by Banks, R. R.
A faint smile touches my lips. “I'm still not ready to go back to Savannah.”
Brayden shakes his head. “You don’t have to,” he says. “I'm not saying you need to go back there right now. Your territory operates just fine with you working remotely. In fact, last I heard, you were exceeding projections – and are beating the shit out of the rest of us for the year. I know if I don't step it up, I'll be hosting Christmas instead of Colin this year.”
I grin, a wry chuckle escaping me. I'd like to take credit for it, but I can't. My team is outstanding. They've taken ideas I've thrown out here and there and have made them more successful than I could have ever imagined. Not to mention the fact, they've had outright brilliant ideas of their own. Thankfully, it all runs smoother than clockwork.
“All I'm saying,” Brayden continues, “is that maybe you need to get out of the house. Coming to my wedding was a big deal, man. I get that. But, you still need to do more. Go, grab some dinner a few nights a week. Go get a drink. Watch a game. Interact with people. Talk to somebody. You might be surprised at what human contact can do for you. How much it can help speed up the healing process.”
“Yeah, maybe.”
“No maybe about it,” he pushes. “Definitely.”
“I'll think about it.”
“Nah. The time for thinking is over, man,” Brayden says, his tone growing a little more commanding. “Now, it's time to listen to your older brother.”
I chuckle softly. “If only it were that easy, B.”
“I'm not saying it's easy,” he says. “I'm just saying you need to get out. Have a conversation with another person. Get out of your own head for a bit.”
I know he's right. A little voice in the back of my mind tells me I should do what he's saying. But, there's another voice – one that's louder and more insistent – that tells me I deserve to be alone. It tells me that solitude and loneliness are what I deserve for failing to protect the woman I loved. That I don't get another chance at love or happiness. That what I deserve is to live on this mountain alone – forever. And a part of me believes that voice.
Going to Brayden and Holly’s wedding, and actually interacting with people, wasn’t all bad. It was pretty nice, actually. But, at the same time, it was also incredibly overwhelming. Near the end of the evening, I was ready to get out of there and run somewhere far, far away from the boisterous crowd. By the end of the night, I just wanted to be alone again.
Like I said, that made it pretty clear to me that I'm not ready to make a full-fledged re-entrance into society.
“This isn't negotiable, Aidan,” Brayden presses. “This is an order from your big brother. Heed my word, or I swear, I'll come down there and beat your ass. You know I can. Doesn't matter that you know all that Kung-Fu shit now.”
I can't stop the burst of laughter that erupts from my throat. Brayden is grinning at me, having accomplished his goal. Well, one of his goals.
“It's called Krav Maga, you cretin,” I say. “It's a self-defense technique designed for the Israeli Defense –”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Brayden says. “Whatever. I can still kick your ass. Or I'll hire someone who can.”
The smile on my face is wider and more genuine than in months. Brayden's always been good at getting me to laugh. He's a lot like Maddy in that way. She had an uncanny ability, no matter how shitty something was, to make me laugh and feel better about it all.
Honestly, it feels good to laugh. I feel like it's been ages since I've been able to. Since I've had reason to.
“Here's your homework assignment,” he says. “You are to go down into that little podunk town you call home and socialize a bit. Get a beer, watch a game, and most importantly, talk to someone. Got it?”
“Sure,” I say. “On it.”
“I'm not fucking around,” he says. “I'm going to ask you, one week from now, whether you've completed your homework. If you haven't, I'm taking the company jet and flying out there. And when I get there, I'm going to beat your ass first, then take you out among real people. If you can't do it, I'll make a friend for you. Are we clear?”
I flash him a small smile. “Crystal.”
His face grows serious as he stares at me, and I can tell he means what he’s saying. He really will fly out here and drag me out, kicking and screaming, if he has to.
“I'll go,” I say.
“Give me your word.”
“Has anyone ever told you that you're like a pit bull with a bone?”
“All the time,” Brayden laughs. “Now, promise me.”
Giving your word doesn't amount to much for most people. Experience has taught me that much. But, something our father taught us from a young age, is that our word matters. Our word is everything. When we give somebody our word, we better follow through. Dad taught us that if we break that trust, our reputation will be tarnished. And without a sterling reputation, we won’t get far.
That philosophy is one reason ADE is one of the biggest, most successful real estate development firms in the country. When we make a promise, people know, without a moment's hesitation or doubt, that we will follow through.
Suffice it to say, in the Anderson clan, giving your word means everything.
“Come on, Aidan,” Brayden pushes. “Give me your word.”
“Yeah, fine. Whatever,” I say. “I give you my word.”
“Excellent,” he says. “Then, I'll check in with you next week to make sure you’ve done your homework.”
I give him the finger and laugh. I'm grateful that I have brothers who care about me as much as they do. I know not everyone is this lucky. But there's no handbook on how to deal with something like this. There's no timetable saying, you will be back to your old self by such-and-such date. I won't pretend I'm fine when I'm not. I won't perform for anybody. And I'm not the kind of person who masks their feelings well.
Which is why, as much as I appreciate how much they care about me, I sometimes wish everyone would leave me alone and let me sort through this shit in my way – on my terms.
But then, they wouldn't be my brothers if they did that.
“Okay, go see your wife,” I say. “I've had enough of your therapy for one day.”
“I'll send you my bill.”
“Yeah, you do that.”
Brayden gives me a long, pointed look. “I love you, bro,” he says. “And you’re gonna get through this.”
I nod. “I know,” I say. “I know. I love you too.”
I disconnect the call and lean back in my chair, feeling wrung out and emotionally spent. I love Brayden, but sometimes, I feel like I have to be “on” for him. I never feel like I need to pretend that I'm okay – he knows, understands, and accepts that I'm not. But, I sometimes feel like I have to somehow prove to my brothers that I'm not giving into a bout of crippling depression – even though it feels like I'm stuck in the middle of one.
I get up and walk over to the wet bar set against the right wall of my office. The clicking of nails against the hardwood floor and the sound of panting breaks the silence as Oliver slips in behind me. I look back and smile at my dog. Well, technically, Maddy's dog, but – yeah.
He's a gray and black merle, with a white chest, two white paws, big, floppy ears, and the most soulful brown eyes I've ever seen in an animal. He looks back at me with that goofy, sweet doggy-smile of his, and gives me a whole-body wag, rushing over to lean his body against mine.
For being two and a half, he's a big boy, and when he leans on you, you definitely feel all hundred and thirty pounds of him. I reach down and scratch behind his ears.
“How ya doin', buddy?” I ask, and he leans against me harder, his tail wagging furiously.
Maddy grew up around Danes and was crazy about the breed. I'd put a down payment with a good, reputable breeder, and had intended to surprise her with one. I thought she could use a furry companion around Fleury House for when I was away or working late.
A couple of weeks after she was killed, the breede
r called to tell me Oliver would be ready to come home in the next month. I'd thought about having them find him another home, but it passed quickly. Having Oliver in my life fills a small part of the void in my heart. The loneliness isn't quite so piercing with him around.
But, having that big, goofy dog around, also makes me feel closer to Maddy, in a way. It was her love for the breed that inspired me to get him in the first place. Knowing that fills a part of me with happiness. Oliver really is a great dog, and I am eternally thankful that I made the decision to bring him home. He's a good companion. I feel lucky to have him.
I grab a treat from the jar I keep next to the decanter of my favorite whiskey and hand it over to him. He takes it from my hands more or less, gently – it's something we're still working on – and contentedly crunches away on it. I pour myself a glass and wander over to the floor-to-ceiling windows that make up the back wall of my office. The night descending outside makes it impossible to see much but darkness and shadow.
During the day, the view is breathtaking. Green trees, mountain peaks, and valleys as far as the eye can see. It's beautiful up here. Peaceful. Serene. Oliver and I spend a lot of time out amongst the trees, breathing in the fresh air, and enjoying the tranquility of it all. Honestly, I think losing myself in nature eases my mind far more than social situations ever could. At least, it does for now.
As the darkness becomes total and complete beyond the window, the light from the hallway filters into my office, casting a shadowy glow on the photo of Maddy hanging on the adjacent wall.
I stare over at Maddy and feel that all-too-familiar pain pierce my heart. The large, framed portrait is from the engagement photos we had done half a year before she was killed. In it, her green eyes sparkle with life and excitement at what she – we – thought the future held for us. I hold her gaze as long as I can bear it. Even though I know she's not really here with me, it still brings me a small sliver of comfort.
Damn. Maybe I’m more sentimental than I let myself believe.
As I pull myself away and return to reality, tears well in my eyes and my heart feels like it's breaking all over again. I've been through this a thousand times already, but the agony still flares up, fresh and bright, all over again.
Oliver lets out a soft whine and looks at me with his gentle, loving eyes. He opens his mouth, giving me that trademark doggy-grin of his, and presses his body against my legs. I kneel down and scratch him behind both ears. He licks the few tears rolling down my cheek and leans against me, as if he somehow sensed I needed the comfort right now.
I press my forehead to his and scratch his flank, which makes him kick his leg in appreciation. I look to the doorway and let out a long, pained breath. Part of me wants to put the portrait away. Thinking that if I let it go, and stop obsessing over her image, then maybe, I'll finally be able to move on with my life.
But another part of me can't bear the thought of moving on. Of accepting life without her. It's like I’m caught with one foot in two separate worlds – the dead and the living. And until I pick one, I can’t move forward.
But, having failed Madeline as miserably as I did, do I really deserve to move forward with my life?
* * *
“So, when do we break ground on the Worthington project?” I ask.
Marcus looks down at the calendar on his desk and nods. “Two weeks from today.”
I'm videoconferencing with Marcus Sheets, the Executive Vice President in my absence. He's young but has a brilliant mind, and an unparalleled work ethic. He's sharp and can always point out whatever angles and nuances I might miss.
I'd hired him straight out of Clemson over five years back, and he's exceeded my every hope and expectation. And now, with my semi-leave of absence from the company, he's had to handle even more than before. I wouldn't have promoted him if I didn't think he could do it, though. I knew he was capable. His rapid promotion did result in some friction with other employees who had been with me longer and felt like they were more entitled to the job, but Marcus handled it in stride.
They should know by now that I promote based on merit and performance, not seniority. Marcus earned it. I'm fortunate to have someone of his caliber stepping in for me while I'm away.
“That's good,” I say. “And the projected time to complete the project?”
“We estimate around nine months,” he says.
“So, a year?”
Marcus grins. “Yeah, probably.”
I nod. “Optimism is good,” I say. “But, you always want to err on the side of caution. You have to be prepared for unexpected bumps in the road that will inevitably come up. Especially when you're giving projections to our client. It always makes us look better to come in ahead of schedule than to blow a deadline.”
“Right,” Marcus says, looking slightly abashed. “Sorry.”
“Nothing to be sorry about,” I explain. “Just trying to keep us on the same page. Anything else that needs my attention?”
Marcus shuffles through a few papers on his desk. “Hmm... no, I think that's it for now,” he says. “I'll be emailing you some documents that need to be signed, but other than that, I think we’re good here.”
I nod again. “Thank you, Marcus,” I say. “You've taken on a lot of responsibility since I’ve left, and you're doing a terrific job. I can't begin to tell you how much I appreciate you.”
“Thank you, sir,” he says. “I appreciate the faith you've put in me.”
“It's faith that's well placed.”
“You take care of yourself, Aidan,” he says.
“I'll do that,” I say. “Thanks again.”
I end the call and put my computer to sleep. Now that my work for the day is done, I have nothing to do. The clicking of nails in the hallway draws my attention, and I lean forward to see Oliver stick his head through the doorway, looking at me expectantly.
“Okay, buddy,” I say. “Let’s go out for a bit.”
With Oliver on my heels, I walk into the kitchen, refill my insulated water bottle, and lead him through the mudroom and out into the backyard. I own about ten acres surrounding my estate, but there is a high, thick wall around the house and outbuildings. It's a gorgeous place and was obviously built for someone like me, who wanted privacy and solitude.
This area is dotted with properties just like mine. It's a place for the discerning recluse. I can't even tell you where my nearest neighbor is, though – and that’s the way I want it.
I punch in the code on the back gate and it opens wide, letting Oliver romp ahead of me. He moves among the trees, sniffing away happily. Oliver never strays too far, always staying within my line of sight.
Removing the lid from the bottle, I take a drink and watch as Oliver darts from bush to bush, captivated by the smells and tracks of animals that had passed by. As he does his thing, I start thinking back to my conversation with Brayden a few days ago. More specifically, about his “homework” assignment for me.
And as I think about it, I can't lie that a small part of me is concerned that at least two weeks had passed without any real human interaction at all – and I never even noticed. Not until my brother pointed it out to me, at least.
I feel myself withdrawing and closing in on myself more and more each day. I've felt it ever since Maddy died. But, I've always thought it was part of the mourning process – closing yourself off and sorting through the emotional shit before anything else. Though, it's not like I have any real basis of comparison.
Still, the fact that I went so long without interacting with another human being – and didn’t even notice – is a little concerning. I can see why Brayden is pushing me so hard to get out of the house. He’s not wrong. As much as it irritates me to admit.
I walk with Oliver for another hour before heading back to the house. After feeding him, I jump in the shower. As I'm toweling off, my stomach rumbles, and I realize I can’t remember how long it’s been since I've eaten. Clearly, caring for myself isn't one of my top priorities th
ese days. I look over to find Oliver hovering in the doorway of the bathroom, looking at me.
“I guess I should go out and grab something to eat, huh?”
Oliver lets out a soft chuff, which I take to mean he agrees – assuming, of course, that he can go with me.
“Can't take you with me though, buddy,” I say. “Not this time.”
When I do make the occasional trip down the mountain, I'll sometimes bring Oliver with me. He enjoys the car ride and walking around the small town. Some people give us weird looks and an unnecessarily wide berth when we walk down the street – a reaction I've always found strange and off-putting.
Ashton Mill is a small, insular town. The kind where everybody knows everybody – and their business. Unfortunate for outsiders – like me – we aren't greeted with open arms, but unwarranted suspicion.
But, whatever. They can stare at me all they want. I don’t care.
As if sensing that he's not going on this trip with me, Oliver lets out a soft grunt of disapproval before turning around and heading out of the bathroom. He really is one of the smartest, most expressive dogs I've ever known. I hear him stop and grab a squeaky toy from his basket as his nails click-clack down the hallway. He's probably headed for his favorite spot – the couch. At first, I tried to stop him from climbing on the furniture, but after about a week of arguing with him – and having him sneak onto it when I wasn't paying attention – I gave in. Oliver has run of the house, and I'm only pretending to be in charge around here.
I get dressed and head out to the living room where Oliver looks up at me expectantly as he reclines on the sofa. Grabbing the remote, I flip on the Animal Planet channel for him. Although I like to joke that he's a TV-watching couch potato, it's probably the background noise the TV provides that puts him at ease when I'm gone. Before I figured out that trick, his separation anxiety led to several chewed up couch cushions and chair legs.
“There you go, buddy,” I say. “I won't be out too late, don't worry.”
He lets out a small sigh, and I give him a scratch behind the ears. On my way out, I check his water and food, just to make sure he can eat and drink while I'm gone. Satisfied he's not going to starve or die of thirst, I go out through the door that leads to the garage, locking it behind me.
