Until We Fly (The Beautifully Broken) (19 page)

My mother stares at me, looks away at the lake, lifts her chin and stares back at me. 

“I brought you into this world.”

I shake my head.  “Wrong answer. You brought me into the world, true. But I didn’t ask for that.  And once I was born, you didn’t do a thing for me.  It was bad before Allison died, but after that, it was unbearable.  Not only did you allow my father to beat the shit out of me every time he came home drunk from the bar, but you tried to make a helpless kid believe that he killed his sister.  You’re the fucking monster, not me.”

My mother’s eyes turn icy and she glares at me.  “You
did
kill your sister.  You heard her, Brand.  I know you heard her and you let her walk into the lake.  You could’ve stopped her, but you didn’t.”

An eerie calmness descends upon me and for once, I don’t feel rage as I look upon my mother.

“I was six years old.  I was upstairs asleep.  I realize that when bad things happen, people blame someone when they’re grieving.  It’s human nature.  But to focus your grief and your rage on a six-year old kid… that was unforgivable.”

My mother’s eyes water and she looks away.

“My daughter died, Brand.  You could’ve saved her… if only you’d listened for her.  You were supposed to watch out for her. She was your little sister.”

Her voice dwindles off and she wipes at her eyes.  Nothing in me softens at her show of sadness. 

“I was six years old,” I reply. “
You
were supposed to watch out for her.  Dad forgot to lock the door, not me. All of these years, if you had to have someone to blame, you should’ve blamed him.   If you really are too small of a person to realize that sometimes accidents happen. Bad things happen.  And sometimes there’s simply no one to blame. You’re a small, small person.”

“My daughter died,” she whimpers. 

“Your daughter
did
die,” I tell her coldly.  “But you didn’t have to lose both your children that night.  That was a decision that you made. You’re paying for that decision now.  Go inside and get your things.”

She looks up in disbelief and I see it in her eyes… she thought her show of tears would sway me. She was only trying to pull my strings… once again.  Just like when I was a kid and she tried to make me believe I was a monster, that I’d killed my sister, that my father was only doing what he ‘had to do’ when he was beating me. 

My blood chills as I look at her and all I can feel is distaste. For my own mother.  Even worse, I see the exact same emotion in her eyes as she stares back at me. 

She hates me and it is apparent. 

“Go.” I repeat.  My voice is like ice. 

She spins around and stalks away.  I watch her disappear into the house, I watch the old peeling door slam behind her, I watch how the windows of the house seem to mock me, like large eyes that watched my father beat me on the beach, time and time again.  This house is a tomb of bad memories. And I don’t think I can look at it any longer.  In fact, I don’t even want it to exist. 

I want all of it to just go away. 

I turn to Nora.

“Could you do me a huge favor?  Could you run down to the cottage and get the gas can from the garage and a box of matches?”

Nora stares at me, paralyzed. 

“Please?” I prod.

She nods, confusion in her eyes, but she doesn’t question me. She just takes off running down the beach barefoot. I watch her for a minute, then turn to the attorney.

“The house is mine now, correct?”

Todd nods.  “Yes.  Everything in it.  And the woodshop and the garage in town.  And the assets from the business. Everything.”

“Good.”

Todd eyes me uncomfortably.  “What are you planning?”

I level a gaze at him.  “A bonfire.”

He stares back in apprehension.  “That’s arson.”

“Not if I don’t make an insurance claim,” I tell him.  “I simply want to get rid of the house so that I can clear this land and start fresh.  I might even build another house here in the future.   So that’s not arson. That’s demolition.”

“You need a permit for demolition, son.”

I narrow my eyes.  “I’m not your son. And if Angel Bay PD wants to fine me, so be it.”

Todd continues to stare at me uncertainly. “Okay. Well, this is yours now, too.”

He hands me the key to the wooden box my father left for me and I shove it in the pocket of my swim trunks.  I’ll deal with that later. 

Nora returns just as my mother walks down the steps with a suitcase in her hand.  She jogs up to me with the gas can and matches, and my mother’s eyes widen, the first real reaction I’ve seen from her. 

I walk up to her. 

“Mom, I loved you for the longest time, long after you stopped deserving it.  I don’t hate you now.  I don’t.  But I’m done with everything toxic in my life, and that includes you.   I’m going to sign over dad’s business to you.  I’m going to give you the money he had in the bank, his truck, his workshop.  But I’m not giving you this house.  I’m getting rid of every bad memory I have of this place today.”

She sputters and then stops as she sees the expression on my face. 

“You’re serious.”

“Dead serious.”

Without another word, I shake gasoline out of the can all over the porch and fling it up on the walls. 

I look at my mother. 

“You might want to get back.”

She takes a step back, then another.

I pause.  “I know that I’ll probably never see you again after you leave here today. And I’m okay with that.  I can’t deal with the all the toxins of my childhood anymore.  If you ever want to have a real relationship with me, the normal kind of mother-son relationship, then look me up. Until then, take care of yourself.”

I turn away and my mother hurries to her car without a word.  She drives away without looking back and I have no doubt that I’ll never see her again. 

It does hurt, but I swallow it, because I know I have to let it go. If I’m ever going to get past everything that happened here, I have to let it all go.   

I toss a match onto the house. 

It ignites immediately and the heat presses against us, trying to push us away from it, almost like it’s trying to protect itself from destruction. 

It doesn’t work, because I toss another match, then another. 

It burns quickly. 

I watch the flames lick at the sky, the smoke spiraling into the heavens.   Every bad memory I have spirals away with it.  One after the other, after the other. 

It’s surprisingly cleansing and with every board that burns, I feel weights being lifted from my shoulders.

I’m not guilty of anything.   And I’ll never have to look at anything or anyone again who tries to pretend otherwise.

Nora comes up from behind and wraps her arms around my waist as we watch it burn.  Her cool arms bring comfort, the kind of comfort that only comes from someone who accepts me for who I am. 

“You ok?”

I nod.  “Yeah.  You?”

“Yeah.”

We watch the flames for a while, the oranges and blues and reds, before we walk away, down the beach to the only house that ever truly felt like home to me. 

Chapter Twenty-One

Nora

I can’t believe that just happened.

Brand literally burned his past down. 

It’s astounding.  Overwhelming.  Exhilarating. 

And it’s nothing short of what I would expect from him. He’s so decisive.  When he takes control of something, he doesn’t do it halfway.  The mere thought sets my belly aflutter. 

I hear the shower running as Brand washes away the lake water, the ash from the fire and probably some bad memories, too.  I know how that goes.  I curl up on the sofa and give him his privacy. He deserves some solitude after what he just did. 

As I lay still, I can’t help but stare at the little wooden box. 

It’s fascinating to me.   Ebony wood with an ivory inlay.  Black and white.  I have to wonder if his father did that on purpose…. Did he contrast black with white as an analogy for life?  Life isn’t black and white.

Unable to stop myself, I pick it up, turning it over and over.  I shake it lightly.

There’s a solid clunking noise inside.  Something in the box has some heft.  With a man as hateful as Joe Killien apparently was, it’s hard telling what he put in the box. 

I get goose bumps as I remember horror movies of the past… when body parts and worse have been sent as messages.  Quickly, I set the box down. 

Surely Joe didn’t put a body part in the box, but I’m not sure that I want to know what actually is in there. 

“I’m curious too,” Brand says from the hallway.  I turn to find him standing there, a towel slung around his waist.  I’d been studying the box so intently, I hadn’t even heard the shower water turn off.

He takes a few steps into the room, his strong calves flexing with his movement.  Each movement he makes is so lithe and controlled. He picks up the box and turns it over in his large hands. 

“I want to know, but yet I don’t want to give him that satisfaction,” he finally says, turning to me.  “Does that make any sense?  I know he’s gone and he’ll never know if I look or not.  But
I’ll
know.”

“So you’re not ever going to look?” I ask quietly, in a tiny bit of disbelief. Because I know I’d never have that kind of willpower.  I’d have to know. Even if what was inside killed me or fueled my guilt or hate.  But this is just one more way that Brand and I are different.  He’s got willpower.  I don’t.

Brand shrugs and sets the box aside. “I don’t know.  Maybe I will.  But see, it’s taken me years to get to the place where I don’t care what he thinks, or what he says.   I think it’s something inborn in every person…. you need the approval of your parents.  For better or worse, you need to know that you’ve met their expectations, that you are good enough.  I know that I never will.  And that’s something I’ve had to let go of—and get past.  It’s taken me a long time.”

“But anyone would be proud of you,” I begin to argue, but Brand holds up his hand. 

“You don’t have to do that.  I know all the arguments.  Jacey used to argue the same things.   When I graduated West Point with honors, they didn’t come. They didn’t send a card.  They didn’t acknowledge it at all.  I threw a party with Jacey and Gabe.  When I made the Rangers, they didn’t say anything, and again, I celebrated with Jacey and Gabe.  But at the same time, I didn’t write home and tell them, either.  It’s been a two-sided road.  I haven’t held up my part, but neither did they.”

I shake my head and interrupt because he can’t stop me.  “But they gave you very good reasons to stay away.  Your father beat you. Your mother didn’t stop it…”

Brand nods.  “Yeah, I know. But life is fucked up.  People get hurt, people are scarred, people are damaged and sometimes, things aren’t meant to be fixed.”

“And you’re afraid if you looked in the box, it might mess up your resolution?”

He nods.  “I guess.  I just don’t want to have to start back at square one and try to forgive them again.”

I suck in a breath.  “Have you forgiven them?”

He stares out the window.  “I don’t know. I try.  But I guess, mostly, I just continually put it out of my mind so that I don’t have to think about it.”

“That’s denial,” I tell him needlessly. 

He smiles grimly.  “I know. But it works for me right now.  So I’m not going to look in the box…not right now.    I don’t need to. There are other things I need to worry about. More important things.”

I raise an eyebrow.  “Such as?”

Brand grins.  “Lunch.  I’m starving.”

I roll my eyes.  “You’re always starving.”

“Lunch at the Hill?” he asks, his eyes twinkling.  I nod. 

“It’s a date,” he tells me and he disappears back down the hall to get dressed.

It’s a date. 

A date with Brand Killien. 

Gah.  Oh how the worm turns in life, from one moment to the next.  You never know what’s going to happen. 

I pull my hair back into a low ponytail and within twenty minutes, Brand and I are walking into The Hill. 

Together.

I’ve got my arm looped through his and Maria looks up from the cash register, her face lighting up like fireworks when she sees Brand.

She rushes to him, kissing his cheeks and muttering Italian endearments.  He smiles and hugs her and she shows us to a table by the window. 

“You let me know if I can get you anything else,” she tells him before she bustles away.  “I’ll get you a special dessert.”

I look at Brand over the top of my menu.  “She really likes you.”

“She’s very loyal.  She doesn’t forget it when someone has done something for her.  All I did was move her daughter’s stuff to college.”

“And come and help her cut brush, and do a bunch of other stuff outside after her husband died,” I add.  He glances up at me, surprised.  I shrug.  “She told me last time.  You did a lot for her.”

“And so did Gabe and Maddy, and even Jacey,” Brand says simply. “Maria’s good people.  So was Tony.”

We fall silent as we decide what to eat, then hand our menus over after we order. 

Brand stares out the window. “I always forget how much I do like this little town,” he muses absently.  “I always associate it with ugliness because of my parents, but I had good times here, too. I spent most of every summer down at the Vincents’ place.  Gabe and Jacey shared their grandparents with me.  They were good people, too.  Their gran has always been the mom I never had.”

Something about that statement and the softness in his eyes at the mere mention twinges my heart. 

“I’m glad you had that with them,” I tell him honestly.  “It sounds like they filled a void in your life.”

And oh my god, how I wished I could have helped do that.  I was here every summer too. Only I was four years younger and back then… well, that might as well have been an ocean of time.

Brand nods.  “Yeah.  Their gran taught me a lot.  She was full of good advice.  She still is, actually.  She’s in a nursing home in Chicago.”

I take a sip of water.  “What kind of advice?  I’m afraid I grew up without much of that.  My father is very focused on business and my mother… well, she’s very focused on trying to put on the appearances that everything is fine in the Greene household.  There wasn’t much sage advice floating around.”