Chapter 12
Kaleb
I don’t know what I pictured, but this isn’t it.
The last time I saw Uncle Owen, he wore a fancy suit with lawyers flanking him as we waited for the judge to hand down his sentence. He looked dignified and blank, and I wasn’t sorry he got hauled off in handcuffs.
This Owen, though?
I’m still not sorry he’s here, but it’s hard to stay mad when he looks like a tired old man.
“Sarah Lou,” he says as Mom sits down. He folds his hands on the battered table and studies her. “You look good. Better than last time I saw you.”
“Thank you.” Mom already said he cut off all contact once they agreed she’d play dead. The last time Owen saw his sister, she was high as a kite and living on the streets.
“I feel healthy,” she says, meeting his piercing blue gaze with her own. “Being with family has been healing.”
“Good.” He stares for a long stretch of silence. “Time away must’ve done you some good.”
If he’s expecting applause for telling his mentally ill, drug-addicted sister to disappear, he’ll be waiting a while. My right hand twitches with the fierce urge to punch him, but I’m guessing that’s frowned upon here. The guard in the corner shifts a little bit closer, so maybe I’m giving off some kind of energy.
Mom stays silent. We both stare at Owen, watching him shift in uncomfortable silence.
“Well.” His eyes slide to mine, and my uncle looks me up and down. “Bet you’re glad to see me in here.”
I take my time forming an answer. “I’d never be happy about anything that divides the family.”
Mom flinches, but I don’t look over. As much as it’s possible, I want to present a unified front.
“Hazel surprised me,” he says, “when she suggested I add you two to the visitor list.”
Mom fields that one. “She’s doing well. She worries about you.” She lets those words hang, not pointing out that they both left their kids in different ways. “I had lunch with her last week. She told me she closed a new deal.”
“Good,” Owen says. “Always knew the company would be in good hands with her.”
Like he had any choice. It was Hazel or no one when Owen got hauled off to prison. “She’s got a good head on her shoulders,” Mom says.
That’s precisely what prompted her to turn on her own father. Does he get that?
Mom makes sure he does. “She has a strong sense of right and wrong.”
Owen nods curtly. “That she does.”
“So.” I clear my throat and glance at my mother. “Mom’s the one who wanted to see you.”
“And you’re moral support?” Owen eyes me some more. “Always were her favorite.”
It’s my turn to flinch, but I don’t. I sit perfectly still, meeting his gaze like a goddamn statue.
A statue not willing to let this one go. “I think you owe her an apology.”
“I’ve got this, honey.” Mom puts a hand on my arm. “It’s come to my attention that I may have leaned too heavily on Kaleb over the years.” She keeps her shoulders back, her posture rigid. “I’m working on that.”
“So you’re here.” Owen shifts in his folding chair. “Is this one of the steps or something?”
“Yes, Owen.” She says it dryly, placing her palms flat on the table. “Step thirteen—visit the imprisoned brother who told you to fake your own death. It’s right there in the AA manual.”
One edge of Owen’s mouth twitches. “You always were a smart-ass.”
There’s more affection in those words than I might’ve expected.
“Thank you.” Mom stares straight ahead. “I’m not here to tell you that you ruined my life, since I did a fine job of it on my own.”
I open my mouth to back her up, but my uncle beats me to it.
“Wasn’t all your fault.” He looks at his hands a long time. “Sometimes I think life’s a little too hard for people who aren’t. Hard, I mean.” He looks up with eyes just a little bit watery. “You always were a sensitive thing.”
“I still am.” Mom squares her shoulders again. “I have also learned recently that there’s a lot of relief in forgiveness. Forgiving myself or—well, when others forgive me.” She doesn’t look over, but her leg’s jiggling under the table. “And I think I could be ready. To forgive you, that is.”
Owen stares at my mother. I feel my hands twitch, feel the strong urge to punch him swelling again. If he doesn’t fucking apologize, I’ll?—
“Sorry,” he mutters.
It’s so inadequate, even Owen looks embarrassed. I stare at him hard, demanding in silence that he man the hell up.
Mom doesn’t stay silent. “Seriously?”
“What?” Owen sighs. “You want to hear that I kick myself every damn day that I didn’t do a better job looking out for you? My baby sister, for Christ’s sake. It was supposed to be my job.”
“That’s where you’re wrong.” Mom draws a breath that sounds shaky and strange. Under the desk, she puts a hand on my knee. “There’s no such thing as jobs bestowed upon us by birth order or family ties. Just because I spent the first half of my life being the family fuck-up doesn’t mean I’m still that.”
Owen’s eyes soften. “You were never?—”
“And someone who’s spent a lifetime being the family fixer,” she says, ignoring the looks we both give her, “shouldn’t spend his life stuck in that role.”
“Huh.” Owen looks at me. “I don’t think that one was aimed at me.”
I don’t give him the satisfaction of a reply.
“I forgive you.” Mom’s voice softens a little. So do her eyes. “For directing me to fake my own death at a low point in life where I felt like I had no other choice. I forgive you for that, Owen.”
He blinks like he’s waiting for more. “But not for the other stuff.”
Other stuff? Like robbing his family, like burning his childhood home is just… stuff ?
I snort so loudly they both turn and stare.
“What?” I look from Mom to my uncle, but I guess it’s my turn to speak. “You expect her to forgive you for stealing the family land from her children? For torching the home she grew up in?” The nerve of this asshole. “Be ready to wait a long time.”
“I—” He closes his mouth and pauses. “I am.”
Mom looks at him a long, long time. “I’m angry, Owen. I’m going to be angry for a good, long, time. You tried to screw my children—your own flesh and blood!—out of the home that was rightfully theirs. You got greedy and mean, or maybe you were always like that. Once upon a time, I idolized you. Did you know that?”
Owen doesn’t answer right away. He looks down at his hands, spotted with age. Last time I saw him, the man got manicures.
“Yes.” His voice is so soft, I almost don’t hear it. “I did.”
“Well.” Mom simmers down. “I’m livid you tried to pull that. The kids have every right to feel angry and hurt, and I’m behind them on that.” Her eyes flash with Momma Bear fury I haven’t seen since childhood. “Betraying me is one thing. Betraying my children—I’m not sure that’s forgivable, Owen.”
He doesn’t look up from his hands. “Can we go back to the part where you forgive some of it?”
“Bribing me to play dead?” Mom settles back in her chair. “Fine. Yes, I forgive that.”
“I mean it,” he says slowly, lifting his gaze to meet hers. “I know there’s no reason to trust me, but it really did start from a good place.”
I can’t believe that. “Convincing your vulnerable younger sister to fake her own death?”
“I know you won’t believe it.” Owen lets out a long breath. “I wanted to spare you kids the pain of a long, drawn-out goodbye. I could see the toll it took, watching your mother kill herself slowly. It killed me .” He shakes his head slowly, looking down at his hands again. Or maybe the cuffs on his wrists.
Is he grasping the gravity of what he’s done?
A tear rolls down Mom’s cheek. She swipes it away before he can see. “I believe you.”
“You do?” Owen lifts his eyes.
“Yes.”
I’m not sure I do, but Mom needs this closure. I keep my mouth shut, watching her pull it together.
“And I forgive what you put me through,” she adds. “I do.”
Owen nods once. “Does that help? Closure or whatever?”
Mom considers that. “It feels good.” She glances at me. “Not gonna lie, it’s nothing compared to heroin?—”
“Jesus, Mom.”
“Well?” She turns back to Owen with steel in her eyes. “You’re a shitty brother, but you’re my brother. And forgiving you feels like a healthy next step.”
“Thanks?” Owen frowns at me. “You put her up to that?”
What a dick. “Contrary to what you believe, my mother thinks for herself.”
“Thank you, honey.” She stands up so fast she nearly knocks down her chair. “I’d like to go now.”
No need to tell me twice. I get to my feet and push in my chair, holding a hand out to my mother. She takes it and lets me help her to her feet.
As we start for the door, Mom releases my arm and turns back to her brother. “I don’t wish you ill will. That’s what I came to say.”
He stares a long time, then dips his chin. “Same to you.”
A touching reunion, it isn’t.
But it’s a start.
“Take care,” she says, and we walk from the room.
I hold out my arm, but she doesn’t take it. She’s not leaning on me, either. She walks straight and tall, two feet between us all the way to the Bronco.
That might be a healthy sign.
I unlock her door, then move to the driver’s side. It’s drop-dead silent as I fire up the engine. As I steer us out of that parking lot and point us toward home.
We’re ten minutes into our drive before Mom finally speaks. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” I’m not sure what for.
“He’s still a shit.” She huffs out an irritated laugh. “But it felt good facing him. Seeing he’s not as scary as I made him in my mind.”
“Scary’s not how I’d describe him.” Asshole is more like it. “Was he always such a dick?”
“Maybe.” She sighs. “When you’re the eight-year-old sister of a twenty-year-old guy, you tend to idolize him.”
“I can see that.” I’ve looked up to Jake and we’re two years apart. “How about when you’re sixty-six and he’s seventy-eight?”
Mom shrugs. “Let’s just say the blinders come off.”
We fall silent again, tires squishing over rainswept asphalt. A Burgerville sign rolls into view and I point it out. “Want anything?”
“No thank you.”
“Really?” I slow as we near the exit. “You always loved their onion rings.”
“Too greasy now.” She offers a sheepish smile. “Drug use and menopause changed my digestion.”
“Oh.” I’m not sure what to say to that.
“So,” Mom says, switching the subject. “Want to talk about anything?”
I almost suggest we turn on a podcast. But thinking of podcasts gets me thinking of Brooke. About how she’d suggest I use this time with Mom.
“Maybe.” I’m not quite sure where to start. “What do you want to talk about?”
Mom folds her hands in her lap. “How are things with you and Brooke?”
“Good.”
“Good?” She waits for more. “You’re still seeing each other?”
“Yeah.” I’m not sure what makes me say it. Maybe this sense of connecting again. Of being close to my mother on fresh, fragile ground. “I told her I love her.”
“Whoa.” Mom’s wide-eyed response makes me laugh. “So where do things stand for the future?”
“How do you mean?”
“Is she moving here, or would you go with her to—where does she live?”
“Los Angeles,” I say, shaking my head. “No way I’m moving. I’ve got my business.”
“Where’s her family?”
“LA.” I should maybe discuss this with Brooke before telling my mother. “We haven’t really talked about anyone moving.” Maybe I’ll broach that tonight.
“You’ve got time,” she assures me.
But do I? She returns from her trip tonight. By the time I get home, she’ll be back at the mansion, writing her book about grief. I’m not sure when she’ll leave again.
Maybe she won’t have to.
Mom and I chat off and on for the drive, both of us keeping it light. We talk about movies and books we’ve been reading. About Harper and cursing, and all the upcoming weddings. About Cherry Blossom Lake and how it compares to Gold Beach.
“There’s nothing better than home,” she says. “You’ve got beaches and lakes and forest and rivers?—”
“All the good stuff,” I agree, glad we still have this in common. “There’s no place like home.”
Mom pauses, then touches my arm. “It’s filled with my favorite people.”
“Thanks.” It’s my turn to say something, isn’t it? “I’m glad you survived. That you came back.”
“Thank you, honey.” She sniffles and pulls out a tissue. “I know I made mistakes, but I’m here now. I’m better. I want to do better.”
“You already are, Mom.”
She sniffles again and swipes at her eyes. We’re almost home now, and the sign swishes past for Cherry Blossom Lake. “Is it okay if I drop you at your place and run?”
Mom wads her tissue and smiles. “Of course. Are you seeing Brooke?”
“Yeah.” Maybe it’s time to lay all of my cards on the table. “I think I should tell her how I feel.”
“That’s a good idea.” Mom pats my arm and a glow starts to spread through my body. “You never want to find yourself living with regret over things you should have said to people you love.”
It’s so close to Brooke’s words that I nearly drive off the road. A sign?
“Thanks,” I say to Mom. “For everything.”
“Thank you , sweetheart. My sweet Mr.—” She stops and I look over to see tears in her eyes. “I love you, son.”
“Love you, too.” This time when I say it, it doesn’t hurt. I do love my mother. She’s not perfect, not by a long shot.
But neither am I.
That’s as good a place as any to start.
By the time I reach Brooke’s house, it’s already dark. I knock on the door, wondering if I should have texted.
Then the door flies open and Brooke smiles. “Absolutely.”
The greeting throws me until I spot the phone at her ear. Brooke waves me inside, shifting the phone to her other side.
“Of course,” she continues, taking my hand and tugging me over the threshold. “I can be ready. No, this is great news. Thanks so much, Michelle.”
“Michelle?” I ask as she hangs up the phone. “Your agent?”
“She called with an update.” She goes to the kitchen and gets down two glasses. “We talked for an hour, and I’m parched. Water?”
“Thanks.” I pull out a stool at the counter bar. “What’s the update?”
“They’re fast-tracking the book,” she says. “A spring pub date, which is nuts—I’ll be working around the clock to get the audio done.”
Accepting a glass, I take a long sip of water. “Need me to install a fridge and a toilet in the sound booth?” I’m only half kidding. I’ve seen the studio in this mansion and there’s plenty of space. “That way you can do all your eating, drinking, peeing…” I trail off at the look on her face. “What?”
Brooke bites her lip. “That’s the other thing.”
“What’s the other thing?”
“They want me back in LA right away.” She leans on the counter, forearm brushing mine. “I’ll record from the Preston Publishing studios.”
“Oh.” I look down at my glass, getting my bearings. “How soon?”
“Um, soon.” The twist in her voice makes me look up again. “They’re sending a jet to the airfield in Newport.”
All the breath leaves my lungs. “When?”
“Friday.” Brooke bites her lip. “The day after tomorrow.”
Holy shit.
The roar in my ears doesn’t sound like the ocean. It’s the same sound I heard when Owen came calling. That terrible day when he told us our mother was dead.
“She’s gone,” he said, closing his eyes. “She’s not coming back.”
Staring at Brooke, I shake off the memory. That was different.
This is different.
“You’re coming back, though, right?” I forget when she said her lease ends here. “You’ve got this place ’til the end of next month.”
“Right, yes, technically.” There’s that pinch in her forehead again. “Michelle’s talking to the publisher about opting out early. Since I’ll be on the road so much, it doesn’t make sense?—”
“Yeah, I get it.” The roar in my head gets louder. It’s a freight train now, hurtling right at me. “When will you come home?” Home ’s not the right word, is it? “Back here, I mean.”
She hesitates. So much gets said in that three-second pause.
“I’m not sure.” Brooke picks at a hangnail, shifting her weight on one hip. “I’ll be able to visit, though I won’t have much downtime at first. But we could try the long-distance thing. There’s always phone sex, right?”
Visit?
Long-distance?
The roar gets so loud I can’t hear anything else. This isn’t how I imagined it at all. She’s not talking like someone planning a future. Not with me, anyway.
There’s a screech in my brain and a soft puff of smoke. Reality slams me into a brick wall.
We never agreed to be anything more than casual.
Why did I think things had changed?
“Yeah.” I drag a hand through my hair. “You’re right. You know, maybe it’s best if we make a clean break.”
“What?” She blinks.
“Yeah, you know…just cut things off quick.” I almost sound like a normal guy. “Just break it off now and call it good.”
“Wait, Kaleb?—”
“That seems like the best thing to do.” My throat’s getting tight as an urge to escape swells up from my chest. I get to my feet, aware of my heart beating fast. “Saying goodbye was always the plan, right?”
She’s blinking too quickly, confusion and pain etched on her face. “Not like this.”
Get out! Get out! Get out!
Those words ricochet through my brain.
“We always said this couldn’t be anything serious.” I can’t do this again. Can’t spend my life wondering when someone I love might wander back into my life.
“But I thought—” She stops herself, frowning. “I thought things changed.”
So did I.
But not for the first time, I thought wrong.
My heart’s pounding hard and there’s not enough air in this kitchen. The smell of her skin fills my senses with panic and cinnamon toast. I can’t swallow, can’t breathe, can’t bear looking at Brooke.
I need to leave now. I can’t risk saying too much. If I open my mouth, I might tell her I love her, and then what?
My legs move on their own, backing away from the threat. “I’d better get out of your hair?—”
“Kaleb, stop.” The catch in her voice twists my heart. “I need you.”
“To help pack?” I’m halfway to the door already. “I’m gonna be busy at the garage, but I can send Edgar.” Cal’s dad has been wanting extra hours. “He’s handy with that kind of thing. Harper, too—she’s looking for chores to earn cash.”
My back hits the door and I discover I’ve reached it already. My hand slips off the knob as I fumble to twist it.
“Please stop.” Tears fill her eyes, and I have to look away. “Don’t end it like this. We’ve meant too much to each other. This isn’t the way to?—”
“We should maybe cut off all contact.” I’m barely aware of what I’m doing. My brain’s gone haywire, commanding me to burn every bridge. It’s the only way this won’t drag out. “Let’s make it easy—just delete each other’s info.”
Brooke gasps. “What?”
“I think that’s best.” I pull out my phone and scroll to her name, thumb drifting over the block key. “Just rip off the Band-Aid. No risk of dragging things out. You get it, right?”
“I don’t.” The hurt in her voice lands like someone’s standing on my chest. “How did we get from ‘I love you’ to ‘I think we should make a clean break’?” Her hands shake as she crosses her arms. “Explain this to me, please. You owe me that much.”
I cross my arms, too, since it feels like we’re squaring off now. But my phone’s in my hand, so it falls to the floor with a clatter.
“Shit.” I bend down to grab it, pretending I’m cool and composed. “I just don’t think a long goodbye is in anyone’s best interest.”
I can’t look at her so I look at my phone. Where’s that delete key again? I jab at the screen with a finger that’s trembling. There’s her name, listed as Sparkle Tits .
God, this hurts.
My throat closes up as I scroll to those two bright red words: Block Caller.
There. I’ve done it.
Why don’t I feel more relief?
Her shaky voice breaks through my thoughts. “It doesn’t have to be this way.”
“It really does, Brooke.” Because I know she’s not staying for me. Brooke Fucking Braham won’t move to some bumfuck beach town in Oregon. Not for a grease monkey she’s been banging for fun.
Why was I kidding myself?
“Kaleb, please.” She sounds much calmer than I do. “This doesn’t make sense.” She’s staring me down, looking more shocked than sad.
That’s a sign, right?
A sign I’m doing the right thing.
“We knew it wouldn’t last.” I’m sounding surer as I say it. “This wasn’t a good time for either of us to do anything serious.”
“Kaleb—”
“We got carried away. It happens.”
“It happens.” She repeats it like she might not have heard right. “That’s what you have to say? ‘It happens.’” She sounds angry now, which is better than heartache.
This is good. It’s the right thing, it is.
“Yeah, it happens.” My hand’s shaking harder as I reach for the doorknob again. “It was fun while it lasted. We always had an end date.”
“So that’s it. You’re just leaving.” Brooke drops her arms, hands balled in fists. “Not even a hug goodbye.”
If I reach for her now, I won’t ever stop. I’ll hold on so tight that I won’t let go.
And I need to let go.
She’s leaving me. There’s no other choice.
“It’s better this way.”
“For whom?” Her voice shakes a little. “Because I have to tell you, this sucks for me.”
It sucks for me, too. It’s way beyond sucking. What does it feel like to rip out your heart and rub it with salt? That’s what it’s like, but I know what’s worse.
It’s a farewell that drags out for years.
I can’t do that again. I won’t put us both through that.
“Goodbye, Brooke.” My chest aches like someone’s been standing on it. “Take care.”
A breeze rushes in as I open the door.
“Wait.”
But I don’t wait. I run like hell, making a break for my Bronco. If I can outrun this, it won’t hurt so much.
That’s what I’m telling myself as pull down the drive.
As I stomp on the gas, leaving Brooke standing on her porch.