“Maybe he’s learned something. Maybe he’s changed.”
Bryant shrugged. “Things always change. Employers who give you heinous jobs …”
“Employees who are cocky and annoying …”
“Girls who reject awesome men that want to date them. Lots of things change.” He leaned back against the tree. “Speaking of change, you realize you’ve got two days left.”
She sat still. The puffy white clouds had passed over the sun and they were in a momentary shade. “Yes, I do.”
“I checked back home and there’s a temp place, if you want to see their situation. Have you talked to your supervisor for the time off?”
“I’m working on it.” She was, but only in her soul. She hadn’t breathed a word to Sylvia.
“Aha.” He sat up. “Anything you want to tell me?”
“No,” she said then looked up at him. “Yes.” She gazed at the pond. “I guess I’m trying to understand how this will help us know where to go from here. I mean, how does a week in each other’s cities fundamentally change anything? Have you made any decisions about the lumber yard or something else?”
The question was unexpected. He just looked at her, processing. “No, no decisions yet. At least on that score. But it’s only been a short time. There are some things worth figuring out as you go along. Together.”
She touched his hand, interlacing her fingers. “It’s not in me to dive into something without knowing what’s below. When I go in, I dive deep, and it takes a while to resurface again.”
“A bit serious, aren’t you?”
“Well, we’re not kids. It’s not prom and hanging out at the Tastee Freez, though I really would have enjoyed the ice cream sandwich. It’s real life—balding hair and car payments.”
He burst out laughing. “That’s jumping ahead.”
She sat up. “Laugh, but it’s real, and I’m not going to sit in pretty sunlight and pretend it’s not.”
“No, you’re not.”
“That’s exactly how it starts, all starry-eyed and we’ll make our own future together. ‘Things will happen as we move along, Loralee, and it’ll all work out.’ I’ve heard that before. And then it doesn’t. People can’t make promises like that, because they don’t know. And when bad things happen, someone says, I got a bum deal. I don’t want pretty stories and it’ll all be fine. I want to know what’s coming, and take it with my eyes open.”
Without hesitation, he brought his mouth to hers, surprising her with his warmth. He kissed her again, softly, then pulled her in—asking, receiving. Like a glacial thaw, warm air rolled through the crevasse. She breathed it in. Why was everything clearer when she was with him? Or was it that nothing else mattered?
But hadn’t she felt that before, someone becoming her world? Ignoring the warning signs and thinking it would all work out?
When he pulled away, he tipped her chin toward him. “Did you know that was coming?” She tried to smile but couldn’t so she looked down.
Leaning back, he tugged her shoulder and she nestled into him.
“And your eyes weren’t open, either.”
“Oh, shut up.”
He lay his head back on the prickly bark, grinning.
They stayed until the stars began to pop in the sky. The Nevada nights were still warm and hazy, and they chatted all the way to their separate cars.
“And what exciting career choice do you have for me tomorrow?”
“Oh, you’ll like this one.” Megan spoke normally but felt pained at the unmistakable lightness in his voice and manner. He had done his part, completely, and now it was time to go. And he had no doubt that she would follow him to California, just as she should.
But she couldn’t. Because it wasn’t about him. It was something else, something that stopped her from going farther without a guarantee. Each moment Megan pushed back the reality of what she would choose and what she would say. Bantering back to their cars she felt a pressure fold in on her. She would have to decide, again, which path in the road, and she didn’t want to take either.
***
Thursday.
Megan checked her watch, looked at the clock, and checked it again. Nausea pulsed through her, knowing that today was it, and she would have to tell him the truth. If only she knew exactly what that was. In one decisive move, she scooted her chair back from her desk. She would leave and not be here. He could drop the final time card on the desk. Carrying her things, she opened the door, just as Bryant entered.
“Oh, I was just—” In one glance he took in her coat, keys, and expression. Standing in the dusky light of the doorway, she knew there was no excuse to invent.
“Going somewhere?” He said it quietly.
“Yes.”
He stared at her, the air seeming to hold still, her heart thumping hard and loud and flushing her face.
“But not with me,” he said. It was flat and final.
Megan looked evenly at him. “I can’t go with you, Bryant.” His jaw hardened. “I should, I know I should—you’ve done it for me. Heaven knows, beyond the call of duty. I don’t understand it, but it can’t be love.”
“Or maybe it’s selfishness.”
“In that case, you don’t want to be with me.”
She watched his face, looking for the anger, the tirade he rightfully deserved to express. He had taken so much. But he simply stared at her with a puzzled, tight expression. He folded his arms over his chest and looked out into the parking lot.
“Do you care?” He turned back to her. “Do you even want to make this work?”
How could she help him understand when she didn’t yet understand herself? Not knowing what to do, she fell back on being business-like. “The truth is, I don’t know what’s wrong with me. And until I know, you need to move on with someone who isn’t so emotionally unstable.” Brisk, analytical—it was her only protection. His face, that open vulnerability before her. It was excruciating and she knew in moments she might throw herself at him and say inane and gushing things.
They stood immovable, both filling the entry, each standing down their sides as the silence thickened and pounded. She could see him at any moment turning and leaving.
Surprising her, Bryant sat heavily on the corner of the low entry oak table and pulled her to his lap. She couldn’t fight the gentleness.
“Bryant, I’m so sorry.” The tears would have to come now. “You shouldn’t want me.”
“Okay, that helps.”
“I’m working through things emotionally but something’s not right and I just don’t know what it is. Until I do, I can’t go forward. I’ve thought about it—going back with you—about nothing else, really.”
“Except for outstanding jobs to give me.”
“That too.” Megan smiled wearily, fingering her keys. “I know I should go with you, and it’s wrong not to, but honestly, I can’t.”
“Won’t.
“Can’t.” How could she explain that it wouldn’t let her, that restraint in her soul? A thought came. “When I was eight”—she gave a deprecating smile to his grimace—“I was riding my bike in the gravel and I slid sideways and fell. I gashed my leg really good. At the time I was in a dodgeball tournament, but Sam—my brother—said to let it heal. But the other players said I was the best and convinced me to play. So I played, and the gash ripped open again. My brother said, ‘Meg, you need to wait for the muscle fibers to knit together.’”
She took his hand. “That’s my heart. It needs to knit. You’ve swept it out and the pain is gone. But I can’t rip it open again.”
“Do you think I would do that?”
“Just being with you sometimes hurts.” He looked concerned, worried. “Because I so want . . . I yearn to”—she had almost said love—“to like you, fully, as me. But it’s a weak version. My heart, this part to care, feels so fragile. So many times I don’t have a clue what I’m feeling or why, and that means I’m going to hurt someone while I figure it out. I have to let my heart h
eal before I can fully give it to anyone. Especially you.”
She prayed he would understand everything she hadn’t said.
Bryant caressed her hand, thoughtful, but his eyes focused on something else. They sat that way for how long, she didn’t know. The evening shadows fell across them, there in the entry way, sitting on the table, her head leaning against his shoulder. After a long silence, Bryant brought her hand to his mouth and kissed it.
“Okay then, that’s that.” In one final motion he stood up with her then walked through the agency door, got in his truck and left.
Megan couldn’t speak, her throat felt thick and sore. Part of her almost screamed at him to come back, that she was wrong, but she couldn’t utter a sound.
Lying in bed that night, she thought through their conversation like a looped reel, over and over, what she should have said or done. Why couldn’t she get past this already? A chime from her phone said she had a text. Looking at the screen it was from Bryant:
You have one more week. We can figure this out. But that’s it. Final.
And no more lame jobs or I file a formal complaint.
She smiled and held the phone to her chest, a warmth spreading through her insides. Could she figure it out in a week? She would. She didn’t want to play games but her soul didn’t sit right, not yet. But it could. When, she had no idea and no guarantee. But moving closer to it made her feel bolder and more able to make it happen. And she knew just what to say to Bryant tomorrow. Grinning, she lay back as several thoughts flitted through her mind, most of them involving some form of a picnic, and a skirt, and fresh made lemonade.
***
The country highway was practically empty as Bryant drove back to the hotel after his last temp job of the week. Friday, he was relieved. After a quick shower, he would head out to Megan’s real home about an hour from her apartment. He’d been specially invited—something about her brother coming home for the weekend. The sound in her voice had been unmistakably happy. But the joy of it was held in ransom for him until he figured out what to do.
He’d told her one more week without telling his family. Bryant shook his head—he already knew what they’d say. If only she could hurry up and figure out where she stood, to commit. It wasn’t such a difficult thing.
Intuitively, he knew she wasn’t playing games for the fun of it. Something held her, deep down, and kept her from committing to him. In past relationships, that had usually been his problem. It didn’t feel so good coming from the other side. Maybe that was it—his ego. Or impatience. Once he knew what he wanted, it was a done deal. But she was excruciatingly slow, and confusing. Why he stuck it out, he couldn’t understand. How much more he could take, he wasn’t so sure.
Bryant heard the familiar ringtone from his cell phone and smiled. Taking one hand from the steering wheel, he reached to the side, feeling under his work jacket until he found it.
“Hey, little sis.”
“Big sis to you.”
“I guess you got that right, especially now. What are you, five months?”
She laughed. “Almost eight, so don’t mess with me. I can’t take you down but I can sit on you.”
Bryant frowned. She had joked but the laugh wasn’t in it. “Everything okay?”
“Yes and no.”
“Tell me about no.”
She sighed. He could see her ease into the chair and hold her belly. “Mom will kill me but I think it’s way past time you knew.” Bryant tensed. “Dad’s sick.”
“Oh,” he relaxed and scanned the highway. “You scared me there. What is it, the flu?” Not that great but still, nothing to get worked up about.
“No, Bryant,” she said, low and serious. “He’s sick. He’s been sick for the past six months.”
Something numb and cold started from his stomach and like an ink stain spread up to his throat. He swallowed, awkward and loud. “What’s wrong?”
“They didn’t know.” She paused. “Second batch of tests just came back yesterday. Bry, it’s a brain tumor, small, but a very good chance of being cancerous.” Her voice wavered. “We thought he just had the flu, or was tired, or age, but then weird things would happen here and there. He’d forget Jakey’s name, or sometimes speak gibberish. Or act like he was going to speak, then walk away.”
His mind pinballed a hundred questions. “How long has he been like this? Did you get a second opinion? Why didn’t you tell me—was this before the cruise tour?”
He could hear her blow her nose. “Right before you left, I wanted to tell you but you know Mom. She thought the tour would be good for you and you had agreed, which shocked her. Then you met Megan”—she sniffed and blew again—“so she didn’t want to ruin anything. And neither do I, really, I’m not complaining. But Bry, it’s just too hard. The hours are getting longer and I’m so tired. And hormonal. And with Sarah and Jakey—who has been a handful lately.”
Bryant pushed his mind to process it all. “You’re not working, are you?”
“Mitch and I have taken turns and pitched in all we can, and it was okay, but we’re so worn out.” It tumbled without stopping. “And Mom is leaning on me, she’s so scared. Mom’s never scared. And Dad—he says, ‘Nothing’s wrong, Piper-girl, just getting old.’ Ha.” She spat it out. “But he can’t remember his own grandson.” She was talking in between soft sobs. Bryant waited for an opening. “Uncle Pete’s helped schedule him for surgery already. He’s the one that sent the results. Dad’s been there up a few times getting testing and resting up.”
The traveling. And Bryant had thought his dad had just been golfing. Suddenly it all fit—his mother’s pinched look, her lack of spunk, Piper’s irritability and fatigue. Dad’s worn face and hardly being around.
“And now Mitch and his job offer. He’s stalled them as long as he can, but it’s with Brinkerhoff.”
Bryant gripped the steering wheel, the tumblers falling into place and fighting a rising anger. Why hadn’t they said anything before now, why hadn’t they explained? And then he knew. The e-mails. The letters. Casual but there had been that tone, the underlying message that he’d heard, and heard wrong. All wrong. They weren’t trying to rope him into anything—they were shielding him. He thought of Piper, eight months pregnant, with kids, and doing the books. And Mitch with three kids and student loans, running the entire yard. They’d shouldered the whole load, and he’d been singing on a cruise ship.
He hit the dash.
With a single smooth motion, he barely slowed down and squealed the truck into a u-turn, barreling down the empty highway in the opposite direction. The shower would have to wait. “Piper, it’ll be okay. I’ll be home in twelve hours. When’s the surgery?”
“What? No, Bry, listen. Monday if you can do it, that’s when he’s scheduled. But I’m not trying to stress you out.”
“Twelve hours, maybe less.”
“But what about your job? What about Megan?”
“I’m taking care of it. Right now.”
Speeding heedless of consequences, Bryant screeched into the McCormick’s driveway forty-five minutes later, skidding to a stop and sending gravel spitting into the air. A soft blonde-haired woman holding a green garden hose turned to the sound.
Hopping out, Bryant quickly scanned for Megan’s face.
“Bryant, that must be you,” the woman called in a cheery voice. Seeing his darkened face, she said, “Is everything all right?”
That had to be her mom. “Nice to meet you, Mrs. McCormick. Is Megan here?”
“She’s inside,” said her mother, wearing a worried expression. “Do you want me to—”
He took the distance to the house in long strides. “I got it, Mrs. McCormick.” He stomped onto the porch and opened the door.
Megan turned from the fridge with a bowl of cut apples in time to see Bryant enter the room.
Her face flushed with pleasure. Recovering, she put down the bowl and said, “Free food, I knew you’d come early.”
Bryant strode
into the room and stopped dead in front of her. “That,” he said, chest rising and falling, “stops now. And any other sarcastic or hostile comment you’re possibly about to make.”
Megan opened her mouth but nothing came out.
“For months I’ve done everything I can to show you how I feel. I’ve dug ditches, cleaned sewer pipes, did whatever grunt job you gave me.” His eyes, she couldn’t turn away. They burned, electric and crackling. “I’ve listened, and I’ve tried to understand, even when you pushed me away. And I am done.”
He stepped closer, his face inches away. “I need to know. What do you feel for me?”
Searching him, she took in his eyes, his energy. “I—I don’t—”
And then he pulled her in, with one arm, then both, and kissed her full and strong. He completely enveloped her senses, declaring his feelings, demanding an answer. Megan couldn't help but respond, feeling overwhelmed by a rush of sensations—heady sparks and tingles that gave way to a deep, rising yearning for a closeness she’d never felt before—until she finally pulled herself away to catch her breath.
He bored into her eyes. “It’s not complicated. I love you. I want you, with me, by my side.” His voice was low and pulsing with emotion. “I’m leaving, right now. When you figure out what you’re doing, you call me. Maybe I’ll be around. Maybe I won’t. But I am done.”
With one final penetrating look, he turned and strode across the room, slamming the door behind him.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Eleven hours later, Bryant got out of his truck just as Mitch met him in the parking lot of the lumber yard, looking worse than Bryant felt.
“You’re a sight for sore eyes,” said Mitch. “I heard you drove through the night—thanks.”
Bryant shrugged it off. “Where’s Dad?”
“He’s at the hospital for his last appointment, but he’ll be home tonight. Ross says he can take care of things for a couple of days, but—”
“Yeah, I know how Ross is. Don’t worry about a thing.”
“Listen, about the offer, I can ask them to hold it, they know that Dad’s sick.” He paused, hesitant. “I need to wait until I know you’re in.”
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