by Lisa Crane
Several minutes later, Rafa pulled alongside the curb in a dark sedan. He jumped out and hurried around to open the back door for Brooke. He helped her inside, closed the door and looked questioningly at Meghan.
“Rafa, I’m worried,” she said. “Brooke hasn’t said a word since he walked away from her back there.”
“Let’s get her home,” Rafa replied. “Then…well, I don’t know, we’ll figure it out when we get there.”
The drive to Brooke’s house was agonizingly silent. Meghan kept casting worried glances over the back seat, while Rafa kept watching Brooke in his rear-view mirror. Brooke simply stared straight ahead, her face pale, her eyes dark. When they reached her house, her eyes shifted briefly to Travis’ house; his Hummer was there in the driveway and lights were on throughout his house.
Rafa and Meghan got out of the car and Meghan opened the back door. Brooke slid out and walked like some silent wraith to her front porch. At the door, she looked back at Rafa and Meghan, who were right behind her.
“I’m fine,” she said, her voice subdued. “I’d like to be alone.”
“I’m going to go talk to Travis,” Rafa began.
“No!” Brooke said quickly, her tone panicked. “No. Just go. Please.”
Reluctantly, Rafa and Meghan let Brooke go inside alone. They slowly walked back to the car, Meghan’s Civic. Rafa hesitated at the car, looking across the dark yard to Travis Cooper’s house.
“She said no, Rafa,” Meghan said softly, knowing her fiancé’s thoughts.
“I know,” he sighed. “I just feel like we need to say something. Someone needs to set him straight. He can’t believe what he said about her!”
“Give him some time to cool off,” Meghan said wisely. “If you go over there right now, he’s more likely to punch you than listen to you.”
“I guess you’re right,” Rafa said, clearly unhappy. “Let’s go. You can call Jazz while I drive us back to your place.”
Travis heard the car as it drove away from Brooke’s house. He lost an internal struggle and looked out the window. Brooke’s house remained dark, but he knew she was home; Boo had been let outside. Even as Travis watched, the dog bounded back up the front steps. The door swung open, the dog went inside, but the house remained dark.
Brooke went to bed and lay awake for hours; finally, exhausted, she fell into a troubled sleep. When she woke the next morning, her eyes were grainy and her head ached. Brooke stumbled to the kitchen and made some coffee; she sat at the kitchen table, silent and still, and drank the dark brew. When she finished, she returned to her bedroom, where she stood in front of her closet.
Slowly at first, Brooke began pulling clothes from her closet. The deep blue velvet knit dress she’d worn on Thanksgiving landed on the floor of her bedroom. The magenta dress from her “date” with Rafael de la Cruz followed. More clothes joined the pile; slacks and blouses, price tags still attached, jeans, sweaters, skirts and tops all went into the pile.
Next, Brooke went to her bathroom and began tossing things out to go with the clothing. The little tube of foundation, the soft pink blush, the mascara the saleslady said made Brooke’s lashes “decadent”, and all the other makeup for which Brooke still owed Jazz was thrown onto the clothing. Brooke went to the utility room off her kitchen; she returned to her bedroom with a large trash bag. Silently, she gathered up the makeup and clothing and shoved it all into the trash bag. She dragged the heavy bag outside, all the way to the curb. Then she returned to her house, pulled off the old faded robe she’d put on earlier, and climbed beneath the covers in her bed.
Nick Rodgers leaned against the railing of Travis’ front porch, sipping a cup of coffee and waiting for his uncharacteristically ill-tempered boss to join him in a trip to a client’s office. Nick watched Brooke Valentine struggle with a large trash bag; she dragged it to the end of her driveway. Nick found this odd, because he knew no service came out this far in the country; Travis had mentioned that he and Brooke had to haul their trash to a landfill. Curiously, Nick pushed away from the rail and ambled out to the end of Brooke’s driveway; he untied the top of the bag and frowned. He retied the bag, hefted it up and carried it to his own truck.
“Nick, what are you doing?” Travis snapped. “What’s in the bag?”
“Looks like a bunch of new clothes,” Nick answered casually. “I just saw Brooke drag that bag to the end of her driveway. Figured I’d haul it away for her.”
“What new clothes?” Travis muttered.
“All kinds of clothes,” Nick replied. “Jeans, sweaters, skirts – even a couple of pretty fancy dresses. One’s blue velvet, the other’s kind of a shiny pinky-purple material. Some of the stuff still has price tags, but –“ He shrugged. “If she doesn’t want it, she doesn’t want it.”
Travis’ blue gaze shifted from the bag in the back of Nick’s truck to the oddly quiet house next door. After a moment, he strode toward his own vehicle.
“You coming?” he growled over his shoulder.
“Right behind you, boss,” Nick said. He knew Travis would talk when he was ready; Nick just hoped it wasn’t too late when Travis finally talked.
“Jazz, I’m telling you, the guy was furious!” Rafa told his cousin on the other side of town. “Like, fire-breathing, kill you with one look, furious!”
“Oh, Jazz, you should’ve heard the things he said to her!” Meghan said solemnly. “He called her a liar, and accused her of playing a game with him. He asked if she meant to make him look and feel like an idiot.”
“Oh, no!” Jazz covered her mouth with both hands. She pulled them away then and said, “I need to call her!”
But Brooke wasn’t answering her phone. Nor did she answer the door when Jazz and Riley pounded on it later that evening. Twilight was falling, but there were no lights on in Brooke’s house. Her car was in the driveway, though, so they knew she was home. Finally, a muffled voice called from somewhere in the house.
“Go away!”
“Brooke, honey, it’s me, Jazz!” Jazz called. “Riley and I just wanted to check on you!”
“I’m fine, now go away please!”
“Come on, babe,” Riley said gently. “We can’t break the door down, you know.”
Slowly, they walked down Brooke’s front steps. They stood in her front yard for several moments, looking across at Travis Cooper’s house. Before Riley knew what she was doing, Jazz was hurrying across the yard to Travis’ front porch.
“Jazz, honey, you heard what Rafa and Meghan said!” Riley said, following his wife. “Brooke said not to talk to him, and he may not talk to you anyway!”
“What’s he gonna do?” Jazz ground out. “Hit a pregnant woman?”
As she spoke, Jazz was banging on the front door; it swung open suddenly as if Travis had been waiting for her. He glared down at Jazz. Under other circumstances, he might have found the image of a beautiful, extremely pregnant woman going toe to toe with him funny, but today he was not amused.
“Travis, this was all my idea!” Jazz blurted out. “The new clothes, the makeup, the fake date with my cousin, all of it was my idea!”
Travis remained silent, his feet planted wide, arms folded across his broad chest; a muscle ticked in his jaw. Speaking quickly, half-afraid he was going to slam the door in her face, Jazz told Travis about the shopping trip with Brooke; she told him about the shock on Brooke’s face when she realized clothing two sizes smaller fit her, and that she looked good in them. She relayed to him the laughter and tears as Brooke had tried on more clothing.
“Travis, you have to believe me!” Jazz said beseechingly.
“And you need to believe me, Jazz,” Travis finally spoke. “I’m done with Brooke and whatever game she’s been playing. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have work to do. Don’t hesitate to call me if there’s a problem with your security system.”
With that, Travis firmly shut the door. Jazz let out a little moan and Riley put his arm around her shoulders.
“Come on
, babe,” he said quietly. “Maybe he just needs some time.”
“Yeah, and maybe he just needs someone to knock some sense into his thick skull!”
The last words were shouted at the door, which remained steadfastly closed. Riley led Jazz back to his car and they left.
Chapter 36
Monday morning dawned cold and dreary; the weather matched Brooke’s mood as she dressed. She pulled on a pair of her old, faded blue jeans, hitching them up, not caring that she realized now they didn’t even remotely fit her. She pulled on one of her tops from Babycakes, pulling at it and stretching the soft knit until it was loose and slightly misshapen. She tugged a quick comb through her still-damp hair and left her room. She tugged on her jacket and helmet and headed outside. Her heart pounded painfully as she pushed up the garage door to get her bike; Travis and Nick Rodgers were loading some equipment into the back of Travis’ Hummer. Nick waved and called out cheerfully; Brooke didn’t acknowledge him as she backed her bike out of the garage and pulled the door back down. Without a backward glance, she climbed on the bike and drove away.
Nick watched as Travis followed Brooke’s movements through narrowed eyes. Travis had still not told Nick what had happened, but obviously it involved Brooke Valentine, and obviously she was just as unhappy as Travis was – maybe more so, if her appearance was any indication.
“Did Brooke look different to you?” Nick chanced asking.
“I didn’t notice,” Travis muttered as he swung behind the wheel of the Hummer. “Let’s go. We’re burnin’ daylight.”
When Brooke arrived at the bakery, Jazz flew out of her office, ready to envelop the younger woman in her arms. Brooke forestalled her, holding up a hand and shaking her head.
“Don’t, Jazz,” she said evenly. “I’m fine.”
“Brooke, I’m so sorry!” Jazz said sincerely. “I had no idea he’d react this way! I should’ve listened to you!”
“It’s okay,” Brooke said quietly, her voice a little unsteady. “I appreciate what you tried to do.” She took a deep breath. “Now I’m sure you have work for me to do back in the kitchen.”
As Brooke disappeared silently through the kitchen door, Riley and Jazz looked at each other helplessly. Riley gave his wife a little reassuring hug.
“She’ll be okay,” he said. “Eventually. I think the best thing we can do for her is just be here for her and support her.”
The days turned into weeks, and Brooke continued to drift like a small, sad little ghost. She went to work in the mornings and returned home in the evenings. She let Boo out at appropriate times and kept the dog’s bowls filled with fresh water and food. She made simple meals for herself, which she barely touched. She went to bed and didn’t sleep well.
Travis watched Brooke’s comings and goings. He saw her wearing her old, oversized clothing. He saw her silently taking care of her day-to-day life, like Boo and hauling trash away. She seemed to be almost fading away before his eyes and it made his chest hurt watching her.
One evening, two days before Christmas, Travis came home to find a small bag hanging on his front doorknob. He unlocked the door and took the bag inside. As he dropped his keys on the table, he curiously looked inside the little bag. He reached in and withdrew his scarf, the scarf he’d teased Brooke about sniffing. Hesitantly, he lifted the scarf to his own nose, wondering if he’d smell the sweet aroma of cupcakes. There was no smell at all. Frowning, Travis looked at the scarf; he spotted a small tag pinned to the end. Brooke had had the scarf dry cleaned before returning it to him.
Travis sank down to sit on his sofa, the scarf clenched in his fist. He felt like someone had kicked him in the gut. An overwhelming sense of loss washed over him and the pain was back in his chest, making it physically difficult to breathe for several minutes. When his breathing returned to some semblance of normalcy, he reached for his cell phone and dialed Information. He was given the number he requested and dialed it.
“Hello?” a voice queried on the other end.
“Hello, Jazz?” Travis said hesitantly. “It’s Travis. Travis Cooper.”
“Oh. Hello, Travis. What can I do for you?”
“I – you tried to tell me some things before. I wasn’t ready to listen then. I am now.”
“Why don’t you ask Brooke what you want to know?” Jazz asked bluntly.
“Because I don’t think she’ll tell me everything you will,” Travis said honestly.
Jazz gave Travis her and Riley’s home address. She told him to be there in half an hour, then hung up. Travis left the scarf where it lay on his sofa and headed to Jazz and Riley’s.
When he arrived at Jazz and Riley’s home, he found it ablaze with Christmas lights and decorations, an eclectic blend of traditional and modern, Mexican and American. Riley opened the door to Travis’ knock and led him to a comfortable living room. Travis found he was nervous, his stomach rolling uncomfortably, as he waited for Jazz Valenzuela to speak. She looked at him sternly and Travis was transported back in time; he felt as if he were seven again, sitting across from his elementary school principal after pushing Macy Danziger off a swing at recess. What he’d done now, he knew, was much worse than pushing a little girl off a swing.
“Are you sure you’re ready to hear this now, Travis?” Jazz asked soberly. “All of it? Because you really messed up.”
“I know,” Travis answered, dismayed to hear his voice sound so breathless. He took a deep breath. “But with your help, I hope I can fix it.”
“Why should we help you? You hurt Brooke very badly.”
“You didn’t just hurt her,” Riley corrected, his usually cheery demeanor dark and forbidding. “You crushed her, Travis.”
Travis sat silently, staring at his large hands for a moment. Finally, he said quietly, “I’m hoping you’ll help me because I know now, I love her.”
Jazz threw up her hands, dark eyes rolling in disgust. She rattled off several things in Spanish. The only words Travis recognized were “idiota” and “estupido”. He felt the heat rise in his cheeks, but said nothing, simply waited for her to finish. When she did, he spoke again. What he said finally convinced Jazz to talk to him.
“I don’t think I can stand it if I can’t get her back. I see her and my heart hurts. I hear her car outside, or hear Boo barking, and my heart hurts. I remember her kisses and my heart hurts. I love her.”
“Travis, you need to understand exactly what you did,” Jazz began. “You know about Brooke’s mother, right?” He nodded. “Well, did you also know that she was teased mercilessly about her mother? That boys either wanted nothing to do with her because of her mother, or they thought she was just like her mother.”
“What do you mean, Jazz?”
“Think about it, Travis,” she said wryly. “You were a teenage boy once. You know the kinds of things boys say about girls in locker rooms. And you know that very little, if any, of it is true. For the same reason, Brooke had no real girl friends. She had no mother to teach her about boys. She may be twenty-four years old, but Brooke Valentine is just about the most innocent young woman I’ve ever known. She had no idea how to deal with a man like you!”
“The attraction between you two was obvious to everyone else from the start,” Riley said. “But Brooke is so convinced you’re out of her league – her exact words, by the way – and you’re so blinded by the kind of women you think you want, neither of you can see what’s clear to the rest of us.”
Travis remembered Nick suggesting that his “type” of girlfriend wasn’t really his type at all. Riley seemed to be saying the same thing. Now he continued.
“Jazz and I would never have encouraged Brooke if we had known any of this was going to happen,” Riley said. “But we really thought you’d see what was right in front of you if…well, if she had a little help.”
“That’s when I took her shopping,” Jazz said, taking up the story again. Once again, she told Travis about the strange and enlightening shopping trip with Brooke. “She obviou
sly believes she’s too short and too curvy and –“
“And plain,” Travis bit out. He sighed in disgust with himself and waved a hand at Jazz. “Go on. Please.”
“Travis, when the saleswoman forced Brooke to stand in front of the mirror and look – really look – at herself, it was almost comical!” Jazz said. “She literally looked behind her to see if someone else was standing there! She didn’t even realize that she was hiding that sexy little body under those horrible clothes!” She pointed an accusing finger at Travis. “The horrible clothes she’s wearing again, thanks to you! She went right back to thinking she’s fat and dumpy, Travis!”
“She’s not eating, she doesn’t sleep, she barely speaks at work,” Riley added.
The pain was back and Travis rubbed at the center of his chest. He could hardly bear to hear any more, but knew he had to.
“Do you want to know why I suggested Brooke pretend to date someone, Travis?” Jazz asked. He nodded. “Do you remember the Sunday before Thanksgiving?” At his curious frown, Jazz clarified. “I believe Brooke was bathing that humongous dog of hers.” Again Travis felt heat suffuse his cheeks. “She called me crying. That was when she told me she had no experience with men. She said she was such a bad kisser that you pushed her away and sent her inside.”
Travis couldn’t stand it. Groaning, he rose and paced behind the sofa where he’d been seated. He stopped and stared at Jazz and Riley.
“I sent her inside because I was in danger of losing control with her!” he blurted out. “She was standing there so sweet and innocent, with that see-through wet tee shirt clinging to all her curves – and I know what’s in her underwear drawer!”
Jazz and Riley stared at Travis, then exchanged a look. Riley arched one brow and Jazz smirked. Finally, she turned back to Travis.
“I don’t even know what you mean by that, Travis,” Jazz said. She waved dismissively. “Anyway, that’s when I decided you needed something to wake you up. I figured after you spent all day with Brooke in that blue dress, you’d be all too aware if another man paid attention to her.” She glared at him. “And then you barely acknowledged the dress!” Another spate of what Travis was sure was insulting Spanish ensued for a moment. “What were you thinking, Travis?”
