21. Brant
Brant
I’m opening the passenger door before Callie hops out of my Tacoma. Her white slip-ons hit the gravel of the parking lot, and I’m shutting the door.
“You ever been to an arboretum before?” I ask, turning my snapback backward.
Her teeth nip her glossy lips as she shakes her head. “No. Never even heard of one until you mentioned it this morning.”
My eyes dip to the way her fingers toy with the princess-cut diamond on her left hand. She twists the gold solitaire band back and forth around her digit, only to sneak her arms behind her.
“You’re allowed to hang out with a friend,” I say. “Especially a good one.”
Her brows gently hike, uncertainty woven across her face. “Really?”
“Today isn’t going to be like last night,” I assure her.
“It can’t be like that,” she amends.
I inhale on a nod, slipping my hands in my pockets. Then I pivot my head to the landscape as I ask, “Do you still want to see the garden?”
Her brows scrunch. “Yes, I want to see the garden,” she responds, almost bothered that I would ask such a rhetorical question.
My attention sweeps to her again when I briefly lean in. “Fine. Let’s go.”
“Fine.”
Callie falls in step with me as we tread along the tree-lined driveway. The white oaks spread their branches above us, forming a canopy of reddish-pink and soft bronze leaves. The sunlight gleams over the spots that have transitioned to a yellow-green, and the taps of our heels insert the silence.
“This is stunning.”
I turn to Callie, whose nose is tilted toward the umbrella of foliage. Her hands are fidgeting against each other at her stomach, and all I want to do is hold one. Steady her nerves in the palm of my hand so she doesn’t have to suffer through the stress alone.
We turn with the bend of the pavement, and a Tudor-style mansion is set back on a large piece of property. It’s huddled between oaks and conifers; the steeply pitched gable rooves resting under the blue sky.
She smiles as she flicks her focus my way. Then I’m angling my head toward the opposite direction. “This way.”
My legs slow once we greet the cobblestone path that enters the garden. Floral notes mingle with mulch, the scent pungent but tranquil. I train my concentration on Callie, her round eyes growing with glee as bursts of color trespass our route.
Daffodils, tulips, and crocuses bloom along the winding walkway. Rhododendrons, azaleas, and cherry blossoms add bubbly pinks and purples.
A couple butterflies flutter through the petals of the flowers that span for acres inside the dawn redwoods. Ecstasy spreads inside me, a smirk curving my lips as Callie treads forward.
She’s in front of me now, and my hand dips into my pocket to grab my phone. My gaze lingers on the back of her denim jacket, the hem of her satin dress shifting as she travels closer to a pink rhododendron.
She brushes her fingertips along the delicate petals. I swallow thickly, watching her inhale the sweet scent, and her peace cultivates my own.
“Callie.”
With the stem of the rhododendron framed between two fingers, she peeks over her shoulder. There’s this wavy tendril that falls adorably over the corner of her eye, caught in the thickness of her curled lashes.
When she notices the phone stationed upright in my palm, a wide smile emerges from her face. Her pearly teeth shine just as vividly as the plants around her, and then my thumb snaps the photo.
I lower the phone, pocketing the device when Callie’s brows knit. “You’re not even gonna let me approve of the picture?”
“I like it the way it is,” I answer, walking closer to her.
She faces me, her eyes locked on my gray long-sleeve. “I thought about the loblolly pine trees today.”
When her gaze travels up, she smirks before venturing along the pathway again.
My legs stroll to fall in sync with hers, my heart practically leaping after her. “What did you think about?”
She shakes her head, tilting it to the sky so she whisks the loose strands out of her face. Then a sigh exits her plump lips. “I wondered what they look like now,” she admits. “Do you think they look the same or different?”
Golden strands of sunlight braid through her chestnut waves, and my core buckles. “Different,” I respond. “We were just kids the last time we saw them. Our perception was skewed.”
“They’re not as beautiful as this,” Callie states. Her eyes wander across the surrounding garden, dazzled by the beauty that encases us.
I’ve always imagined what this moment would be like. The very instant in time I would witness Callie submerged in every shade of color her heart yearned for.
Every color she deserves.
I imagined the liberation I would feel, knowing she’s finally reached the finish line. Knowing she’s finally climbed over those dreaded hills of Willowhart.
And after today, there’s not a day I won’t look forward to knowing a vision like this exists.
“But I hope they’re the same,” I add.
“Why do you say that?” she asks, her head turning to me.
I pivot my attention forward, my hands burrowing in my pockets. “I’d like to think that some things never change,” I reply. “Especially the things that carry you through the toughest times.”
Out of my periphery, her damn hands are at it again. They wrestle with each other in front of her belly, and I don’t hesitate this time.
“Stop it,” I order, my palm tugging her right hand away from her left.
“I’m sorry. I can’t help it.”
Our palms dangle between us, our grips loose but magnetic.
We carefully poke our heads around, observing the sporadic bystanders for permission. The pads of our fingers tickle each other, the gesture a torturous dance through the electric sparks.
Punitive.
Like a hacksaw slicing through my chest, and our hands completely sever. Just like that.
“Well, try,” I tell her.
I lead us onto the grass to a wooden bench parked under a pink weeping willow.
When we sit down, her palms rest on her bare thighs.
Her chin angles toward the drooping branches above when she says, “I’d love to plant a weeping willow on my property someday.
It would have to be small though. They’re not the safest, you know. ”
“That’s kind of obvious,” I reply.
Her mouth curls into a playful snarl, and I’m left smirking. Watching her hair dance with the wind.
I swear I fucking feel her spirit.
The spirit of the girl who clawed her way out of the darkest tunnel.
My eyes dip to her blush-tipped fingers, but all I see is the dirt and mud packed behind the nails. There are people who’ll meet her now and chalk her up to a pretty face, but she’s a force to be reckoned with.
It’s the reason she’ll never take a bad photo.
That’s what I should’ve told her earlier.
“What else do you dream about for your home?” I ask.
“Oh, I don’t know,” she sighs happily. Callie’s stare bobs around the clusters of pink along the branches.
“I want space. Space for me to run with my kids in the backyard. Space for there to be a swing set for them. Maybe even a pool,” she explains.
“A big playroom when they’re young, and maybe a library when they’re older. Somethin’ like that.”
I gulp thickly, prolonging my response for a moment. “That seems more than reasonable.”
“I’d also want a gable end roof and a wrap-around porch. One of those picturesque homes you’d see in a Nicholas Sparks film or something. But instead of the blue shutters, I’d want seafoam green.” Her head rotates to me. “The Notebook.”
My lip quirks up. “Yeah, I got that.”
She lolls her eyes, bobbing her head in defeat as she faces forward again. “That’s the one thing I never had. Space.” Her palms curl around the edge of the wooden seat. “Out of everything I missed out on during my childhood, I think that’s the piece I wish I could use a rain check on.”
“Why?”
“Memories were limited. Confined to a few places.” Her eyes fall into a trance as they glaze with impending tears. “But the memories I can cherish were nothing short of incredible.” Then her attention drags to me, her chin propping on her denim-clad shoulder. “All because of you.”
Before I allow my mind to reel me back, I’m nestling her cheek in my palm. Her eyes flutter closed when my lips meet her temple, the sweet scent of her shampoo instantly leaking into my blood. “I’m an architect, you know,” I whisper. “I can draw up space for you. As much as you want.”
Her shoulders lightly bounce through a chuckle, but a whirring sound thrashes through the branches as she does. Our chins tip up, and the tiny bird flaps its metallic feathers through the pink drapery.
Then it’s gone.
Our gazes reconnect, my eyes instantly roaming over her beauty. Swallowing thickly, I collect the courage to filter the first thought that comes to mind.
“I saw a hummingbird back in Rhode Island,” I finally say. “I was sleeping on my apartment balcony and woke up to the sound of it. The day after, I applied for a job at Nexis Architecture.”
Her throat cocks, her stare scurrying over my features as she wraps her brain around my admission. “They’re a sign of good luck, right?” she breathes.
I nod, the crook of my mouth elevating. “Right.”
The warmth of our embrace is the only shield we need from the external forces. Those that threaten to tear us apart.
Her skin is silk against me. An intoxicating blend that’s enough to throw my equilibrium off.
“Brant?” she hushes.
“Yeah?”
“Can you show me your office? I’d really love to see where you work.”