Chapter 25 Brynn
We ate our scones, stopped by the Bean Franklin to get a cup of coffee to go, talked to Laila while we waited, and then climbed
back in Sebastian’s vehicle. And we had yet to actually say a word to each other since we’d left the inn. Finally we spoke
out of necessity.
“So where do you want to go today?” He put the gear into Reverse and backed out onto Main Street. “Are there more reunions
on tap?”
I’d given the plan for the day a lot of thought. “I don’t think so. I was sort of thinking maybe we could go up into the mountains,
if you don’t mind. I’d love to just show the beauty of the place.”
“Okay.”
I watched him as he checked his mirrors and U-turned.
His Janet Jackson shirt was paired with an MIT ball cap, creating much the same look he’d sported all three days I’d been in his presence—but a very different one than featured in most of his photos on the internet.
I still hadn’t gotten to watch very many video clips—I kept dozing off while they buffered—but I felt like I had been able to get a fairly comprehensive overview of his career’s fashion timeline.
He looked most natural in the field, when he was wearing khakis and a dress shirt open at the collar.
During his time as a Washington correspondent, he’d relied on a buttoned-up dress shirt and a tie, but he still usually had the cuffs rolled up on his forearms. When he sat behind an anchor desk, he wore immaculate tailored suits.
It was strange how jarring the images were. How unlike his current persona he appeared in photos where his face was clean-shaven
and his hair was tamed. But from what I’d seen, he didn’t look any more out of place then, that way, than he did now, this way. That life had suited him just as this suited him. It was the man inside the image who had changed, I was guessing.
We were going to be spending a lot of time together today. Might as well get the tension and discomfort rolling. “Why did
you come to Adelaide Springs, Sebastian?”
I saw and sensed every muscle in his body tighten and he tilted away from me slightly. He turned off Main Street and onto
the first of many side roads for the day.
“I’m not trying to pry, but you’ve got to admit you haven’t followed a very predictable career trajectory.”
He grinned. “That’s true.”
“It seems like everyone likes you, so you must have made a better first impression on them than you did on me.”
He glanced my direction, and I smiled. He shook his head and returned his eyes to the road. Then he shifted in his seat and
reached for the radio. “Want to listen to some music?”
“Not really.”
His fingers dropped and returned to the wheel.
We drove up the winding path of Banyon in silence, and I looked out the window down into the canyon.
Of all of us, Addie had always been the one afraid to drive on these roads, which made it even more baffling to think of her as an air force pilot.
Cole drove with caution, taking very seriously his responsibility for his passengers.
Laila just wasn’t a big fan of driving in general.
The youngest of us and the last to get her license, she’d been content just letting us all keep doing the driving, even after she joined our licensed ranks.
But Wes and I were the adrenaline junkies who loved the freedom that we found behind the wheel.
In California, I’d never quite adjusted to freeway driving.
By the time I moved to Manhattan, I preferred to take the subway or a cab—or, eventually, a car service—so that I could get work done while I traveled.
But there was nothing like mountain driving. It felt dangerous and exhilarating to follow the hairpin curves mandated by the
mountains rather than go straight on a path that was built by plowing over whatever got in its way.
“So why did you leave the news business?”
He groaned in frustration. “Are you expecting me to just open up and tell you all my deep, dark secrets here, Brynn? Like
you’re interviewing some twenty-two-year-old kid with a number one album to promote? Sorry. That’s not me.”
“Fine.” I crossed my arms and turned to face out my window again.
“Fine,” he repeated in a huffy, elevated voice that was clearly intended to mimic my own.
We rode in silence, each stewing in our discontent, for several minutes, but it continued to eat at me. Not what he had said,
necessarily, and not just that Larry David and Kristen Stewart combined hadn’t been as difficult to get to know as Sebastian,
but that I really was just trying to get to know him, and he’d questioned my motives. Again.
“I know you don’t like me, and that’s fine.
” I dug my fingernails into the seat. “I know you don’t trust me, and why should you?
I get it. I can’t make you trust me, and I can’t make you believe me, and I certainly can’t make you like me.
But I woke up this morning thinking I would try.
To make you like me, I mean.” Even that probably sounded artificial to him.
“Not because I need you to like me. Just because... Well, you were really nice to me yesterday. I don’t know why I told you the stuff I did,
and if I could take it back I probably would.” Especially since I was beginning to suspect he would rather careen off the
mountain than so much as tell me his favorite color. “But you were nice. Kind . And I appreciated it.” I took a deep breath. “I just wanted you to know I’m trying.” I extended my left hand and pushed
on the old AM/FM radio knob.
A few bars of some modern country song played, but before I could even hope to identify the song or singer—I pretty much only
knew Maren Morris, anyway, and it wasn’t her—the truck went silent again, except for the sound of the noisy engine working
hard as it climbed in elevation. I turned in Sebastian’s direction just as he began speaking.
“While you were getting stuck in a tree yesterday, I was learning that my ex-wife is remarried and pregnant with her first
child. So that’s fun.”
I took a sharp intake of breath and grimaced. “No, that sucks.”
He shrugged, eyes still focused on the road. “We’ve been divorced six years.”
“And how many years were you married?”
“Eleven. And it’s not like I didn’t know this would happen eventually. I’m happy for her.”
“Are you?” I asked.
He nodded. “Yeah. I really am. I want her to have a better life than what I gave her.” I believed him. “It just hit me harder
than I expected.”
“How did you find out?”
“My mom . . .” He started laughing over the words.
“My mom ran into Erin’s parents. Erin. My ex.
My mother ran into her parents, and she tells me every insignificant detail before getting around to the fact that Erin’s pregnant.
” His laughter dropped off, and his voice went quiet.
“I didn’t even know she was married, and all of a sudden she’s not only married, she’s having a kid and her parents are shopping for truffle oil. ”
“I don’t know what that means, exactly, but I do know good truffle oil’s hard to find.”
He chuckled and glanced at me. “Now you my mother would like.”
I didn’t understand what was happening, but I didn’t want to move or speak out of turn for fear that I would mess it up. I
was filled with curiosity, but I knew enough to know Sebastian was used to being the one asking the questions. I felt honored
that he had told me as much as he had, and I figured if I hoped to learn more, I needed to show a little sacrifice and reciprocity.
It was like the time on Sunup3 that I thought it would be cool to go to Comic-Con with Keanu Reeves, and he only agreed to an interview if I committed to
talking about nothing but climate change. I was strictly prohibited from talking about any of his movies, even when the cameras
weren’t rolling. Awkward? Sure. Disappointing not to be able to tell him I had watched The Lake House fourteen times? You bet. But I still got to be the only person walking around Comic-Con with Neo.
“I left Adelaide Springs to get away from my mother. Well, my mother and the various men she seemed to attract from every
dark corner of the world.” If nothing else, we could commiserate over our mothers. Although I was pretty sure my mother’s
best day could beat truffle oil. “That may not be much of a revelation, after what I told you yesterday, but there it is.”
It was a strange thing, though. It was what I’d begun to realize the day before. There was a different sort of hesitancy I felt in talking to Sebastian as opposed to anyone else. Not because I didn’t think he could handle my stories, but because I was afraid he could.
“I’m sorry I called you Brenda.”
I laughed. “It’s okay. I was just always Bren. I never really felt like ‘Brenda Cornell’ was my name. My mother used to say,
‘If I’d wanted your name to be “Bren,” that’s what it would be.’ And of course I was all about not giving her what she wanted,
every chance I got.” I nudged him with my elbow, trying to break up the heaviness that had settled between us. “Besides, you
know as well as I do ‘Brenda Cornell’ never would have made it to the network level. Someone would have changed it, somewhere
along the way.”
Sebastian scoffed. “What are you talking about? With that name you would have done great in Albuquerque. Reno, maybe.”
I laughed harder than I meant to. “‘Reporting live from the county fair—’”
“Oh no, no, no.” He placed his hand on my forearm, just for a second. “‘Brenda Cornell’ is not a reporter. No way. Brenda
Cornell is an anchor, baby.” He took on his network nightly news voice, which was sort of magical and perfect. “‘I’m Sebastian
Sudworth.’”
“‘And I’m Brenda Cornell,’” I completed seamlessly. We laughed and then I added, “It’s sort of shocking to me that you made
it as far as you did with a name like yours .”
His eyebrows rose, and he feigned offense. “What’s wrong with my name?”