Fearsome (15 page)

The sound of a babbling brook becomes more distinct and then I see the wooden footbridge Imogene told me to look for. It’s long. First it runs alongside the creek and then angles across the water to the other side. I step on the bridge when I hear my name being called.

“Jessica!” It’s either Dylan or Carson, but from this distance I cannot decipher which man it belongs to.

I walk to the center of the bridge and debate with continuing on the trail, yet I don’t know where it leads and I don’t want to get lost in these unknown woods at night. I lean over the railing and take long, slow, deep breaths. “
Sixty Million, Forty Million, Seventy Million.
” I repeat numbers over and over to myself. The water is about five feet below the bridge and runs shallow over rocks and tree limbs.

“Jessica!” the voice shouts. He is at the entrance to the footbridge. I look up, trying to discern if it’s Carson or Dylan. I cannot tell, but the voice is deep, so I’m guessing it’s Carson. If I keep running in the other direction, I won’t know where to go and he’d only follow me, so I stay where I am as the figure jogs towards me. In the fog of twilight I see that it is, indeed, Carson. I feel the vibration from his boots pounding on the bridge and in a few long strides he is by my side.

“Are you okay?” His concern and thoughtful expression seem sincere and far removed from the beast I saw in the kitchen.

“Please leave me alone.” I keep my voice even.

“I’d never hurt you.”

“I don’t want to be a part of this. Whatever is going on between you and Dylan, it’s not for me.”

He comes close enough to put one hand on the railing in front of me and his other hand on the back of my neck. I flinch away and he looks startled.

“I didn’t hurt Dylan. Is that what you think?”

“I don’t understand what that was all about,” I say angrily. “You knew Dylan and I were having dinner together and you showed up to goad him. You were cruel.”

“You need to see Dylan for what he really is.”

“What? A nice guy who is helpful and asks me out?” I try to laugh, but tears pool at the corners of my eyes. I’m thankful it’s getting dark because, I assume, Carson can’t see them. He is relentless, however, and steps closer to me again, closing in on my safe distance. Carson rakes his hand through his hair, trying to think of a good explanation to give me.

“Dylan is a nice guy. You know I love my brother,” he stammers.

“That wasn’t love. He was angry at you about something and you kept pushing him. It was almost sadistic.” He takes my hand and I jerk it away. “Don’t touch me.”

“Dylan has some serious problems and you needed to see that,” he says.

“See what? Where is he? Did you—”

“I didn’t hurt him, Jess. We always yell a bit, but I let him go and he left.”

“Left where? He went home?”

“I don’t know, Jess. This is what he does. He gets angry, falls apart and leaves. Sometimes he’s gone for a while.”

“What do you mean ‘we always yell a bit’? Do you two fight like this a lot? Is this a regular thing; you being so violent?”

“I’m not a violent person,” he says.

“You threw your two hundred pound brother to the floor like it was nothing. Then you pinned him like a wild hog.”

“Dylan has always had these episodes and I’m the only one who can subdue him. I can only hope that it doesn’t get him into an impossible situation someday. I worry about a fight with a stranger, police, jail time or worse, someone uses a gun against him.”

Carson is talking about someone else. It can’t be the same guy I have a mild crush on; the guy who is playful and sweet, the one I fooled around with and snuggled with all night on my couch. Carson started the fight. He’s the bad guy in this.

“You can’t tell me that Dylan is the violent one,” I say, but then I think of Dylan’s red, tense face with a protruding vein at his temple as he charged Carson. Dylan threw his body into Carson with the intent of hurting him. The revelation must have been written on my face. I look up into Carson’s worried expression, my mouth gaping.

“Dylan suffers from severe depression,” Carson says slowly.

“Millions of people do. That doesn’t make them violent.”

“Dylan is different. This started after our mom died. It started happening about a year after you were here. He sunk into a very deep despair over our mother’s death. His depressive mood swings increased with our dad’s drinking and absences.”

“Okay, so Dylan suffers from depression. Half the world does and they can get help.”

“He’s gotten help. That’s what I’m trying to tell you. He had some bad episodes in college and I’d go help him. He’s been seeing doctors since he was in high school. He was doing pretty well on medication, but the spark kind of went out of him. I had to make sure he took his medicine. Whenever he felt good, he’d take himself off his meds and then he’d have an episode like what you saw tonight; where he can’t control his anger and he goes into a rage. He’s been in a few fights with guys, but mostly he storms out and disappears.”

“Where does he go? Where is he now?”

Carson shakes his head. “Now that he’s an adult, it’s not like I can barricade him in the house. He takes off in his car, sometimes for days.”

I turn away because the thought of crying in front of Carson is intolerable. My back is to him as he puts his hands gently on my shoulders.

“I was afraid he wouldn’t tell you and that worried me because I could see you two becoming more involved. He’s a very fragile person, Jess.”

“That’s why you said you didn’t want him to get hurt. You meant with me. He could fall into a depression again.”

“I’m sorry if I was a jerk about it, but Dylan was never serious about any woman until you came along. I can’t let people keep leaving him, he can’t handle it.” Carson’s voice is kind.

“And you think I’d leave him because you think the odds are against me staying here.”

Carson turns me around. “I know he thinks he’s in love with you, but so am–I can’t let him get hurt,” he says more forcefully.

“Okay, I get it. I think.” I push him aside and walk back the way I came.

“Jess, wait,” Carson shouts to my back, but I keep going.

Sixteen

Dylan returns three days later. I have no idea where he went and I don’t ask. I refuse his calls. I even leave Carson a message on his cell phone to hold up on the kitchen repairs and appliances so I can work in peace.

It’s now been two weeks and I’ve done nothing other than work in the library every morning, taking calls from my team at 5 Alpha and focusing on current as well as new software programs. Every afternoon I take a walk to Barron’s Creek and beyond. Bert won’t go with me, so I hike for a couple of hours every day by myself, going further into the woods and climbing the nearby hills. Then, every evening, I eat an apple and some ramen soup I picked up in bulk at Target, and I paint in the studio until it’s time to sleep.

Imogene and Lauren come over every other day when their diner shifts permit and we watch movies on my computer and gab about everything except Carson and Dylan. Lois and Eleanor come by several times to help me clean out Aunt Ginnie’s closets. I keep the good jewelry and some vintage clothing, but I donate a lot of other items.

After we finish up, they like to have cold beverages and sit on the porch while our pores steam open in the humidity, but I don’t mind. They are good company, telling me everything about Hera; the local gossip, Aunt Ginnie’s life and their funny stories from their yoga classes. Apparently, I’m a big part of the local gossip, however, Lois and Eleanor gloss over that part, especially since I have a sign posted on the front door, “
No Blackards Allowed
.” Yes, it’s juvenile, but effective. If the sign wasn’t there, Carson and Dylan would let themselves in my home whenever they please, using a repair job or something else as an excuse to work in the house.

Carson has only called once and left an apology on my cell phone. I saved the message so I can listen to his nice voice whenever I want. Dylan calls and periodically leaves notes or flowers by the front door. He’s sweet and I want to see him. I want to see them both, but I don’t know what I should be doing.

One day, Carson shows up with the two bearded fellows from the shop and they clean the dead tree and branches from the yard. I watch them from the library window, sawing the tree into smaller pieces and then loading the debris onto two separate trucks. Carson glances up at both of the windows where he knows I spend most of my time, the library and the studio. I keep my head buried between the monitors so he can’t see me, but it soothes me, nonetheless, to have him near me.

“Sweet mustard seeds,” Lois says one afternoon as we lounge on the porch. “How long can this go on? You can’t avoid those two boys forever.”

“I bet I could make it last forever,” I say. “I have incredible endurance. You should see me reading through hours and hours of code. I’m like a stone statue. I could do it forever.”

“Why would you want to?” Eleanor asks. “Honey, life is too short to carry the hatchet around all day.” I look at her funny. “I meant to say ‘life is too short not to bury the hatchet,’” she explains.

“They really are fine young men. You need to work this out,” Lois says.

“It’s easier to avoid them. I don’t want to be tangled up in their messes.”

“Jessica, life is messy. People are messy. They make messy mistakes and guess what, you cannot live happily without people,” Eleanor says.

“I have people. I have you two, I have Lauren and Imogene, and Archie has been a big help with the accounting and taxes, and I have my friends at 5 Alpha. I have people in my life.”

“Oh, sweet butter biscuits; I know you have friends, but you need love,” Lois says.

“Please, I dated Dylan for five minutes. It wasn’t love. It was just a little crush and now it’s gone.” Both women look at me in an odd way, bunching up their wrinkled faces. “It’s true. Dylan has issues and he kept a big secret from me. I’m doing him a favor and it really was at the request of Carson. I’m doing what Carson wanted all along. He didn’t think Dylan could handle dating me. Me, of all people. Apparently, I’m dangerous.”

Lois and Eleanor share a moment, a knowing look with one another. I pretend not to care and sip my iced tea.

“So, everyone knows I’m going to have my party,” Lois says. “Tomorrow night. And all my friends are invited. That includes you, Jess. I never got your RSVP.

“Sorry about that. Are Carson and Dylan going to be there?”

“Of course. You can’t have a party without the handsome Blackard crew,” Lois says.

“You’ll have to figure out how to get along with them, live in peace and all that jazz,” Eleanor says.

“And if you don’t come to my party, I will be offended,” Lois adds.

“Nice,” I reply.

“Ginnie wants you to come to my party.” Lois gives me a scolding look.

“Oh really, now you talk to the dead?” I raise my eyebrows at Lois.

“She also thinks it would be very nice if you brought a homemade key lime pie,” Lois tells me.

“I don’t bake.”

“Gin’s secret recipe is in the recipe box on the counter. It’s not so secret,” Lois says.

Eleanor chuckles.

“I can’t follow recipes, really, I’m awful at it.”

“Then I suppose you’ll have to call Dylan. He’s an excellent cook and baker,” Lois says. “Or Carson. He’d be willing to help you.”

“Yeah, that’s not going to happen.”

Lois looks deadly serious at me. “It was Gin’s last wish!”

Eleanor bursts out laughing.

Seventeen

After ignoring him for two weeks, I miss Dylan, or maybe I miss the opportunity I could have with Dylan. Now that I know his big not-so-secret secret, I’m less scared. I’ve spent enough time daydreaming over my computer monitors, thinking about Dylan, his brother bullying him and his sweet disposition. I can envision myself being with Dylan despite his issues. We all have issues and maybe I could be the one to help him. Perhaps my presence will be a good thing for Dylan and I could fall in love with him.

He has left flowers at my door step almost every other day and countless messages on my phone, however, now I can’t locate him. I give in and call Carson to explain about Lois’s invite and the pie request as well as the fact that I need to patch things up with Dylan, at least to the extent that we’re on speaking terms.

Carson arrives at my front door within the hour. He has bags of baking supplies, fresh limes and whatever else I rattled off from the recipe card.

“You ready to do this?” Carson holds up the “
No Blackards Allowed
” paper he yanked down from my front door and then crumples it in his fist. I can tell he showered before coming over. His hair is damp and pushed back as if he keeps running his hands through the wet locks. He’s wearing a clean white T-shirt that hugs his muscles and broad shoulders as it shows off his tan forearms and face. He smells like soap. I want to step into his embrace and fold myself into his strong body, but it isn’t offered.

“Let’s give it a go,” I answer.

We work side by side in the kitchen for a few hours, speaking only about the recipe along with the fixtures and items in the house that still need to be repaired. We don’t mention Dylan, yet he’s there, hanging between us. By the end of the evening, we’ve made two pies that look like they are the first attempts of a fourth grade home economics class.

“Not bad,” Carson says.

“Not great, either. Think they’re edible?”

“Who cares? I’m here because you called. It’s nice to see you.”

“It’s nice to see you, too. I handled that evening… I handled Dylan poorly. I shouldn’t have run off.”

“No. I handled it poorly. It was out of line for me to put that kind of responsibility on you.”

“Is that what you were trying to do? Hand off Dylan to me so you wouldn’t have to watch over him anymore?” I ask. “I think I wanted you to believe that I’m someone who is capable of being… worthy of being with Dylan.”