“I didn’t have a key under the doormat,” I reply.
“Your right, which brings me to my next question. Do you know the number two most commonplace a burglar searches for a spare key?”
I scratch my chin as I pull my coat off. “I don’t know, Journey, but apparently you do, which brings up a few questions of my own.”
“I’m not a burglar,” she drones.
“That wasn’t one of my questions, but thank you for clarifying.” I join her on the couch and twist to face her, wondering why she would go so far out of her way as to wait for me at my house when she couldn’t seem to get away from me fast enough last night. “Where is the second most popular place a burglar would find a spare key?”
“A weightless rock, Brody. When someone trips over a rock, it doesn’t usually move. So if you want to use a fake rock to conceal a key, at least leave a front porch light on so the burglar doesn’t trip over it.”
I snicker because that rock has been a running joke in my family for about three years. Everyone knows the spare key is in there, but it looks more like a decorative rock than a key-concealing object. There’s a small secret slot the key slides into, so unless someone were familiar with the exact type of fake rock, they wouldn’t know where to search for the key. “You’ve had one of these, haven’t you?”
“My mom has one outside the front of her house. It’s ridiculous, just as you are.”
“Okay, Miss-I-Leave-My-Doors-Unlocked-All-Night.” I might have found a little tidbit of information during one of our pointless, yet humorous phone calls.
“See, the way I look at it,” she begins, making herself more comfortable in the corner of the l-shaped couch's wedge. “If someone finds a door unlocked, they know someone must be home, and it isn’t the prime target for a burglary.” Journey looks proud of her thought process, but she seems smarter than to say something so dumb.
“Yet, attracts dirt-bags, abductors, or it's just a perfect set-up for a home invasion. Makes perfect sense to me.”
“Exactly. Some people live for that type of excitement in their lives, right?”
I narrow my eyes at her, wondering what she means, also wondering if I want to know. “You’re kind of reckless, aren’t you?”
“I refuse to live in fear,” she says.
So, yes is the answer to my last question. “A little fear is healthy, at least that’s what I tell myself; a man trying desperately to raise a tween daughter to become an intelligent woman.”
Journey seems taken aback by my comment like she wasn’t expecting me to bring Hannah into this conversation, but since having a daughter, I have found a new appreciation for the safety precautions women should take in this crazy world. “I didn’t mean Hannah shouldn’t be careful,” she says.
“I know. You’re speaking specifically on your behalf, which is also concerning.”
Journey’s cheeks redden, and I know she’s becoming agitated with my arguments, but I’m not the type to nod my head in agreement when I don’t agree. “Like I said earlier … I’m not someone you need to concern yourself with.”
I lean forward and press my elbows into my knees. “So, if I can be frank with you for a moment here—” I’m too old for these flirty games and going days and weeks without speaking the truth about the obvious. So, I’m laying my cards out on the table for Journey. If she doesn’t like it, I’d rather know now than continue these senseless arguments with a beautiful woman who has no intention of continuing whatever is going on between us. “Journey, I’m sure you know I like you—not in a humanitarian project type of way, but I think you're attractive, you’re mysterious, fiery, and someone I enjoy being around. I’d like to spend as much time as I can with you, but I’m getting mixed signals from you, aside from the fact that you broke into my house and made yourself comfortable on my couch while I was two hours away.”
Journey’s smiling, a sweet smile, not a snarky one—the infamous one. “What are you saying, Brody?”
“I’m saying, I should be allowed to feel concerned about someone I have feelings for, but if you don’t want me to have those feelings, then I don’t see how this will work out, you know what I mean?”
Journey pulls in a deep breath and drops her head to the side, her long dark waves spilling over her shoulder. “I’m not a damsel in distress—I’m not the type. I don’t call people when I need help. I figure out how to solve my problems, and I learn from the mistakes I make. It’s who I am, and that is what I was trying to say.”
“And I can appreciate all of that, but if I care about you—or anyone for that matter, and I see you throwing caution to the wind, you can’t expect me just to sit there and watch.”
Journey kicks her boots off and folds her feet beneath her, making herself more comfortable in my favorite spot on the couch. I’ve worn in that area to make it the plushiest of all the cushions in this house, but she can sit there tonight. “Okay, so how about you just say what you’re concerned about, and I will tell you if you have valid reasons for concern?”
I’m surprised she’s being so free with whatever she keeps locked so tightly within her head, but I’ll take the bait. “I’m concerned that you seem to hate the world and that certain subjects are off-limits because they cause intense spikes in your mood. You seem depressed, but at the same time, there’s a flicker of hope in your eyes, like there’s a part of you that wants to escape whatever darkness is holding you hostage.”
Journey’s gaze falls to her black leggings as she traces her finger down the stitching around her knee's side. “My dad just died, Brody. Even before that, life hasn’t been all cupcakes and rainbows.”
“I get it.”
“I see the similarities in our lives,” she says, but just like no one knew about Pete, or the reason that you seemingly disappeared for two years, I have my reason for the way I am too—reasons that are still unresolved and trapped within my soul. Those reasons are a part of me and who I am. We’ve lost people in our lives, right?”
I’m not sure if she’s referring to Pete in this circumstance or Kristy, but she must think it’s relatable to Harold. It isn’t the same. Losing a parent—it’s unfathomable.
“That’s a loaded question for me,” I explain. “Did I lose people from my life? I’m not sure I can compare a loss that I’ve had to someone like your dad, who had no choice. The people who are no longer in my life had a choice.”
