“Explain.” It’s the only word I can force past my lips. One that I can let out as the storm brews inside me when it comes to Dani. Each memory collides in a cyclone that ruins me. Her face. Her touch. Her betrayal. On the surface, I am silent and calm, but underneath, everything is coming undone.
“I’m only a month behind, but I have the money…” She trails off, looking over her shoulder into the house. She keeps the door cracked, but I see her finger held taunt on the frame, her knuckles white in panic. If she shuts me out now, I may never know what happened. I press my hand against the door, keeping it open, and stopping her from retreating into the house. Her body stiffens, alarm sparks in her eyes. I know I’m scaring her, and that isn’t my intention. But it’s desperation that fuels my actions today. One made from a lovesick fool, and I need her to understand my dilemma.
“No, that’s not it.” I shake my head, sighing, breaking eye contact with her and looking down at the crack in the cement on the top porch step. The familiar jagged fissure mimicking the fracture residing in my chest. “I’m looking for my girlfriend,” I explain, trying not to sound as pathetic as I feel. “She used to live here. Her name is Dani.”
“Ah,” she says. Her body relaxes as she steps onto the porch. I feel her approach me like someone trying to coax a skittishanimal closer, a palm extended, full of food. Except hers isn’t food in her palm, it’s information. “There’s no Dani here, but I bet Mr. Marx may know something.” I look up, hopeful, and she smiles. “She used to own this house. I do know that.” Her eyes crinkle at the corners. Her finger comes up to touch the side of her lip. “He wouldn’t be here.” She shakes her head. “He just owns the place now, but his office is still downtown.” She sees my shocked expression and shrugs. “That’s all I got.”
And that’s enough. I nod eagerly, already turning around and running to my truck. “Good luck!” she shouts after me. I raise a hand in acknowledgement without looking back, already shutting the door to my rental car and throwing it in gear, speeding away to where my answers lie.
SEVENTEEN
VIC
As I drive to Brandon Marx’s office, a storm of questions churns in my mind. Why the hell would Brandon own my girlfriend's house? And more importantly, what am I missing?
I know exactly where his office is, the familiar drive to the so-called business districts. A few local eateries and mom and pop stores across from the commons, town offices, and a park unfold before me. Easily finding a parking spot, I stride toward the real estate office, determined to get the answers I came here for. I know the office well, as it is the same one where I first met Brandon when I initially inquired about listing my house for sale before leaving for college. His face stares back at me from an advertisement along with a few properties for sale, placed on the window.
The bell chimes as I step inside, announcing my arrival. And then I see him. He doesn’t appear to have aged much. Brandon’s face flashes with shock before he quickly masks his emotion. The sight of him turns my stomach. The memory of their embrace loops endlessly in my mind. He rises from the chair, and I close the distance in a few strides. Smoothing the front of his familiar blue sport coat, he extends his hand toward me. I just stare atit before looking up at him. His smile falters, morphing into a frown, as he retracts his arm stiffly to his side. He straightens, his posture stiffening as he locks his body into a guarded stance.
My anger swirls in a violent current between us as our eyes bore into one another in a stare-off. With a curt gesture, he motions to a chair. I remain standing. When he sees that I will not move, he exhales. The sound of air that escapes sounds of irritation, but I don’t care as he purses his lips, likely about to lecture a repugnant child. I am neither, but I can envision the dark fantasy now. How I will gut him like a fucking fish.
“I’d ask what brings you here, but I think I have an inkling,” he says matter-of-factly, snapping me out of my red haze. Anger radiates off me, hot enough to make my ears burn, as I try to keep it at bay, forcing myself towards a semblance of civil conversation. But when it comes to Dani, all bets are off.
“I need to know what happened.” He blinks, confusion flickering across his face. “I went to Dani’s house. She isn’t there. In fact, she’s moved. So where is she?” Shock registers on his face. It’s subtle, but unmistakable.
“You haven’t talked to her?” he asks.
I shake my head. “She won’t take my calls. When I arrive at her house to talk to her, I find out she doesn’t live there anymore.” My voice rises angrily, and I know speech betrays the other emotion threatening to burst forth. Heartbreak.
“Imagine my surprise,” I continue through clenched teeth, “when I don’t even know where she is now.” Brandon leans back in his chair, exhaling a slow, ragged breath.
“Wow. When was the last time you talked to her?”
“Years.” That's all I say as his eyebrows raise, concern flickering in his eyes. Why is he worried? The question hangs silently in my mind, but I can’t seem to see past the anger. He asks as if that day didn’t destroy me. Like he has no idea. So I let him know.
“Oh, let’s see…” I trail off through gritted teeth. “Maybe it was the day I came to surprise her and found you wrapped around her, kissing her fucking forehead.” My fists clench and unclench by my sides. Brandon notices, and his attention shifts as he attempts to soothe me, although his awareness of my fury is unmistakable.
“Jesus Christ.” He rubs a hand over his face, then looks at me, remorse evident. “You’ve got it all wrong, bro.” His hand rises, pacifyingly.
“Do I?”
“Yeah. You do,” he insists.
“So enlighten me then,” I demand, arms raising outward, daring him to make me understand.
“Dani called me up, explaining that she needed to sell her house. She needed the money.” He shrugs, like I should know. But I don’t.
“Why?” I ask. My steady voice is taut with anger.
He watches me. “You’ll have to ask her.” He bites his lip as if he’s trying to hold back a secret. “It’s not my story to tell.” It's all he says, but his body language betrays him. As we lock eyes in a silent stare, I know that I’m not getting another word from him on that. Still needing to hear the rest of the story, I roll my hands in a coaxing motion, silently urging him to continue.
“The house was in a bit of disrepair, so I helped where I could, but she needed to sell rather fast.” He shakes his head, reluctant to admit it, and steeples his fingers together. “I know she needed a certain price, and without the repairs the house needed, she wouldn’t have gotten it.” He clears his throat. “So…” He hesitates briefly before continuing. “I decided to buy it myself, under a company she didn't know.” He pauses, rubbing his eyes, as if this is painful to him. I suspect he has no idea how much it hurts me.
“Where is she?” My voice sounds weak.
He shrugs. “No clue. Houston, maybe.”
It's then that I notice his ring. His eyes catch mine, and he smiles widely, waggling his finger. He turns the picture facing him around so I can see it. “Vanessa,” he says proudly. “The love of my life. We’ve been married a year, and we just found out we are having a little girl.” He smiles, but he isn’t seeing me. He’s seeing his wife, and in that moment, I realize just how stupid I’ve been.
