The air I’m breathing mixes with the pungent odor of earth and the unmistakable scent of the leaves of the plant. I set to work on the other two, repeating the process. They join the first plant on the ground.
I step back, wiping my forearm across the sweat beaded on my upper lip. Then I go inside, wash my hands, and hustle out the front door.
* * *
I gotin Laine’s car and started driving. I didn’t know where I was going, at least not at first. But then, my hands turned the wheel by memory, and it became clear where I was headed.Who I was headed to.
I put the car in park at his curb, letting it idle.
Looking around for my phone, I realize I forgot it in my rush to get to someone who would hear my news. I have no way to tell Brady I’m here. Glancing at the house, I look from dark window to dark window. Brady’s room doesn't face the street, and it’s only ten o’clock. Notthatlate.
I kill the engine and jump from the car, determined not to overthink this.
I decide against ringing the doorbell, choosing instead to knock, as if that cushions the blow of an unexpected late night visit. If Brady’s mom is anything like me, she’ll assume a knock on her door at this hour automatically means something bad has happened.
And she does. I can tell the second she opens the door. Her eyes are wide, her forehead wrinkled with worry. She wears a silky, T-shirt style nightdress, and her hair sticks up in the back.
“Lennon? Is everything okay?” Her worry turns to confusion.
“I’m sorry to show up unannounced. Is Brady home?” I didn’t stop to consider that Brady might be out.
“I’m home.” Brady’s deep voice reaches me before he does. His mom steps aside, and then he’s there, standing in her place. And me? I fall apart. My tears are big and fat, gushing so quickly they seem to move from my eyes to dropping from my chin without ever traveling over my cheeks.
Brady steps forward, taking me in his arms and guiding me over the threshold and into his home. I glance at his mom, embarrassed at my outburst. She says nothing, only hurrying to close the front door and then retreating quietly down the hallway to her bedroom.
“What’s going on?” Brady’s hand rubs my back, soft and soothing.
I lift my right hand and realize I didn’t bring the letter. It’s probably somewhere on the ground in my house, and I didn’t notice its absence until this moment. It’s even scarier to think that I drove in this state.
“I…I…” I’ve been dying to say these words to someone and now that I’m here, I don’t know how to start.
“Here,” Brady says, grabbing my hand and leading me out to the backyard and to the lounge chairs we sat in only a few nights ago. He sinks down, and I take the seat opposite him. We’re facing each other, but his legs are long and his knees tuck around mine.
“Now is it easier to talk?” He glances back at the house, and I realize he assumed I was afraid to speak within earshot of his parents.
I rub my eyes, trying to clear away the moisture. Sucking in a deep breath, I open my mouth and my new truth comes out in one long stream of consciousness.
“...And she knew Ted was a sicko. She knew, Brady! Can you believe it? My mother was not my mother. Not my mother. That’s why I don’t really look like her. And she never played The Beatles. Never! God!” My hands are in the air, my head shakes back and forth.
Brady’s mouth dropped open while I was talking, and it’s still open. I watch his mouth move, trying to form words but unable to because of the shock he’s obviously feeling.
“I don’t even know what to say,” he finally manages.
“Me neither.”
Brady swats at a mosquito near my leg. “Come on,” he says, standing and extending an arm down to me.
I place my hand in his, and he pulls me up into the lack of space between the chairs. We’re chest to chest, only a few inches between our lips. With his hands cupping my cheeks, he looks at me, his eyes nearly exploding with emotion. “You are still Lennon.” One of his hands leaves my face, only to settle on my heart. “In here, where it all counts, you’re still you. I know you feel like the carpet just came out from under you, but the parts of you that keep you grounded, the same parts that have always kept you grounded, they are all still here. Your interests are the same. Your heart is the same. You’ll still hate when people say expresso instead of espresso. Laine is still here.I’mstill here.” Something flickers through his eyes, and he adds, “Finn is still here.”
“You’re right,” I whisper. Nothing about me feels any different now that I know this. I recognize every inch of myself, the way I did yesterday and the day before that.
“You cut your hair.”
Brady captures the ends of my hair between his fingers. His hand is next to my breast, and if he moved half an inch he’d be touching it.
“I donated it.”
“You look beautiful.”
