by Megan Bryce
“You know what my vision of the future is?”
“Flying cars and phone chips in our brains.”
“It’s going to happen. You know it.”
She laughed with him because it was totally going to happen.
He said, “But before that.”
She shook her head. She didn’t think about the future. She’d trained it out of herself.
“Sunday barbecues. Tuesday night D&D. Shopping expeditions. More people who we love just means more fun.”
“I think it just means a third wheel.”
“Lots of great things have third wheels. Tricycles. The Reliant Regal.”
“Those three-wheeled cars are funny not great.”
“They’re different and special, and only for a select few. Only for those who can appreciate not-normal.”
They’d never been normal. She’d never wanted normal.
She said, “What about Brady?”
Shane reached down to dead-head a flower, twirling it between his fingers. “You like him. He was just supposed to be a distraction but you like him.”
She perked up. “And are you being unreasonably jealous about it?”
“It wouldn’t be hard to. I just think of walking in on you two yesterday morning.”
She butted him with her shoulder and he said, “If you had found him first, I would be. But I can’t let myself feel even a twinge when I’m asking you to do the same thing with Christian.”
He would have before Christian. He wouldn’t have cared about fair or being right. He just would have been jealous and wouldn’t have tried to be good.
She said, “What’s going to happen when you’ve transformed into good people and I haven’t?”
“I think there’s a cap on how good I can be. Especially when you’re sitting on my shoulder.”
“I’m not getting off.”
“You’re not allowed to.”
He put an arm around her shoulder and their heads knocked together. “I love you, Cass. My first friend, my best friend, my good friend.”
“Your bad friend.”
He smiled. “My worst friend.”
She smiled back. When he was tired of trying to be good, he would always have her.
“I love you, Shane.”
He held up his pinkie and she hooked her own through it. She looked at the wilted flowers in front of her house.
“You need to fix your garden.”
“Christian and I will come Saturday morning and replace them all.”
She would have to accept that there wasn’t just Shane anymore. There was only Shane and Christian. She couldn’t have one without the other, and she wouldn’t give up the one.
Shane squeezed her pinkie. He wouldn’t let her give up the one.
She squeezed back. “I’m still going to make fun of his clothes.”
“Of course. We have got to get him out of that plaid.”
The smile came and went between them. She had Shane on her shoulder, too. She didn’t need anyone on the other; didn’t want an angel over there.
She thought about putting Brady over there and chuckled. She could have a devil trying to be good on one shoulder and blackness on the other.
Almost made her smile again. Almost made her happy.
Which wasn’t such a lie. She was happy when she was with Brady. Even when her clothes were on.
She was happy when she was with Shane.
Oh, shit. Was that the lie she had to be happy with? That she was happy when she was with Christian?
She said, “I’ll accept him. But I won’t like him and I won’t be happy about it.”
“He makes good shrimp.”
“You have got to be kidding.”
Shane shrugged. “You’ll like him one day. I’m just giving you a place to start.”
She closed her eyes. She didn’t think about Christian. She didn’t think about the thousand and one things that irritated her.
She just thought about his shrimp. And she said, “He does make good shrimp.”
“And corn.”
She nodded in agreement. Great corn.
“The things you don’t like about him will go away.”
And maybe that’s what she hated most about him. Shane would burn all those things away with his love and she’d have no reason to hate Christian.
And then she’d have to like him. And then she’d start trying to be good.
But then she realized, it was okay. She’d put Brady on the other shoulder for now. Put a definite cap on how good she could be.
They would be okay.
Cassandra was eating off Brady’s chest again.
Dip, dip, dip. Crunch.
He kept his eyes closed. Listened to the soft sounds of some Sunday movie on the TV.
They’d stayed at the hotel this weekend. Alone. No one had been invited to join them and Brady hadn’t minded.
He didn’t mind either way. Cassandra was just as entertaining as a Sunday movie when her feathers were ruffled, but he knew drama could be overwhelming when it was non-stop.
Dip, dip, dip. Crunch.
Last weekend, he’d videoconferenced from Cassandra’s living room. Tried not to get distracted and failed miserably when she’d done a striptease across the dining room table.
He’d hoped that she wouldn’t flash his family accidentally, or on purpose, and then he’d smiled at the thought. His father had stopped talking. His brother Marshall had said, “Brady?”
Cassandra had wiggled and Brady had cleared his throat, forcing his attention back to the screen.
“I’m. . .out of the office. Sorry. I’m getting distracted.”
Cassandra had opened her mouth and he’d shot her a look, not ready for his family to hear anything she would say.
Dip, dip, dip. CRUNCH.
He opened one eye a crack to find Cassandra looking at him.
He murmured, “You’re getting bored.”
“I’ve seen this movie before.”
“You could go out to the pool.”
She thought about it, then leaned down to lick a drop of salsa off his skin. “Are you going to come with me?”
“I have a meeting in an hour.” And he needed to take a shower and wash the salt and crumbs off. He didn’t know why she thought his chest worked as a table. He didn’t know why he just didn’t tell her no.
Except there was something so relaxing in having her snuggled up to him. He didn’t want her over at the table.
“And then you’re going on your drive?”
He thought about going on his drive, thought about going home and letting Cassandra play in that pool.
He thought about maybe calling up his brother early and saying. . . he didn’t know what. Except hello.
Hello and he was sorry.
He’d been thinking of those photo albums. Remembering.
He’d thought he’d died six years ago. He was surprised to learn that he hadn’t. He was surprised to find he was glad he hadn’t.
“I was thinking of selling the house.”
Cassandra dipped. She crunched. She said, “I think there’s someone you need to talk to about that.”
He opened both eyes. “Who?”
“Samantha.”
The unexpectedness of her name hit him in the chest.
And either Cassandra didn’t hear his breath rush out or she just ignored it to say, “I was thinking of going out to the graves today. Say hello. You could come and tell her that you’re thinking of selling the house.”
He pushed her off his chest and sat up, the chips falling to the bed and the salsa splattering on the sheets.
“You don’t know anything about their graves.” His voice was as tight as glass right before it cracked; his fists clenched like right before they shed blood.
He stared down at them.
She swiped at the salsa stain. “I’m so embarrassed,” she said, not sounding embarrassed at all. “What will housekeeping think we do in here?”
&nbs
p; He closed his eyes and said softly, “Don’t talk about them.”
“No.”
His fists spasmed. “Leave it alone, Cassandra.”
“You mean like how you always leave it alone when I want to put my fist through Christian’s good face?”
“That’s different.”
“No, it’s our dynamic. You get in my way. I push you out of yours. And I’ll keep pushing because you can’t sell your house without talking to your wife about it. It is just not done.”
“She’s dead!” He whirled on her. “She. Is. Dead!”
“Oh, Brady. I don’t know why she has to be dead in here, too.” She knelt on the bed, reaching across to pat his naked chest.
He pulled away, heading for the bathroom and locking the door behind him.
She couldn’t leave him alone. Couldn’t let him have one peaceful Sunday. There always had to be drama; if it wasn’t hers, it was his.
He showered and when he came out to dress, he didn’t look at her. Didn’t say a word.
But he felt her eyes on him the whole time.
Felt her eyes on him as he walked out the door.
Eight
Brady’s office door opened ten minutes later. He didn’t look up, didn’t need to. There was only one person in this hotel who would dare open his door when it was shut.
“You don’t know when to quit.”
“That is true. Quit is a four-letter word.”
“You love four-letter words.”
She smiled when he looked up, walking over to his bookshelves and fingering a book. “That is true, too. Guess it’s not a four-letter word.”
“You can’t stay in here during my meeting.”
“Why not?”
“You’re distracting.”
“I’ll keep my clothes on this time.”
That would only partly help.
He said, “I’m sorry.”
She looked at him over her shoulder, one eyebrow cocked, and Brady said, “I should have stayed to fight.”
“That would have definitely been more fun for me, but an apology is not what I want.”
His computer pinged, early. He looked at the screen, at his brother’s name.
“If I tell you I’ll go with you to their graves, will you leave me in peace for the next hour?”
She thought about it. It took her a long time to think about it. Longer than he really thought necessary and he was just wondering if he was going to have to carry her out of his office when she nodded.
She finally said, “Is this your meeting?”
“. . .Yes.”
She smiled at his hesitation and he said before she could say anything, “It’s my brother. The rest will call in any minute.”
She waved at his computer magnanimously and he almost called her your majesty again, for old times’ sake. But she meandered slowly to the door and Brady answered the call instead.
“Brady. Wasn’t sure if I could catch you early but I thought I’d try.”
“Marshall.”
“You were. . .different last week. I wanted to talk. See how you were doing.”
“I’m doing better.” Brady looked up at Cassandra, her hand on the doorknob but watching him. Listening.
Marshall said, “I’m glad.”
Brady looked back at him, really looked. Every week Brady had seen, but he’d never looked.
“How’s Gretchen and the kids?”
“They’re good. Peyton starts junior pee wee this year.”
“I’d like to see some pictures.”
Marshall nodded. “I’ll email you some,” and then stopped as Cassandra propped her head on Brady’s shoulder and gave a little finger wave at the screen. “Hello.”
“And this is why you’ve been different lately.”
She was why he’d been different lately. “Cassandra is distracting.”
Marshall said, “Distracted. And almost. . .happy.”
Cassandra smiled. “It’s the sex.”
Brady closed his eyes in pain and Marshall chuckled. “It usually is.”
Brady said, “She was just leaving.”
She patted his shoulder. “I’ll go bug Rodrigo until you’re ready to go. We’re going out to say hello to Samantha and Charlie after the meeting. Bring some flowers.”
Brady pushed out a long breath. “She pushes every button I have.”
No one said anything and when Brady opened his eyes again, Marshall was smiling. “Good.”
Cassandra looked at that smile and poked Brady. “He looks just like you. If you didn’t have an extra hundred pounds of muscle here, here, and here.”
Marshall nodded. “Everyone thought we were twins growing up. I don’t think anyone would think that now.”
“Funny how overdosing on weights will do that. It’s his drug of choice now.”
How did she know that? Brady opened his mouth to wrest control of the conversation and his computer pinged again.
He stared and said slowly, “It’s Dad.”
“Early.” Marshall smiled. “We’re all glad you’re back, bro. I’ll call back for the meeting.”
His screen went dark and Brady just kept staring at the computer. “You’re going to have to leave.”
Cassandra pulled her chin off his shoulder. “I’ll go see if I can get Rodrigo to give me the keys to your Z.”
And Brady wished she’d fought with him. Wished he’d had an excuse not to answer. Wished he didn’t have to feel this horrible pain of coming back to life. Being dead was easier.
When the door closed behind her, he answered the call.
The flowers were like a deadweight on his lap. The smell was sweet and fresh, and he didn’t think it was appropriate. They should be scentless, plastic. They shouldn’t make him think of new life when he was going to put them on a grave.
Cassandra had been behind the wheel in the Z, the flowers in the seat next to her, when he’d come out from his meeting. Rodrigo arguing with her about something through the open window and grinning at her flip answers.
He’d held the passenger door open for Brady, grabbing the flowers and passing them in when Brady was settled. Rodrigo hadn’t said anything, just tapped the top of the car when the door was shut and jumped back when Cassandra revved the engine.
She hadn’t said a word on the drive over, hadn’t tried to distract him at all. Hadn’t asked about his father, and Brady thought just maybe she did know when to leave things alone. Maybe she could tell that his relationship with his father was more complicated than the rest.
Or maybe she just thought that visiting the graves of his family was enough drama for right now.
She pulled into a slot at the cemetery, and when the sound of the engine died, she said, “Don’t ever tell this to Rodrigo but my car’s better.”
Brady just looked out the window. Looked at the gravestones, some tall, some set into the grass, and wondered which ones he was searching for, not even knowing where they were buried.
He hadn’t gone to their funeral. He’d been a suicide risk; no bail.
He cleared his throat. “I don’t know where to even start.”
Cassandra opened her door, pulling a paper from her back pocket. “Start with the map. Start with this large area blocked off for Roberts.”
He got out with her, coming around to look down at it, and suddenly remembering when his grandfather had died and he’d been buried in the family plot.
“I should have known.”
“Sometimes we just don’t want to.”
They walked slowly across the grass, careful to walk between the gravestones. He had to keep looking at the map, reading inscriptions as he passed. So much death. So inevitable.
But the cemetery was unexpectedly peaceful. The grass was green, and the farther they walked, the quieter it got. The sounds of cars and busyness fading.
Brady had thought it would be painful to be here, but it wasn’t.
And when they found what they were looking for, Brady was
glad for the flowers. Glad they smelled beautiful and looked fresh. Samantha would like them.
The black marble shone in the sunlight, clean and well-cared for, and Brady put the flowers in their place.
A large “R” was scrolled intricately above his last name. His wife and son’s names and dates carved into the stone. The left side smooth, waiting.
Cassandra said, “That’s. . .kind of. . .horrifying.”
He laughed because it wasn’t. It wasn’t horrifying at all. That’s exactly where he wanted to be buried.
Had his father known that?
“I’ll go wait in the car,” she said and Brady shook his head.
“She’s not here, Cassandra.”
Cassandra listened to the peace and quiet, and she must have felt what he felt because she said, “I know. She’s off in heaven with the other angels. But she’ll still get your message.”
He looked down at the black marble, and then he looked up at the blue, blue sky. No clouds today. The smog pushed inland.
He took a deep breath and smelled grass. He smelled flowers.
He wasn’t dead. He hadn’t been dead these last few years; he’d hurt too bad to be dead.
He thought, standing here, that death wouldn’t hurt. Death would be a release. Death would be peaceful.
Brady said, “She’s not going to care about the house.”
He looked at Cassandra’s short, choppy hair so carefully spiked, at her hands stuffed into her pockets. Pushing at him until she didn’t need to.
“She won’t care about you.”
Cassandra laughed. “Nice.”
“You know what I mean. She’s happy. She wants me to be happy.”
She whispered, “Yeah.”
“That’s what love is. And she loves me.”
Cassandra smiled at him. Happy for him.
He said, “Do you want me to be happy?”
Cassandra froze. “Uh. . .”
He looked down again at that smooth marble waiting for his name. “I don’t want your heart.”
“That’s good, because I’ve already given it away. I won’t ask for it back.”
Brady couldn’t ask for his back, even if he wanted to. And he didn’t.
“Do you think there’s a word for two people who’ve given their hearts to other people?”
“Yeah, I think there’s a word for it.”
