19. Brinn
Chapter 19
Brinn
It is a beautiful day.
It is unfair that the sun is shining and the birds are chirping merrily on a day like today. How can the sun be shining on a day when my heart is cracked in two? How can the sun be shining on the same day the weather was stormy? How can the sun be shining on a day when three years ago, clouds blotted out all light from the rest of my life?
Today is warm and bright. The rays of sunlight ride on the wind through the trees and into my open window. They don’t care about the date. In fact, a sunbeam lights up that damned box on the dining room table. Another spotlights a picture of Josh and me, the brilliance of them transforming this prison into a well-lit gallery of my past.
A prison I know doesn’t have to hold me anymore. One that I don’t deserve to be in, even on my worst days. It is not my fault I was sentenced here, but only I can be the person who releases myself.
The box is sun-warmed as I grab it. I watch the motes of dust swirl in the light before looking into the box.
There’s a dusty award from his previous job; a pair of reading glasses he taped back together instead of buying a new pair; some books with worn, ragged covers; a baseball hat for his college team; and a snow globe from our trip to an aquarium.
This box that has been haunting me for three years is filled with junk.
I carry it to the trash bins outside and close my eyes as I toss it in. The whoosh of air dispelled by the box brushes away the memories trapped within. When I open my eyes, the sun is a little less harsh.
When I go back inside, I take down the pictures of us together and put them in the closet. That will be the mausoleum, not the entire house. Before closing the door, I take one picture back out. The smiling faces of two people who no longer exist stare back at me. I remember the moment clearly. My chest warms at it, not with anger but with fondness. We were at the Minnesota Zoo, standing in front of the bear exhibit’s windowed pond—the bear’s giant body stretched out as he played in the water, making us look tiny in comparison. I take that with me as I shut the door. While most days it feels like the fog of grief has drowned it out, there was so much joy with Josh. And even though it’s time for something new, I can’t entirely forget those memories and feelings. I can honor what was while still looking forward to what will be.
I set it back on the bookshelf, a space filled once more but no longer overwhelming.
The sun is shining through the windows on the new blank spots on the walls, ghosts of frames visible. And while it feels easier to carry some of those ghosts now, even if I hang something new in their place, I will still know the promise these walls held.
This is a start, though.
Pork Belly watches me move around from her spot on the couch, dozing in the sunshine. “Miss Belly,” I say to her. “It’s too nice to stay in this cursed place today, yeah? Let’s go for a walk.”
She abandons her spot as I grab her leash and slip on my shoes.
Each step away from the house towards the meadow is easy today. I wait for the panic to set in as my feet come down on the pavement, but it doesn’t. It feels... fine. It’s normal. It’s like any other day. Even on the anniversary of the worst day, some things are still fine. The realization of that buoys me.
Pork Belly snuffles around the meadow as I watch the grasses and trees breathe and sway. It is calm and quiet. I am raw and fragile, but I am alive. The molten anger and the icy grief are temperate. When I probe the emotions in my mind, I can feel the heat and the cold, but I know they have faded in the wake of letting life in again. They are the stone that builds an oasis, not a desert.
A caw breaks the relative calm, and Pork Belly’s head shoots up above the tall grass, ears at full attention.
“Pork Belly!” I say excitedly, hoping it’ll be a more tempting distraction. “Over here!” The seagull caws again, closer this time. I tighten my grip on her leash. “Pork Belly, come here, girl. Let’s go this way.”
All my efforts are for naught when the seagull swoops a foot above the pit bull’s head. As it turns its beak back towards the sea, Pork Belly dashes after the bird. I spin with her, holding tight to the leash, bracing for the impact of her pull.
Instead, a metallic pop hits my ears as I fall backward, the clasp on her leash shattering as she hits its limit.
I stagger to my feet to see her bounding through the grass after the gull. “Pork Belly, NO! Stop! Halt! Sit!” I yell, my desperate words prayers to her training. She does not stop, and I am losing her.
I break into a sprint, but she is faster. She doesn’t falter in her pursuit, easily bounding over the branches and rocks that make me stumble, falling more and more behind. “PB STOP!” I scream. As the edge of the meadow approaches, I am sick. The fear rises in my throat like bile. I call her name again to no avail.
She leaps off the curb and into the street with grace I would appreciate if I wasn’t sweating and terrified. Her paws pound the pavement, spurred on by the lure of the gull.
It is a blessing that the streets aren’t busy as it’s the middle of a weekday. But as the blocks pass and we get closer to the town square, that becomes less and less true.
She darts across the busy street that connects Calysto’s Cove’s south side to the rest of the world. My brain screams in panic, and I call her name, but she’s too far ahead. When I hit the street, I narrowly avoid a car swerving to miss me.
My heart pounds in my chest as my feet pound the pavement. “PORK BELLY, STOP!” She darts across the park and through the town square. The flock of seagulls milling about, picking at errant trash, does not hold the stopping appeal I hoped it would. She plows through them in pursuit of her airborne nemesis.
My lungs burn with each ragged breath and shout. My knees and feet ache from their constant assault. My eyes burn with tears of panic. If I don’t catch her, she’s going to get hurt or lost. She’ll chase it to the water and get pulled out to sea. I can’t stop now. I can’t lose one more good thing. I can’t let her down. I can’t let Isaac down.
The seagull swoops southward, and I change my angle to follow. Pork Belly’s closer than she’s been since the field. I lunge as she runs past me, grabbing for her harness and yelling for her to sit.
My palms and knees hit the pavement as I miss, burning as the salted concrete scrapes at them. I can taste the iron tang of blood in my mouth where I bit my tongue.
I let out a choked sob as I scramble to my feet once more. She was so close. Like everything has been for years, she’s so close but so far away. Close, but I can’t touch her. Close, but I can’t keep her safe. Close, but so, so far.
I start running again.
We break through the buildings, and I hear her feet clattering on the boardwalk before I register what that means. The ocean. The ocean is right there. But if I don’t catch her, she could get lost or hurt. I can’t stop. I can’t let that happen. I can’t lose anyone else.
I swallow the bile rising as my feet clatter on the sun-bleached wood.
“Please,” I plead with her. Her tail wags as she barks at the seagull, who taunts her with a caw in return.
She leaps through the air when they hit the edge of the boardwalk, jaws snapping at the air where the bird was a fraction of a second before. She lands in a splash of sand, faltering for only a moment before resuming her chase.
The sand is mushy and disorienting under my feet. I struggle to keep up as she follows the gull towards the water. The sea breeze cools the tears on my cheeks and makes me shiver. “PORK BELLY STOP!”
The seagull soars above the water as it gains distance from the dog, her pursuit slowed by sand. Pork Belly’s paws splash in the shallows as the seagull flies out to sea. She finally stills in a few inches of water as she looks mournfully after the devil of a gull.
The saltwater is cold as I fall into it, and I throw my arms around her. She smells like wet dog, and I sob into her fur. She licks my face.
“Oh my god, PB,” I sob as I cling to her collar. “We’re doing a one-on-one training class.” Her tail wags without a care in the world.
I unwrap the leash from my palm and slip it around the back of her harness to secure her once more. “Please don’t ever do that again. I was so worried.”
The sea water stings my scraped skin and soaks the hem of my shorts. I wrap the leash around my hand once more and rise on shaky legs. The exhaustion threatens to root me to the spot if we don’t get out of the water.
I stumble towards the dry sand before collapsing. Pork Belly lounges in the sand next to me as she keeps an eye out for her archenemy.
The sand is warm and soft, pulling the damp chill from my body and replacing it with warmth like a blanket. I dig my fingers into it, feeling the weight as I stare out into the blue expanse, watching the boats bob like toys in the distance.
“Brinn?” Isaac’s frantic voice calls behind me. Pork Belly’s wagging tail sprays sand on me as she gets up to greet Isaac. He stops in his tracks, taking in her new makeshift leash. And undoubtedly, my tear-streaked, soggy, and bloody state.
Despite it all, the panic has ebbed away, leaving only the sleepiness and the clarity that comes after an adrenaline rush.
“Brinn,” he murmurs as he lowers himself on the sand next to me, inspecting my scraped knee. “What happened?”
“The temptation of a seagull still outweighs most things, I guess,” I tell him.
He unwraps Pork Belly’s leash from my scraped palm, and I wince at the way it clings to the raw flesh. “I thought I saw you in the street but thought it couldn’t be,” he says. “I knocked on your door, and you weren’t home, and I knew it had been.” He inspects my other palm gently. “I’m so sorry.”
“Is your sister okay?”
“She’s out of the woods,” he says. He’s inspecting my scraped knee with gentle hands. “They’re confident the surgery was a success, and a round of antibiotics will clear the rest of the infection.”
“That’s great, Isaac. I’m so happy to hear that. How’s your mom holding up? Are you doing ok—”
“We can talk about me later, sweetheart. You’re on the beach, Brinn.”
I pull my gaze away from the sea. “I made it to the beach. I stepped in the water.” I tell him. The dried sweat and tears on my face crack as I smile. He cups my cheek and wipes away a fresh tear.
“I wish it had been any other way,” he says tenderly. “But you did it, love.”
“I’m sorry for pushing you away.”
“It’s the anniversary, isn’t it?”
I nod. “I should have told you. I got... lost in my head. You didn’t deserve that.”
“No, but I forgive you. I’ll never judge you for what’s going on in your head, Brinn. You just have to tell me what it is, and I’ll do whatever I can to help. Okay?”
“I will.”
We fall into silence as we watch the water. The thought that’s been running through my mind solidifies.
“I think I need to move.”
His soft expression when he looks at me is so bittersweet that I can almost taste it on my tongue. “Where to? I’ll help you pack.”
“I think I’ll stay in Calysto’s Cove.” I look out at the water again.
Unease creeps in at the edges but doesn’t overwhelm me. I’m certainly not looking northwards towards the lighthouse. That would just invite it in. For now, it sits next to me on the sand, a presence but not welcome at the party.
Josh’s ghost doesn’t appear. I don’t feel him looking over my shoulder. I think, maybe this time, he’ll stay gone. He was a big part of my old life, one I’ll never forget. But this new life doesn’t deserve to be haunted by things I cannot change and people who cannot grow with me. I deserve to let new love in. I deserve to live, not just be alive.
“I don’t think I ever gave it a fair chance. There’s nothing left for me in that house but ghosts,” I tell him, the realization of it finally settling within me. “I don’t know where I’ll go, but I’m not done here yet, just there.”
Isaac is quiet for a moment next to me. His deep, warm voice is gentle when he says, “If next door isn’t too close, I know a guy with an extra room and a really friendly dog.”
“I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
He nods in understanding, but I know he doesn’t understand, not really.
“I’m in love with you, Isaac.” I clarify. “It wouldn’t end well.”
He searches my face for a moment, eyes steady on mine. “Would it change your mind if I said I was in love with you, too?”
The big, scary, overwhelming world shrinks down to this tiny moment. The sand and sun warming my skin. The salty, humid air soothing my tired lungs. The golden brilliance of Isaac’s hair. The luminous walnut of his eyes.
My grief, my fear, my past sit next to me but cannot touch me in this soft, quiet moment. They cannot take this life from me, not anymore.
“In that case, I think it’s a great idea.”