An hour passed and we were all still staggered around the table before Brecken pushed his plate away. “I’m stuffed.”
When I noticed his plate, I could see why. “That’s because you ate a million tacos.”
He patted his stomach, smiling. “I only counted eight.”
Keenan stared at Brecken’s plate and gave an impressed nod.
“None of my old clothes fit me anymore, and I don’t want to go shopping for a whole new wardrobe.” He slid the bottom of his shirt up just high enough to expose his buckle. He’d had to drill a new hole in the belt a good few inches from where the last notch was. He was fuller than the last time I’d seen him, but he was still thin. Emaciated when compared to the size he’d been.
“They didn’t feed you either?” Keenan nearly shrieked.
“Oh no, they fed me,” Brecken answered. “Fava beans.”
Keenan leaned forward in his chair. “With what?”
“More fava beans.”
“Breakfast, lunch, and dinner?”
“They preferred the one-meal-a-day way of doing things, but yeah, fava beans for every meal. Occasionally with a side of vitamins.”
Keenan’s nose crinkled. “Mom makes me take vitamins too. She says it keeps my bones and muscles strong.”
“Keeps you from going blind too,” Brecken replied, his expression drawing up like he should have caught himself before saying that.
I played interception before Keenan could glom on to that topic. “Why don’t you bring down some of your Legos so Mr. Connolly can see what you’ve built?”
“Brecken,” he said. “He can call me Brecken. If that’s okay with you.”
He and Keenan were both watching me, waiting. I wasn’t sure what Keenan should call him, but I supposed Brecken wasn’t totally inappropriate.
“Okay, why don’t you bring your Legos down so Brecken can see what you’ve built?”
Keenan was already out of his seat, his feet thundering up the stairs, before I’d managed to slide out of my chair.
“How are things?” I asked now that Keenan was gone. For however long it took him to gather up his favorite towers.
“Specifically or all-encompassing?” Brecken handed me his plate, his fingers grazing mine.
“However you want to answer.”
He shifted in his seat. “Things are weird.” His words were slow, deliberate. “I was only gone for six years, but it feels like six lifetimes sometimes. I can’t remember what a taco is, but I can remember some random equation Mr. Murdoch taught us in algebra. It’s like I’m having to pick up pieces of my past, one at a time.” As I set the plates in the sink, I didn’t expect him to say anything else, but he did. “I feel lost. My old life feels like a dream, and this one feels like I’m living someone else’s life. The only time I feel hints of my old self is when I’m …” His head turned toward the window as he closed his mouth. He wasn’t going to finish his sentence. Then his head rotated back to where I was hovering at the sink, his eyes clearing. “When I’m with you.” His words echoed off the kitchen walls. “I remember who I was, who I am, when I’m with you.”
My heart crawled into my throat when I let myself look at him, my hands curling over the edge of the sink. That had been another life. I’d been another person. Who he remembered, that girl he’d loved, that person wasn’t in the woman he was staring at now. That girl had died with that boy. The woman was a mirage.
Keenan burst into the room right then, making me jump. Before he could notice, I turned on the sink to pretend like I was doing the dishes while Keenan spread out an armful of Lego constructions on the table. Brecken didn’t say anything else to me after that—he focused on Keenan, who could have gone on for hours about each and every structure like they were an engineering feat rivaling the first pyramids.
I let him stay up an extra half hour before wrangling him up to his room for bedtime. He fell asleep almost instantly, the Lego soldier figurine clasped in his hand. When I went back to the kitchen a few minutes later, I found it clean and empty.
“Brecken?” I called quietly, peeking into the living room.
“Out here.” His voice floated into the house from the porch. The door was open, but the porch light was off. When I stepped outside, Brecken reached back inside, reaching for the porch light. “Sorry. Sometimes the lights still get to me.”
“It’s fine. Leave it off.” I covered the switch before he could fire it back on. “Sometimes they get to me too.” I closed the door, leaving it open a crack so I could hear if Keenan called for me.
As I passed Brecken, all I could see of him were the whites of his eyes. Going from the light straight into the dark like this was blinding. Strange how the reverse was true as well.
“Do you want a beer? Crew has some in the fridge.” At least, he had as of last night.
His head shook as he sank into one of the porch chairs. “No, thanks.”
“Something else?” I asked, trying to remember what I’d last seen in Crew’s cupboard in his office.
His fingers curled around the arm of the chair. “I’m afraid if I let myself start drinking, I’m never going to stop.”
I moved toward the other chair. “I know the feeling.”
“You don’t drink?”
“No.”
His head tipped. “Why?”
“Because I’ve seen it turn men into monsters.” The words were out before I’d felt them forming. Even if I could take them back, I wouldn’t have. I’d held so much in for so long, letting that one particle out felt like a victory.
“You have your old man to thank for that.” Brecken stared into the night, his chest moving evenly. “But booze can’t make a monster; it can only free one.”
My eyes closed. Everything went darker.
Time went by and we let it, sharing the silence together. It was different though, having him close. The dark, the silence, it was gentler with Brecken near. It was almost comforting.
“Listen, I know I flunked more than one math class in my day, but a five-year-old kid plus nine months of pregnancy about equals six years, right?”
I’d known the peace couldn’t last, but I hadn’t expected for it to be broken like that. When I shifted, a ripple of pain burst up my spine from my bruised tailbone. “Brecken …”
“I’m not asking for an explanation.” His chair whined when he leaned forward, his head turning toward me. “Just a confirmation.”
“A confirmation of what?”
“That I’m doing my math right.”
His stare was too much to hold. It wasn’t accusation in his eyes though—it was forgiveness. That was harder to accept from him.
“You are,” I whispered.
“Figures.” He shoved out of his chair, his hands sliding into his pockets as he scanned the quiet street. “The one answer I wished I’d gotten wrong, I got right.”
My head lifted. “There is an explanation.”
“You don’t owe me one.” His head barely shook. “And it doesn’t change the outcome.”
“What outcome?”
Brecken did half a turn, motioning at the house behind me before indicating at me. “You belong to someone else now.”
I couldn’t deny it.
Yet I couldn’t confirm it either.
“It’s okay,” he continued, his throat moving. “I’m happy to have you in my life. In whatever capacity I can. Even if it’s saving my ass every once in a while when I flambé my scrambled eggs.”
I stood from my seat and moved beside him. Regardless of everything else, he was alive. “I’m happy to have you in my life in whatever way too. Even if it’s saving my ass from something else.”
His shoulder touched mine. “I’ll save your ass from whatever you need saving from.”
“Hero complex?” My eyebrow lifted at him.
“Far less noble,” he replied, his eyes dropping behind me. His mouth stretched into a grin. “You’ve got a nice ass. Totally worth saving.”
&nbs
p; Elbowing him, I feigned appall, but he saw through the act.
“I better get going. I don’t want to overstay my welcome.” He moved down the steps, holding the handrail as he took them backward. “Let me know what you decide to tell Crew. If you decide to tell him anything.”
My arms folded as I moved to the edge of the porch, watching him lower himself one step at a time. “Things between Crew and I are—”
“Complicated. Yeah. I was listening. I know that.” Brecken stopped when he stepped onto the pathway. “I don’t want to make things more complicated for you, so just let me know how I can do that. Unless you want me to complicate things for you, then by all means, let me know how I can do that as well.” He was joking, the glint in his eyes told that, but he wasn’t entirely. His face told me that.
When I went to reply, all that came out was a sigh.
“Listen, you’re with him, you have a kid. I know you’re his wife.” He was staring at me, still holding onto the handrail. Not able to let go. “If he wants to hear me say that to his face to make him feel better, I will.”
“You know what question Crew will follow up with.”
He nodded once. “If I’ll respect the fact that you’re his wife.”
My silence was a confirmation.
“Well, that’s simple,” he said, his voice sounding like the one I remembered. It didn’t waver. It didn’t rasp. Brecken’s eyes didn’t leave mine as he backed away. “I’d tell him that I have every intention of showing him the same amount of respect he showed me when he moved in on my girl weeks after my fake execution.”
This window had been a portal to a different life. At first, after Keenan’s birth, I’d spent what felt like months trapped at home with a colicky newborn, rocking him in the chair I’d pull up to this window. Watching our neighbors live their lives, one window to the next, admiring the snow when it fell, dreaming of a different life that I imagined was just on the other side of that pane of glass.
Now, I watched something else. I watched him. I no longer pulled up the old chair to stare out of the window for hours, but I took a few stolen minutes when no one else was watching. That other life felt farther away than just one pane of glass now though. It wasn’t a different life I saw anymore at all actually. It was someone else’s life.
Crew was in his office, finishing up a few things, while Keenan was in his bedroom, picking a few toys for his backpack to take over to his grandparents’ monthly Sunday brunch. Alone, I took my stolen moments at the window.
It had been over a week since the night Brecken had come over for dinner. Other than from the window, I hadn’t seen him. He’d kept his distance, and we’d kept ours. Keenan hadn’t mentioned anything to Crew about our dinner guest, and I couldn’t help but wonder why. It wasn’t because he’d forgotten about it, but there must have been a reason. I hadn’t asked him not to mention it because I couldn’t pull our son into a lie, especially one as dangerous as this.
Crew pretended our new neighbor didn’t exist, insisting the curtain to the window facing east be kept closed both day and night. However, each day, the tension tethered to him seemed to loosen. The longer Brecken kept his distance, the more Crew seemed to accept that him moving in next door wasn’t some play to steal me away.
Brecken usually stayed inside during the day, but he was outside on the porch most mornings and nights, wrestling with some kind of weighted object. The day after he’d moved in, a bench, a few different barbells, and racks of weights had been delivered and assembled out on his porch. The boxes hadn’t budged or looked as though they’d been unpacked, but the weights had definitely taken their residence in the place.
He spent hours out there every day, grunting as he moved weights, dripping sweat as he wrestled them, almost as though they were fighting back. He was getting stronger. More weight was being added to the barbell, heavier dumbbells were being lifted above his head—he was putting himself back together. Sometimes I watched him and wished it was so easy to put one’s soul back together.
“We’re going to be late, Keenan!” Crew’s office door burst open, his voice booming through the house. “Put some hustle in it!”
I had just enough time to close the curtain and whisk away from the window before Crew marched into the living room.
“You got the pie, right? The one from the freezer section, not the bakery?” Crew asked as he adjusted the cuffs of his dress shirt.
He wavered in place as he did, but when he looked up, I pretended I hadn’t noticed. Crew’s parents weren’t the easiest people to be around, and he usually needed a drink or two before we made our monthly visits. I couldn’t blame him for it. If I’d been the drinking type, I would have downed those shots with him.
“I’ve got the pie, the freezer one, and the homemade rolls your mom asked me to bring. Everything’s packed up and ready.” Pulling a sweater jacket from the coat closet, I cinched it on before shouldering the bag with the pie and rolls.
“You didn’t add too much salt this time, did you?” Crew glanced at his watch, checking up the stairs with an impatient look. “Dad has to watch his salt—”
“I halved the salt this time.”
When Keenan started bouncing down the stairs, I exhaled, pulling the front door open. These brunches were as stressful an ordeal for me as they were for Crew.
“Got everything?” I combed Keenan’s hair with my fingers a few times before following Crew out the door.
He was already marching down the stairs, acting like we were five minutes late, when we’d probably be five minutes early.
I knew, in his parents’ book, that was five minutes late.
“Do we have to stay very long?” Keenan whined to me, smart enough to keep it quiet enough so that Crew didn’t hear.
“As long as we need to, and not a minute more.” I took Keenan’s hand as we moved down the stairs, trying to ignore the figure standing on the porch next door. The one who’d stopped lifting those dumbbells to watch us.
I wanted to wave. We were neighbors; no one could accuse me of anything other than being friendly. But if Crew saw, he could accuse me of more. Maybe he’d even be right.
Instead, I lowered my sunglasses over my eyes and did my best to ignore the man whose eyes were trained on me as I moved down the sidewalk. Thankfully, Crew was distracted enough by what was waiting in front of him than who was watching behind him.
His parents still lived in the same house he’d grown up in at the end of the block. The blocks were long in this part of the city, more like three blocks in the newer subdivisions. The walk only took a few minutes, but it felt like we were traveling back in time a couple of generations.
Lester and Margaret Graves’ household—the home where casseroles, plastic-covered furniture, and old-fashioned values thrived.
Crew didn’t say anything the whole way there. He just kept a steady charge in front of us, looking like he was going to war instead of a meal with his parents. He waited at the door for us to catch up, adjusting his collar and cufflinks once more.
“Be good,” he said, pressing the bell. I guessed his suggestion wasn’t just for Keenan.
The heavy, measured steps of his father could be heard from inside. Crew was a decent-sized guy—until he stood next to his father. Lester towered a few inches above him and was a good margin wider. Even though he was in his fifties, he still had the body and bearing of a man half his age. He was an intimidating figure who clearly liked people viewing him that way. Keenan and I did our best to keep our distance, but Crew was of the opposite mind. He stayed by his dad’s side like a trained companion.
When the door pulled open, Lester seemed surprised to see us. Then realization must have set in. “It’s the fourth Sunday of the month. The one day we’re lucky enough to be graced with the presence of our only son and his family.”
Even Lester’s voice was intimidating, though he was wearing a smile as he opened the door for us.
“Margaret?” Lester boomed through the hous
e. “Is brunch almost ready?”
“Five more minutes. I’m just carving the chicken,” Margaret replied from the kitchen.
Lester exhaled under his breath, waving his arm inside. “I can’t close the door unless you come in. You want to pay my air-conditioning bill?”
Keenan was silent, my steady shadow whenever we crossed the threshold of that front door. He’d been getting chided for crying since our first visit as the three of us. He’d been two weeks old at the time.
“I’ll see if Margaret needs some help.” I gave Crew’s arm a reassuring squeeze before moving through the house. “Keenan can help set the table.”
“A boy doesn’t need to know how to set no table.” Lester laughed, Crew joining in.
“Then I’ll have him sharpen the knives or something instead,” I said under my breath as I steered Keenan and myself into the kitchen.
As expected, Margaret had everything under control. The silver was gleaming, the crystal sparkling, the kitchen nearly spotless even though she hadn’t finished preparing an impressive meal.
“What can I help with?” I greeted, indicating the chair in the corner for Keenan to wait. It was getting easier to leave him to his own devices now that he was older, but trying to protect heaps of fine china from a grabby two-year-old had been a fiasco.
“I’ve got everything under control,” she replied, her focus unmoving as she carved the chicken. “Thank you for the offer though.”
She never looked up once. Not until she’d finished layering each piece of chicken onto a serving plate. When I moved up beside her to carry it to the table, she gave me an amused smile before carrying it herself.
When she glanced up, she almost looked surprised to see the boy sitting in the corner, playing with a couple of his action figures. “Hello, Keenan.”
The plastic figurines stopped smashing together, Keenan’s blue eyes flickering toward the table. “Hello,” he replied in the same hesitant voice I favored in this house.
“Why don’t you have a seat and your mother can get you situated?” She adjusted the plate on the table another degree before leaning back and appraising the spread with a critical eye. Whatever tests she ran it through must have passed. “I’ll grab Lester and Crew.”