One Good Thing Read online

  “Remember Lincoln Logs?” She eyes me, her eyebrows raised.

  I nod.

  “That’s basically what we’re going to build.” She lays her logs parallel to one another over the twigs. “A little cabin.”

  “Like mine,” I add.

  She chuckles. “Yes. We’re going to build a little cabin seven.”

  “No porch though.”

  “And no tiny Brady living inside, doing a HIIT workout.”

  I bark a laugh and almost drop my logs. “Circuit.”

  “Whatever.” Addison grins as I place my logs across hers, running parallel to one another.

  We keep building until we have our little cabin. Addison grabs the matches and lights one, placing the flame against the base of small twigs. We sit back, watching as first the twigs catch fire, then the flames lick upward, until the whole thing is ablaze.

  “Good job,” I tell Addison, offering a high-five. She smacks my hand, and this time I’m not surprised by the warmth. I’m expecting it, and it’s there just like I knew it would be. We settle back on the blanket, mesmerized by the colors in the flames, until Addison begins unwrapping the sandwiches she packed for dinner.

  “Thank you,” I tell her when she hands one to me. I didn’t realize how hungry I was, but considering that it only takes me a minute to eat it, I guess I was hungrier than I thought.

  “Next time I’ll make you two sandwiches.” Addison looks meaningfully at the empty wrapper in front of me. She hands me a bottle of wine and a bottle opener. “Will you do the honors?”

  As she watches I uncork the bottle and pour wine into the two cups she has set out.

  Our reusable plastic cups make a dull sound as we tap them against each other. I lie back, supporting myself with a forearm, and gaze out.

  The sky is a darkening blue overhead, but as it dips toward the sun the shades change, paling until they meet the oranges and yellows at the horizon.

  “Stunning, right?” Addison says, keeping her gaze trained on the beginning of the sunset.

  I nod my head in agreement. “And so different than what I’m used to back home.”

  “I’m assuming you’re not referring to Chicago.”

  I glance at her, then back to the sky. “You haven’t seen a sunset until you’ve seen one in Arizona.”

  Addison settles back on the blanket in the same way I’m lying. What’s left of the sun settles over her, making her blonde hair glow in a subtle way. “Tell me more.”

  I look out at the sky before me, but instead of seeing water, I see desert. “You can see for as far as you want, kind of like now.” My hand extends, motioning from one end of the horizon to the other. “But the colors are vivid. Hot pinks, purples, intense orange. Sometimes the orange is more of a salmon color. And as the sun sinks lower, the sky gets darker, until the purple is navy blue, and the pink is maroon.” I stare out, and the desert scene becomes water once more. “It’s bright and feels full of potential, but it inevitably darkens.”

  “Doesn’t everything?” Addison’s voice has a tinge of bitterness to it.

  “It seems to.” My own voice sounds like hers. I turn to face her, moving my forearm so that my hand is propping up my head. “Are you going to tell me what you’re doing here?”

  Again, Addison mimics my body position. She sips from her wine, and looks down at her hand, curling and uncurling her fingers around her cup.

  “I was engaged.” She glances up at me, probably to see how I react to these first three words. My face remains in a careful mask of non-surprise. “But then…” She pauses, takes a deep breath, and continues. “It was almost a year ago. We were walking downtown, after work one night. We’d just eaten dinner.” Addison’s face softens, and her lips tug into a sad smile. “I wanted Mediterranean, but he was craving spicy table-side guacamole. He let me win, and I knew he would, because that was what he always did. We were on our way back to our apartment. A guy was flying toward us on his bike, not paying attention.” Addison’s eyes fill with tears, and I want to reach out to her, but I keep my hands to myself.

  Her tears subside, and she continues. “I’m still not sure if I jumped out of the way or if Warren pushed me. The guy on the bike hit Warren, and they both went down. At first, Warren seemed fine. A cut on his arm, but that was it. The other guy apologized over and over, even though his face was busted up. When we got home we laughed, saying that he’d learned his lesson the hard way and would probably need a plastic surgeon.”

  “Before bed that night, Warren seemed off. He complained of a headache, and he dropped a glass of water on the ground beside his nightstand. He played it off, but I had been standing nearby, and I saw him reach out as if the nightstand was there, and let the glass go. I was worried, but Warren brushed me off.” The tears that receded once are back, slipping from her eyes, running across the bridge of her nose and dripping sideways down her cheek. “I was keyed up, so I went to watch TV on the couch and eventually fell asleep. I woke up a few hours later and went to our bedroom. I checked on Warren, but he… he…” Addison gulps, her breath coming in shaky gasps. “He wasn’t breathing. I called 911, and after that everything was so confusing. I stood against our bedroom wall and watched them work on Warren, and then they took him away.” Addison sits up, reaching into her purse for a packet of tissues. She removes one and blows her nose. “He’d slipped into a coma while I slept in the other room.”

  “Addison,” I say, reaching for her hand, but she pulls it away. She doesn’t want to be consoled.

  “Is he still in a coma?” I don’t want to ask outright if he passed away, although I’m assuming that’s how her story will end.

  She shakes her head and a short stream of air comes from her nose. “They don’t call it a coma anymore. It’s been so long, now it’s called a persistent vegetative state.”

  Shit. Her situation is nothing like I’d been imagining.

  “I’m… sorry.” It’s so little to say to a problem so substantial.

  Addison’s head bobs up and down slowly. “Me too.”

  I don’t want to pry, but I’m curious to know more. “Can I ask you a question?” I sit up, criss-crossing my legs.

  She looks up at me, and I can see in her eyes she’s considering telling me no. After a beat, she nods.

  “What have you been doing this past year? After the dust settled, and Warren’s” —I pause, searching for the best word to use— “state became persistent. You stayed in Chicago, right?”

  “At first, I was by his side all day and all night. I left only to shower. But I had a bakery to run, and when it became clear Warren wasn’t expected to wake up, I threw myself into my store. Quiet, early mornings in the kitchen in the back were my refuge. Ashton, my main employee, would arrive at seven with coffee, and until we closed for the day she’d be the only person I talked to.” Addison’s eyes shut and she tips her chin to the sky. “Before the accident I was always behind the register, chatting and discussing the news with customers. But not after. The everyday happenings seemed trivial, and I couldn’t pretend like they mattered.” A few more tears slip from her eyes.

  Addison surprises me then, sitting up and scooting forward on the blanket, settling beside me. Her head drops onto my shoulder and my own head tips until it rests gently on top of hers. From her body language I can tell she is done talking about what happened.

  The final swaths of color dip below the horizon, leaving behind a sky the shade of a fresh bruise.

  “We’re quite a pair, aren’t we?” I ask, my eyes casting downward, but I can’t see much of her aside from the top of her head and the tip of her nose.

  It takes Addison a moment to answer, and when she does, her voice is full of something I can’t name. “Quite a pair, Brady. Quite a pair.”

  10

  Addison

  I have a vulnerability hangover.

  Is this how Brady felt when he shared his heartbreak with me?

  I’ve been rolling around in my bed since I woke
up at five, trying to figure out if I said too much. Which is funny, really, because I didn’t say as much as I could have.

  I didn’t tell him about the nightmares that plagued me for months, or the accusatory looks on Shannon’s face. She, it appeared, didn’t share my uncertainty about where to place blame.

  There’s so much more I could’ve said, but last night I’d had enough. I’d peeled back the Band-Aid and revealed my wound, exposing the injured flesh to the world for just as long as I could take. Brady would’ve listened until I’d ran out of breath, but I couldn’t keep going. It all hurts.

  I know he’d be the right person to tell everything to. He’s sweet and kind, caring and compassionate. He’s a genuinely good person. Now that I’ve seen past the mishap of our first meeting, I can see it as clearly as if these qualities were tattooed on his forehead.

  Last night he’d referred to us as a ‘pair’, and I found that I liked it. For so long I’ve felt alone, since almost the exact moment Warren’s family ran into the hospital waiting room. I’d grown close to his mom and sister before the accident, I’d thought they loved me, and then Wham! A door slammed shut in my face. Gone were the excited conversations about wedding planning and sly comments about when Warren and I would give them a baby to love on. We went from warm to icy in an instant.

  The problem stretched on and on, every day that Warren didn’t wake up. I’d had no one to lean on, and I needed them, but they turned inward, leaning on each other and leaving me out in the cold.

  And then came the final blow: the bakery. Warren’s parents had rented the space right before we got engaged, and I was paying them what I could for rent until the bakery turned a profit, while they paid the full rent to the mortgage company.

  A few months into Warren’s coma, the bakery began making money, and I could afford to pay them full rent and make a decent living for myself.

  Yesterday Charlie mentioned that contest, but I’m not so sure about it. Is that really what I want? To run another bakery? I loved it when I did it in Chicago. Constantly surrounded by mouth-watering smells, and watching customers become regulars, made me happy. While Warren laid in his bed, first in the hospital and then in the long-term care facility, going to the bakery was a time when I could switch off the mess my life had turned into. I’d stand in the kitchen in the back, rolling and kneading dough, braiding challah, shaping scones and boiling bagels. I let my brain immerse itself in work, and the pain fell away.

  Maybe I could have that again, here in Lonesome. I wasn’t planning on making this my home, but then again, I wasn’t planning much of anything, one way or the other. And it’s not like I have a good reason to return to Chicago. What was once there for me is gone now.

  I wasn’t planning on making a friend like Brady, either. That’s what we are, right? Friends? It certainly feels like it. Especially after yesterday at the restaurant, and last night at the beach.

  I push aside my curtains and peek out the window, telling myself I’m not looking for a certain tall, brown-haired man, but deep inside I know I am. It’s not like I want to make him my boyfriend or anything, it’s just that it’s nice to be around a man again. Brady’s presence is reassuring, like Warren’s was. Like somehow, just by being around them, I know everything is going to be all right.

  I feel a pang thinking of Warren. The pain of losing him hasn’t faded. It’s always there, lurking in the background, like the creeks that run beyond the trees. You don’t see them, but of course they’re there.

  I don’t see Brady outside. He’s either still at his cabin, or he’s already downstairs. I get out of bed and dress, then head to the bathroom across the hall. It takes me longer than usual to brush my hair and teeth. I think it’s nerves. Blame it on that vulnerability hangover.

  I make my way downstairs, and I hear him before I see him. His laughter climbs the stairs as I descend, meeting me halfway and swirling around me, caressing my bare legs.

  A smile pulls at my lips as the first floor comes into view. I scan the room for Brady, spotting him at the breakfast table. He sits with his back to me, engaged in conversation with an old couple who checked in a couple days ago.

  He can’t see me, so I take the chance to study him on my walk into the kitchen. He has strong, wide shoulders, the chair he sits on dwarfed by him. His hair is messy this morning, not total bedhead but like maybe he used his fingers as a comb before heading up here.

  I pour my coffee and lean against the counter, slouching slightly to keep an eye on him. He’s talking animatedly with the Andersons, and I wonder what it is they’re discussing. Mr. Anderson laughs, and Mrs. Anderson looks at Brady with rapt attention. She’s probably thinking about who she knows who needs a man like Brady in her life.

  The thought makes me uneasy. I turn my back on the chatting threesome and gaze out the window over the kitchen sink. Brady’s heart is still broken from his friend back home, but one day he’ll move on.

  Will I ever do the same? Warren’s face fills my mind as I wrap my hands around my mug, the warmth sinking into my skin. He had a sly smile, one that snuck up on me. His sense of humor was dry, and it took me some time to get used to it. Once I did, it became another piece of him I fell in love with.

  It’s not easy to remember him this way. A year of silence, of not moving, of nothing, slowly became all I could picture when I saw him. He’s not dead, but he’s not alive either. He’s in a waiting place, and so are the rest of us who love him.

  Until recently, anyhow.

  I wasn’t a quitter, no matter what Warren’s family called me. And they had called me plenty of terrible names and accused me of horrible things. I let them throw their shade, because I was the only person available for them to take their grief out on. Did it make it okay? Hell no. But shooting back at them wasn’t going to help the situation.

  I blink, tears escaping my eyes. A year ago I was planning my wedding. I was in love. I was operating a bakery that bore my name on its sign. And now here I am. Hiding in the kitchen at Sweet Escape, teardrops falling into my coffee.

  I’m a mess.

  “Hey there.” A deep voice comes from close behind me.

  I jump, one hand flying to my eyes in an attempt to swipe away evidence of my upset. “Hey,” I respond, trying hard to sound like I’ve just been standing here enjoying the view this whole time.

  “You okay?” Brady leans on the counter beside me.

  I feel his gaze burning into the side of my face.

  I nod, looking at him. He’s so handsome. How could that woman have chosen anyone over him?

  “Just thinking,” I say, biting the inside of my lower lip.

  Brady leans back a little more, so that now his elbow rests on the counter behind him. It reminds me of last night at the beach, and how we had lain on the blanket until there were stars overhead.

  “You going to tell me what you’re thinking about? Or do I need to pry it out of you? I’m patient, remember? I can pry for hours.”

  His words make me smile. “I was just thinking about a year ago. How I was planning a wedding.” I take a deep breath. “Our wedding would’ve been June twenty-ninth.”

  Brady makes a pained face. “That’s only a couple weeks away.”

  “Yeah,” I whisper, agony darting through my chest, cracking away at my battered heart.

  “I’m sorry you’re going through this, Addison. You don’t deserve it.”

  “What if I do?”

  Brady’s eyebrows draw together. “Why would you think that?”

  I shrug. “I don’t know. Nothing truly bad had ever happened to me, until that night. The universe was too good to me. It forgot to give me some awful hardship, so it made up for it.” I glance at Brady. “I just hope it’s finished with me for a while.”

  “I don’t see the universe as vindictive like that.”

  I shake my head, searching for a better way to describe my feelings. “Not vindictive. More like checks and balances, I guess.”

  “Eith
er way, I don’t agree with you. I think good things happen to good people. And you” —he leans in closer, and my breath sticks in my throat— “you are a good person, Addison.”

  He doesn’t pull back, and the air between us fills. What is that it’s full of? Something sweet and gentle. And maybe… anticipation? Of what?

  Brady reaches for me, his hand covering the palm I’ve laid on the counter. He doesn’t speak, but his eyes say all that needs saying.

  “Thank you, Brady,” I whisper, and fight the urge to flip my palm over and slip my fingers through his.

  “Hey, you two,” my grandma says. I whip around, guilt blooming in my stomach. But what do I have to feel guilty about?

  “You look like you’re sharing secrets,” she says, walking to the fridge and opening the door. Instead of looking at the contents, she keeps her steady gaze on us.

  “We’re just over here gossiping,” I respond, trying to push away the guilt.

  I turn back around and sip my coffee, making a face when it hits my lips. It’s barely lukewarm.

  “Let me,” Brady says, taking the cup from my hands. He empties the remains of the coffee into the sink and walks to the coffeemaker, pouring me a fresh cup.

  My grandma’s eagle eyes have been trained on him the whole time, and she hands him the bottle of creamer just as he turns to her. He pours in a little and stops, looking up at me.

  “Do you prefer a little cream with your coffee, or some coffee with your cream?” He smiles and winks.

  “A dash of cream is good,” I tell him. He hands me the new cup and I thank him, aware we’re being watched. My eyes flash over to my grandma, and just like I thought, she’s watching. She realizes I’m looking at her, so she sticks her nose in the fridge, finally turning her attention to whatever it was she came in here for.

  Her attention might no longer be on us, but apparently that doesn’t mean she’s moved on, because from inside the fridge I hear her say, “The Andersons sure seemed to be enjoying their conversation with you, Brady. Mr. Anderson looked disappointed when you said goodbye and hustled into the kitchen.”