Happy New Year, Baby

by Laura Marie Altom

  “How does that feel?”

  Still no answer.

  Not thinking, just doing, Lilianna stripped, climbing into the tub to sit behind him. Though she was barely over five-foot tall and he was over six-feet, she wrapped her arms and legs around him, urging him to lean back against her. At first, the sensation of her bare breasts pressed against his shoulder blades felt both shocking and scandalous. But this wasn’t about sex, but bringing this man she loved back from his self-imposed living death. She knew enough about cold weather survival to recall skin-to-skin contact created the most body heat.

  “Relax…” She urged while rubbing concrete blocks from the base of his neck. “You’re safe. We’re all safe.” And they were. Brandon might no longer be with them in the physical plane, but she would always believe he was still found daily in radiant sunbeams and their son’s smiles. “Let me take care of you. You’ve been so strong for so long…”

  With the blissfully warm water now covering their legs, his shivering had slowed, as had his racking silent sobs.

  Lilianna continued kneading his shoulders, his arms, murmuring reassurances in a soft tone she wasn’t even sure he could hear. The previous day, while talking with Trace, she’d told him and herself that she was angry with Brody, which she was, but mostly she was hurt. They used to be close. How had they reached this place where he felt it preferable to live in what was essentially keg storage rather than even talk to her or his parents or friends?

  With warm water covering her breasts, she used the remote to turn off the faucet, then slowly leaned back, taking Brody along with her. With no sound save for the faint hiss of the flickering gas log fire and north wind blustering the side of the house, over and over she smoothed Brody’s hair back from his forehead.

  “When your parents took me in,” she said, “I was lost. My parents—the only home I’d ever known—were just gone. I was eight, but felt as if I’d lived a hundred years. I felt older than my friends, but every night, when I thought I was alone, I cried like a baby into my pillow, begging God to bring back my parents and help me not feel so alone…”

  He relaxed against her, turning his head just enough that his soft beard tickled her right breast. Having been alone for a year, the sensation was as pleasurable as it was unwanted. What was wrong with her? What kind of woman voluntarily climbed into the tub with her brother-in law?

  The thing was, this moment wasn’t about her, but Brody. Bringing him safely back. Repaying a decades’-old kindness. And so she rambled on, hoping her words helped herself as much as him.

  “…I remember one night I was crying into my pillow, when you climbed into my bed. You gave me the sweetest hug, and said, ‘Don’t cry, Lili. I’m sorry about your mom and dad, but I’ll share mine. And if you want, even though boys and girls aren’t supposed to be in the same room, because I don’t want you to be alone, I’ll sneak in every night. Just please don’t cry.’ Do you remember? We were only eight, but you spooned me. We were just kids. It was wholly innocent and to this day one of the nicest things anyone has ever done for me. Please, tell me you remember?”

  “Yeah…” His lone word spilled out raspy. Raw.

  “Good.” A snowball-sized knot lurked at the back of her throat. “From now on, whenever you feel scared or alone, I want you to know I’m here for you.”

  “But I’m lost,” he said.

  Tears stung her eyes. “Now, you’re found.”

  Chapter Eight

  BRODY KNEW LILIANNA meant well, but they shouldn’t be together—not like this. It was wrong, but at the same time, nothing had ever felt more right.

  “I was okay until I saw you,” he said. “Then something inside me snapped. I’ve spent the last year pushing myself as hard and far as I could, trying to outrun my demons, but when I saw you at the bar…” He took her hand, gliding his fingers between hers. Her slightest touch was water to a thirsty man. “That night—when Brandon fell, it all came rushing back. How are you so calm?”

  “Me? Calm?” She released a strangled laugh. “Trust me, I’ve spent many nights yelling at God for taking Brandon. But once Donny was born—your nephew—he’s actually Brandon William Crawford II, but that seemed like an awfully big mouthful for such a tiny baby, so Donny stuck.”

  “I want—need—to see him.”

  “You will.”

  “I’m sorry.” He closed his eyes, selfishly loving the feel of her stroking his hair.

  “For what?”

  “Not being here for you. Last New Year’s Eve, you asked for my help, but…”

  “It’s okay.” Still holding his hand, she gave him a squeeze. “I mean, it’s not. But I’ve read a lot about PTSD and I’m trying to understand. Please, promise you won’t take off again.”

  “Lili…” He sighed. “You can’t ask that of—”

  After snatching her hand free, she shoved his back straight enough to wriggle out from beneath him. Water sloshed in her wake, spilling onto the tile floor. Stepping out of the tub, she jerked a fluffy white towel from its wall-mounted rack hard enough to pull screws from the drywall.

  “I hate you.” She wrapped herself sarong-style. “I seriously hate you and what you’ve done to this family—and I’m not talking about Brandon, or your PTSD that is a very real and serious thing. I hate you for apparently continuing to believe running is a viable solution.”

  “Aw, Lili…” He groaned, covering his face with his hands.

  When he lowered them, she and her pile of clothes were gone.

  THOUGH LILIANNA WASN’T the least bit hungry, she figured too-thin Brody needed to eat, so after hurriedly dressing in thick socks, jeans and a hoodie—piling her hair into a messy bun, she left a pile of Brandon’s clothes on the guest room bed, then headed downstairs to rummage for a quick meal.

  Darkness had already fallen, so she lowered the kitchen blind, not wanting to see herself reflected in the window above the sink every time she passed by.

  Climbing into the tub with Brody had been insanity.

  The fact that her skin still felt hypersensitive from their brief time together made what should have been a non-event all the worse. Then there were her breasts—already swollen from the fact that she was past due to pump, she couldn’t decide if this sudden pleasurable ache had more to do with breastfeeding or the realization that apparently her body had missed R-rated attention.

  But she couldn’t—wouldn’t—betray Brandon’s memory by being with his brother.

  Refusing to even entertain the issue, she took her breast pump from the same kitchen cabinet storing bottles, then settled onto her favorite corner of the sofa, covering herself with the faux sable sofa throw.

  Once her milk flowed, she grabbed the TV remote, intent on finding a cheery Hallmark Christmas movie. But about three minutes in, she realized she couldn’t bear the holiday cheer. Odd, how Brandon dying had caused such a drastic change in last year’s season. Now, Brody’s reappearance was adversely affecting this holiday season.

  She settled for a Seinfeld rerun—the only other world that seemed as “out there” as hers.

  Thirty minutes later, finished pumping, she stored the milk and stowed her equipment.

  She missed her son. She’d arranged for Donny to spend the night with his grandparents, but now wondered if she should pick him up? Maybe she needed the buffer between herself and Brody?

  No sooner than she’d completed his thought, Brody appeared. He might have lost weight, but he still filled the kitchen’s entry. Judging by the snug fit of his twin’s clothes, Brody’s shoulders and chest were more fit than ever. She didn’t even want to think about what he’d done alone in Denali for all those months. Probably free-climbing sheer cliffs and for meals, taking down moose with his bare hands.

  “Thanks for the clothes,” he said. “Brandon’s?”

  She nodded. “Yours are in the washer. They smelled like a combination of campfire smoke and skunky beer.”

  “Sounds about right. Thanks.”

&
nbsp; “You’re welcome.”

  “Ever going to smile?”

  “No.”

  “Fair enough.” His faint grin did funny things to her stomach. She wanted to smile. To laugh and play and once again live life to the fullest, but in doing so, would she be disrespectful to her dead husband? Why had no one written a rulebook for widows? Or maybe they had and she just needed to Google it? “Look, if my being here makes you uncomfortable. I can—”

  “Brody, make no mistake, I want you to stay.” She opened the fridge’s bottom drawer freezer, foraging for a quick meal. “But…” I have to establish personal ground rules. No more sharing baths. No more achy breasts. No more remembering all we once shared. “I need to make dinner. I’ve got Italian turkey sausage. Could you eat spaghetti?”

  “Absolutely. What can I do to help?”

  She put him to work at the far end of the granite island counter with a cutting board, knife and onion.

  Meanwhile, carefully avoiding any accidental brushes against his honed body, she defrosted the meat in the microwave, put water on to boil for the pasta and rummaged through the cabinet for stewed tomatoes and tomato sauce. This time of year, canned mushrooms would have to do.

  “I grabbed a couple heads of gorgeous red leaf lettuce last time I was at Pearl’s. It’s pretty much a Christmas miracle. Want a salad?”

  “Please.”

  Everything between them was achingly civil. Was she the only one feeling the tension?

  “Want me to prep it?” he asked. “The lettuce?”

  “Sure. Thanks.”

  “For the record,” he said with his head inside the fridge, “I’m mortified by the way things went down this afternoon. Falling apart isn’t me. Only lately, it kind of is. But I’m going to get help. Promise, it won’t happen again.”

  Tears of hope stung her eyes.

  The microwave beeped.

  “I want us to be friends again,” he said. “Close friends. Like we used to be.”

  “I’d like that, too.” The knot lurking at the back of her throat was almost too large to speak past.

  He’d taken the lettuce to his cutting board, but then looked confused. “How do you want to wash this? I always just bought the prewashed bags.”

  She found the salad spinner and set it on the counter beside him. Standing close enough for his radiated heat to cause major kinks in the ground rules she’d earlier established, she asked, “Have you used one?”

  “Never even seen one—but I do know the basics for disarming most nukes.” He winked.

  She pressed her hand to her chest to still her runaway heart. See? This was the problem with Brody. He’d not only been trained in nuclear weapons, but disarming human defenses. At the moment—hers. Only she wasn’t buying the happy-go-lucky act he was selling.

  How was this the same man who’d only an hour earlier been a shivering ball of nerves? It didn’t compute. But was it her place to call him on it? Possibly? Wouldn’t it ultimately be beneficial for him to be a hundred percent real?

  “Where’d you go?” he asked with an elbow nudge. “Thought I was getting a lesson on how to use this beast?”

  “What are you trying to prove?”

  “Excuse me?”

  “An hour ago, you were emotionally gutted. Now, you’re a happy-go-lucky assistant chef dying to learn the lost art of salad spinning?”

  “Give me a break…” He tossed the lettuce to the counter. “I’m trying here, Lili. What more do you want?” He was one of the few people who’d used that version of her shortened name. More memories. More ties inexplicably binding them.

  “I want you to realize that with me you don’t have to try. We both lost the most important person in our lives and if we can’t talk about that fact with each other, then who? Besides which, you’re still dealing with the aftermath of your time in the Navy. It doesn’t help me to know you’re only pretending to be fine for my benefit.”

  “Would you feel better if I broke something? Pitched a plate at the wall?”

  “You know what I mean.”

  “Do I? Maybe you’re the one who’s pretending? Why are you so damned determined to have me here? Could it be for the selfish reason that you can’t stand being alone?”

  Breathing heavy, beyond fury, Lilianna raised her hand fully intending to slap him, but stopped herself short. Had he hit a nerve? Yes! Because his words were true. Most nights, like that despondent eight-year-old little girl, she cried herself to sleep. Once upon a time, spooning with Brody had made everything better. But they were no longer kids and far from improving their daily lives, being together as adults would only further complicate everything.

  “Hey…” Hovering behind her, he curved his hands over her shoulders. She could have purred from the blessed warmth, leaning back against his chest’s strength. But the strength was an illusion. He might appear strong on the outside, but inside, he was as messed up as her. “I’m sorry. I’m always sorry. If I seem a little too happy, maybe that’s because I am. I missed you, Lili. Lord knows, I have issues, but being back—even this short time, makes me see it’s worth putting in the work to once and for all figure out my shit. You said you’d help, but if you’ve changed your mind, I’ll go.”

  “Of course, I want to help.” Spinning around, she hugged him for all she was worth, resting her cheek against him, soaking in if not his strength, then at least his warmth. “We can help each other.” As for the fact that standing in the circle of his arms returned him to the night of their junior prom, when he’d first kissed her not on the dance floor, but on the Kodiak Gorge lodge’s barely lit deck…

  Aerosmith’s “I don’t Want to Miss a Thing” had been playing inside so loudly she could hardly hear her own thoughts, but outside the muted music seemed just right, mingling with the crickets—until Brody took her into his arms and she could no longer hear the lyrics over the thump of her heart.

  It was chilly.

  Without asking, he took off his suit coat, wrapping it around her shoulders. It smelled of the aftershave she’d bought him for Christmas. Brody’s smelled of lavender and leather. Brandon’s of vanilla and lime. She liked being able to tell them apart by scent. She’d always loved them both—as the brothers she’d never had, but by a tragedy had been blessed to now share. But lately, her feelings for them had grown confusing. When they horsed around washing their shared Jeep with no shirts on, she struggled not to stare.

  “You look really pretty tonight,” Brody whispered.

  “Thanks.” She shivered not from cold, but the heat of his breath in her ear. “You look handsome.”

  Though it was almost midnight, the twilight made it impossible for him to hide his blush.

  And then their mouths gravitated closer and closer. His warm breath tickled her lips. An odd, tingly, achy longing for a mysterious something took hold, and then he touched his lips to hers and hand-to-God if he hadn’t been holding her so close, her rubbery knees might have buckled. He angled his head, urging her mouth open, sweeping her tongue with his own.

  She groaned, twining her arms around his neck.

  How long had she dreamed of her first kiss and here it was—beyond perfection.

  “Sorry.” He looked down while pulling back. “I didn’t mean to—”

  “Brody, it’s cool. I really—”

  “Lilianna! Come quick, Principal George is announcing King and Queen. I just know you’ll win.” There were only six girls in their class, so any one of them could have won the title.

  “I think you’re going to win!” Lilianna took her best friend’s hand. “Come on, Brody. You don’t want to miss the ceremony, do you?”

  “Oh, hey, Brody…” Lilianna’s bestie, Violet Shaw, had never been a fan and tried acting all cool, as if only just noticing his presence. “Guess you should probably come inside, too.”

  “You two go on,” he said. “I’ll be right behind you.”

  “Okay…” Lilianna waved, then over her shoulder blew him a kiss, trying t
o convey without words how much what they’d shared had meant. Sadly, he hadn’t been looking.

  “I don’t know how you stand him,” Violet said. “He’s always brooding. And has his nose stuck in a stupid book. So lame. But Brandon… He’s hot.”

  “Stop! Brandon’s like my brother.” Her cheeks flamed from the all-too-recent memory of Brody’s kiss. She sure hadn’t been thinking of him like a brother.

  “Shelley told me he likes you.”

  “No, he doesn’t.”

  “He does! Not only that, Tanner told me he’s totally going to ask you to be his girlfriend sometime tonight.”

  “No, he’s not.”

  “He totally is.”

  They’d entered the lodge’s cathedral-ceilinged party room with its pine log construction and massive antler chandeliers. Lilianna had been there for all kinds of events, but tonight’s prom theme of Under the Sea made it especially pretty with blue light filters making everyone look as if they were dancing underwater. She and the other junior class girls had worked for days making enough papier-mâché starfish and sharks and stingrays to hang from the crossbeams.

  On the stage usually used for choir and band concerts, the DJ had stopped playing while the principal stepped up to the mic.

  “Before I announce this year’s Junior Prom King and Queen, I’d like to thank all the parents in attendance and the ladies on the prom committee who truly did an outstanding job. Can I get a round of applause?”

  All present clapped and cheered.

  Lilianna looked for Brody, but he still hadn’t come. What if he was king? With so few in their class, literally anyone could win.

  “Okay…” Principal George waved a white envelope. On a blue velvet-covered table beside him were two crowns and a sash and red rose bouquet for the queen. The flowers had been flown in from Anchorage that afternoon.

  Their friend Colby stepped up behind them. “Where’s Brody? I snuck in a few beers.”

  “Last I saw him he was on the deck,” Lilianna said. “But you two better not get caught.”