by Wendy Vella
“I still want to hear about your mother, seeing as you started the conversation by saying it was your fault.”
She turned away from him to pour the coffee.
“I was arguing with her, telling her and my father, who was in the back seat, that I wanted a cell phone like everyone else had. Why did I have to be the different kid, the one everyone laughed at just because my parents were too mean to buy me one?”
“That sounds like a normal teenage conversation to me.”
Her hands were braced on the surface now, body still turned away from him, as the memories hit her.
“She turned to look at me and the car swerved and we hit a barrier. She took the full impact, but my father and I were on the other side of the car and survived.”
“And, therefore, her death is your fault?” Jake kept his voice calm. He’d dealt with enough trauma in the army to know what was going on here.
“Yes!” She spun to face him. “It was my fault because I was a spoiled brat. Had I not made such a scene that day, she would still be alive.”
“Because nothing else would have distracted her. She wouldn’t have wanted to turn to look at her husband or daughter, the two people she loved? Her eyes would have stayed on that road, never deviating. You know that’s bullshit, right? That super-sized brain of yours has worked that out by now, surely?”
“Don’t try to analyze this, McBride. It is what it is, plain and simple. My behavior killed my mother and drove my father and me apart. End of story, now drink your coffee or leave; I don’t care.”
She was lashing out at him because she was angry and hurting, Jake knew this. He’d even done it a few times himself, but it still pissed him off. “Thanks for the fuck, Jake; now piss off, is that how this is going, Rosebud?”
The cup she had just picked up was slammed back down again as she turned to glare at him.
“Real smooth, Jake.”
He shrugged, but didn’t apologize.
“Okay, you want answers? Well, so do I. Why the fuck are you messing around with cars when you’re a, and I quote from your legions of devoted friends, brilliant doctor?”
“Swearing doesn’t suit you.”
“You just swore, and fuck, fuck, fuck you, McBride.”
He felt his temper ignite. The rock steady composure that he had once been legendary for deserted him again.
“Why is it that other people can change their careers, but not me?” His growl was loud in the small kitchen, but she didn’t flinch. Even through his anger, he could see that she showed no fear.
“Because you spent years and years learning to do what you loved, while the rest of us flitted about trying to work out what we wanted to be…if we ever grew up. I remember hearing you talk about being a doctor in school, McBride. It wasn’t a job; it was a passion.”
His chest felt tight and suddenly he was there, back in that dirty room trying to stop those children from dying. The school had been bombed and he and his unit were the first on the scene. Jake had worked for hours and hours, trying to save the ones he could. It was after, when he could let himself think, that he’d known he couldn’t do this anymore, couldn’t see another child or person killed in this thankless war that would probably never end. And then the flashbacks had started.
“I don’t want to talk about this.” His voice sounded raw.
“Why?”
She was standing before him, but he couldn’t see her, only the blood and the small helpless children begging him to take away their pain.
“Shut up!”
“No, I want to know why you walked away from what you love. Jake?” He felt her hand on his arm, but he didn’t want it, nor did he want to unleash the anger inside him on her.
“I have to go.”
“So, I had to bare my soul to you, but you won’t do the same with me. You asked and I told you, McBride, when I’ve never told another person what I did to my mother.”
“You didn’t kill your mother.” His chest was so tight it hurt to talk. He could feel it creeping up on him; soon he’d start shaking and sweating.
“You having a flashback or something?”
“What?” He focused on her face; maybe he could will it to stop.
“You’re pale and sweaty and your eyes have gone weird.”
“Weird how?” He could feel his chest rising and falling as his breathing increased.
“I know when someone is panicking, Jake. I should, because I had—have flashbacks.”
“What?” He blinked a couple of times, willing the visions away.
“I see my mother sometimes.” Her voice was flat and cold. She turned away from him again, and he heard the sound of water running, then she was back with a glass in her hand. “Drink this slowly; I find it helps sometimes.”
He did and was disgusted to see his hands were shaking. She placed hers over his on the glass and lifted it to his lips again when he lowered it.
“Thanks.”
Lowering the glass, she picked up his coffee and wrapped his hands around it.
“Talk to me, Jake, it may help.”
“Did it help you?”
She shrugged and remained silent.
Could he talk about it? Maybe, since she’d suffered too, in some small way she would understand.
“I was in Iraq and a school was bombed. We were first on the scene and there were kids lying dead or wounded everywhere. I worked for hours and hours…until Ethan walked in and threw me over his shoulder and took me out of there.”
“He’s obviously got some issues related to rescuing people. The other day, he saved me from humiliation in the supermarket when I didn’t need saving.”
The images were disappearing as he talked and focused on Branna’s face, so he kept talking. “After I’d slept, I woke, realizing I couldn’t do this anymore. I served the rest of my time there, and then when I came home, I told them I was leaving the Army. They tried to talk me out of it, but it was Ethan who supported me and told me I was doing the right thing, because he had been the one who got me through those months until I could come home.”
“Are they getting further apart? The flashbacks?”
Putting down his cup, Jake suddenly didn’t want to be this close to her and not touch her; wrapping his fingers around her wrist, he pulled her into his body. Resting his chin on top of her head, he closed his eyes and held her.
“Yeah, they are, but they still come when I least expect them.”
“I know what that’s like. I’d see my mother lying broken and bloodied against the steering wheel and hear my father’s words in my head. He was crying, the sound heartbreaking, as he begged her not to leave him.”
“Christ…that must be hard. At least I didn’t know these people.”
“It’s a bit easier, now that I’m older.”
They stood in silence, holding each other, and Jake felt his memories slowly recede as he focused on the woman in his arms.
“And you hate doctors, needles, and the other crap that comes with the entire medical profession because of the time you spent in the hospital?”
“Something like that,” she mumbled the words into his chest, and Jake decided to leave that conversation for another day.
“Thank you for telling me, Rosebud.”
“Thank you for telling me, McBride.”
“Will you tell me about your father now?” Jake asked her.
“No. Have you told your parents about that? What happened and why you gave up medicine?”
Jake closed his eyes and breathed her in. Her hair was soft against his cheek and he wanted her again, wanted to lose himself in her body.
“No, let’s go to bed.”
She didn’t protest as he took her hand; she just used the other one to switch off the coffee and lights as she went. Soon, he had her naked again, and his mind was consumed with her…everything else was gone.
He woke alone again. Lying there in silence, he listened to the birds and then he heard her voice floating up fr
om downstairs.
“The thing is, I didn’t ask you to stay, you just sort of appeared and that’s okay, if you need a place to stay, but I sure as hell wish I knew your name.”
Jake got out of bed and pulled on his shorts.
“I mean, it’s the least you can give me, considering I brought you food and set up that nice soft pillow for you.”
He made his way down the stairs and out the front door. Branna was sitting in one of the two chairs, coffee in one hand and a large gray cat draped over her lap.
“New friend?” He bent to brush her lips, because touching her was beginning to be just about as important to Jake as a chicken and vegetable pie.
“He arrived on my second day here, just wandered into the house and sat down on my chair, then started to clean himself. He’s been here ever since.”
Her eyes were still sleepy and her hair mussed, and those long legs were bare under that silky robe, and Jake felt something inside him that wasn’t indigestion.
“What’s his name?”
“Cat.”
“Suits him, for some reason. You got more of that?” he pointed at her coffee.
“Sure, I made a pot.”
He fixed his coffee, then took the chair beside hers and they sat in silence as around them the day came to life. It was peaceful and right and Jake had a sinking feeling, which made him get back out of his chair. He didn’t need peaceful in his life at the moment, not when his head was still screwed up. Hell, he could hardly function himself, without worrying about a woman.
“I’ve got to go.” He went back up the stairs and found the rest of his clothes, then ran back down and out the door.
“See you round, McBride.”
“Sure.” He took a step off the porch, then retraced it. Grabbing her chin, he lifted it and kissed her hard. Without saying another word, he then walked down the driveway, and cut back up through the track that would lead to his home. Around him, the redwoods stood silently on guard as he ran home as fast as his legs would carry him, hoping the exercise would dislodge the disturbing thoughts that a night spent with Branna O’Donnell had created inside him. He didn’t rate his chances very high.
CHAPTER TEN
Branna spent the day doing things she’d put off since arriving in Howling. She unpacked the last of her things and tried not to think about Jake. Tidied cupboards, dusted every inch and tried to push the feel of his body pressed against hers from her head. She baked an apple cake and some vanilla cookies and refused to imagine him leaning on her cabinets eating.
She wrote for two hours and hoped the words were useable and saw his face change as it had last night, saw the memories that rode him hard fill his dark eyes. His hands had been shaking, his jaw clenched and Branna knew what he was feeling, had felt his pain. The man was suffering and had been for some time. Did his family realize? Who did he talk to when he was hurting? Branna thought maybe Buster and obviously the Texan, as he was the one who’d saved him.
She’d look differently at the big smooth talking Texan now. She’d see the man who’d gotten Jake to safety.
So many secrets and so much pain. Branna had always known that other people were hurting and she’d comforted a few in her time, but her pain was hers, or had been until she’d met Georgie, Belle, and now Jake. They were the only three people who knew what had made her who she was today, and one of them was suffering right alongside her.
“God, what a mess.” Sighing, she went upstairs to take a shower. Jake had left in a hurry this morning, almost like being here with her had panicked him; it had certainly panicked her to feel the rightness of it, the comfort of having him in her home.
Branna washed and pulled on a fitted dress in a soft fabric that reached her knees with a little ruffled hem. It was lemon with thin shoulder straps, and she’d last worn it to visit her agent. Adding raspberry colored sandals that gave her extra height, she slipped on a matching bangle. Pulling her hair up, she twisted it and clipped it into a messy knot. The mirror told her she looked ready to visit the school. She would arrive as school ended, and hoped to catch the woman before she left for the day; if not, she’d make time to come back.
Another beautiful day and the heat was easing up slightly as she drove towards the town. Howling Elementary, Belle had told her, was a small building with a small attendance, but it had good teachers, one of whom was hopefully Miss. Todd. Pulling into a parking space, she collected her bag. It was one level, with two wings; the main reception was through a set of glass doors. The cool air was nice as she walked up to the desk to where a grey-haired lady was typing.
“Good afternoon.”
The woman lifted her head and smiled.
“Hello, Branna.”
“Mrs. Huxley?”
“Yes, I transferred here, dear, from the high school. Closer to home, you understand.”
Mrs. Huxley was tall, rail thin, and her hair was now gray, but still cut in the bob she’d always worn. She’d been one of the administrators at the high school Branna attended. She was kind and sweet-natured and capable of being a lioness when necessary. Fortunately, Branna had never crossed her, but she’d seen students who had and it never worked out pretty for them.
“I’ve read all your father’s books, dear. He’s something of a celebrity here in Howling, and we’ve claimed him I’m afraid, seeing as he lived here for a while.”
“I’m sure he’ll be happy about that.” Branna wished people didn’t continually need to mention her father.
“Be sure you tell him, dear, and when he comes to visit, perhaps you could get something autographed for me.”
“He’s pretty busy right now, Mrs. Huxley, but I’ll see what I can do.” When hell freezes over, Branna added silently.
She didn’t want to see her father any more than he wanted to see her. When she’d told him she was leaving Howling after high school, he’d tried to argue with her, but Branna had seen the relief in his eyes, so she’d simply packed up and gone and left him here. He’d left too, not long after her, gone back to Ireland for a time; from there, she’d lost track of his movements. He’d contacted her regularly, but eventually even that had died off, as she’d always cut his calls short because it hurt too much to hear his voice. And with distance came a small measure of peace. If she didn’t see him, she didn’t hurt quite as much. Then they’d had their fight, and she knew now there would be nothing further between them.
“Mrs. Huxley, I wondered if it was possible to see Miss Todd.”
“You know Ellen, Branna?” She could see the question in the woman’s eyes, and wondered how much to say.
“No, but I know one of her students and I thought I could help him out a bit with his homework.”
“Well, now, that’s nice of you, dear, and I’m sure Ellen would appreciate it. You just stay there, and I’ll see if she’s still here.”
Branna wandered about, looking at photos of children who had yet to grow into their bodies. Knobby knees, missing teeth…they were all represented here.
“Come this way, Branna; Ellen’s in her classroom.”
She followed the straight back of Mrs. Huxley, then entered the room she indicated. A woman, who Branna guessed was a few years older than her, was seated at a desk. Straight blonde hair hung to her shoulders and she wore a pretty floral dress and sandals.
“Ellen, this is Branna O’Donnell,” Mrs. Huxley said before leaving the room.
They shook hands and Branna took the seat across from Miss Todd’s. The room was small, and filled with books and shelves; a whiteboard was covered in scribbles, which she was sure made sense to someone.
“How can I help you, Miss O’Donnell?”
“I wanted to talk with you about Michael Tucker, Miss Todd.”
“Oh, dear, what trouble is he in now?” The woman sighed as she put down her pen and then rubbed the bridge of her nose. Branna empathized; she remembered how that felt, the endless paperwork, continual parent phone calls, rude students, and thankless days. Of c
ourse, like a lot of teachers, she’d loved every minute, but she loved her writing more.
“No trouble, in fact I wondered if you realized just how intelligent Michael Tucker is, Miss Todd?”
The tawny colored eyes of Miss Todd suddenly chilled. “He is a bright boy, Miss O’Donnell; however, no brighter than any of my other students, and indeed a lot more trouble.”
Branna opened her handbag silently and found the papers she’d put in there, laying them on the desk facing the teacher; she then spoke.
“I met Michael Tucker a few days after returning to Howling. He came to see me because the woman who had bequeathed me her house upon her death was a friend, who supported and comforted Michael, which to me would suggest he was not receiving that in his own home,” Branna said slowly.
“I have no reason to believe that. In fact, his mother is a very nice woman, and calls to see me when she can. Michael tends to lie when provoked, Miss O’Donnell.” Miss Todd’s hackles were now well and truly up.
“These,” Branna said, holding onto her temper, because much as she’d like to let it loose, she would achieve nothing by doing so. “Are the after school work I have been doing with Michael. Mr. Hope tested the boy and found his IQ to be one hundred twenty-eight, which I’m sure is stated in his records, if you have taken the time to read them.” Branna held the other woman’s rapidly widening gaze. “I think they prove just what Michael Tucker is capable of, don’t you?”
There was silence while the teacher studied Michael’s work. There were mathematical workings and written work.
“H-he did these?”
“Yes.”
“Well, they certainly show he’s capable of doing a great deal more than the tasks he’s currently being given, if indeed he did these, but they do not show me his IQ is quite what you state,” Miss Todd said.
“Perhaps you should read his file then?” Branna snapped, rising to her feet. “And for the record, I would never lie about something as important as this. Especially as I was once in his shoes and have the same IQ. Believe me when I say it is a lonely and unenviable position for a ten year old boy to be in when your sole focus is on fitting in with your peers.”
