Going on Red

by Lyn Gardner

  ***

  “We need a bigger fridge,” Stevie announced, sashaying into Brodie’s office. “That tiny one in the corner out there isn’t working anymore.”

  “It’s broken?” Brodie said, looking up from her desk.

  “No, it’s too small. I almost had to butter the sides of the three casseroles to make them fit.”

  “Three,” Brodie said, rocking back in her chair. “Look, I know everyone means well, but between the food Gina and Devon are bringing to my flat, and what you’ve brought here for me to take home, I’m starting to feel like a goose being fattened for a meal.”

  “You know I’m going to be out of town for…for the upcoming holiday, and since you refuse to go with me and you’re not going to your dad’s, I wanted to make sure you had plenty to eat.”

  “Me and what army?”

  Stevie hung his head, and Brodie’s shoulders fell. “I’m sorry. I know you mean well.”

  “I do,” Stevie said, flinging himself into a chair. “I want you to be happy and sassy and—”

  “Fat?”

  “No, but at least fill out the arse of your trousers.”

  Brodie folded her arms, and the corners of her mouth eased up just a bit. “I’m sorry, but are you saying you’ve looked at my arse?”

  “No, I’m saying I’ve looked at your saggy pants, which are still saggy. Your arse is of no concern of mine.”

  “Good. For a minute, I thought you were switching sides.”

  “Oh, heaven forbid,” Stevie said, faking a shudder. “The thought of it gives me the willies.”

  Brodie broke into a full smile. “Well, if we are done talking about my arse and your willies, I have something for you.” Brodie opened her desk drawer and handed Stevie an envelope. “Merry Christmas, Stevie.”

  Stevie’s mouth dropped open, his cheeks darkening a shade as he took the envelope. Even though Christmas was right around the corner, he had never once broached the idea of decorating the office, nor had he dared to mention the name of the upcoming holiday. It was a time of love and gift-giving, and while Brodie seemed to be doing better, Christmas and New Year’s Eve were going to be tough. He knew it. Devon and Gina knew it…and they all knew Brodie knew it.

  “You always do so much. I wasn’t expecting anything.”

  “Shall I take it back?” Brodie said, holding out her hand.

  “Not on your life,” Stevie said, clutching the envelope to his chest.

  Brodie let out a laugh, and Stevie beamed. He liked the fact he could make her laugh. He liked it a lot. “Can I open it now?”

  “Of course,” Brodie said, waving her hand. “Have at it.”

  In the time it takes a hummingbird’s wing to flap, Stevie had the envelope ripped open and was staring at a check, the amount of which caused his lungs to empty in a whoosh. “Oh my, God,” he said, looking at Brodie. “This is too much, Brodie. This is…this is way too much.”

  “No, it’s not,” Brodie said softly. “Stevie, you’re the face of my company…of our company. You excel at everything you do, you juggle more balls in the air than I could ever think possible.”

  “Well, I am gay, you know?”

  “I am not talking about those balls, and now you’re giving me the willies,” Brodie said, faking a shiver of her own. “I’m talking about you keeping this place running while I was away for two weeks licking my wounds. I’m talking about you greeting every client so professionally and brilliantly, they’re almost ready to hire me, even before they walk through my door. I’m talking about you keeping the books balanced to the penny and making sure our people are paid as are the vendors, and fighting tooth and nail whenever a supplier tries to pull a fast one.”

  “They are slimy bastards at times.”

  “Yes, they can be,” Brodie said as she leaned forward and pointed to the check. “That is my way of saying thank you. Thank you for being you. Thank you for calling Devon a few weeks back. Thank you for worrying. Thank you for…for your lovely casseroles and for always making me smile no matter how badly I may be feeling.”

  “It’s a gift,” Stevie said with a shrug.

  “I truly think it is. You’re a great friend, Stevie, and I couldn’t ask for a better employee, and that’s my small way of making sure you know it.”

  “It’s hardly small.”

  “It’s just a piece of paper with a few numbers on it, but I couldn’t think of how else to show you how much I appreciate you because I do…more than all those numbers on that check.”

  Stevie sniffled back his emotions. “Oh, crap. I think my mascara is about to run.”

  “Then you better go home and fix it.”

  “Huh?”

  “It’s Thursday, and Christmas is Tuesday, and I know you’ve been avoiding bringing up that subject for weeks, something else I appreciate,” Brodie said, and standing up, she walked around her desk. “So take that check, go pack up your satchel, and I’ll see you next year. All right?”

  Stevie sniffled again and got to his feet. “Is it sexual harassment if you give your boss a hug?”

  “Absolutely not,” Brodie said, opening her arms. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

  ***

  Even though Brodie had given Stevie an early reprieve, she did not afford herself the same luxury. Instead, every morning, she got up, showered, dressed professionally, and headed to the office. Brodie found the routine helped her keep her mind on what she could control and not on what she couldn’t. Since everyone else was away, there was no one to question her being in the office on Saturday or Sunday or even the twenty-fourth of December, and that, in and of itself, gave her peace. She was just a woman doing her job. Nothing more. Nothing less. She wasn’t heartbroken. She wasn’t alone. She wasn’t being watched or reprimanded for skipping a meal. She was a responsible adult acting responsibly. She was doing what she wanted to do…and that worked until she left her office and returned to her home on Christmas Eve.

  Brodie sat on the sofa, drumming her fingers against her thigh. It was harder at night to silence her thoughts, to quiet her memories, to breathe. She always managed, though, and she thought she would tonight as well, but Christmas was tomorrow, and Brodie was struggling. She wouldn’t allow the tears to fall. Too many had already streamed down her cheeks. She wouldn’t allow her anger to awaken. There was nothing to be angry about any longer. Brodie picked at a loose thread on her jeans. She was the one who had chosen not to go home this Christmas. She couldn’t bear to face her family like this. Broken, somber…alone.

  Brodie bolted upright and then flew off the sofa like she’d been burned. “Oh, no, you fucking don’t,” she said, practically running to the door. “You are not going to feel sorry for yourself. No fucking way. That’s not who you are. That’s not who you’ve ever been, and I’ll be damned if she’s going to turn me into that!” Brodie snatched up her wallet and keys, and grabbing her coat, she escaped out the door.

  As soon as Brodie left the building, she felt better. The air crisp, and what was left of the rain that had fallen earlier had turned into shiny patches of ice on the sidewalk. Her breath steamed around her as she carefully made her way to the car, zipping up her jacket and pulling up the collar as she went. She forgot her gloves, but Brodie didn’t care. The cold felt good, and even though she didn’t know where she was going, that mattered about as much as the location of her gloves. Brodie just wanted to drive. She just wanted to control something instead of it controlling her.

  Not long after Brodie pulled onto the road, she flicked off the radio, preferring silence over the endless holiday classics playing on all the stations. She cracked the window and lit a cigarette, a habit that would soon end once and for all. Brodie had already set her quit date to be on the second of January, the same day she had scheduled to have her flat professionally cleaned. She knew they’d remove the smell of nicotine. If only they could remove the memories, too.

  The light at the intersection turned red, and while she waited fo
r it to change, Brodie mindlessly looked around. Neon still beckoned in a few bar windows, and the distant thump of bass had made it to the street, the music loud enough to wake the dead or perhaps silence the haunts of those on stools sipping ale. Brodie hadn’t been looking at anything in particular until she saw some fairy lights draped in a shop window. Tiny twinkling, happy-go-lucky fairy lights put there to add festivity, and atop white velvet was a display of jewelry nestled amidst baubles of silver and blue. The light turned green, and Brodie stepped on the gas, but the joyousness of the season followed her. Electric candles propped in windows, wreaths on doors, inflatable snowmen, and wire-framed reindeer covered in lights seemed to be everywhere…and Brodie pressed on the accelerator just a bit more.

  She continued for a few more miles, and with even more decorations coming into view, Brodie turned off the main road onto a side street, hoping the darkness and solitude of a way less traveled would clear her mind. It didn’t, and with her jaw quivering and her eyes becoming as glassy as the pavement before her, Brodie fought against the vision her mind had created. She could have handled visions of past Christmases with her family gathered around the tree. She could have even handled visions of a Sugar Plum Fairy dancing to Tchaikovsky. What Brodie couldn’t handle was a vision of a Christmas that wasn’t to be, with gifts overflowing, maybe a ring, maybe not? Would it have been too soon? She’d never know.

  Brodie tried and failed to blink back the tears that stung at her eyes. As they overflowed and streamed down her cheeks, she lifted her foot off the gas pedal. Everything was becoming blurry, smeared by the salty result of sadness and pain, and unable to stop the sobs now choking her, when her eyesight cleared for a second, Brodie didn’t think twice. Seeing a place to pull over, she stepped on the brakes, and in an instant, her car began to fishtail. She had forgotten the temperature had dropped, and the thin layer of water left on the street wasn’t water at all. It was ice.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Kate poured herself a glass of wine, and shuffling into the lounge, she relaxed back on the sofa. She took a sip of her drink before reaching for her mobile only to realize she’d left it somewhere else. How things had changed.

  For the first few weeks after Brodie walked out on her, Kate’s phone had never left her side. In her pocket or in her handbag, and when she showered, just outside the vinyl curtain, she kept it fully charged, and the volume always cranked, not that it mattered. Brodie hadn’t called, and Kate refused to do so. The world wasn’t black and white. She was no more wrong than Brodie was right. Gray was a color, too.

  Kate’s pragmatism enabled her to head off to work most days with her head held high. She wouldn’t allow her emotions to distract her from her goals, but alone in her house was another story. She had lost count of how many nights had been spent flip-flopping between grief and anger, mourning the loss of the woman she loved one minute and then damning Brodie’s ideology in the next.

  Kate picked up the remote and turned on the TV only to turn it off almost as quickly. It hadn’t held her interest in weeks, and tonight was no different, so tossing the remote aside, she went in search of her phone. She plodded from one room to the next until finally finding it in her bedroom, and returning to the lounge, she got settled and stared at the mobile in her hand. It gave her comfort in a way for held in its memory were Brodie’s words. Dozens of texts with tiny emoji of hearts and winks filled a perpetual screen, and unable to stop herself, Kate opened her text messages again. She scrolled to the beginning and started re-reading the words born from love, playfulness, and promises. Some made Kate smile, and some made her laugh, and others made her cry as the memories of what she had lost came rushing back.

  The promotion had also been lost, given to a man with a few more years under his tightly-cinched belt, so still partnered with Frank Daggett, Kate made the best of her horrible days and struggled to get through nights and weekends that seemed so much worse. Devon and Gina had tried to cheer her up, and insisting on another Saturday shopping spree, they had dragged her into the city, but Kate no longer had anyone to buy for. It didn’t matter how much cleavage showed if Brodie wasn’t leering at it, and why care about the color or style of undergarments if Brodie wasn’t there to remove them? And as she had stood on a street corner while Devon and Gina browsed an adult store for items to accentuate their love life, Kate grew jealous. How could it be so easy for them to hold hands in public? Couldn’t they see the heads turn when they stole a quick kiss? Didn’t they know what people thought when they walked through those doors? Why didn’t they care?

  Christmas came and went without so much as a fa la la. Like she had done the year before, Kate took on as many extra shifts as possible. There wasn’t really any reason not to, and while she had managed to get through a Christmas Eve dinner with Gina and Devon, Christmas day became like any other. Go to work, come home, pour some wine, get lost in her thoughts, and cry…just like today.

  Kate choked back her emotions and tossed her phone aside. It had been nearly two months since Brodie had walked out of her house, and Kate was no better now than she had been then. She thought it would get easier as the days went by, but she’d been as stupid about that as she had about so many other things. Stupid to believe Brodie would call, stupid to believe work could fill the void, stupid to believe time would stop her heart from bleeding, and stupid about the sheer doggedness of this thing called love.

  Love wasn’t a thing Kate could best by intelligence or cunning. Love wasn’t an object casually tucked away in a drawer and forgotten. Love wasn’t a place from which she could escape for it followed her wherever she went like a shadow lurking right over her shoulder, reminding her, mocking her, and pummeling her at every twist and turn. Kate hadn’t been able not to fall in love with Brodie. How stupid was it to believe she would ever fall out of love with her no matter how much time she was given?

  Kate took a sip of her wine and glanced at the clock. The New Year had apparently arrived an hour earlier, and she hadn’t noticed. In a way, she had hoped it would bring with it some miraculous sense of closure, so she could move on, but Kate had yet to realize love didn’t work like that. Love didn’t own a wristwatch. Love had its own set of rules, and it did not play fairly. Love did not like to lose, and in one way or another, it was hell-bent on proving it to Kate.

  ***

  Brodie stepped into the construction trailer at the Cardinal Avenue project, and taking off her hard hat and coat, she placed them on top of a file cabinet. Ethan was sitting at his desk at the other end of the trailer, talking over a schedule with one of the foremen, and Brodie waited until the man walked out before she turned to her brother. “Happy New Year.”

  Ethan pushed aside the schedule and looked up. “Happy New Ye—” Ethan’s eyes bulged. Brodie was sporting two black eyes, and her right hand was in a cast. “What the hell happened to you?” he said, jumping to his feet.

  “I had a bit of an accident.”

  “What? When?”

  “On Christmas Eve.”

  “Christmas Eve?” Ethan said, rushing around his desk. “Why the fuck didn’t you call us?”

  Brodie shrugged. “There wasn’t any point.”

  “It sure as hell looks like there was a point!” Ethan said, quickly guiding Brodie to a chair.

  “Will you relax,” Brodie said, chuckling as she sat down. “I’m fine. It looks a lot worse than it is, and once I got out of surgery—”

  “Surgery?” Ethan shouted, waving his arms about. “What the hell happened? What kind of accident are we talking about?”

  “I guess you could call it a car accident.”

  “A car accident? Were you drunk?”

  “Don’t be daft,” Brodie said, shooting Ethan a look. “Of course, I wasn’t drunk. I was driving around to clear my head. I hit a patch of ice and lost control of the car—”

  “Jesus fucking Christ!”

  “Will you please calm down?” Brodie said with a laugh. “I didn’t crash the
car.”

  “You just said—”

  “Ethan, calm the fuck down. I didn’t crash the car,” Brodie said, holding up her casted hand. “This happened after I got it under control and pulled off the road.”

  “What the hell are you talking about?”

  “I got out to…to just pull myself together before driving home. It was dark, and I tripped over a tree root.”

  “You did what?”

  “Do I really need to repeat it?” Brodie said, eyeing the man standing next to her. “I feel stupid enough without having to repeat it.”

  “So, you didn’t wreck the car?”

  “Christ, you’re like an old mother hen,” Brodie said, laughing again. “I did not wreck my car. I wrecked my nose, my wrist, and a few bones in my hand, and once I realized I couldn’t drive, I called for a tow, and they were nice enough to drop me off at the hospital on the way.”

  Ethan plopped down in the other chair and surveyed the damage. Brodie’s hand was encased in plaster from her fingertips halfway up her forearm, and under both eyes were splotches of greenish-purple bruises. He leaned in and studied her a bit more closely. “Well, at least your nose is still straight.”

  “Yeah, it was a minor break. Unfortunately, my hand wasn’t. They had to go in to fix the damage, which is why I needed surgery, but I was in and out the same day. So, like I said, it was no big deal.”

  “Dad is going to have a fit when he finds out.”

  “Then let’s not tell him. At least not right now. The last thing I need is Dad hovering over me.”

  Ethan looked at his sister for another long moment before pushing himself out of his chair. “You want a cuppa?”

  “Yeah, that would be great. Thanks.”

  “So…” Ethan said, going over to the coffee pot. “You said you were out trying to clear your head. Should I assume it was because of your break-up with Kate?”