7. Brannon
Chapter 7
Brannon
O nce I toss Chief Woodcock the keys to his cruiser, I head back toward the auto shop so I can get back to work on Leonard Landon’s piece of shit car. Every time I see him pull his car into the shop I cringe. That hunk of junk on wheels has to be older than my dead grandparents. If it’s not a busted tire because he’s constantly running over God knows what, it’s smoke coming from the engine at any given time. The most recent problem is that it has some sort of “herky-jerky movement”…whatever the hell that means.
Larry looks up from his paperwork when I walk into the office. He shakes his head and huffs out a laugh. “You know it’s not like there are tons of high-speed chases in this Godforsaken town. Chief must be taking that cruiser out of town and opening her up just to feel the wind in his face or something for as often as he seems to need that thing repaired. How many miles does she have on her?”
“Less than fifty thousand,” I tell him, agreeing with his observation. “He’s a lead foot when he doesn’t need to be.” My brows crease when I spot a paper bag sitting on the desk next to my water bottle. “What’s this?”
From over his spectacles, Larry smirks at me. “From the pigeon.”
Pigeon?
I shift on my feet with the bag in my hand as I peek inside. I could already tell it was a bag from the bakery. I should’ve known she would bring me more cookies.
“She was here?”
“Yep.”
“When?”
Larry glances up at the clock. “I’d say about an hour or so. Said they were a thank you. I told her you wouldn’t take her money and that when you say no, you mean it. So, she said good thing it wasn’t money in the bag then.” He chuckles softly. “She’s a quick one, that pigeon of yours.”
“She’s not…”
Mine.
“Uh huh,” Larry mumbles but doesn’t bother making eye contact.
I peer down into the bag again, this time pulling out one of the butterscotch oatmeal cookies from inside. The scent of my favorite treat wafts under my nose and I can’t hold back the urge to push the whole thing into my mouth. I take a bite and savor the delicious mixture of butterscotch, salt, brown sugar, and oats as the softness melts in my mouth.
“Don’t you think you ought to go over there and say thank you?”
“Hmm?” I ask with my mouth full
“To your pigeon.”
“For fuck’s sake, Larry, she’s not mine.”
“That’s right. And she never will be if you don’t get your ass over there and thank her for that cookie you just put in your mouth.”
“What are you implying?”
He stops what he’s doing and folds his arms on his desk. “I’m not implying a damn thing, Son. But that girl clearly piques your interest because you’ve done nothing but talk about her since the minute she got into town.”
That’s not…okay, that’s mostly true.
Rubbing the back of my neck, I sigh heavily. “What would I even say to her? Hello…thanks for the cookie…goodbye?”
Larry huffs. “Well, I suppose that wouldn’t be a terrible start.”
That would absolutely be a terrible and embarrassing start.
“Fuck that. I’ve got a car to fix.”
“Already ahead of you on that one, Bran.”
“Huh?”
Larry finally stands and steps across the office to find the invoice. “The herky-jerky movement is because the car is piece of shit older than me. But I set things straight for old Leonard.” He hands me his diagnostic paperwork along with the final invoice and I read down the page.
“‘Evaluating the unit and confirmed herky-jerky steering. Configured the herk to proper setting and performed jerk calibration. Unit no longer driving herky-jerky but may be a bit…honky-wonky?’ Are you serious?”
Larry’s cheeks redden as he brings his hands to his stomach and laughs. “Serious as a heart attack.” He claps me on the shoulder. “And you’re welcome. Now go on over there and say hello to the girl. You and I both know if you don’t, you’ll be wishing you had all night.”
With a heavy sigh I drop Leonard’s invoice onto my desk and stop at the sink to wash my hands before making my way across the square.
Smoothing out my hair, I try to run through every scenario I might find myself in when I approach The Cuckoo’s Nest.
Will she even be in there?
Is she really busy?
Will I be bothering her?
Meh, not like she hasn’t interrupted me a few times since she got here.
“Hey, Pidge, Larry told me you needed to see me?”
No, that’s a lie.
“Hey just wanted to let you know Larry ate all those cookies but thanks for the thought.”
Ugh. Another lie.
“Those cookies. Mmm, fuck I’ll be eating each and every one of those suckers the way I eat pussy. Fast and hard.”
What the fuck? I would never go fast and hard.
I mean…unless she wanted that.
I wonder what she does like.
Get a grip Bran.
You’re almost there and you’re now thinking about Pigeon’s pussy.
Why would a girl like her be interested in a guy like you anyway?
I wipe the sweat from my forehead suddenly questioning the outside temperature instead of my own train of thought for the reason I’m so warm. The front window of The Cuckoo’s Nest catches my attention as I step up to the storefront. The summer themed display is impressive. Clearly Pigeon has an eye for design. She’s done more with this front display window than her aunt and uncle have ev— whoa!
What is…
Pidge?
My hands hit the window as I peer inside trying to get a clear view of what I think I’m seeing. My heart drops into my stomach when I spot her just beyond the display window—her lifeless body lying on the floor.
No, no, no, no, no!
Not her.
“Pidge!”
I smack the glass and scream her name but she doesn’t move. “Fuck!”
Oh fuck. “Heather!” Her limp body lies on the dark damp pavement. “Heather wake up!”
I’m shaking from the inside out. My hands tremble as I reach for the door handle and jump out of the truck, praying that she opens her eyes and tells me she’s fine. I try to swallow but my mouth has gone dry. All the water in my body is now flowing through my eyes.
“Wake up Heather! Come on! Wake up, wake up, wake up!”
Adrenaline spikes in my body while every fear and memory of my past overtakes my brain. I smack the glass and scream her name but she doesn’t move.
“Fuck! This is not happening. It can’t be happening. Not again.”
I scramble for the fastest way inside The Cuckoo’s Nest. My body quivers as I jiggle the doorknob, praising all the Tuft Swallow gods that the door is unlocked, and shove it open so hard the little bell at the top flies off and hits the ground several feet away. Once inside, I maneuver around a few boxes and two shelves and then jump the counter, forgetting I could have simply gone around. When I finally lay both eyes on her, she’s curled up in a tight fetal position, her arms hugging her knees.
“Pidge!”
No, God please don’t take her too.
I’m on my knees next to her, my hands hovering over her body trying to assess what’s happened. I feel for her pulse and check for blood or broken bones when her eyes open and she takes a breath.
“Fucking hell.” I breathe in and blow out a huge sigh of relief. “Pidge?”
She blinks her eyes. The movements are slow and lethargic, her voice soft and fragile. “My name is Paige.”
My hand gently squeezes her waist. “I know what your name is. What’s going on? Are you alright? Are you hurt? Fuck. You scared the hell out of me.”
Her usual sunny disposition is nowhere to be found. “All of me hurts, Bran.”
“I can call an ambulance. Did you fall? Did you get hit with something? My God, did somebody hurt you?” Bile rises in my throat at the thought of someone touching her.
“No ambulance,” she murmurs. “It’s just my period.”
My brows crease and I cock my head, still checking her for cuts, scrapes, or any other sign of injury because so help me God if someone laid a hand on her I will— wait…
“What? What do you mean?”
Still lifeless, her face void of expression, she mumbles slowly, “My period, Bran. You know, menstruation? Menses? Aunt Flow? The wicked sister? The monthly visitor? You name it, I’ve got it.”
“Pidge, you passed out. I don’t think it’s your?—"
“Didn’t pass out. Or maybe I did. I don’t know. It’s a lot of fucking pain.” Her voice starts to quiver as she speaks and I can tell she’s trying not to cry. “I can’t stand up, Bran. It hurts so bad.”
“Okay, we’ve got to get you out of here. If someone sees you lying here, they might think…”
God, they might think terrible horrifying thoughts like I did.
“I can’t drive. I can’t even stand up. Just leave me here. It’ll go away eventually.” She starts to cry. “I just have to lay here until it subsides. It’s just the way it is. The way it has to be.”
“How long is eventually?”
She’s quiet, her eyes squeezed closed as a tear slides down her cheek.
“Pidge…”
“A couple hours at the most.”
I shake my head. “Fuck that. Come on. We’re leaving.”
Slipping my hands under her body, I easily lift her into my arms and curl her into my chest. Her body is soft and hell, she smells good.
“Bran. What are you?—”
“Just relax,” I whisper as if I’m afraid of interrupting someone in the room. “I’ve got you.”
“But what are you doing?”
“Taking you home.”
“But—”
“But nothing.” I stop walking before we step out the door and stare into her glistening eyes. Her expression turns me into mush on the inside. If she only knew what she does to me. “You can’t stay at the shop like this. You’re in no shape.”
Her tears fall harder and faster now. “Bran, I can’t go with you.”
“Bullshit. You live right across the street.”
“But, I don’t have…” She shakes her head, averting her eyes. “I need…”
“Hey.” I talk softly so she doesn’t think I’m pissed. “Look at me.” Her glistening, fearful eyes finally lift to meet mine. “Whatever it is, I’ll get it for you. Please let me take you home and I promise I’ll get you whatever you want. Whatever you need.”
Frustrated and exhausted, she wipes her tears from her face with the back of her hand.
“I really don’t think you of all people want to be caught walking through the store with tampons in your hand.”
What does she mean by that?
“Why not me of all people?”
“Well, I just mean…you know…you’ve been so…”
“What? Finish your sentence.” She cringes, afraid to say what’s on her mind. “I can take it. Really.”
“Grumpy? Standoffish?”
I guess I deserve that.
“Then you don’t know me, do you? There’s nothing I would rather carry through the store than every box of tampons I can physically carry. Now relax and let me get you to my truck.”
I carry her outside the door, closing it behind.
“But I need to lock up.”
“I’ll have Larry do it.”
“Wait.” She points to her left. “My car is right?—”
“We’re taking my truck.”
“Where’s your truck?”
“Shop.”
Pidge whips her head in the opposite direction of my chest to see that I’m carrying her across the square.
“Bran. Everyone is watching us.”
“Nobody is watching us.”
That’s a lie. I guarantee there’s a Tit Peeper lurking somewhere.
“They’re all going to be talking about me.”
“Let them talk, Pidge. Besides, I can guarantee you they’re not talking about you. They’re talking about me.”
“Bran…”
“I don’t give two shits what anyone says about me, alright? You’re more important to me right now than any of their ridiculous opinions.”
I make it to my truck with ease and swing open the passenger side door. “It’s a full bench seat so you can lay down if you need to. I promise I’ll drive slowly.”
The look of relief on her face is enough for me to know I made the right call in taking my truck over her cramped up old car. “Oh, thank goodness.” She sighs when I set her down inside. She immediately curls up on her side, when I close her door. Spotting us outside, Larry steps out of the garage wiping his greasy hands on the cloth hanging from his pocket.
“She alright? What’s happened?”
“I found her passed out on the floor. I’m taking her home. Can you lock up The Cuckoo’s Nest for me? Keys are hanging under my desk.”
“Sure thing.” He eyes me. “You sure taking her home is the right thing? She might need a hospital.”
“She doesn’t need a hospital.”
“But—”
“Trust me, Larry. She’s good. She’ll be alright. I just don’t want her spending the rest of the day alone.”
He nods, understanding my concern. “You need anything you holler.”
“You know I will.”
“Drive carefully.”
“I always do.” I know I don’t have to tell him that, but he nods all the same. When I open the driver’s side door to slide in the driver’s seat there’s not quite enough room for my body and Paige’s head. She starts to sit up to give me room but I stop her.
“No. Here.” I guide her back down. “Rest your head on my leg.”
“But—”
“Would you stop being so damn stubborn?” I blurt out, scarcely aware of my own demanding voice. “It’s just my leg, okay? I mean unless you want to sit up straight and strap in?”
Her watery eyes meet mine and she shakes her head.
Fuck. I didn’t mean to yell.
Taking a deep breath, I count to three and remind myself Pidge is not like anybody in this Godforsaken town. She’s just Pidge.
“I just want you to be comfortable,” I tell her with an infinitely more compassionate tone. “I’ll get you home as fast as possible, but I’m holding on to you so you don’t slide off the bench. That okay?”
“Mhmm.” That’s all she mumbles out before she curls her legs up and tucks herself in tightly. I bring my hand to her hip and remind myself not to let my hands wander no matter how badly I want to.
I need to keep her safe.
I want to help her in any way I can.
I make it home in under ten minutes and help Pidge to the door, promising to be back shortly and refusing to give her the chance to tell me otherwise. Before looking for Winston, who I’m sure is making himself comfortable somewhere in the square as always, I pull into the Whippoorwill to grab anything I can find for Pigeon along with something I could make her for dinner.
I stare up at the aisle sign that says, Feminine Hygiene, and turn with all the fake confidence in the world, then immediately coming to a halt with my cart in front of an entire wall of colorful boxes and packages. There’s only one other person in the aisle with me and it’s Kody Gander, the team captain of Tuft Swallow’s cornhole league. She gives me a friendly smile but I don’t miss the “why is he looking at pads and tampons” look she throws me either. I guess I can’t blame her. It’s been well over ten years since I’ve purchased any of these things for anyone. The number of options alone is frightening. I take a deep breath and release it silently as I rake my eyes over each and every product on the shelf hoping the right one might pop out at me.
Liners.
Slender.
Regular flow.
Heavy flow.
Overnights.
Wings.
No wings.
Odor absorbing.
Sensitive skin.
Regular.
Super.
Super Plus.
Ultra.
Cardboard applicator.
Plastic applicator.
All Natural.
Scented.
Unscented.
“Hey, uuh…Winston’s Dad.” Kody shuffles a little closer to me with her cart in front of the same products I’m hopelessly staring at. “Do you need some help or…”
“Yeah.” I nod. “Help.”
She smiles. “Okay. Well, umm, for starters, do you know if the woman you’re buying for uses pads or tampons? Or both?”
Christ.
She mentioned tampons but there are so many goddamn choices!
I give Kody a blank expression and shrug my shoulders.
“Okay, that’s okay. So maybe you would want to grab both just in case.” She picks up a box to show me. “Some women are really particular about the brands they use. I myself like the pink box…not that…” She turns, her cheeks pink and her eyes bulging. “Not that you want to know that. Sorry. I’m just saying…well, you know. Anyway, there are boxes like this one that have more than one size inside. So, if you don’t know exactly what size she needs, something like this would be a safe bet.”
“Thanks.”
“No problem.” She quickly tosses the pink box in her hand into her cart and starts to walk away with haste only to turn back around and wave. “I’ll see you at the next game.”
I don’t say goodbye. Instead, I stare at this menstruation-frustration of a wall trying to decide which one of these boxes to take home with me.
You know what? Fuck it.
I start at the beginning of the wall and grab no less than twelve different boxes as I continue down the aisle hoping at least one of them will be something Pidge uses. If I’m not so lucky and none of them are the right ones, I’ll come back and buy twelve more.
Whatever it takes.
On top of my cart now filled with feminine hygiene products, I add several different kinds of chocolate. If there’s one thing I remember Heather wanting, it was always chocolate. I also grab a bag of pretzels and a container of ready-made chocolate icing because if that isn’t the bees-knees when it comes to nighttime snacks, I don’t know what is. I spend a few minutes thinking about what I could make Pidge for dinner and then have a minor panic attack that I don’t know a fucking thing about this girl. I could make her a steak but for all I know she’s a vegetarian. I could make pizza but what if she can’t eat gluten? Does she have some weird allergy to random foods like cucumbers? Or corn? Or avocados?
What did Heather like?
Comfort foods for sure.
Homemade mac-n-cheese.
That’ll do.
I’ll just have to hope she’s not lactose intolerant.
I grab all the ingredients I’ll need to make the ooey-gooey kind of homemade mac-n-cheese and then I throw a frozen pizza in the cart just in case.
Because everyone likes pizza.
I think.