When the Storm Ends

by Jillian Anselmi

  “Y’all need anything else?”

  Clearing his throat, Brody answers, “Nah, Lucy. We’re good, thanks.” Before I can ask him what he was going to say, his phone rings. Checking the caller ID, he gets up out of the booth, saying, “I gotta take this. Be right back.”

  “Sure,” I mumble into my cup of tea. As I watch him walk outside with his phone glued to his ear, I wonder about the possibility of us being more, but we’re completely different people—our tastes, lives . . . it could never work. He has a job here and I can’t stay. I need to go back to New York where there’s a Starbucks on every corner, not fifty miles away.

  But when I look at him . . . his dazzling smile and the way he protects me, it makes me wonder. Could I give it all up for the possibility of love? The more time I spend with him, the more I can see myself with him for the long haul. I’m just not sure the differences between us won’t get in the way.

  “I need to make a stop,” Brody says as he slides back into the booth.

  “Um, okay. Where?”

  “That was my mom on the phone. She needs me to help her out with somethin’.”

  “Your mom? We’re going to your parents’ house?”

  “Yup.” My heart thuds against my ribcage as fear courses through my veins. I’m not prepared to meet his parents.

  “What’s wrong?” he asks, cocking his head to the side.

  “Nothing, why?” I ask, my voice an octave higher than normal.

  “You went pale when I mentioned my mom.”

  “No I didn’t,” I say, laughing it off.

  “Yes, you did,” he chuckles. “What gives?”

  “I wasn’t expecting you to say that, that’s all.” I spin my mother’s band around my fingers, but it’s not helping. I’m not sure anything could help the anxiety I’m feeling right now.

  “It’s no big deal, really. My dad’s not home and she needs me to help her fix somethin’. I normally go over once a week, but I haven’t been able to since—”

  “Since you’ve had to babysit me. I get it,” I snap, cutting him off.

  “No, that’s not it,” he says, frustrated. Running his hand through his hair, he says, “I’ve never brought a girl home before. And I know we’re not serious, but I find it just as nerve-wrackin’.”

  “You don’t look nervous,” I mutter, staring down at my fingers, still spinning my ring.

  “I hide it much better than you,” he says, giving me a half smile.

  “Yeah, I was told my emotions are like an open book. My mom always knew when I was sad or upset.” Brody reaches across the table and places his huge hand over my smaller ones, just like Taryn would have if she were here.

  “My mom’s real nice. You’ll love her, everyone does,” he says with pride. I look up and catch him watching me, his eyes glowing with love.

  “You’re just going over to fix something and then we can leave?”

  Strumming his thumb along the top of my hand, he says, “That’s the goal, but I can’t make any promises.”

  THREE AND A half hours later, we arrive in the town of Palmer. It’s even smaller than Dayton. Houses are spread apart and main street consists of a general store and gas station. Brody turns down a dirt road, which turns out to be a long driveway. At the end is a large ranch style house with a wooden porch spanning the entire length. There’s a woman sitting on a rocking chair to the right of the front door as we pull up.

  “Brody!” she beams as he exits the truck, walking down the wooden steps to meet him. Not rushing, I step out and walk around to the other side.

  “Momma,” he coos, pulling her into a tender embrace. He’s got her by at least six inches, and it looks like a bear hugging a kitten. Releasing her, he says, “Momma, this is—”

  “Delani, I assume,” she chuckles. “My, you’re a pretty little thing.”

  “Thank you,” I say, my cheeks burning.

  “Too skinny, though. Brody, are you feeding her?”

  “Oh, Momma. She can eat,” he says, giving me a sideways glance.

  “Well, she’ll eat good tonight, that I can guarantee.” Turning, she says, “Now, where are my manners? C’mon inside in the air conditioning. It’s God awful hot out here today.” Brody and I follow her inside, the cool air a refreshing welcome to the blazing heat.

  “Momma, what did you need help fixin’?”

  “It’s that darn washer again. The water won’t drain and it’s not spinning.”

  “All right, I’ll take a look.”

  “Delani, how ‘bout you sit and relax with me? Have a glass of sweet tea.”

  “Um, sure, I’d love—”

  “Is she here?” a female voice squawks from somewhere in the house.

  Brody face-palms. “Why is she here?” he asks his mother, closing his eyes.

  “I can’t wait to see—oh.” A door swings open and who I could only assume is one of his sisters appears. She stops short when her eyes land on mine.

  “Shelby,” Brody warns, his tone stern but loving.

  “Shelby, dear, what are you doin’ here?” his mom asks, surprised.

  “When you said Brody was comin’ by, I thought I’d pop in too,” Shelby says with a sly smile. She’s up to no good.

  “You told her I was comin’?”

  “All right, you two, knock it off. Brody, go fix my washer. Shelby, go pour us some sweet tea.” Both kids groan, but do as they’re told. “I’m so sorry ‘bout that,” she says, leading me into the living room.

  “It’s okay,” I say, sitting on the couch.

  “And please, call me Amelia,” she says as she takes a seat on an overstuffed chair. “Brody hasn’t brought a girl home in years. She’s just excited.”

  Shelby walks in the room holding a tray with three glasses of tea and a plate of chocolate chip cookies. After placing it down on the coffee table, she sits across from me. “Hi, I’m Shelby,” she says, handing me a glass. “I didn’t mean to be all crazy. It’s just . . . he never brings anyone home anymore.”

  “Anymore?” I ask, curious.

  “What she means is Brody’s a very private soul,” their mother says, shooting Shelby a warning glance.

  “No, Momma. She should know.” Sitting up in her chair, she says, “Brody had his heart broken and hasn’t committed to anyone since. Celia was an evil woman, puttin’ her spell on Brody then gettin’ with his best friend.”

  “Shelby,” Amelia cautions, her voice low and monotone.

  “Well, Brody and I haven’t known each other that long,” I mumble as I sip on the tea. My lips pucker and I scrunch my nose. Wow, it’s sweet.

  “Still, you’re here, aren’t you?” Shelby says, lifting a brow. A nervous laugh escapes past my lips. They don’t know. And it’s not my place to correct them. But now they have my curiosity piqued.

  “So, Delani, Brody says you’re from the east coast?” Amelia asks, changing the subject and pulling me out of my thoughts.

  “Yes, I live in New York City.” A small bit of information can’t hurt. The city’s a big place, and lots of people live there.

  “Oh, I’ve always wanted to go there! It’s on my bucket list,” Shelby squeals.

  “Seems like a very crowded, unsafe place,” Amelia says, looking at Shelby.

  “It’s not bad. You just need to know where not to go.”

  “How long do you plan on staying in Texas?” Amelia asks.

  “Are you thinkin’ ‘bout movin’ here?” Shelby asks.

  Amelia scowls. “You leave her be, you hear?” The tone is teasing, but the undercurrent isn’t.

  “What? I just want to know everything there is to know ‘bout Delani,” Shelby pouts.

  “I have no plans to right now, no,” I answer.

  “Shelby, I’m making fried chicken for dinner. Can you run down to the market and pick me up some buttermilk? I don’t think I’ll have enough for y’all.”

  Shelby frowns, but answers, “Okay, Momma, but I’ll have more questions when I get
back.” Standing, she walks out of the living room and grabs her keys off the table near the door before leaving.

  “I’m sorry. Shelby’s a little rambunctious. She means well, but it’s not her business to tell you ‘bout Brody’s past love life.”

  “She seems really nice.”

  “She’s protective over her little brother. Always has been.”

  “I think that’s a wonderful thing.”

  As I finish my last syllable, Brody walks in shirtless. His hands are greasy and sweat’s dripping from his brow. I’m caught in a trance, unable to look away from his amazing torso. “Pipe was clogged. It’s good to go now.”

  “You’re such a good boy,” Amelia gushes.

  “Where’d Shelby go?”

  “I sent her to the market. Thought you two should talk before she gets back,” she says, motioning her head toward me. She gets up and pinches Brody on the cheek. “I’ll be in the kitchen. Holler if y’all need me.” Giving him a sweet kiss, she strides into the other room.

  Brody cocks his head. “What did I miss?”

  “You really want to know?”

  Taking the towel hanging from the back pocket of his jeans, he wipes his face. “Lemme go wash up, then we’ll talk.”

  Brody leaves and I sit back on the couch, nibbling on a cookie. I’m not sure I want to have this discussion. Exes are always a touchy subject, and if it ended as badly as Shelby alluded to, I’m not sure I want to know.

  I finish my cookie and reach for another. “Good, aren’t they?” Brody asks as he saunters back into the living room.

  “Really good,” I say in between bites.

  “She won at the fair the last three years runnin’ for these,” he says, reaching for a cookie.

  “I can totally see why.”

  Taking a seat next to me, he asks, “So, what did Shelby say?”

  “She’s really nice,” I start, “and pretty—”

  “Stop stallin’. Spill it.”

  “Okay.” Getting up, I sit across from him in the same chair Shelby was sitting in. His face scrunches, but he doesn’t try to stop me. “Is there anything you want to tell me about Celia?”

  He grimaces, his eyelids drooping. “Oh,” he sighs.

  “If you don’t, I totally understand. Don’t feel pressured.”

  “No. You opened up to me about everything you’ve been through, and this is nothing compared to that.” He leans back into the couch, placing his hands palms down on his legs. “This is something I would have told you about anyway, I just haven’t found the right moment.” A fine line appears between his brows, his long fingers tapping his thighs.

  “Are you sure?”

  Nodding, he closes his eyes for a moment. When they open, there’s a determination that wasn’t there before. “Celia was my first love. I thought she was my only love, but I know now it wasn’t meant to be.” Leaning forward, he continues. “She was the light of my life. She was beautiful, funny, and I thought in love with me. One day, she came home and packed up all her stuff. Said she didn’t love me and never had. I was just a pastime—a good lay until she found a real man.”

  “Oh my God, that’s just wrong! What a bitch!” I blurt out, unable to control myself.

  “It turns out the ‘real man’ she fell in love with was one of my closest friends. I think that’s what hurt the most.”

  “If you ask me, it sounds as if she doesn’t deserve you anyway.”

  “I didn’t want anyone to get that close. It hurt too damn much.”

  I move back to the couch, sitting next to him. “Remember that story you told me, about your momma talking about a storm? It seems you should take your own advice.” I touch the side of his face, turning his head so he’s looking directly at me. “That was your storm. It’s over now.”

  Smiling, he nods. “I know that now, and it’s all because of you.”

  “Me?” I whisper.

  Leaning in, he brushes his lips against mine. “You,” he whispers back. “From the second I met you, I knew. That feeling I talked about in the diner? You make me feel that way. The sparks, the knots in my stomach, the butterflies when I see you . . . you are what I was missing. You are the girl I was meant to fall in love with.” I stare at him, my mouth hanging open. No one’s ever been that truthful with me before and I don’t know what to do. “Please, I know it’s a lot to take in. Don’t say anything. But it’s time you know how I feel.”

  “Brody, I—” He covers my lips with his, cradling my face with his strong hands. Coaxing my tongue, they dance together in harmony. I can’t deny how right this feels. His touch awakens things in me I never knew existed.

  Pulling back, he’s breathless. “See how you make me feel?” Picking up my hand, he places it under his shirt. His heart pounds against his chest, matching the beat of mine. “I know you feel the same, but I won’t pressure you.”

  “What’s gonna happen when Armond is caught?”

  “We’ll worry about that when it happens.” Stroking my cheek, he kisses the tip of my nose.

  “Y’all hungry?” Amelia’s sweet voice croons from the kitchen.

  “Starvin’, Momma. Whatchya got cookin’?”

  She peeks her head around the corner and I shake my head, guaranteeing she’s been standing there the whole time. “Sent Shelby for buttermilk.”

  “Fried chicken?” he asks, his eyes lighting up. Turning to me, he asks, “You mind if we stay for supper? It’s been too long since I’ve had my momma’s fried chicken.”

  Not wanting to see that beautiful smile fade, I acquiesce. “I don’t see why not. It’s not like we have anything else to do.” Brody’s boyish grin widens and I can’t help but smile back.

  “I just got done mixin’ the batter for the cornbread.”

  “Do you need any help?” I offer. I can’t cook, but I’m sure there’s something I can do to help.

  “Darlin’, you keep your pretty little self right there on the sofa. In the meantime, I have somethin’ y’all can pick on.” She disappears back into the kitchen.

  “Momma, where do you want the buttermilk?” Shelby yells, the front door creaking open.

  “Give me a sec,” Brody whispers, his lips grazing my forehead. Standing, he strolls toward the sound of Shelby’s voice.

  After a few minutes, muffled voices come from the kitchen and I bite my lip, hoping he’s not giving her a hard time. They get heated and suddenly stop. Without delay, they both stroll into the living room. Brody sits next to me, grabbing another cookie. Shelby sits across from us, looking contrite. “So, Delani, how you likin’ Texas so far?” she asks, the fire gone from her tone. Poor Shelby.

  “It’s really hot,” I admit. “I didn’t know it could get this hot.”

  “This? Aw, this ain’t nuthin’,” she jokes, reaching for some tea.

  “Does it ever get cold here?”

  “Sometimes it can get down to freezing, but on average, in the winter, it’s around fifty-five degrees,” Shelby answers.

  “I remember it snowed here once, about eight years ago right before Christmas,” Brody interjects. “Got like an inch of snow. The whole town went nuts!”

  “I remember that! It was so purty, the way the sun glistened off it.”

  “It only snowed once?” I ask, confused.

  “Once that I can remember, yup,” Brody answers.

  “It snowed one other time. I think it was nineteen eighty-nine,” Amelia calls from the kitchen. “Y’all were too young to remember. Brody, you weren’t even born yet.”

  “I love snow. It’s so clean and fresh,” I murmur, thinking back to New York winters. I wonder if I’ll see the next one. “How’s six o’clock for supper sound?” Amelia calls out.

  “Fine,” both Brody and Shelby answer at the same time.

  For the next half hour, Brody, Shelby, and I talk about their childhood and the fun times they had. It’s really sweet to see them ridicule each other in a playful manner. Shelby would wake him by throwing ice water
at him, Brody would sneak up behind her with a balloon and pop it. I laughed the entire half hour, harder than I have in a long time.

  As the delicious smell of fried chicken begins to fill the house, a door slams, and a voice from the other side of the house booms, “I smell fried chicken. What’s the occasion?” A man in his early sixties dressed in a police uniform enters the living room and stops short.

  “Hey, Pop,” Brody greets as he stands.

  “Daddy,” Shelby squeals, jumping up out of her chair.

  Shelby gives her father a great big hug and Brody shakes his hand. Once all the commotion dies down, he notices me. Brody to the rescue. “Pop, this is Lani.”

  Standing, I walk toward his father. Extending my hand, I nervously blurt, “It’s a pleasure to meet you, sir.”

  “Now, ain’t you a purty little thing,” his father replies, smiling, “but please, call me Dalton.” Patting Brody on the shoulder, he teases, “Brody, she’s a keeper.”

  “I think so,” he retorts. Giving Brody a crooked smile, I roll my eyes at him. Chuckling, he winks back.

  “Now I see why we’re havin’ fried chicken when it’s hotter than Hades out,” Dalton says, laughing.

  “This isn’t normal?” I ask Brody.

  “Hell no. We beg and plead for Momma’s chicken,” Brody divulges.

  “Shelby, why don’t you go into the kitchen and help your momma, leave these two lovebirds alone,” Dalton says, motioning toward the kitchen with his head.

  “Yes, sir,” she mumbles, skipping away.

  “I’m gonna go change, then I’d like to hear all about how y’all met,” Dalton utters before walking out of the room.

  Whipping my head around, I look to Brody. “What are you gonna tell him?”

  “I don’t know. I’ll think of somethin’.”

  “You better think quick,” I sigh.

  “I could always tell him the truth. He is a cop too, remember?”

  “I don’t know,” I mutter, hesitant.

  Taking me in his arms, he places a sweet kiss on the top of my head. “It’ll be fine.”