Chapter 44. Brynn
brYNN
I knock on Debra’s door as soon as I get home.
No answer—then she comes whipping out of the communal bathroom with a psychedelic-colored toiletry bag tucked under her arm, her blue-gray hair combed through, the dripping ends darkening the shoulders of her orange-and-pink-flowered caftan.
“What happened?” Her eyes widen. “You look like death, baby girl.”
I wince.
“Sorry, poor choice of words.”
“I think I screwed up.”
She unlocks her door and waves me inside.
I pass through, inhaling the aroma of soup, and flop down on her pink sofa like I’ve been here a thousand times. I hug one of her decorative pillows. “I had a fling at work with a guy who’s sort of my boss.” I close my eyes, cringing. “Sounds so cliché when I say it aloud.”
“Tell me about him.” She folds a leg under herself, sitting beside me. Her head rests on her hand.
“He’s a couple of years older and the grandson of an advertising icon, Gabriel Kershaw.”
“A mighty Kershaw, huh?” Her face brightens.
“You know the family? Who don’t you know in this town?”
“Never met his grandfather.” She shakes her head, then nods. “I’ve seen Beck Kershaw at The Bitter End a few times. He finger-picks his guitar like Lindsey Buckingham. Then add that distinctive, husky voice of his . . . Hard not to swoon.”
“His son writes poetry. They could be lyrics. He wouldn’t show me much, but I could tell he’s talented.”
“You like him.” She nudges me. “Maybe a little more than like?”
“I like him a lot,” I admit. “Just that . . . I need this job. I’m hoping they’ll keep me on through the fall, not an easy feat for an intern.” I play with the fringe on the pillow. “It hasn’t even been a year since I lost my parents . . . my boyfriend. I can’t be with someone this soon.”
“Probably right.” She sighs.
“Then you agree with ending it before it got serious?”
“I buy that.” Her brows raise. “But seeing those pitiful big eyes of yours, I’m not sure you do.”
“It was the right thing to do.” I pick the skin on the side of my fingernail. Micah’s face pops in my head, his lips kissing my fingers. I squeeze my eyes shut.
“But a part of you is not so sure.”
“My last relationship with Cody, my late boyfriend, was intense.” I open my eyes and look at Debra.
“In a good way?” Her pupils magnify like I’m about to spill something juicy.
“I started keeping things from my parents . . . stopped hanging out with my friends and doing the things I loved.”
“Because he’d swept you off your feet and nothing or anyone else mattered?”
“Yes . . . and because it led to less fighting.” I shrug.
Debra stares at me hard. “What does this one demand of you?”
I smile. “Micah? Nothing. He said I should go back to doing the things I love. He even got me singing in Central Park. I haven’t sung in forever.”
She angles her head, smiles at me. “Your eyes light up when you talk about singing . . . and Micah.”
“He goes to a treatment facility in California for some sort of mental illness.”
“Sounds like a deal breaker. You did the right thing.” Fiddling with the gold cross around her neck, she rises to her feet and walks away with one of her teacups.
I recoil from her words. “Kind of harsh.” I cross my arms. “Lots of people live with mental disorders.”
She spins around with a knowing look; her wicked grin gives me pause.
I narrow my eyes at her. “You knew I’d react that way, didn’t you?”
“Yep. I think you like him. A lot.” She makes a popping sound with her lips.
“I’m so confused, Deb!” I drape myself over the arm of the sofa.
She sits back down and rests her strong, veiny hand on my back. “What would your parents want you to do?”
I straighten up and gaze down at my lap. “Find a way to go to college. Return to the strong, independent person I used to be before I met Cody.”
With a gentle hand, she tilts up my chin and smiles. “There she is. Welcome back, baby girl.”