good thing. My growing desire for his friendship is more than unnerving. I’ve longed to talk to him about my mom and what went down at dinner. I want his advice and maybe even help understanding how I suddenly feel nothing toward either of my parents. Crazier yet is that I haven’t shared any of what happened with Cameron. Not that I’ve seen him much either. In fact, this past week has felt more isolating than any to date.
Maybe that’s why I all but begged Cameron to call his brother to let me come over to socialize Bentley. Caleb has two American bulldogs who are the biggest babies in the world. They’re indestructible, friendly, and the perfect test to see if Bentley can be placed in a family with other dogs.
I park along the curb and exit my poor truck, which has logged tons of miles these past couple of weeks. “Not too much longer, ol’ girl,” I say, patting her metal side. Each day is a ticking clock looming over my head, but if all goes well tonight, Bentley might actually be ready for the dog fair in the morning. He’s already made more strides than I ever thought possible.
He barks excitedly as I unlatch the crate and clip the leash to his collar.
“Okay, come on out.”
In pure Bentley fashion, he leaps from the cage, off the back of the truck, and lands gracefully on his feet. He tries to tug when he sees the grass, but I quickly remind him who’s in charge now. Reluctantly he submits, and we walk in tandem to Caleb’s front door.
I ring the doorbell and wait. A few seconds later, Cameron’s brother answers, sporting the same dimples as the rest of the Lee clan. It’s the only real similarity to my best friend, though. Caleb favors his mom in both build and facial features, whereas Cam is the spitting image of his dad and arguably the much more attractive brother. Not that Caleb isn’t cute; all the Lees won the gene lottery. Caleb is just shorter, his skin and hair paler, and he’s always been a self-professed nerd. A title he wears proudly in both style and personality.
“Hey, Darcy. Cam’s running a little late. Come in.” He moves aside to let us enter, but I shake my head.
“I think it’s better if we introduce the dogs outside. I’ll go through the gate, let Bentley get settled, then maybe we could do one at a time?”
He shrugs. “Whatever works is fine with me. I’ll meet you out back.” He shuts the door, and I marvel at another very different trait from his brother. Caleb is as easy-tempered as they come. He never gets mad; I’ve never even heard him raise his voice. Cam, on the other hand, is an emotional roller coaster most of the time—the tortured artist to an infinite measure. Maybe that’s why Caleb and Cam have always had a sort of love/hate relationship. Or maybe it’s just a brother thing.
I reach over the fence and unlatch the wooden gate. Bentley tugs, barely containing his eagerness, but again I pull him back and force him to wait. As much as he’s grown in the past several days, I still wish I had more time with him. Whoever decides to adopt him should strongly consider investing in more obedience training.
As soon as I have the gate securely shut behind us, I free Bentley of his leash. Caleb appears seconds later and examines the dog with a smirk.
“Lots of energy, that one,” he says.
I join him on the porch. “You have no idea.”
We stand side by side and watch as Bentley races through the backyard, sniffing and marking every available vertical post.
“Cam told me you’re training dogs again. Any chance I can get you to work with my two fireballs?”
“No way.” I laugh at the thought. “Those dogs are far too spoiled to change.” I give him a sideways glance. “Plus, their owner is a complete pushover who will unravel all my good work.”
“Yeah. It’s true. I admit it.”
Kelly, Caleb’s wife, sneaks out the patio door, barely holding back her eager pets. “Jasper and Jupiter are ready to play. Is it safe yet?” She’s blond like her husband and petite enough to shop in the juniors’ section.
I give her a hug and shake my head at the two wet noses pressed against the glass. They may be spoiled rotten, but they sure are cute. And since Kelly and Caleb have yet to have kids, these two are unquestionably their surrogate children.
“Let’s try Jasper first,” I advise. “She’s female, so it may go better.” All the dogs are fixed, but the alpha thing is still alive and well, even when neutered.
We work together to hold back Jupiter while freeing Jasper, and after the poor guy howls his objections, Kelly goes back inside to keep him company, which doesn’t surprise me. She’s also one of the kindest, most selfless women I’ve ever met. But those are the type of people the Lees attract. Every one of Cam’s in-laws are solid, faith-filled, and eager to serve. It’s a high standard that’s been set and probably the reason Cameron has never introduced any of his girlfriends to his family.
I carefully guide Jasper to Bentley and supervise while they sniff each other. Within seconds, they’re prancing and playing together. Ironically, it’s Jasper who won’t stop jumping and mauling at Bentley’s neck playfully. He even glances at me to help, and I intervene.
“See, now you know how it feels, don’t you?” I tug Jasper off and get her to calm down before releasing her again. This time, she’s much less spastic.
A few minutes later, we let Jupiter come out and play. He does a lot more sniffing, but in the end, the three of them settle into a nice rhythm together. In fact, it goes so well, I feel comfortable leaving them to play while I j
oin Caleb on their outdoor sectional.
“Well, did that go how you expected?” he asks when I sit.
“Better, actually.” I continue to watch the three dogs run back and forth along the fence. “He seems to improve when I take him off the farm.” I think of Bryson’s backyard and immediately my mind catapults to our afternoon together and the rare moment of vulnerability he shared with me. “Hey, can I ask you a question?”
“Sure.” Caleb twists so we can face each other easier.
“You were living at home when your family took Bryson in, right?”
He nods. “I wasn’t around much, but yeah.” Caleb spent his first two years at college living at home to save money. “Why?”
“What was he like when he got there? Cam’s never talked about it.”
Caleb raises an eyebrow. “Probably for a reason. It was a pretty bad situation.”
“Bryson told me about his stepdad kicking him out.”
Maybe it’s the confirmation that Bryson already told me what transpired, but Caleb seems to take those words as permission to open up. “It was more than just being kicked out. Bryson lived out of his truck for a week before Dad learned about his situation and called his parents. His stepdad actually had the gall to tell Dad that Bryson was old enough to figure it out. The poor guy was dehydrated and starving by the time he showed up here.”
My stomach turns inside out. “A week? Why did Bryson wait so long to tell someone?”
“Because that boy is more stubborn than a mule. He probably would have stayed living out of his truck indefinitely if Dad hadn’t threatened to call the cops.”
Disbelief rocks more of my preconceived notions. “All this time, I thought it was Cam who initiated the rescue.”
Caleb shakes his head. “Nope. It was Dad. Cam agreed, of course, but you know how he is about sharing his stuff. You’d think the guy was an only child.” Caleb cocks his head to the side, studying me. “Why the sudden interest?”
“I don’t know,” I say, still reeling from the knowledge that Bryson spent a week cold and alone. “I’ve spent some time with him these past couple of weeks, and I’m starting to realize he’s not who I thought he was.”
Caleb’s expression morphs into that of a protective older brother. His reaction makes sense. I am practically his little sister. “Be careful, Darcy. The guy’s not known for being gentle when it comes to breaking hearts.”
My cheeks burn. “It’s not like that between us. He’s been a good friend, that’s all. Especially lately.”
The furrow in Caleb’s brow tells me he doesn’t believe a word I’m saying. “I really hope so because I’ve seen his patterns. And chances are, his ‘friendship’ has some kind of string attached.”
I’m struck with a sudden need to defend Bryson. To somehow verbalize what I’ve seen in the man he’s become. But before I can form an argument, Caleb rushes on.
“Trust me on this, Darcy. There’s always a motive with him, and it’s usually ninety percent self-serving. He manipulated Cam into quitting the praise band, and he’ll manipulate you, too—it’s what he does.”
“You’re not giving him enough credit.”
“And I have no doubt you’re giving him too much.” His voice turns sad. “Bryson lost something in himself a long time ago. Just listen to his music. It’s not for show. The blackness . . . it’s part of who he is now.”
A year ago, even a month ago, I would have agreed. But no one can love as deeply as I’ve seen him love Charlie and be empty. I know this firsthand, because right now I don’t love anything . . . not even myself. But Caleb can be unyielding in his expectations. He doesn’t understand brokenness, so he has no capacity to see that I’ve become more like Bryson than the person he grew up knowing. So instead of arguing a futile point, I fight for a smile that will dismiss his worries. “I appreciate the concern, Caleb, I really do, but it’s unnecessary. I’ve known Bryson a long time. There are no blinders here.”
“Nobody really knows Bryson. He makes sure of it.” With that warning, Caleb leans forward, his eyes growing intently serious. “Some scars don’t heal, Darcy. They just pass from that person to the next one he decides to damage. And in this case, there’s more than just you to consider. I don’t want to see either one of you get hurt.”
“Who’s getting hurt?”
I twist behind me to see Cam and Kelly approach with fresh glasses in their hands.
“No one, hopefully,” Caleb says before I can answer. “What took you so long?”
“Rock ’n’ roll, what else.” Cam plays an air guitar, and Caleb rolls his eyes. The two of them argue less now that they don’t live together, but Cam still likes to poke at his brother’s calm-and-collected shell.
“Darcy, are you staying for dinner?” Kelly asks, joining her husband.
“Of course she is,” Cam answers, plopping down next to me. “Aren’t you?”
I check the dogs, who are doing just fine. “Sure, if it’s not an imposition.”
“Please. You’re family.” Cam pats my leg, and once again I notice the admonishment in Caleb’s expression. Now I wish I’d never opened my big mouth. Older brothers. They’re the same no matter what family they come from.
“How’d practice go?” I ask, though the answer is obvious in Cameron’s good mood.
“Outstanding. We’re so ready for tomorrow.” He stops as if he just considered a horrible thought. “You’re coming, right?” He twists toward his brother and sister-in-law. “Y’all too. We play at nine o’clock.”
“Sorry, kiddo. I’m halfway to dreamland by then. Besides, you know I hate the bar scene.”
“You’ve never even been in one.” Cameron scowls. “And don’t call me kiddo. I’m only two years younger than you are.”
“In age, yes.” Caleb stands, not needing to say any more because it’s true. He’s been married five years and has had the same steady, full-time job for twice that long. Cam, well, he still lives like a college student. “I think our fur babies are good.” He takes his wife’s hand and pulls her up. “Want some help with dinner?”
“Well now, that is an offer I won’t turn down.” She smiles sweetly at the two of us. “We’ll call you when it’s ready.”
Cameron sulks until they disappear. “I hate it when he gets all judgmental like that. Not everyone has the same dream to be old and retired at forty.”
“I’m sure he didn’t mean to insult you. Caleb’s all about order and routine and comfort. You’re a risk taker and a dreamer. He has no idea how to relate to you.”
Cam stretches his arm around the back of the couch. “You’ve managed to do it.”
“That’s because I’m awesome,” I say, hoping it will get his good mood back. I much prefer Cameron when he’s happy.
“True.” He smiles and I’m relieved it worked. “You look good, by the way.” He studies the clothes Zoe gave me. “Are those new?”
“Sort of.” I don’t bother to explain. “And thank you. I’ve been trying not to wear my depression like a coat.”
“Well, it’s working. Maybe this is a turning point for both of us.” He lifts his glass in a toast, and I clink mine to his.
“Maybe.” Except I’m currently not speaking to my mom or my dad, and Caleb thinks I’m crushing on Bryson, which I certainly am not. But yeah, I guess this is still an improvement over ice-cream slobber and stale breath.
“Oh, before I forget . . . I have a flyer for you.” Cameron jumps off the couch, his eagerness as explosive as his movements. “Our photographer was incredible. Bryson was spot-on in his vision for us.” He disappears into his brother’s house, leaving me nothing to do except watch three frolicking animals and digest the information Caleb gave me. Bryson had been homeless a week. Seven days living out of his truck, acting toward the rest of the world like everything was normal. No wonder he cut those people out of his life. How they could do that to a kid is beyond my comprehension.
I turn around to check for Cam, irritated by
the way my fingers itch to text Bryson and just talk with him. To try to understand why he’s spent so much of his life pushing everyone away when he already has so few people in his world who truly care.
The back door opens, and Cam finally returns, tossing a handful of peanuts into his mouth while he walks. A brightly colored paper is gingerly held in his other hand.
“Is that the flyer?”
“Yep.” He sits and offers me the smooth page with the headliner in the middle, Black Carousel on the top left, and a smaller duet on the top right. Below the band names are three times listed. “The updated picture turned out great.” I run my thumb along the faces of Black Carousel. Bryson stands in front, dressed in his signature black T-shirt and jeans, accented by his black leather jacket. His hair is a mane of rebellious waves, his arms crossed and tense. My chest constricts when I study his face. Maybe because it feels like a contradiction that his expression can be so strikingly handsome and yet so hardened by life. What was he thinking about when the camera flashed? His stepfather? The night he was kicked out? Our moment in the backyard?
Flutters assault my stomach and I force my gaze to wander left, where Cameron stands in the photo, holding a violin by his side. The distraction works and the flutters dissipate one by one. I study this new rock-star version of my best friend. He’s also in black jeans, but I’m grateful to see his shirt is a patterned button-up of dark and light grays. He’s giving a slight grin, which shows just a hint of his left dimple, and though his type of handsome is totally different, Cameron definitely will get lots of female admiration from this shot. Jay and Harrison aren’t nearly as attractive as this picture makes them out to be. Jay’s blond hair is spiked high, and his wrists are adorned with multiple bracelets. Harrison holds drumsticks as usual. Tattoos cover most of his arms, and his head is shaved bald. Both guys are older than our group by five years, and I’m pretty sure Bryson found them through an ad. They’ve never hung out with us, besides the occasional post-performance drink.
Love and the Silver Lining Page 13