One Good Thing Read online

  I meet Brady’s eyes and he shrugs, unembarrassed to be called out. His confidence is admirable.

  “Anywho, I’d better get back out there.” She pulls away from the fridge with the butter. “I’d say it has taken me far too long to grab the extra butter.”

  Grandma closes the fridge with her hip and rounds the island. A moment later I hear her call, “I’m coming with that butter, Mr. Cooper. Sorry for the delay.”

  “Do you want to grab a cup, Brady?” I hold up my coffee to show him what I mean. “I’m sure it’s gorgeous outside, and I’d like some fresh air.”

  Brady pours a cup for himself, no cream, and we leave the kitchen. We have to walk through the living room and dining area to reach the back door, and I’m hoping nobody makes a thing about the two of us walking out together.

  Thankfully nobody does, but I feel eyes on me. Certainly my grandma’s, and probably other pairs also.

  “Where do you want to go?” Brady asks, falling into step beside me.

  “Just for a walk. The kitchen was feeling a little small.”

  “Was it—”

  I shake my head, knowing what he’s getting at before he even has a chance to say it.

  “No. That was…” I trail off, thinking of the charged moments in the kitchen, filled with a crackling, confusing electricity. “That was nice.” Such a lame word for how good that felt. “It’s been a long time since I felt something that made me feel even a little bit good inside.”

  “That’s sad.”

  “I know.” I shrug. “But it’s the truth.”

  “You shrugged your shoulders.” Brady lifts his shoulders and drops them, the motion demonstrating the word. “People who really don’t care usually accompany a shoulder shrug with a dismissive expression.” He demonstrates this too, with one side of his mouth pulling back and the slightest shake of his head. “But most people who shrug actually care, and the shrug is a show, an attempt to hide what they’re really feeling.”

  Suddenly I feel exposed. I reach for a sweater to pull tighter over my chest, but my fingers touch only bare skin. I don’t have a sweater, only the desire to cover myself. Frowning, I say with more attitude than intended, “Since when are you an expert on reading people? I thought you were a lawyer.”

  “Good lawyers learn how to read facial expressions and mannerisms. People might withhold their thoughts, but their behavior often gives it away.”

  I come to a halt. Brady stops a second later, his eyes questioning my sudden stop.

  Crossing my arms, I ask, “What am I thinking right now?” I’m straining to make my face unreadable, and I wonder if he’s picking up on that, too.

  He regards me with a cool expression. “You want me to stop being so invasive.”

  My pointer finger lifts into the air and makes little circles. “We have a winner.”

  Brady smiles a little and nods, his hands tucking into the pockets of his shorts. “Point taken.”

  I nod, happy he’s understood. I feel too raw to be looked at so closely.

  We start walking again.

  “Can I ask you a question that skims the surface?” Brady asks.

  The hope in his voice makes me say yes.

  “Why did you hesitate when Charlie asked you about the baking competition?” he asks, wasting no time after I’ve given the go-ahead. “If you were a baker B.S.E., I mean.”

  I look at him, my eyebrows drawing together. “B.S.E?”

  “Yeah. You know, Before Sweet Escape. B.S.E.”

  I smile at his acronym. I like it. “I’m not sure I’m up for running a bakery again. I didn’t have the best experience the first time around.” I don’t elaborate, and he doesn’t push.

  We walk on, quietly, and before long I realize we’re headed to the same spot beside the lake where we saw each other before. When we reach it, Brady takes a deep breath and gazes out at the sparkling water. I settle onto the ground and watch him take in his surroundings. It’s nice to watch someone enjoy something I hold so dear.

  “I think my soul needs water,” he says, and his face looks peaceful. He picks up a rock and slings it. We watch it skip over the surface once, twice, three times before sinking below. He turns around, and when he sees me sitting he walks back and sits beside me.

  Taking a deep breath, I say, “I waited for ten months after Warren slipped into the coma. I don’t know what I was waiting for. We were told he probably wouldn’t wake up. But how does a person move on from something like that? Things were bad for a little while. Constantly crying, and then that turned into darkness. This weird nothingness. I felt like a robot. I made the motions every day, but nothing went below my surface. Warren would’ve hated it. So, I started trying. There’s nothing so brave as getting back up, Brady. Nothing.”

  Brady nods in encouragement, but he must sense I’m not finished, because he doesn’t say anything.

  “When Warren’s family saw me getting better, they became angry. I think they knew what was coming, and they knew it meant one more part of Warren’s life was going to slip away. But what was I supposed to do?” I shake my head, still unable to believe the way they treated me in the end. “Right after Warren and I were engaged, Warren’s parents came to me with a business proposition. They offered to purchase an empty space and turn it into a bakery, if I would run it and pay them rent after it started turning a profit. It was my dream set-up. Very little risk for me, and it seemed as if there was only upside. It was going well for awhile, but after the accident, things went downhill. I told them I was going to spend some time in Oregon, visiting my grandma, and that the store manager would be perfectly capable of running things in my absence. They called me a coward and said I was a disgrace to their son’s memory. They closed the store without telling me. The For Lease sign in the window and the padlocked front door did the talking for them.”

  A soft, incredulous sound slips from between Brady’s lips.

  Oddly, I feel defensive. Maybe it’s really Warren I’m defensive of, because his family is an extension of him, a representation. “I know it sounds awful. It wasn’t right for them to do what they did, but they were hurting too. I was an easy target for their anger and sorrow.”

  Brady’s forearm brushes mine as he shifts and draws his knees into his chest. I like the feeling, like there’s someone else beside me now. I was an only child and wished desperately for my parents to change that. That never happened, and eventually good friends stepped in and filled the void. Then I met Warren, and he occupied every space my friends couldn’t fill. And in an instant, my Warren vanished.

  “It’s the little things,” I say, lifting a handful of rocky sand. I flip my hand over and watch it fall back onto the ground.

  “Like what?” Brady asks, not questioning what it is I’m referring to.

  I take a deep breath, letting the memories wash over me. “He’d leave used paper towels all over the kitchen. Not really gross ones, but ones that were only a little used. He said they weren’t ready to throw away just yet, but it drove me nuts.” I used to glare when I’d see them, but now I’m smiling at the memory. “I like a clean kitchen, and those balled up paper towels looked like little snowballs.”

  Brady laughs. “I bet you never thought you’d find yourself missing that.”

  “Never,” I agree, chuckling at the picture in my mind.

  “How long were you together?”

  “Two years, and then he proposed. And soon after…” My sentence trails off into nothing. I don’t want to cry, but I can’t help it. All the crying I did in the beginning was over Warren. And all the crying I’m doing now? That’s for me.

  I close my eyes and lift my face to the sky, letting the sunshine fall over me, inviting warmth into my sad, bleak heart.

  Then I feel his arm, heavy and firm, across the top of my back. His hand slips over my shoulder, cupping it. His fingers squeeze gently, conveying his message.

  He knows how it feels to be left behind.

  11

&n
bsp; Brady

  For a guy who likes taking action, sitting back and watching Addison cry is tough. I want to help her, but how? There is nothing I can do that will make this situation any better. The most I can do is be there for her, but that feels like so little.

  On our walk back to the main house she said she’s considering the idea of entering the contest. She seemed hesitant, but I encouraged her. What better way to get her mind off Warren?

  Speaking of, I can’t figure out what to call him.

  Is he her ex-fiancé? Her current fiancé? How do you officially break up with someone in that state? If they were married, she’d have to legally divorce him. Relationships aren’t binding, not legally anyway. They certainly are binding in many other ways.

  Addison’s life is in shambles, but I don’t mind it. Maybe that’s because my own chaos recognizes the chaos inside her. We are both so broken, so lost.

  Today at the lake she’d raised her face to the sky, and the sun shone through her tears, lighting them up as they slid down her cheeks. Each drop turned translucent, and in them, I could see her grief.

  I don’t cry over Lennon the way Addison cries for Warren, but I won’t deny that I’ve shed some tears. I’m lucky though. Lennon is still alive, still vital. She’s down there in Arizona, helping Finn care for his uncle. She’s smiling for Finn, and laughing at his jokes, teasing him when he broods the way he does. She’s lying beneath him at night, in their bed, and the I love you’s on her lips are meant for him.

  I’m here in Oregon, running from a life I don’t recognize, because it hasn’t gone the way I expected it would. All I ever wanted was Lennon. I didn’t get her. All I ever wanted was to be a lawyer. I got that, and it wasn’t anything like I thought it would be. How can my expectations be so different from reality?

  My phone rings and I look to where it sits on the porch railing of my little cabin. It’s my mom. Sighing, I reach for it. I don’t want to answer, but she called yesterday, and I let it go to voicemail. Honestly, I’m surprised she left me alone for this long. I haven’t talked to her since the day before I left Chicago.

  “Hi, Mom.” I sit back in my chair and cross a knee over the opposite leg.

  “Brady!” My mom’s relieved voice comes through. “Oh, good. I’m glad you answered.”

  “Everything okay?”

  “Yes, why?”

  I’m thankful she can’t see my eye roll. My mom has a tendency to make everything seem like a big deal. Apparently me not answering yesterday qualifies as such.

  Instead of answering her question, I ask how my dad’s doing. Since retiring from the bench, he spends his days golfing and napping.

  “He’s good. Finished with his morning round of golf and now he’s sleeping on the couch. He was going to sleep by the pool, but it’s too hot.”

  “It’s June, Mom. Isn’t it time for you to leave Agua Mesa? You’ve got to be the last snowbirds there by now.” I grin, knowing how my mom gets irritated when she’s called a snowbird. I don’t know why it bothers her. My parents are the exact definition of a snowbird. They spend the winter in Agua Mesa and the summers in Chicago. It doesn’t get any more snowbird than that.

  “We’re leaving for Europe at the end of this week, and then we’ll go back to Chicago. I was calling to see if I could talk you into coming with us across the pond.” She draws out the word pond, trying to make it sound enticing.

  And it is. I consider it for all of three seconds before I shake my head. “No, thanks, Mom. I’m doing my thing here.”

  She snorts. It’s not a sound she makes often. Too indelicate for her. “In Lonesome, Oregon? Brady, please.”

  Her please is not a request but an exasperation.

  “I’m serious, Mom. I’m good here.”

  “You only have that place for a little while longer, Brady. What, less than two weeks?”

  “I can extend if I want to. Besides, I’m not planning on going east from here. If I go anywhere, it will be on a plane flying north.”

  “Will you call me if you change your mind? You can join us wherever we are.”

  “Yes, of course.”

  My mom goes quiet, and I know why. At this point, I’m just waiting for her to ask. The seconds tick by in silence, then she says cautiously, “Have you heard from Lennon or Finn?”

  Covering the phone with my hand, I turn my head to the side and sigh quietly. Into the phone, I say, “I’ve spoken with them both recently. They know where I am.”

  “I take it Lennon’s firm in her choice?”

  The tinge of hope in my mom’s voice irritates me. If Lennon showed up here right now on the doorstep of cabin seven telling me she’d made a mistake, I’d… I’d… well, I don’t know. I like to think I have my pride. And that her doing something like that would be not only the last nail in the coffin of our three-way friendship, but the first and all the others needed to slam it shut for good.

  “Mom, you’ve seen them together. You know how right they are for each other. If I can admit that, maybe you can too.”

  “Hmph,” she grunts petulantly. “I’ll never understand how she chose Finn over you. Finn’s great, don’t get me wrong. He’s your best friend for a reason. But you’re… well, you.”

  I laugh. I can’t help it. “You’re biased, but that’s okay. You’re supposed to be.”

  “Such is the role of a mother. You’ll understand one day when you’re a parent. Speaking of dating…”

  I lower the phone and give it a dirty look. That was the most obvious transition in the world. I put the phone on speaker and turn down the volume, then lay the phone on my lap and close my eyes. My mom’s talking away and I’m uh-hmm’ing where it seems appropriate.

  “Brady!” My eyes fly open at the loud call of my name. Addison’s walking across my little yard, a smile on her face and the bottom of a sundress skimming the middle of her thighs. She looks gorgeous and completely recovered after this morning’s walk to the lake.

  I stand quickly, forgetting my phone. It falls to the floor of the wood front porch.

  “Brady, who is that?” I hear my mother ask.

  Addison must hear it too, because she makes a face and mouths, “Oops.”

  I wave a hand at her. “It’s okay,” I mouth back, bending to pick up the phone. I stand up in time to see Addison walking away.

  “Addison, wait,” I call out.

  “Who’s Addison?” my mother’s voice floats into the Oregon air.

  Addison creeps closer. She points at the phone and whispers, “Is that Lennon?”

  I hit the speaker button to turn it off, and with my eyes trained on Addison, I lift the phone to my ear. “Mom, it’s a friend I’ve made here.”

  Addison’s chest expands with a big breath when she hears me say mom. Hmm. Interesting. Why is she relieved to know it’s not Lennon?

  “Brady, put me on speaker,” my mom commands.

  “You were on speaker,” I protest. I don’t like where this is going.

  “Turn it back on.” Her voice is no-nonsense.

  I can either fake a sudden case of poor reception or listen to my mom.

  Ever the parent pleaser, I lower the phone to the railing and hit the speaker button. Now I’m really wishing I’d let the call go to voicemail.

  “Am I on speaker, Brady?” My mom’s voice rings out into the open air.

  Addison smiles, and I silence a groan.

  “Yes, Mom.”

  My mother wastes no time. “Hello, Addison.”

  Addison’s eyes are an unlikely combination of apprehension and amusement as she looks at the phone. “Hi, Mrs. Sterling.”

  Her gaze flies to me, and now she looks worried. “Is that her last name?” she mouths.

  I nod. I’m less concerned with propriety and more worried about where my mother is going with this.

  “Brady says you and he have become friends?”

  “That’s correct,” Addison says, her shoulders relaxing. She stands on the other side of the por
ch and lifts her elbows onto the railing, resting her chin in an open palm.

  “How old are you, Addison?”

  I roll my eyes again, but Addison grins. “Twenty-seven.”

  “The same age as Brady.” Her voice is smooth, approving. “And how did you two meet?”

  “My grandmother owns the B&B where he’s staying. I came from Chicago to help her.”

  “That’s nice of you. It’s always good to spend time with loved ones.” This time my eye roll stays on the inside. Her comment is a compliment to Addison, but a complaint for me.

  Addison thanks her, then my mom says, “Well, Brady, I guess I can see now why you refused my offer.”

  “Mom—” I start, but she cuts me off with a laugh.

  “I wasn’t born yesterday, Brady.”

  Addison laughs, and it joins up with the laughter coming from the phone.

  “I’m glad everyone thinks I’m so funny.” I give Addison a playful stink-eye.

  Picking up the phone, I tell my mom I need to go.

  And then, just when I’m kicking my own ass for answering her call at all, my mom says, “Brady, are you two” —she pauses, and I picture her grasping for words— “what’s it called? Benefits? Oh, that’s it. Friends with—”

  “Bye, Mom.” I hit the end button before she can finish her sentence or say goodbye.

  I slip the phone in my back pocket and let my gaze rest on the ground. I really don’t want to look over at Addison, but I know I have to. Slowly I lift my gaze, and when I spot Addison, my eyes grow wide. Tears are falling from her eyes, but they’re not sad.

  She’s laughing so hard it’s soundless. Her shoulders quake and her hand covers her mouth.

  I shake my head, my fear that my mother terrified Addison abating and the hilarity of the situation taking its place. I laugh alongside Addison.

  “Your mom is really funny,” she says, recovering her voice. She smiles up at me, her arms crossed and dangling lazily over the railing.

  I lean down, resting my forearms on the railing beside hers. “She’s not usually that funny. I think she’s happy. What happened with Lennon worried her. And she thinks—” I stop suddenly, aware of what I was about to say.