All the lovein the world couldn’t have saved Daisy. Not even mine, and I’m certain a man has never loved a woman with such ferocity.
Daisy, with her staunch belief in right versus wrong, and her disdain for housework, but love of lists. She waited patiently for me to return from Vietnam. We had a good life, me and Daisy. A few hiccups along the way, but I suppose that’s to be expected.
When the cancer came, it barreled down on us like an avalanche. There was nowhere to run, nowhere to hide, and it happened so fast we hardly knew what hit us.
I couldn’t save Daisy, but I’ll try my damnedest to save Brynn.
I knew something was wrong with her from the beginning. For starters, she was jumpy. I’d take a step and she’d respond by moving her own body, even though she wasn’t near me. Like she was always poised to make a break for it. Whatever hurt Brynn, she still fears it. Her eyes betrayed her fear even when her mouth spoke kind or cheeky words, or her shirt was printed with something that would’ve made my grandmother faint. There were times when I thought she’d collapse under the weight of her shoulders. Whatever she holds on them, it’s burdensome. Too much for a girl her age. Ahead of her should be a lifetime of happiness and heartbreak, good fortune and failure, laughter and tears.
If Brynn needs to go, I’ll let her, but I don’t think she does. Daisy left once, when her low was so low she couldn’t look herself in the mirror any longer. She needed to get away from our house, our things, even me. What she really wanted was a new body, one that could do what her heart longed for. She ran because the pain was too great, the need to punish herself too strong. I let her go because sometimes a person needs to run away. Left in a confined space, they might explode. Out in the open, their pain might leak out and have room to spread, thinning and eventually evaporating.
The difference between Daisy and Brynn is that Daisy wanted to leave. Brynn’s departure feels forced.
And that Mercedes on the street made the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. Something isn’t right.
I can’t call the police because I don’t like a car on my street. Poorly concealed laughter is all I would get from a phone call like that. I freaked out once, albeit in a pretty bad way, and I became infamous. I don’t mind the whispers too much. Besides, it’s a hell of a lot easier to growl at people and keep them away.
Except for Brynn. She wouldn’t let me shun her.
I slide my foot into my second shoe and stand. “You can stop pacing now,” I tell the boy. I know he has a name, but I rarely call him by it. Keeps him wary of me, and that’s a good thing when he’s dating the young lady I care about.
I grab a flashlight on the way out the door. My knee has been giving me trouble lately, and my back too, but right now I can’t feel the pain as acutely. Adrenaline, I guess. Not that anything is actually wrong. Brynn is probably going to answer the door and laugh at the two of us.
Brynn’s house isn’t far, but I’m damn proud of myself for keeping pace with the boy. He falters when we get there. I stop, irritated. “What?”
He points at her living room window, where the drawn curtains are backlit. “A light is on.”
“So?”
“I guess she’s home after all.” The boy sounds like someone took his favorite toy away.
“So?” I repeat, hoping to get a real explanation this time.
“She didn’t come tonight. To my opening. She chose not to come.” He looks back at his truck. “I’m going to leave. I can’t do this anymore. If she wants to leave without saying goodbye, then fine. I won’t make her do something she doesn’t want to do.”
I don’t know what this talk of an opening is, but I do know when I see a man with his heart on the outside of his body. The boy loves Brynn. He also understands that sometimes letting people go is the best way to love them.
I nod. The boy claps me on the back a few times.
“Maybe one day you and I can get together for a beer, and I can get to know you a little better. You must not be that bad if Brynn managed to crack you.” He grins at his joke.
“Brynn is like a ninja. She slips in before you notice her, and later realize you never gave her permission.”
The boy chuckles and backs away. He tucks his hands in his pockets, and for a few moments, I watch him. Part of me wants to ask him to fight for her, and the other part of me wants to commend him for allowing Brynn the space she needs. I have all the channels on my TV, I see all the reality shows with the so-called men stomping around acting impulsive and selfish. The boy is not like that. Maybe I’ll start calling him Connor.
I walk up the driveway and to the house, pausing on the landing. In front of my house, Connor steps up to get in his truck and pauses too, sending me a wave. I wave once and knock.
The door opens halfway, enough for me to walk in.
Odd.
I step in, my gaze going straight ahead to the kitchen. “Brynn,” I call.
The door closes behind me at the same time I hear her say in a defeated voice, “I’m right here.”
The overhead light picks up the tears tumbling down her cheeks, makes them glisten. First I see the zip-ties on her ankles and wrists, and then the wetness on the front of her jeans.
Something round and cold touches the base of my skull.
