“Woodmeres for four generations have been practicing law. It’s what you’re supposed to do.”
“You have Stuart.”
“Stuart failed the bar. Twice now.” I might be wrong but I spot a tad bit of sadness in her eyes.
“I’m sorry, Mom. But that’s not home for me anymore.”
She squares her shoulders, straightens her spine, and her nostrils flare, “There are no words for what I’m feeling at this moment, Josephine.”
“You should leave early tomorrow. I’m assuming you flew down on the company jet. We’re expecting some bad weather and you don’t want to get stuck here,” I say.
She steps around me and storms out.
Max looks apologetic. “For what it’s worth, this”—he gestures to me—“looks really good on you. I’m happy for you. But shit, we need help at the firm.”
“I’m sorry.” I give Max a quick hug and watch as he leaves, in no rush to catch up with my mother.
“That’s too bad about him being an ex of yours,” Jayne says.
“He’s pretty good looking,” I agree with her.
“And taller than me,” she says with sadness.
I rub her arm and pull my phone out of my pocket. I text Brinn several messages, which he ignores and irritates the shit out of me.
If I didn’t know he has a crazy schedule tomorrow and needs to get enough sleep to meet FAA guidelines, I’d drive myself over there and kick his door in.
But I don’t. Instead I get off work and go straight home. No drive-bys or midnight stalking for this girl. I force myself to call it a night, believing a good night’s sleep will make everything better in the morning. Only to spend most of the time tossing and turning, punching my pillow, and checking for text messages until I finally pass out from exhaustion.
Twenty-Three
It makes the day easy when two people who work together and sleep together have a fight and then don’t have to face each other the next day because one of them spends the day outside the office, communicating via email, because he’s a coward. A big giant suck of a coward.
I’ve done all my work and part of Brinn’s, hoping it would settle my frustration. But I finished early and now Zach and I stand at the door of the hangar and stare out at the field toward the runway and the International airport. I had Zach check the flight plans and confirmed that my mother and Max did indeed leave this morning.
The weather looks calm even though the sky is cloudy. I listen to the weatherman on the computer and stare across the horizon.
A hurricane?
“We need to get Brinn involved,” Zach says behind me as he scrolls through various weather reports on his smartphone.
“I texted him and I’ve heard nothing.” It’s the part of Thursday where he disappears, and I have no idea where he goes. Sometimes he shows up later at my place but the gap is there and I’m not unbalanced enough to follow him. I figure he’ll eventually tell me. Maybe he goes to his mom’s gravesite or is taking a foreign language. He has pretty sweet dance moves; maybe it’s because he takes lessons.
“Yeah, he won’t see the text because he’s teaching,” Zach answers.
I turn to look at him. “At the university?”
“Nah, at the Boys and Girls Club in Daytona.”
“What’s he doing there?” That, I never imagined.
Zach shuffles on his feet. “Ah, I wasn’t supposed to say anything.”
“How do you even know this?” I’m intrigued.
“That’s how I met Brinn, through the club. My mom works a lot so... Anyway, you should go on down there and get him.”
I hug Zach, another kid from the old neighborhood whom Brinn offered a way out. I can tell he’s embarrassed but I do it anyway.
“I’ll go get him. I’ve backed everything up. You unplug what you can and move computer stuff to the storage room. Put it high up in case of flooding and then go home.” I grab my purse and nearly run to my car.
The drive is quick and only a few cars and Brinn’s old truck are in the parking lot. A few parents are picking up their kids and an employee is standing at the steps looking up at the sky. More clouds are moving in as the bands of the storm race to come ashore.
“I’m looking for Brinn McRae,” I tell the employee.
He sighs, continues to look at the sky, and says, “In the gym” before he puts a walkie-talkie to his mouth.
The Boys and Girls Club is a large building made of concrete blocks. The interior walls are painted with fun murals of kids swimming, playing soccer, taking karate, playing chess, and a large assortment of activities.
Down the hall kids shout out “Yes, Sensei” in unison. I follow the noise as they count in Japanese, and when I look through the doors, they’re performing a series of blocks and kicks all led by Brinn. A black belt is tied around his waist, his uniform white and crisp, and his feet are bare.
“Hajime,” he says. “Ichi. Ni, San, Shi.” His voice carries across the gym, the kids moving with each count. They’re all in white uniforms with a variety of belts. Some uniforms are dingier than the others but none are wrinkled. They do moves to the count of ten and drop to the mat, bow, and wait for Brinn to continue.
He gives them a pep talk about getting through the tough times, how to be smart in confrontational situations, and to know there’s more than what they have today. When he dismisses them by giving them all high fives, I step from around the door.
He does a double take, and I hope my smile says nothing more than how amazing he is. The fight is not important. It’s just a stupid fight. But this, this is amazing.
“What are you doing here?” he asks quietly and pulls me back into the hallway.
I have so many unanswered questions. “Why didn’t you tell me about the karate and the Boys and Girls Club?”
I know we’ve kept secrets but this is an amazing thing to share. Something to be proud of.
He shrugs and folds his arms behind his back, as if he’s standing at rest. “Why is it you think you need to know everything about me? Until yesterday, I didn’t know everything about you. Like your other ex-fiancé is mega rich with his Rolex watch and sports car.”
“You knew I went to Yale and you’re a smart guy. I figured you’d make the leap that my family has money.”
“I’m not talking about money. I’m talking about Max, the guy you almost married and his net worth. I’m nothing like him. I never will be.”
“Almost married. Almost but didn’t.” This conversation is stupid. Doesn’t he realize if I wanted that I’d have it?
“I didn’t share everything with you because we’re just having this, whatever it is.” He gestures between us. “And you’re going to move on and I’m going to still be here doing the same things. I wanted to leave something untouched by you.”
“Really? This?” I mimic his gesture, ticked that he’d reduce what we’ve shared to something he can’t even put to words. “Whatever this is? Is that what you said? Is that what you think? This is ‘whatever?’ Because at its very core it’s a pretty good friendship. A genuine liking for each other.”