Chapter 15
Brooke
“ T hank you for coming.” Uncapping a pen, I peer at the frizzy-haired woman who’s nudging a hardback toward me. “Would you like this personalized for you or a loved one?”
“Just sign with your name.” She winks like we’re both in on a joke. “I get more on eBay that way.”
I do what she asks because what the hell. I’m two-and-a-half hours into this book signing, with thirty more minutes to go. My cramping right wrist takes my mind off the ache in my heart.
Maybe I’ll use that in a book someday.
“Thanks.” The woman closes the book and cocks her head. “That was nice of your family to come to the talk.”
“It was.” I couldn’t believe when I looked down from the stage to see all of them there in the front row. Even David took time off work. “Sorry about the fussy toddlers.”
“Are you kidding? Your sweet little nephews were the best part.” She laughs and steps back from the table. “I’ve got a big family, too. Keeps you humble, you know?”
“Yes.” I do know.
Or I’m remembering, anyway. The past few days have been a whirlwind of reconnecting with family. Lucky for me, they rallied around me from the moment I stepped off the plane.
“Welcome back, sweetheart.” Mom hugged me tight as other passengers detoured around us. “Dinner tonight with your brothers and their families?”
“I’d love that,” I said, so glad to be wrapped up in love.
No questions asked. No guilt. No shame.
Just unconditional love.
As soon as we got to their house, Mom pulled me aside in the guest room. She sat on my bed and looked deep in my eyes. “How are you holding up?”
I opened my mouth to say fine.
What came out instead?
“Not great.”
I told her about Kaleb blocking my number. About my visit to Kneef’s Lighthouse to honor Grace. It took most of an hour for it all to pour out of me. When I finished, Mom gave me a whole box of tissues.
“I’m so sorry you’re hurting.” She stroked my hair back from my face. “Can I make you some chili?”
God, I love family. “I’d really like that.” I hugged her again, feeling closer than ever to Grace. “I love you, Mom.”
“I love you, too.”
Back at the book signing, a smiling Maxine waits for eBay woman to leave. “At least she’s straightforward,” Max whispers once she’s out of earshot. “A refreshing change of pace.”
“How do you mean?”
“I’ve counted sixty-two people today who came here to say you changed their life.” She smiles as the next customer approaches. “Doesn’t it get depressing thinking all these people are out there living lives they need to fix?”
I consider that as the next guest approaches. “Maybe,” I admit. “If I shoulder the burden of fixing them.” I’m trying not to do that so much. “But if I take it for what it’s worth, it’s refreshing. Hearing how people want to grow and learn and evolve?”
“I get that.” Max holds out her hand as our next guest whips out her phone. “Would you like a picture with Brooke?”
“That’s okay.” Spinning around, the woman snaps a selfie while I’m scratching an itch on my nose. “When it’s candid, it looks like we’re besties.”
Maxine’s smile goes stiff. “You just caught your bestie looking like she’s got a finger up her nostril.”
“Perfect.” The woman’s delighted. “More authentic that way, right? Should get tons of likes on Instagram.”
“Hashtag Brooke Braham!” Max calls after her, rolling her eyes. “I love you,” she says softly as the line moves forward. “But I don’t think I’ll miss this scene.”
“I’ll miss you, though.” So damn much my chest aches. “But I’m happy for you and Sam.”
“You could always join me, you know.” Max smiles for the next guest in line, still murmuring under her breath. “Plenty of room in Oregon.”
A nice thought, but no. No way could I face Kaleb again. Not while things are this raw. Lesson learned about romantic entanglements. I’ve been wrong about lots in my career, but chapter twelve?
Nailed it.
The next guest steps forward, a white-haired woman this time. “Oh my goodness, you changed my life.”
“Happy to hear it.” What Max said rings in my ears. “That’s assuming your life needed to change.”
“Oh, goodness, yes.” She starts piling books on the table. “I’ve been buying organic cotton sheets for years, but I switched to percale. They don’t wrinkle as much.”
To the best of my knowledge, I’ve never talked sheets on my podcast. I’m ready to ask, but Max keeps us focused.
“That’s great about the sheets.” She nods at the armload of books the woman just dumped on the table. “Only six books per customer for signing. The staff out front should have told you.”
“Well, yes, but that’s just silly.” She hands me a book and I flip like a robot to the title page. “I need one for myself, one for my daughter, one for my friend, Felica, one for?—”
“Let’s start with your name.” I give her the notepad where Max and I track all the spellings. “Write it down so I get it right.”
We move through the line, me lost in thought about book stuff. And Kaleb, if I’m honest. What is he doing right now? How are things with his mom, and how’s Lucy? Is Harper still full of sass?
I know the answer to that one.
Maybe Erika will marry her Navy boyfriend. And Parker with his sweetheart in Alaska, and?—
“How much longer?” I ask Max, glancing around for a clock. The battery died on my watch, which makes me feel useless and needy.
“Stop looking guilty.” Max rolls her wrist to check. “Less than ten minutes.” She stretches on tiptoe, to peer down the long row of fans. “I can see the end of the line. There’s a woman holding two books, and another with three, then this guy with a wagon and—” Max gasps. “ Oh my God.”
“What?” I pause for another bright selfie, forcing a smile that I don’t really feel. “Maxine?”
“It’s Kaleb,” she whispers, and every hair on my arms stands up. “He’s waving people in front of him like he wants to go last.”
“Kaleb?” My heart begins racing, palms so sweaty they stick to the pages of the next book I sign. “What’s he doing here?”
“I’m not sure. But the manager’s closing the doors behind him.”
Talk about autopilot. I keep smiling for pictures, signing books, and hearing how my words have changed lives. It’s amazing. It’s fulfilling.
And it’s nothing compared to the feelings that surge as Kaleb steps up to my table. “Brooke.”
I swallow hard and look in his eyes. “Hi, Kaleb.” My gaze drops to the front of his T-shirt. “Uh—you’re wearing a bookplate as a name tag.”
He touches a self-conscious hand to his chest. “It’s yours.”
“I can see that.” The Brooke Braham logo loops over the top of the sticker he’s placed on his pec. Below that, in Kaleb’s handwriting, is his name.
“Property of Brooke Braham,” he reads for my sake. His expression turns sheepish. “I’m yours, in case that’s not clear.”
“I—what—um—” Amazing I speak for a living.
“I bet you’re wondering what I’m doing here.” He clears his throat, glancing at Max. “I sounded smoother in my head.”
“We all do, honey.” Max pats his arm. “Keep going.”
He’s here. He’s actually here. “You’re in LA.”
“Yeah.” He rakes a hand through his hair. “I wanted to see you. On your turf this time. That—seemed important.”
The bookstore manager steps up to the table. “We’re closing in five minutes.” She frowns at Kaleb. “I told you already there’s a six-book limit per customer.”
“I know.” He bends down to the wagon and starts unloading copies of How’s That Working for You.
The manager’s flustered. “Sir?—”
“The books aren’t just mine.” He loads a few more on the table, my earlier titles. “These six are for my sister. These six are my brother’s, and my cousin wants?—”
“Sir, they need to be here. In person.”
“Oh, they are.” He nods to the bookshelf behind me. “That’s Lucy, and her twin, Mason. Uh, Hazel’s over there by the comic books. Probably buying one for her dad, who’s in prison. If I get six more, can you ship to inmates?”
“Oh my God.” Dropping my pen, I stare at them all. “What are you—how did you?—”
“We flew,” Hazel says, looking up from the rack she’s been shopping. “Company jet.”
I stare at them all, too dumbfounded to speak.
Kaleb starts speaking instead. “I wasn’t sure you’d see me, or if you did, that you’d give me a chance to say what I need to.” He bends and grabs the last of the books from the wagon. “So you can sign all of these while I talk.”
“Kaleb.” I’m still too shocked to form words. “I can’t believe you came.”
“Neither can I, to be honest.” He shifts his weight a bit awkwardly. “Flying’s not for the faint of heart.”
“You really got on an airplane?” That’s a big deal for a dude who’s never done it before.
“I wanted to prove I’m willing to change.” Drawing a breath, he begins. “I screwed up, Brooke. I thought it wouldn’t hurt as much to make a clean break. I didn’t want to risk another long goodbye, and it seemed smarter to cut things off. But it felt like cutting off my own arm. The thing I didn’t realize is that loving you isn’t a light switch. Loving anyone, really.” He frowns at someone behind me, and I picture Mason making faces. “Even if you wish you could just shut it off, love doesn’t just stop. That’s not how it works, and I was stupid to think otherwise. I’m so sorry.”
“Kaleb.” Tears fill my eyes as I rest my hands on the cover of the book. “I don’t know what to say.”
“You don’t have to say anything.” He picks up my pen and hands it to me. “Just keep signing. I’ve got more I want to tell you.”
He really wants me to sign all these? “All right.” I open it up to the title page. “Just a generic signature okay?”
“That’s good. I’m donating them to Mom’s rehab place, so no need to personalize.” He takes a deep breath and dives in again. “I stopped by your parents’ house.”
“You what?” This doesn’t make sense. “Why?”
“They still had your wagon.” He looks down at his feet and I gasp.
“That’s my wagon?” No way. “The one Grace and I shared?”
He’s right, this one’s orange, not red like most wagons I see.
“It needed some fixing,” he says, “so I did that and talked to your parents.”
“About what?” I’m trying not to sound incredulous as I scrawl my name across a title page. “They know about you, obviously?—”
“Yeah, I wasn’t sure at first. If they’d know about me or maybe hate me for how I behaved.” His mouth twists a little. “I mostly just wanted the wagon. I thought if they still had it and I fixed it up, it could be sort of a grand gesture.” He glares over my shoulder again. “Lucy said I needed one.”
God bless Lucy. “What did you talk with my parents about?”
“About life. And grief and love and…it’s a little embarrassing, to be honest. But your mom gave me leftover chili, and I gave her Jake’s recipe for cornbread. Did you know he puts actual corn kernels in it?”
“Kaleb—”
“Right, yeah, sorry.” He rakes a hand through his hair again. “I’m kinda nervous.”
It’s adorable, actually. “My parents knew about you.”
“That’s what your mom said.” He draws a deep breath. “I talked with them about Grace, too.”
“You did?”
“I wanted to tell them how you’re the strongest, kindest person I’ve ever met. That I know you need someone who can be strong for you. That you deserve to have that. To not always be holding your own feelings back so you can help everyone around you.” His smile goes sheepish again. “I’m working on that one myself. My therapist says?—”
“You have a therapist ?” He gives me a look and I go back to signing. “Go on.”
“It’s kinda new,” he admits. “Peter referred me to someone. He says I suppress my emotions as a coping mechanism.” He frowns. “The therapist says that, not Peter. Peter just says I should go fishing. I guess that’s what his therapist told him to do.”
My mind’s a bit blown by all of this. “How did your talk with my parents go?”
“Really well.” He sounds surprised. “After we ate, and I promised I’d do everything I could to be supportive and loving and aware of your needs. And I explained why I wanted the wagon.”
My eyes drop to the rusty blue handle, then fill. That’s definitely it. “I recognize the dent on the side.”
“Yeah.” He shrugs. “I was going to pound it out, but thought you might want it to stay. Sometimes, the flaws are what makes something unique.”
He’s right on that count. “It happened when Grace ran it into a pillar.”
“I know you loved her a lot,” he says softly. “And I know how much it hurts losing someone you love. That’s why I was so scared to lose you. To have it drag out forever and leave us both miserable. But that’s stupid. Nothing’s as painful as not having you in my life. I’d do anything for you, Brooke.”
“Oh, Kaleb.” I blink back more tears. “I’ve missed you so much. But I still need to travel. To support my career and the people who need me. I can’t give that up.”
“I understand.” He takes a deep breath. “I know your life’s here. Your family, your memories with Grace. I was wrong to ask you to give all that up for me. I’m open to moving.” He straightens his shoulders. “I’ve looked into selling the garage. Edgar Cornish has some interest, and a little money set aside. And flying’s not so bad. I could drive back to Cherry Blossom Lake for holidays. We don’t have to decide now, but I’m open. I’m willing to do what it takes. Whatever makes you happy.”
“You’d move to LA.” I stare at his face, tears clouding my eyes. I blink them back hard, wondering if I’ve heard him right. “You’d leave Cherry Blossom Lake for me .”
“Yes, Brooke.” He captures my hand, planting a kiss on the back of my knuckles. “I would.”
I stare at the man before me. My lover, my friend, my person . “Well that’s a terrible idea.”
Kaleb blinks. “What?”
“I hate LA.” Maybe hate’s a strong word. “I know my work’s here, and my home and my business. But there’s more to life than that.”
“What are you saying?”
“I’m saying I miss Cherry Blossom Lake.” I close the cover of the book and stand up. “I miss you.”
There’s a bustle of movement behind me. “Thank God,” Lucy whispers, but I barely hear her.
“God, Brooke.” Kaleb vaults over the table, pulling me tight to his chest. “I missed you so much. Whatever it takes for us to be together, count on me.”
“I do. I will.” I draw back to kiss him, grateful I’ve got the chance. That I didn’t lose him after all. “I love you so much.”
“I love you, too.” He squeezes me tight and lets go, looking deep in my eyes. “I love your family, too—your mom and your dad, even if your mom puts cinnamon in chili.” He grins as his hands cup my shoulders. “And I love that you love my family.”
“I do,” I choke out, glancing behind me to see Mason and Lucy high-five. “They came all this way just for this?”
“And for game five of the World Series,” shouts Mason, not even a little embarrassed. “But mostly for moral support.”
I turn back to Kaleb, wiping a tear from my eye. “Let’s do this,” I say. “Let’s make it work.”
He’s still cupping my shoulders, blue eyes brimming with love. “I’m so sorry for being a tool.”
“I’m no expert on tools,” I say. “But we all can be tools sometime.” Maybe this should go in a book. “As long as you’re a hammer when I’m a nail, or I’m a socket wrench when you’re a bolt, or you’re pliers and I’m—” I stop myself there, aware I’ve taken this metaphor too far. “It’s a work in progress.”
“It is,” he says softly, his lips brushing mine. “And so are we.”