The Girl He Needs

by Kristi Rose

  “How old were you then?” I move to the space next to him and lean against the wall sideways, my shoulder resting next to his.

  “Fifteen.” He looks down at me.

  “You’re a good brother.” I place one hand on his bicep.

  His lips twitch.

  “It’s okay to smile,” I tease and squeeze his arm.

  He drops his arms to his side and faces me. “This one time, when we were living in Deltona in this real dump of a place, my mom was gone—had been for a few days. It was raining, hard, and Vann’s scared of thunderstorms so I didn’t think I could leave him alone without him freaking out. There was nothing in the cabinets to eat except a box of Dream Whip. Why we had Dream Whip, I’m not sure. Maybe it was left over from Thanksgiving when my mom, in her completely manic way, got it in her head to make us a real Thanksgiving dinner, except she never did because she’d get too drunk or too high and the dates would slip past her. But we had this box of Dream Whip and food coloring. So I made it up and added the coloring to make it seem like we were getting the food groups. That’s also why I come here. To see if these kids are getting fed. To bring them a balanced meal so that they may be getting at least one quality meal.”

  “And to give them strength.” I lean toward him. I want to wrap him in a hug but I know he’ll shrug me off. “You should teach a self-defense class for women. Like Jayne and Pippa—they could use it and I could use the additional practice.”

  His eyes search my face and I desperately want him to lean forward and kiss me. Kiss me good, too. The laughter of the kids in the gym behind us floats through the door. I smell the food, the welcoming aroma of the fried chicken.

  “Where do you get the food?”

  “From that diner down from my house.” He smiles and picks up a lock of my hair.

  “You have the diner make up a meal every week?”

  “Yeah, I worked out a deal with them. They write off half the expense, I pay the other half, and every week I bring a well-balanced meal to these kids. The club provides the milk, paper plates, and stuff.”

  “I’m a shitty person,” I say and lower my head. “I’ve never done anything like this because I wanted to. Charities are always an event for my family. A chance to look like you mean well while you look good.” I look up at him.

  “There’s always time to change.” He drops my curl to stroke my arm, his lips lifting in a tease. “How did you find me here, anyway?”

  “Zach,” I say, followed by a gasp. “Oh, shit.” I slap my forehead.

  “What?” He grabs both my arms and pulls me upright.

  “The hurricane has shifted. The projected path puts the eye right over us. Mark called and said he wants you to fly the Cessna south. The TV says that even if the path shifts it will only shift more north so Mark thinks the best route is to go south. He said if we take a direct hit, we can still function with one of the planes. He was real emphatic about getting the plane out.” I roll my eyes. The urgency is lost on me as a gymnasium full of children is behind me, their value far greater than an airplane.

  “It’s because that’s the one we use the most. Most of the flight training can be done in it.”

  “Oh.” That makes total sense.

  He lets go of my arms and takes a step back. “How much time before landfall?”

  “About six hours from what they’re predicting. It’s increased in speed and winds.”

  “OK, get back to the hangar. Back up the computers and make sure you make two copies. One I’ll keep with me when I fly down to Miami, and put the other in the safe.”

  “I’ve already done that.” I pull the external hard drive from my purse and hold it out to him. “What are you going to do? What else can I do?”

  “I have to make sure these kids get home. Most of their parents get off late, and I usually stay here with the staff until seven.”

  I look at my watch; seven is over two hours away.

  “I’ll stay here. You go to the hangar and start prepping to leave,” I say but he’s already shaking his head.

  “Brinn?” A stocky guy, wearing a similar gi but his belt is a dark purple, steps through the door. ’

  “Charlie,” Brinn says. “We need to get these kids home. The hurricane has shifted its trajectory.”

  “That’s what I was coming to say. Kim,” he says, pointing behind him, “is calling as many parents as she can to come now.”

  “The city will be shutting down soon,” Brinn tells me. “They don’t mess around with hurricanes, especially as Cat four.”

  “Cat five,” I say. “They think it’ll hit as a Cat five.” I try not to tremble.

  My experience with hurricanes is limited to what I’ve seen at the Jersey Shore, devastation nonetheless, but it wasn’t a first-hand experience for me. I was also able to go back to an intact home, electricity, and everything where I left it.

  “You need to go inland. Can you go to Will’s? Don’t stay in your apartment. It’s likely that area will be evacuated anyway.” He starts walking down the hall but turns back and takes two large strides back.

  “Or come with me. Either way, go home, grab some clothes and anything of value to you. Text me and let me know if you’re going to Will’s.” He slips an arm around my waist and pulls me close, planting a quick but meaningful kiss on my lips.

  “Be careful driving, Josie. Once those rains start coming in the roads get covered quick.” He rests his forehead on mine for a brief moment before he lets go and starts walking toward the gym.

  “OK, you be careful too. Can I—” But he’s gone into the gym and is starting to organize the delivery of thirty plus kids.

  Where did he go as a child when the hurricanes came? Was he solely responsible for Vann during those scary times? To shelters? He’s right, there’s no way I would understand what he experienced other than to experience it first hand, and driving around the country trying to find myself while I have my grandfather’s trust fund waiting for me in an account makes me wholly unable to comprehend even a smidge.

  I do the fastest walk to my car that my heels will allow and dial Will’s number as I slip into the driver’s seat. I leave a voice mail when prompted and send a text, as if that might reach him.

  Where R U? Can I come stay with u? Hurricane.

  I wait but there’s no response. It’s not lost on me that the night Will’s car caught air off the bridge was a night similar to this. Torrential rains and unpredictable weather patterns.

  Chapter 24

  Zach’s scooter is resting against the side of the hangar. The air is muggy and heavy with moisture. There’s no sound of anything but twin engines and propellers spinning. Occasionally a horn sounds through the air but the leaves barely rustle, the birds have long flown away from the impeding storm.

  I stare at the long line of planes waiting to take off and worry Brinn won’t get out in time.

  I glance at my phone, looking for some word from either Will or Brinn. I press the link that will dial Will directly and wait for it to ring through. Nothing happens so I try again. I still can’t get the call to connect and decide to try Brinn and get the same response. Nothing.

  After leaving Brinn, I dashed home for a quick change of clothes, throwing my laptop, a change of clothes, and my hematite stones in a bag. Don’t ask me why I grabbed them. They were sitting in a bowl on my counter and I snagged them on the way out the door. I’ve changed into jeans and a tank top and tied a hoodie around my waist. To keep the wind from owning my hair I’ve pulled it back into a low ponytail.

  Back at the hangar, Zach is trying to get Brinn’s plane ready for takeoff.

  “Is he here yet?” I ask Zach.

  “No. He better hurry because he might miss his window out.” He looks toward the runway.

  I retreat back to the offices to make sure I’ve stored, backed up, and protected all the important stuff and anything else. Then I wander aimlessly around the room trying to call the
m both.

  “You coming with me?” Brinn asks as he walks into the office.

  A sigh of relief escapes me. One accounted for. One to go.

  He’s changed into jeans and a T-shirt with his flight vest. He does a quick scan and follows it with a brief nod before signaling me to follow him.

  I try Will again. Nothing.

  “When are you leaving?” I walk behind him to the hangar doors.

  “About forty minutes. Why, what’s wrong?” He looks out toward the runway and then back at me.

  “Nothing. I can’t get a hold of my brother.”

  “Leave him a message and come with me.”

  “If I could just get a hold of him,” I mumble and chew my lower lip.

  “He’s probably fine. He’s far enough inland.” Brinn glances at his watch and a fat drop of rain lands on its face.

  I look up at the sky. The green is mixed with the fading yellow of the sun and clouds are rolling in, thick and heavy, holding back the weight of flooding rains.

  “We’ve got to go,” he says. “Smitty, how are you getting home?”

  Zach is pulling his scooter into the hangar. “My mom is picking me up.” He nods toward the entrance of the aviation park.

  “Go now,” Brinn says and takes the scooter from him. “Where are you going?”

  Zach grabs a backpack that’s lying against the hangar wall. “To the high school shelter.”

  “Here, take some cash.” Brinn hands him a wad of bills. Watching the struggle on Zach’s face makes me want to turn away. “You’re going to need it.”

  “Take it from my pay,” Zach says, taking the bills.

  “Sure.” Brinn clasps him on the back. “Now go.”

  Zach takes off at a run, and I start chewing my other thumbnail, having worked the first one down to nothing.

  “You look worried,” Brinn says. “Try calling him again. Call his girlfriend.” He rubs my arm, sliding his hand to mine, taking the thumb from my mouth.

  “Daanya! Why didn’t I think of that?” Relief that Daanya had had the foresight to give me her numbers blows through me. Now if only the call will connect. As I wait for the ringing sound, I step closer to Brinn and lean against him.

  “Daanya,” I nearly cry into the phone. “It’s Josie. I’m sorry to call you at work but I’ve been trying to get a hold of Will. The hurricane is headed for us and—”

  “Will is in Daytona,” she cries. “He wasn’t feeling well this morning when I left for work. I asked him what he was going to do, and he said make sure you’re leaving town because of the weather. I didn’t think he would drive there.”

  “He came here?” I look at the sky and remember a night seven years ago similar to this.

  “I pulled him up on the Find a Friend app and it stopped updating an hour ago. It says he’s by the speedway. He’s on his bike and he is very agitated today. Not himself.”

  “I’m still in Daytona. I’ll start looking for him and get back with you as soon as I know anything.” I disconnect and put my forehead on Brinn’s chest, trying to steady my racing heart and erratic thoughts. I need a plan. I relay what Daanya told me. That Will is likely in town.

  “What are you thinking?” He rubs my back.

  “I have to go look for him.”

  “Where do you think he went?” He searches the sky. “You don’t have much time.”

  I step back. “He hasn’t gone to my place. He knows where I keep the hide-a-key and he would’ve called by now wondering where I am.” I wrack my brain. When a horrific idea settles, I shake my head in denial, pressing the heels of my hands to my eyes to hold back the threatening tears.

  “What?”

  “He’s probably gone to the beach or...the St. John’s River Bridge.” I drop my hands to look at Brinn.

  He shakes his head. “Why would he go there? That’s suicidal in this weather.”

  My voice breaks when I try to say the words. I blow out a slow breath. “Because my brother has schizophrenia.”

  “What? Why didn’t you ever tell me that? Like today when we were talking about keeping secrets—”

  “It’s not my secret to share. It’s his. I just found all this out myself. That ‘accident’ he had was caused by hallucinations.”

  “What’s this have to do with the bridge?”

  “He drove off a bridge. The hallucinations told him too. It was during a storm similar to this.” Tears slide down my cheeks.

  “Cops won’t let him sit on the bridge. They’ll make him move or forcefully move him. Start by calling the Volusia County Sheriff’s office and I’ll call State Patrol.”

  The rain has started to fall in steady drops, long past hinting at what is about to come.

  “I’ll call. You need to get out of here. Get in line and leave.” I gesture to the runway that is still congested.

  “I have time to call.”

  Our calls result in no information, even the one to the hospitals. The process to get information is painfully slow but the upswing of the time spent on the phone is the improvement in line for the runway.

  “Come on, get in the plane. You can keep calling as we fly down.” He pushes me toward the hangar. “We are out of time. If I don’t get off soon, lightning will ground me.”

  For seven years I wondered why Will left me. For the few weeks since I’ve learned of his mental illness I wondered why he wouldn’t let me help. Now I have this moment. This decision and the truth is there really is no decision to make. I know what I need to do.

  “I can’t go. I have to go look for him.” I pull away and jog to my car.

  Brinn follows me. “How do you think that’s going to happen? Look around you.”

  “I’ll start with the beaches and work my way inland.”

  “Josie, the beaches are closed. The cops will have it blocked off. The beach side will be evacuated or is in the process.” He grabs me by the elbow and pulls me up short.

  I take this moment.

  Stepping into his space, I cup my hands around his face. “I have to look. I have to try.” I kiss him gently. “Be careful, please. Have a good flight.” I wrap an arm around his neck and press several more urgent kisses against his lips.

  Pushing at his chest, I back away and give a small wave.

  “Call me,” I say. A heavy, foreboding cloud has come over me and I can’t shake the feeling that after today nothing will be the same.

  “Shit, Josie. You can’t go looking by yourself, and not in that car. Once the rains start, your car will get stuck in the first puddle. This is crazy.” He rakes a hand over his face.

  “I can’t leave him out there. He might be in his right mind or he might not. Give me your keys. If I wreck your truck, I’ll buy you a new one. I promise.” He’s made a good point about my car.

  “I don’t care about my truck, I care about you.” He steps toward me.

  I move closer and start digging in his pockets. He catches my hand in his as I pull the keys out, stopping me from stepping away.

  “I’m coming with you.”

  “No way. Are you fucking nuts? You’ve got to get that plane out of here or Mark will lose his shit.” I push against his chest. “Go.”

  “Your brother is more important than this plane. It’s insured right. Right?” he asks.

  “Yes, the insurance came in a few days ago.” I laugh more from hysteria than anything and throw my arms around him. “You really don’t have to do this.”

  “I know I don’t.” He lets go of my wrist. “Move my truck over to the side and put your car where mine is. I’ve got to secure everything here and I’ll meet you in the truck.”

  It takes fifteen minutes to get everything situated before we drive away. The rains have increased and his wipers work furiously to keep the window clean but visibility is low and splotchy.

  “I think Will might go to the same beach spot where we spent some time.” The spot we went after he told me
about his diagnosis. At the last bridge to the beach, a line of cop cars is blocking us. But opportunity waits for no man. I jump out of the truck and run up to the officer in charge of redirecting traffic away from the bridge.

  Once again my law degree comes in handy, as I cite potential legal issues regarding a man who might be entering a psychotic state. I also do a fair amount of begging. When I slide back into the truck, soaked to the bone, my hair a wet hose dripping down my back, I can’t help but smile.

  “He says we have fifteen minutes to get back out.” I shiver and Brinn cranks up the heat.

  With the rain pushing against the truck in heavy sheets, it takes three minutes longer than the normal five to get to the turnoff to the beach.

  “Look!” A motorcycle is parked behind a dumpster. It’s Will’s. I’m out and running toward the beach before Brinn can put the truck into park.

  The wind is picking up and the rain is cold, cutting right to the bone. I come to a stop when I reach the sand, my hands flying to mouth to cover my horrified gasp. Brinn touches my shoulder and I jump.

  Will is pacing the beach, barely seen through the curtains of rain. He looks to be ranting, his arms waving manically. His jeans are soaked; his boots lie scattered on the sand. His shirt is gone, and between rants he covers his ears and screams with an intensity that forces him to bend at the waist; his face contorts, shattering his features. The wind howls yet I can hear him between gusts.

  “Hold back a second. I don’t want you to freak him out,” I tell Brinn before I take off at a run across the sand. Brinn follows further behind.

  “Will,” I cry.

  I can barely hear anything over the waves and the rain. Much less my voice. But magically he hears me.

  He turns to me. His large scar is red and appears to be pulsing. It gives him such a sinister appearance I involuntarily step back. He runs toward me, gets in my face, and starts screaming.