Chapter 16 #2
Being back here, having Mom attempt to manage my life… It brings a crushing but familiar weight to the center of my chest. I’d forgotten the constant state of vigilance living here necessitates.
The Brian my mother kept mentioning to me was a vaguely familiar phantom from the past, hidden somewhere in a corner of my mind, but I couldn’t place him entirely.
Now that phantom has been pulled into the light.
Brian Backerman. His last name comes to me suddenly, making me wonder what critical piece of information was bumped from my brain because this info was taking up that space.
His pale hair is thinner on top, but otherwise he still looks more or less like his high school self.
As he approaches, I remember he had the longest white-blond eyelashes that forever made me think of twin albino tarantulas.
He reaches our car—still has the tarantulas. “Wow, Penny. I haven’t seen you in forever.” He pulls me in for a hug before I can react.
I pat his back exactly twice and lean away. “Hi, Brian. Likewise.” To the point I forgot you existed. I have to force a cordial note into my voice. Brian didn’t do anything. My mother is the one to blame.
Brian’s eyes light on me with undisguised interest. God knows what my mom has said about me or how much she’s pushed for a match on his end. “Well, come on in and see the place. It’s such a great property. Cathy was a neat freak, and she kept up with the maintenance.”
My mother beams at me. I wonder if she senses the murder behind my benign look and is ignoring it or if she’s truly oblivious.
“Mrs. Santini died in this house, right?” I ask, pausing before the threshold.
“Well, yes, but—” Brian stammers.
“I don’t think I really want to live in a place where someone died.”
“We’re just looking, Penelope.” My mom’s voice carries a warning. “But if you truly want to skip this, maybe you can go grab that coffee you wanted with Brian.”
Rage. Rage. Raaaaage.
Brian bats his tarantulas at me, a hopeful expression on his face. “I’d love to treat you to a coffee.”
I want coffee. The prospect of finally obtaining some is the only thing keeping Cathy Santini’s home from being the site of an additional death. “Okay. Coffee.”
Mom fairly skips back to her car, mission-accomplished vibes oozing from her every pore.
Brian’s car is not a car at all. It’s a bright-orange contraption that looks like a golf cart and a military Jeep had a baby. The top is striped navy and white.
I pause. “What is this thing?”
“You’ve never seen a Moke? No, I guess you wouldn’t in the city. Fully electric. Charges in just eight hours.” He raps his knuckles against the orange roll bar.
“Only eight?” I quip.
Brian chuckles. I slide into one of the white racing seats before fumbling with the seat belt. I bet Jack’s retort would’ve been epic.
Coffee is at Beach Brain, a few blocks away, but it takes an age for us to get there since the Moke only gets up to twenty-five miles per hour.
Brian waves to other locals, relishing the attention.
When we get to the shop, Brian takes my order, and I slide into a booth decorated to look like a beach ball.
Brian slips into the seat across from me, one with a closed beach umbrella poking out the top.
“Can I confess something?” he says, leaning forward and glancing around for curious ears.
“I had the biggest crush on you in high school. The biggest. I can’t believe I’m here with Penelope Huff.
I owe your mom a bottle of pinot grigio. ”
“Ha. Thanks.” I owe my mom something, but it isn’t wine.
Though it does feel nice to be wanted—to be liked—even though it’s not by the one I like.
For a second I imagine letting go. It’s so exhausting fighting Mom and her potent forever-pressure.
Especially when I owe her everything. I could forget about my apartment angst, move back, let this guy across from me, eager as a puppy, take me out.
Buy Cathy Santini’s house and do marketing for a local hotel.
Let the petals slam shut each year. I’d be trapped inside, sure, but at the moment that doesn’t sound like the most terrible fate.
Brian’s not unattractive, though I feel nothing when I look at him. He doesn’t have slate-gray eyes that warm with humor when they look at me. He doesn’t have a smirk that makes me want to claw his clothes off. He isn’t Jack. And nothing about the life waiting for me in Stone Harbor is what I want.
“I’m so sorry, Brian, but can you bring me back to my mom’s, actually? I only had enough time to slip out and grab a cup of joe before I run for the bus back home.”
“Your mom said you were going to take the rest of the day off…” His disappointment is palpable, and while I’m not the one who set him up with false expectations, I still feel guilty about letting him down.
When he drops me off, I run inside, grab my small bag of belongings, leave a note for Mom, and hustle to catch my bus back to civilization.
And Jack.