by Brinda Berry
“Guilty,” I answer, my lips tilting at the corners. “There are millions of books to be read. If I read them one at a time, I'll never finish them all.”
“Rest your head on my shoulder,” he says. “Thought I'd read to you.”
I squirm, a little embarrassed that he thinks I need tenderness. I only need Dane to be himself. “I swear I’m all right. You really don’t have to do this.”
“It’s what I want to do. If you ever tell any of the guys I did this, I’ll deny it.”
“I’ve never been read to in my entire life. When Leo and I were kids, Mom had enough to take care of with twins on her own and Dad traveling for work.”
“Mom read to me all the time,” he says and opens to the metal placeholder in my book. “I’m going to read to our child.”
He’s absolutely going to kill me with kindness tonight. Tell him you love him.
Of all of the books he could have chosen, he’s picked up a romance. Paranormal romance to be exact. This should be an education for Dane. He balances my copy of Saving Mercy on his chest and begins reading chapter five aloud. Within minutes, we’re both engrossed in the story of the son of a serial killer who finds the most unlikely of soul mates.
After one chapter, my eyelids are heavy and my hormones are quieted. “I'm going to be snoring in a minute. This was nice.”
“It was getting good. Are you sure?”
I laugh at his question. “You like this story?”
“Yeah,” he says without hesitation. “After you go to sleep, I may back up and read the beginning.”
“You do that.” I pull in a deep breath and exhale. This man isn’t afraid to be real with me. “Dane?”
“Yeah, Butterfly?”
“I want you to know…well, I should’ve said it before tonight. Now you’ll think it’s because you read to me.”
“What is it?”
“It’s just that…” I whisper the words like it's a secret. And it is. A sappy little secret held deep in my heart for so long. “I love you.”
His arm tenses around me and I hear his heart speed up beneath my ear.
Maybe it was the wrong thing to say. “You don't have to say it back.”
“Stop right there.” The words are harsh. Angry. He sits up in the bed and I’m forced to move up with him. He places his hands on both sides of my head. A lover’s hold. “I’ve loved you for as long as I can remember.”
His hands slide down and around my neck. Then he attempts to pull me closer but my darn belly is in the way.
I rest my palms on his bare chest and stare at my hands because looking into his eyes feels too hard. It’s like a dream that might end. “I didn’t know.”
“How could you not? I thought it was clear. ‘Cause I do love you so much. But you deserve the best, and I worry that I’ll fail you. I'll do my damnedest to make you happy.”
His lips press against mine in a tender kiss. When he lifts his head, dark eyes search mine. “Is this what’s been wrong tonight? You were worried about us?”
“No. Maybe. Okay. Yes.” I scoot as close as possible and he lies back with his arms still around me.
He chuckles, and I enjoy the solid feel of him beneath my head. “So, all the summers I spent with your family at the cabin. You didn’t guess?”
I lift my chin so I can see his face. “I thought you liked me as a friend.”
“You didn’t notice the way I couldn’t take my eyes or hands off you?”
I wrinkle my nose. “You were a teenage boy.”
“I was a horny teenage boy in love with his best friend’s sister. Big difference.”
“The biggest.” And with that, I sigh and close my eyes. “Night, best friend.”
“Night, Butterfly.”
I wake to the sound of voices in the living room and an empty spot where Dane should be. The sheets are still warm from his body heat and the room dark.
Slinging a hand over to the nightstand, I blindly pat the surface until I hit my cell phone. I squint at the display. Six a.m.
I swing my legs over the side of the bed grabbing my chenille robe from the hook behind my bedroom door and pad softly down the hall. I freeze at the sound of Ellen's voice. Maybe it’s not her voice as much as her words that stop my movement.
"I didn't steal those rings,” she says. “I borrowed them. I only needed to use them for collateral. And I need to borrow some money to get them back. You’re lucky I caught you before you went to work.”
“When did you take them?” he asks, sounding as confused as I feel.
“At the shower. Your lady was laughing and carrying on with Cece so much, she barely paid attention to me. Then you got mad about the cake because of her.”
“Wait. Are you crazy? There’s no justification.” Each of Dane’s words vibrates with anger.
“All that baby stuff surrounding her chair like she was a queen. She doesn’t need for things like I do. But she’s your woman, so I’ll make it right. I don't have the money to get the rings out of hock, and the pawnbroker says he's going to turn me into the cops. She must have reported them missing because they came in asking my pawn guy about her rings.”
“What’s wrong with you? How could you even do this? It crosses a line. You stole from Josie. For that matter, you stole from me because we’re one and the same. I should call the police myself.”
I stare down at my bare hands, devoid of jewelry due to my swelling fingers. My heartbeat thumps loud as a kettle drum in my ears. It’s impossible for me to imagine Ellen taking my things.
“What do you need the money for?” Dane asks, his terse tone strained and unnatural. His pain is my pain.
“I have bills to pay.”
“I don't believe you. There’s some other reason.” Dane’s voice is calmer now. Deadly calm. There’s a steely quality now that worries me even more, the spigot to his emotions now closed.
I press my back against the wall and debate on whether I should let them know I’m listening or not. She’s got to have a good reason for doing something so detestable.
“Give me the pawn shop ticket,” Dane says. “I’ll go get the rings myself. We’re done, Ellen. It’s too hard. I can’t trust you and all you bring is heartache to everyone around you. Josie doesn’t need this kind of stress. Give me the ticket and go home.”
“What do you mean we’re done?” Ellen says in a shrill voice. “We’re blood. We’re never done.”
“You’re an embarrassment. I’m sorry I ever let you into my life.”
My legs wobble.
“I’ve tried to make this work,” Dane says, resignation fills his voice. “Do you know how hard it is to know I’m your son?”
There’s the sound of someone pacing. Then the click and pop of an opening door. “You have to go before you wake Josie.”
“It’s all about her, isn’t it? She told you to cut your ties with me. Do you think she’ll be around forever? The girl probably got pregnant on purpose. That’s how they work.”
For a brief moment, I have a stupid inkling of self-doubt. Surely Dane won't believe her. But my anger at Ellen rushes on-board. Before I can stop myself, I'm striding forward and into the family room. This is my house and it was crazy for me to hide in the shadows. Ellen and Dane are so caught up in their argument that they don't see me for several seconds. When Dane finally notices, he shakes his head at me. “It’s okay Josie. Go back to bed. Ellen was leaving.”
Wide-eyed desperation flickers across Ellen’s face. “That baby has my blood in him,” she says. “You’re my daughter-in-law now. It don’t matter that you’re not married. You’re the daughter-in-law of my heart. Of my blood. I’m that baby’s grandma. Tell him you want me around.”
This is a major switch from the venom I heard earlier while in hiding. She obviously has no clue that I know what she said about me before. “You have to go, Ellen. I want you to leave.”
“Your mama’s dead, right? She would want this baby to have a blood-kin grandma who coul
d love it.”
Each of her words feels like stepping on broken glass, lacerating my skin, branding a fierce dislike onto my heart. No one uses my mother to manipulate me. Her absence has been the one dark spot in my whole pregnancy. How dare Ellen. Adrenaline – the kind that makes me feel protective and hostile – courses through me, making my skin tingle and my breathing come fast.
“If you don’t leave in the next minute, I’m calling the police. You’re not welcome in my home. And you’re not welcome in our baby’s life.”
Dane steps between me and Ellen. “You're going to leave,” he says to Ellen. “If she doesn’t call the police, I will. Go.”
“You’ll call the cops and say you can’t get your mama to leave?” Her question comes out as a taunt, like a mean kid on the playground.
This woman has balls the size of a Brahma bull. “No,” I say. “I’ll call and tell them to question you about my rings.”
My threat sends her out the door without a backward glance. Dane closes it behind her, muttering apologies as if he’s done something wrong. He won’t even turn around and face me.
“It’s not your fault.” I furrow my brow and step up behind him. Extending my hands to rest at his sides, I press my cheek against the bare skin of his back. “You didn’t do anything.”
He pivots into my embrace. His tortured, dark eyes look into mine. “It doesn’t matter. It still hurt you and I’m so sorry. I’ll get the pawn ticket from her.” He drags a hand over his face. “How could I be such an idiot? I should’ve known Ellen’s unpredictable. Sick. Mom tried to tell me.”
“There’s nothing wrong with what you did. Ellen gave birth to you. It’s natural to want some kind of bond.”
Dane puts his hand on my back and stares past me, not meeting my eyes. “Sometimes, no matter how much you want a relationship to work, it just can’t. I promise that you always come first.”
Chapter Twenty-One
The Past
Dane, nineteen-years-old
Dreary weather and funerals must be lovers. I’ve never attended one where the sun shines and birds sing. It’s always one step away from a post-war scene, all doom and despair underneath a gray sky.
The Holy Cross of St. John Cemetery sucks beyond the norm. A murder of crows rattle and caw to the onlookers while perched in a nearby row of barren trees.
Josie’s parents can’t be dead, or at least I keep questioning it. Every time I think of them, my emotions brim too close to the edge and it feels as if speaking the word might break the dike I hold in check.
It’s easy to see that Josie brims over with emotion. Her eyes beg to be in the cold earth with those fucking caskets. It’s my first time to ever attend a double funeral and I hope it’s the last.
“Poor baby,” Mom whispers to me. “She looks like she’s about to fall apart. Leo looks like he’s handling it better.”
I can only nod. Leo’s messed up, too. But he’ll be okay in the long run. I’m not so sure about Josie.
A bitter east wind swirls around the bottom of my gray wool coat. Josie looks cold. Alone. She’s shaking her head like she’s answering the minister.
I tune into his words. “Forasmuch as it hath pleased Almighty God of his great mercy to take unto himself the soul…”
Mercy? I’m confused as to the merciful part of leaving someone like Josie without the people she loves.
“…earth to earth, ashes to ashes, dust to dust…”
Josie sways, and Leo puts his arm around her. She needs me up there. Her brother shouldn’t have to carry her grief. He’s burdened with his own pain.
“…we commit Jeremy and Haley Jensen to the ground.” The minister walks over and bends his head to say something to Josie. She shakes her head and uses the backs of her hand to wipe the wet of her cheeks. I can see the way she intakes gulps of air. Goddamn, she’s miserable. Somebody do something.
Before I even know what I'm doing, I weave through the bodies that stand three deep between me and Josie. There’s no way I can stand back.
Although Josie wears a coat, I remove mine and drape it over her shoulders. Her startled gaze tells me she’s not very aware of her surroundings. She’s been solely inside her head during the entire service.
She steps closer to me or maybe I close the distance. Another second passes, and I wrap my arm around her back for support.
“I can’t do it,” she whispers, the words so low I almost missed them.
“I’ve got you,” I mutter.
Maybe most people go through the motions at the funeral. I’m sure that’s the case for Josie and Leo. Up close, I see that Leo hasn’t slept for a while. Josie begins crying harder, punctuated with cruel hiccups that jerk her entire body. I pull her against my chest. I don't care that we have an audience.
Afterward, some of Mrs. Jensen’s friends hold a wake at the Jensen’s house. Leo walks through the house accepting condolences and comforting others as if he's so much stronger than everybody else. And he probably is. I’ve always looked up to my level-headed friend.
After an hour, Josie disappears. I search several rooms before I find her. “Why are you in here?” I look around the room at craft projects that Mrs. Jensen will never finish.
She shrugs and follows my gaze. “This room feels the most like her.”
I take the lid from a heavy woven basket and peer inside. “You ever do any of this stuff?”
“No. Not really good with crafts. Mom tried to teach me how to knit one summer, but I ended up with this crazy yarn ball that was pretty unrecognizable.”
“I can't knit either,” I say it in all seriousness, but she laughs at me.
“Oh yeah?” She grabs the box of tissues and wipes her red nose.
“It’s puzzling. I have fine motor skills like a champ when it’s football. But then I can’t do anything like that,” I say pointing at the knitting basket. “Or drawing. You think I’m kidding? You ever see me draw anything? Leo is the artist.”
She stares at me for a full minute and I’m not sure if she’s gone somewhere else inside that pretty head of hers. I’m trying to distract her and make her laugh when all she wants is to be alone with her thoughts and her mother’s things.
“You are bad at it. You’re right.” She sits back on the floor. “Come sit with me. Unless you want to go back out there.”
“I want to be where you are.” I sit on the floor and then decide to get comfortable and sprawl out beside her. The sun is down and shadows filled the room. Soon, it will be dark and we’ll have to turn on a lamp to see each other.
She lets her head fall back and studies the ceiling. “How’s school? I hear people say you might have a chance of going pro football.”
“That could be. Maybe. You never know.”
“But you’ll get your degree first, right?”
“It would be the smart thing to do. Mom wants me to get my degree and take over the bar for Dad.”
“Hmmm. What about Marty? What’s he say?”
“Dad puffs out his chest whenever he thinks I have a chance at going pro.”
I’m glad were talking about anything that doesn’t make her sad. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but I don’t like you as a blonde. I mean it’s just different. I think you were meant to be a brunette.”
“Fuck off.”
I adopt a perfectly shocked expression. “You’ve gotten a dirty mouth at college.”
I tilt my head to study her. Man, she’s even more gorgeous than I remember. And the blonde hair is actually hot. Too hot. I don’t want to imagine the guys who are after her.
“Let’s get out of here,” she whispers without looking at me. Reaching across to grab my hand in the dark, she gives it a tug. “Take me somewhere, anywhere, anywhere that’s not so sad. I don’t want to stay in this room another minute and I can’t talk to people.”
“Do you want to tell Leo we’re leaving?”
A flicker of panic crosses her face. I put my hand on her arm. “Or we can just leave
. You know he’s fine. He’s running on automatic out there. If he could leave, he would.”
“I’ll talk to him.”
"Butterfly? We can sneak out the back if you want…” I get up and lift her by her hands. I don't begin to understand what she's going through. But I do know that Leo is probably okay out there. I doubt he even knows we’re back here in their mother’s craft room.
Josie walks down the long hallway with me behind her. We make a stop at the end to grab our coats from a closet and walk into the family room without stopping to talk to anyone. Leo stands at the opposite end deep in conversation with a middle-aged woman. He makes eye contact with Josie. She merely points to the door, and he nods in some freaky twin communication.
“Let’s go,” she says and we’re out the door.
“I’m in the Tahoe.” I lead the way to a dark brown SUV several yards away.
I'm thankful that I didn't park somewhere I’d be hemmed in with no way to escape. At this point, I’d call a cab to take us out of here.
“Where to?” I ask.
I crank up the heat and glance across at Josie, who looks remarkably better since we got into the vehicle. The glow of the dash lights illuminates the only traces of her sorrow – puffy red-rimmed eyes.
“Take me somewhere loud,” she says.
I don’t question her request. I drive downtown and find a public parking lot. “This okay?”
“Yeah.” She stares out the window. We park and before long we are walking down the sidewalk through the crowd. I grab her hand so we won’t be separated and look for clubs that might fit what she needs. All the clubs have live music, a trademark of Nashville’s Row. But some are tamer than others.
Loud dance music leads me to the next club in our path. The inside of the place is a kaleidoscope of neon lights. A low base thumps in my bones as we find a table. Josie drapes her coat over a chair and looks around the room.
