A smile slipped up Dan’s face. “Or I need some more dog tips.”
Chip smiled back. “Sure. Or dog tips.”
A few minutes later, Chip pulled into the cul-de-sac and then his driveway. As he turned the engine off, he saw that Bree’s place was completely dark. The porch was lightless, and even Evie’s car was gone, leaving only a shadowy spot of driveway in its place.
He unlocked his door quietly. Moved toward the kitchen.
It was eight o’clock, but his hands found themselves digging spoonfuls from the coffee bag. Pouring water into the coffeemaker. From the kitchen window he could see the glow from the lamp in her bedroom.
Later, in the darkness of his bedroom on his bed, he sat. Took a sip of his coffee as he looked from his window into hers.
And contemplated.
What was going through Bree Leake’s mind while she paced the length of her room, talking into her cell phone? Who was she talking to? The girl Anna? Her mother?
She had changed clothes since dinner. Her jeans replaced with sweatpants, the soft-spun pink sweater, which he couldn’t help noticing as he’d rubbed arms with her at dinner, replaced with a holey Gatlinburg-Pittman High School T-shirt.
Chip pulled the scarf off his neck and dropped it on the bed.
There was something beautiful yet strange in the number of expressions flying across Bree’s face as she paced. Her eyes were free of the annoyance they held whenever he was in her presence. Dropped was the wall she put up whenever they stepped outside in the mornings at the same time. And yet something stiff, complex, creased her forehead as she walked, her mouth tipping up and down in what appeared to be attempts at smiling. Like she was trying to keep herself together while her face stated clearly: she was not okay.
She stopped pacing. Turned her back to the window. Started to nod vigorously.
When the heel of her hand started wiping at her temple, he realized he was standing.
He shouldn’t be watching this.
Chip flicked on his bedroom light and moved downstairs, finishing off his cup before he hit the landing. He should let Bree handle her own affairs. She had plenty of people in her life who could swoop in and assist if needed. Plenty of people she’d want to talk to. Who was he, anyway? He was probably the last person on earth she’d ever discuss her life with.
He felt pent-up energy (no thanks to the caffeine) and dumped his coffee mug in the kitchen sink. He could go on a run, sure, but his calves still ached from the long mountain-bike trail he’d done yesterday with Russell. One glance around the room confirmed at least three house projects he could be doing, but his eyes just roved from one to another without enough interest to stop. He could reply to his mother’s group email discussing Easter plans. Yes. This was the perfect time to finally get to it.
Chip moved to his office and pushed his desk chair out.
As he sat down, he felt a jab at his thigh.
He reached into his pocket, pulled out Dan’s business card.
Set it on his desk beside his computer.
Looked at it.
Frowned.
She had her parents. She could talk with Evie. The girl Birdie, who was at her house daily these days. Mrs. Lewis.
Even after only a few months in this town, Bree had a thousand shoulders to cry on.
Not his.
There was no way she’d cry on his shoulder. Even if a part of him, a strange, small part, wanted her to.
He tapped on the computer and waited as the monitor woke up.
The cursor flashed at him on the password line, waiting.
His fingers hovered over the keys.
He glanced out his window.
Exhaled.
Stood.
He walked back up the stairs and peeked through the bedroom window. Bree was no longer on her phone but sitting on the edge of her bed. Alone. Her head sunk into her hands.
Within seconds, he was out the door and standing on her doorstep. He rang the doorbell and waited . . .
Chip pushed his hands into his pockets and rocked back and forth on his heels.
Listened to the quiet clucking of the chickens inside their henhouse.
Watched the windmill at the top of the henhouse turn.
He rang the doorbell again.
“Bree. It’s Chip,” he said through the door.
He inclined his head to the door. Heard nothing but silence on the other side.
He rang the doorbell once more, and after one more minute of silence, he walked until he hit the crunchy area of her driveway. He peered up to the second story. Picked up a piece of gravel. Rolled it in his fingers. Tossed it up to her window.
It clinked against the pane and fell to the driveway.
Silence.
He tossed another.
And another.
Bree came to the window.
He caught her eye.
“C’mon, Bree. Open up.”
She hesitated but then pulled up the pane. “I’m not in the mood to fight, Chip,” she said, and started to shut it again.
“I didn’t come for that.” He put up his hands in surrender. “Honest. I just want to talk.”
Her long braid fell over her shoulder and a few inches out the window while she stood there. He almost saw the gears turning in her head.
He bounced on his toes, looking back at her. “Just for a minute,” he said.
Even from this distance he could see the red around her eyes.
“Just for a minute, then,” she repeated. A moment later, the window slammed shut.
As her figure moved out of sight, he walked over to the front porch. Listened as several deadbolts unlocked behind her front door. The door swung open.
Bree stood beside it awkwardly. Nodded as though she had no idea what to do. “I would say I was sorry for leaving so abruptly, except I didn’t invite you.”
Chip cut to the chase. “Who’s Anna?”
Bree pursed her lips.
When she spoke, her voice was carefully controlled. “She’s my niece.”
Chip nodded. For the first time since he’d moved in, there was no sarcastic tone or hidden meaning between them. “How old is she?”
“Eight.”
“Cancer?”
Bree seemed to have to swallow before she answered. “Yes.”
Chip nodded again as he stood there on her front porch, his hands dug into his pockets. He nodded more toward the doormat this time, bouncing on his toes for a few moments before settling back on the ground. “I had no idea.”
“I can’t imagine how you could,” Bree replied, her voice as stiff as her posture against the door.
For several seconds they both stood there, each staring down at the mat, she looking as uncomfortable as he at this new type of communication between them. Teasing was easy. Silent mockery had been fun. But honesty? Authentic feelings? Pulling down their guard?
“I’m sorry,” he murmured.
She nodded.
It didn’t feel like enough, though. He found himself standing out in the cold, having dragged her out of the privacy of her own home, just so he could pry out the facts of why she was so upset. It wasn’t enough. What he’d said wasn’t enough.
He had to say more.
He cleared his throat. “The fact is, Bree, I know a little something about loss too. Being afraid of loss.” He hurried on with the words he so seldom shared. Facts everybody in this town knew except her. “My twin brother passed away four years ago. It’s . . . why I came back to Abingdon.”
He watched as she blinked, and her hard expression softened. “Oh.”
He hated sharing this. He hated what followed every time someone found out. Condolences. Slanted, pitying eyes. Trite, pithy sayings to fill the void of silence.
And now he was standing there, waiting for her to say something about the most defining event of his life. If she said something mocking, it would kill him. If she said anything sarcastic at all, he’d walk away and never return.
; Even Ashleigh had tried to talk with him about it a few times, but he just pressed his lips together. Cracked a joke about something completely irrelevant. Turned her attention to something else. Fact was, Jake wasn’t just a brother. He was half of Chip’s heart. And even on the best of days, there was never a moment he didn’t feel like half his heart was missing.
He swallowed as he looked up at the stars.
“I’m so sorry.” Her voice drifted quietly to his ears. Soft. Undemanding.
And suddenly she was at his side looking up at the stars too.
“I really am, Chip.”
Chip felt his jaw clench as her soft hand wrapped around his. It was a fleeting touch, a momentary squeeze of his calloused palm before her hand dropped back to her side. She said more in that gesture than words could express.
Something about her tender touch, the stillness of the evening, the revealed secrets and sorrows under the milky moon made his throat sting. “Jake was a good man. And a great brother.”
He heard the small intake of her breath, practically felt her groping for the helpful response that didn’t exist.
“I didn’t know.”
He raised a brow, one side of his mouth hinting at a smile. “I can’t imagine how you could,” he repeated softly.
Both of their eyes crinkled in the start of a smile as they looked at each other. The soft start of a first shared joke, but their smiles couldn’t bear the heaviness of the moment, and their expressions faded.
They watched the headlights of a car rolling by.
Quietly stood side by side until the brake lights turned off and the couple walked inside.
“Anna has been a trouper this past year.” Bree’s words came so lightly they seemed to dance on the breeze. “She’s been through it all . . . even”—her voice cracked slightly before she composed herself—“even the marrow transplant that led to GVHD. But the phone call I just had with Daria . . .” There was a second’s hesitation before she inserted hastily, “I mean, the doctors haven’t said there’s no hope. Daria’s trying to stay upbeat. But, but . . .”
Her words seemed to fail, and her fingers flew to her lips.
He watched the moonlight shine dimly upon her profile, her lips pressed tightly against each other, her left hand clenched at her side. She looked like every muscle in her body was taut, as though any moment the scream she was holding so deep inside was going to break open and pour out into the night air. He knew that look. He lived that look, breathed that look, had watched that look on every member of his family at one time. Sometimes still saw that look in his reflection in the mirror.
And he’d seen firsthand what it looked like when a person finally let go.
Without hesitation, Chip wrapped one arm around her shoulders, squeezing, helping her to keep it in for that moment—if that was what she wanted.
Grief was a cruel jack-in-the-box. Sometimes it popped out at the least desirable moments: at the codes department, just when you’re stepping in for a building permit. In front of your mother, just when you see her dry-eyed for the first time in months, just when she’s thinking of something else for once.
But of course, there was never a time, really, that Jake wasn’t in the back of their minds. Standing there in the corner as they talked about recipes for egg salads and his niece’s latest achievements. Jake was always there. Over time, Chip had accepted and integrated that fact into his life. This world wasn’t all he had grown up to think it was. Nothing was stable. Not the years of playing make-believe in the backyard with his brothers, the barbecues and fireflies, the comfort of warm duvets on soft beds. Not his family, friends, money, possessions, intellect, status, abilities. None of it was secure. None of it could he stand upon and know it would hold his weight.
Because someday, some awful day, the ground would shift beneath his feet. The ground had shifted beneath his feet.
As he’d learned four years ago, the world was good, but it wasn’t wholly good.
The world was beautiful, but it was also worse than his worst nightmare.
That worldview shift was what first broke him.
But now? Now it was what he clung to.
He stepped back. Gave her room. “Are you going to see her?”
Bree shook her head. “I can’t go to the hospital. I can’t see her on that bed, watch her struggle to breathe. And I can’t be there to see the worst happen. Not again. I can’t.”
His brow furrowed until he remembered what Evie had said one day about their living situation. “You were here when your grandmother passed?”
Bree swallowed. Nodded.
“I was the first one there that morning. I was surprised she hadn’t opened her door yet and so I went into her room, talking nonsense about what kind of eggs Evie was making, pushing open her curtains . . . all without a clue until . . .” She paused. Collected herself. “Until I turned around.” Bree held one hand to her lips for moments that stretched to minutes, pushing her fingers against her teeth as if to build a dam. Finally, she turned to face him. “How can you bear it?”
Her voice didn’t wobble as she said it. Instead her words flowed as though, for the first time, she was really seeing him. Bree Leake seeing Chip McBride. And person to person, she wanted to know.
There was no way to sum up four years’ worth of experience. Four years of cycling through the injustice, the emotions, mentalities, worldview shifts, and then cycling through it all again. He wasn’t like the strangers with their pithy words. He could never sum up what he’d learned in the waiting, the aching, the seeking. But he did know one thing.
“I once heard it said, ‘If I find in myself a desire which no experience in this world can satisfy, the most probable explanation is that I was made for another world.’ I live in a world where I find myself with desires for things that don’t exist. The only logical conclusion is that they must exist somewhere else, and I was made to live there.” He smiled slightly as he looked into her eyes. “I used to not understand it. Now I’ve said it to myself so many times I’ve memorized it. And I think, the longer I live, the more I’m able to appreciate the good as I experience it here, but also look forward to moving on from this beautiful, horrible rest stop to something more.”
His expression softened. “You should go see her.”
An infinitesimal nod escaped from Bree, but she didn’t say anything. There was silence as her gaze moved from him back to the moon. They stood quietly for a minute more.
Finally, Chip turned to face her. “Hey, so, I’m not 100 percent certain, but I believe some rude man fourth-wheeled on your family dinner and, unless I’m incorrect, you’re hungry. Now, I don’t know about barbecue, but I can whip up some chili worthy of at least a B+ rating.”
“Oh.” Bree looked startled as she pulled her hair behind her ear. “No, Chip. I couldn’t. But thanks—”
“I’ll even throw in some cornbread I made last week. It’s only four, maybe five days old.”
“Five-day-old cornbread. No. That’s okay—”
“There may even be some two-week-old cheesecake I forgot about in the back of the fridge,” Chip continued. “The fridge is a bit wonky, so it might have frozen up a bit, but—”
“Half-a-month-old frozen cheesecake. Wow. While that is appealing—”
“Not to mention I know where you live,” Chip pressed, finding the urge to have her over growing by the moment. “And I can just watch you like Russell does through the window until you give in.”
“Stalking now,” Bree said, her mouth starting to curve into a smile. “This whole conversation is just getting better and better.”
“But I mean, that’s fine if you want to stay in,” Chip said, flexing his fingers. “I can just work on installing those floodlights instead . . .”
Bree cracked into a full-on smile, the twinkle in her eye giving off an uncertain dare. “You wouldn’t. Surely you wouldn’t.”
“Wouldn’t I?” He shrugged. Tilted his head toward his house. “C’mon. It takes
about thirty minutes for the space heater to heat up, but it’ll be great.”
“Wow, you really are a salesman, aren’t you?”
Despite her words, she followed.
Russell, who was, per usual, panting at the line, barked a couple of times as they neared.
Chip whistled. “C’mon, boy. Let’s get you a Slim Jim.”
The dog perked his ears at the words, and with one final bark at Bree, he turned and trotted inside.
“Just give me one sec,” Chip said, raising a finger as he slipped through the door.
He found he was jogging when he hit the living room.
“Slim Jim,” he said, throwing open the pantry door and scanning the items inside. He snatched one from the open box, ripped it open, used it to lure Russell upstairs, and threw it in his bedroom before shutting Russ inside.
A sudden fear that Bree would slip back to her house if he didn’t hurry propelled him down toward the landing. His eyes roved the space and, quick as a flash, he danced around the paint buckets, tidied up the toilet paper rolls in the hall closet, tossed a crumpled pair of athletic pants and T-shirt in the bathroom vanity, and snatched up his tennis shoes. Dropping the shoes side by side by the door, he exhaled, smiled, and whipped the door open.
She was still there. Hesitancy deep in her eyes.
“Coast is clear,” he said, smiling as though he’d been lounging around all day.
Smiling as though she was just a friend who’d come by for dinner.
A neighbor swinging by for a quick bite.
Like normal people did. Normal, non-mortal enemies.
“C’mon in,” he said and swung the door open wide.
She looked down at the threshold as though he’d asked her to step off a ledge.
His brow rose. “Tell you what. You come in, and I promise we can resume hating each other tomorrow if it’ll make you feel better.” He lowered his voice conspiratorially. “You know, just to keep our options open.”
This tipped her face into a smile.
She took one tentative step in.
They both looked down at her foot appreciatively for a few moments.
“All right then.” Chip clapped his hands together. “Let’s get you some food.”
Bree followed Chip, her head swiveling back and forth as she took in the house. She looked as uncertain as he felt. “So . . . you feed the dog Slim Jims on purpose now.”
The Cul-de-Sac War Page 19