The Girl He Needs (29 page)

I open the fridge and take a quick assessment. “I can make us an omelet.” But I don’t wait for an answer because the weather reporter assigned to Daytona Beach comes on the screen. The station does a quick intro and I hold my breath.

“The city of Daytona Beach and surrounding areas are the target of this storm. Currently, we’re experiencing the calm of the storm’s eye but cities as far north as St. Augustine and as far south as Sanford are feeling her effects. Spin-off tornadoes have been spotted inland in Winter Haven and Sebring. Hurricane Layla has left most of the Daytona Beach residents without power. We’re told the intercoastal areas were hit the hardest. Flooding being their biggest problem at this moment. Inland, the speedway, and airport have taken a direct hit as well as. Locals are anxiously awaiting word about the famous Daytona Beach Pier, which took a hit from Sandy. Is it still standing? Only time will tell. For now, Volusia and Flagler County brace themselves for the worst as we wait for those Cat five winds to come ashore and for the eye of the storm to pass. Back to you, Tim.”

I swallow and watch Brinn, who has done nothing but rub his hand over his chin, repeatedly.

“The insurance came through on the new plane, right? I know you said it did but tell me again,” he says without looking at me. He stares at the footage of Hurricane Layla’s winds as a tree bends at a ninety-degree angle in protest.

“Yes, it’s in the paperwork folder. I even called to reconfirm earlier today before I came to see you.” I step toward him, reach out gently, and take his hand, massaging the calluses on the pads of his palm. “It’s gonna be OK.”

Brinn nods but his face is pale and his lips are pressed into a thin line. He pulls his hand from mine and rests it on his knee.

I hope I’m right. Screw hoping. I’ll make sure it’s going to be all right.

“I gave up my adjunct job. If this hurricane does serious damage, it’ll leave me unemployed, but I could pick up more flight instruction time, I suppose. If there’s a runway left, that is.” He’s talking more to himself than me.

I have no platitude that will ease his pain. Everything he’s worked for might be gone and I can’t help feeling partially responsible for that. If I have to sit the bar and become a lawyer, if I have to work for my parents, whatever the cost, I’ll make this right for him. But for now, we’ll get through this moment together.

“Why don’t you take a shower and I’ll make us something to eat. There’s nothing we can do at this moment for Will or the office.” I shift and try to tuck my hands in my back pockets but they’re crusted shut.

“I’ll run out and get my flight bag in a second.” He glances at me before returning to stare at the television.

It worries me that he barely looks at me. “Brinn,” I whisper.

He looks up and I understand now what I am seeing. He’s afraid. Of what I cannot be sure until he says, but going against Mark’s orders, losing the plane, possibly his house, not knowing about his brother, the list is endless. His phone vibrates on the counter and he snatches it up.

Briefly, his face visibly relaxes and his eyes meet mine. “It’s Vann. He and some friends decided that west Volusia wasn’t far enough and they drove to Tampa.”

I smile and rub his arm. Salt from the ocean clings to his skin “The rest is replaceable.”

“Yeah, but let’s hope we don’t have to replace anything. Did you mention a shower?”

“Come on.” We find the guest shower and I get it started, heating up the bathroom while he runs out to get his bag. I sip at my coffee and watch the news as I wait for my turn. The mood is not one that fosters showering together, and I use the moment alone to steady my hands and fight back the urge to have a good cry. I constantly check my phone for any update from Daanya and further toy with the idea of calling my parents, but my best guess is that this might have happened before and they were never notified. So I wait.

“Anything new?” Brinn comes toward me. He’s wearing a plain white undershirt and it accentuates the cut of his chest and the bulk in his arms, and he’s paired it with low-slung jeans that fit all the right areas nicely. He’s toweling his hair dry and when he finishes I hand him a mug of black coffee.

“No, just that the westerly winds are coming on shore now.”

“Jeez, I hope I don’t lose everything,” he mumbles.

“It’s going to be all right. It’s a blip on the screen. These things help us appreciate the highs.” I say it with the most convincing tone I can muster, but I’m not sure if either of us has any hope left to believe in those words.

“I can’t afford to start over.” He stares at the pictures on the screen, his jaw flexing.

“It’s a stressful night,” I say more to myself than to him. He’s very clear on how stressful the night is for both of us.

He turns from the screen to look at me. “Let’s just hope it’s gonna be better tomorrow.”

What are the odds of that happening?

“I’m going to take a shower.” I shuffle to the bathroom and peel the scratchy clothes off. I step under the hot spray and expect to fall apart in this safe space. But as the water washes over me and I clean the sand out of the scratches Will left on my arm, I don’t fall apart like I thought I would. Instead, I start making mental lists. Contingency plans of what we’ll do if the hurricane does the unimaginable. Plans about Will and when or if I ever do bring our parents into the picture. Plans about how I can help Brinn if there’s some loss at the shop. Plans that I know will require rebuilding of some sort. Plans to stay. The lists give me a sense of peace and control, and when I step out of the shower, I’m braced for the worst but feel armed and ready for the challenge.

We watch the news, drink coffee, and scarf down the spinach and Gouda omelets I made. I doze on the couch as we wait for some word about both storm fronts, Will’s and Daytona’s.

It’s not until after midnight that Daanya texts me to say Will’s been stabilized and is resting peacefully. They’re less worried he’ll experience psychosis. It’s not long after that when the scenes from Daytona Beach start to come across the airwaves and it’s terrible. Worse than terrible, horrific. I’ve seen pictures of Katrina and Andrew. I helped with the clean up after Sandy and this new hurricane, Layla, appears to have joined their ranks. She’s cracked Daytona like an egg and scrambled the city, leaving a debris field miles far and wide.

I reach for Brinn but he steps away, moving to put his coffee cup in the kitchen sink. Briefly, he looks out the window before resting his elbows on the counter and burying his head in his hands. The newscaster confirms that the airport’s been leveled, including the airfield and surrounding hangars and businesses.

Brinn left early to go assess the damage at the airfield and I stay behind to follow up with Daanya about Will. But, discovering I’ll be unable to get a visit with Will until further notice, I score a rental car and drive back to Daytona to see what I can do to help Brinn.

I pull over to take a call from Mark, who tells me everything is lost and he’s cashing in. Not going to rebuild. I sit on the side of the road trembling long after the call is over.

What will Brinn do? The dream he’s had since he was a kid is gone. He gave up teaching at the university to focus on buying into the school. Now that’s gone too. I scroll through all the options I know of and mentally make a list of ideas to help him get back on his feet. He’ll have a hard time seeing past all this devastation. Who wouldn’t?

When I pull my car alongside the curb in front of their house, Vann gives me a wide-eyed look that almost makes me stay in the car. Almost. Their house managed to come out only requiring small repairs to the roof. Others down the street were completely wiped out.

Brinn gets out of his truck and hands Vann bags of take out. He doesn’t look at me.

“Is there something you need?” he asks as he heads back to his truck. He pulls a sign and frame from the bed of his truck.

For sale by owner
it reads.

I flick my gaze to the sign. “You’re selling the house?”

His face is dark, his anger barely checked. “Vann’s moving away for his Master’s program. He needs his half of the house to pay for school.”

“Oh.” I suppose I thought he was calling it quits.

“Why are you here, Josie?”

“I wanted to say I was sorry for the shop. Mark called. I know you’re—”

“What is it you think you know?” He swings his gaze to mine and there’s a steely glint found there.

So that’s how it’s going to be?

We face off in the driveway. I’m not in a good place. I’ve spiraled into a tenuous stream of thought where I’m questioning if I leave mass destruction in my wake. Does anyone I get attached to come out unscathed? I know Brinn well enough to know he’s in a bad place too. Understandably so.

“Do you blame me for this?” My voice is low and the question is carried by my shock and confusion. I never told him to come with me.

“You should go. I’ve given it a lot of thought and it’s time we call this quits. Whatever this is. We chalk it up to getting exactly what we both needed and walk away. But it needs to be over. And you should go. Now.” He nods as if to give his words the exclamation point they lack.

“You do blame me.” Anger sparks through me. I plant my hands on my hips and level him with a glare.

“I don’t blame you. I blame myself for getting caught up with you. For not staying focused.” He holds the FOR SALE sign between us. Like I’m going to kick him in the knees or something.

Well, OK, there’s some validity to that concern.

“But—”

“You’re chaos. You’re in the moment. That’s how you live your life. It was a good thing while it lasted but it’s time to end it. I need more than the moment. Especially right now. I need to focus on the future, and I don’t even know what that looks like. Just move on with your plans and let me get about the business of figuring out mine.” He steps away.

The term chaos leaves me breathless because right now I do feel like I bring turmoil. That Will might be sitting at his desk writing a book had I not come into his life. That Brinn might not have questioned his path had I not taken him to a psychic, told him Erik would be a good partner, said I thought he was more than a flight school owner.

Who cares what I think? While I was actively participating in their lives, I was also planning my exit route.

I look up at the sky and force my tears back. Holding them inside. The time for my pity party is not now.

“What about that start-up idea you had? That guy, Shawn Henderson, at the ball said he’d invest in something like that.”

“Says the girl who could go home tomorrow, say she’s sorry, take the bar exam, and slip into a cushy life without so much as breaking a nail.” His tone is biting. His stance angry.

“But all you have to do is go talk to him—”

“No, Josie. I have to do far more than that. I have to have the capital or at the very least the credit for the capital. I don’t have a job.” He walks to the front yard and drives the sign into the yard with one powerful push. “And once this house sells, I won’t even have collateral. Not that it’s worth a whole lot anyway.”

“Can’t you buy Vann out?”

“Where does that get me? With collateral and a new debt. It doesn’t work out.”

“OK. You’re in a shitty place. I get that. You need to make your next move. Do you have any idea what that might be?” I step toward him but he turns his back and walks to his truck.

“I’m gonna move. Maybe I’ll join the military. I’ll bounce around from place to place, not getting attached to anyone and never looking back at what I left behind. Sounds good. It’s about time I do something selfish. Hell. Sounds easy.”

I gasp. “That’s a shitty thing to say.” A tear leaks and falls down my face.

He turns, one hand on his hip. “You’re right. It is. I’m sorry, but in case you haven’t noticed, I’ve lost everything.”

I square my shoulders. “You have so many options.”

“Not from where I’m standing.” He turns away, heading toward his house.

“Brinn, I can help.” My voice quivers and I’m down to my last bit in reserves.

“That’s all right, Josie. Thanks but no thanks.” He walks into the house, closing the door softly behind him.

Shutting me out.

Part of me wants to cry. A different part of me wants to throat punch some sense into him. I unharness my anger—it’s easier to control and predict—and tuck away my pain. Besides, I’m not going to sit in my car and cry over a guy whose head is stuck so far up his ass he can’t tell whether it’s night or day.

I peel away from his house and head toward my place. Suddenly desperate to check the state of my apartment. The clean-up will couple nicely with burning off my anger. I won’t have any perspective until that happens. But cursing Brinn for being a pig-headed, stupid, goal-driven, tight-ass fool will feel good, for a few minutes at least and keeps me from becoming overwhelmed by the pain of my broken heart.

I’m such a fool to think I’d never fall for someone, to deny that it had been him. “No, I’m not crossing some line, I’m just giving him good memories” had been a delusion of the highest grandeur.

Karma

Desperate to get home so I can lose my shit in privacy, I turn onto my street and am forced to stop three houses away. Debris is everywhere. Several trees are uprooted and lying across the road, the spiky ends of their trunks pointing to the sky. City crews, FEMA volunteers, and neighbors are out trying to pick up the pieces. I park the car and walk the distance to Mrs. Cramer’s house. The shock of what’s waiting for me brings tears to my eyes, my anger forgotten.

The house is still standing. Bits of the roof are missing and a neighbor is putting a tarp over the holes. But the garage and my apartment are gone. Not blown away to lands unknown, but the roof’s gone, completely lifted off. The garage doors have blown out; a giant ficus tree is laying half on the driveway and half across the garage. The stairs to my apartment are gone. The only way up is through the interior of the garage, leading into the laundry room where the blue walls are intact but no ceiling, which means the only thing I have left is what I have on me. One outfit, my laptop, and the hematite stones Brinn and I bought in Cassadaga. I stand next to my car, leaning against the driver’s side door, and remove my phone from my pocket to call Mrs. Cramer in Miami, where she fled in hopes of avoiding the hurricane. I look away from the house, down at my lap, and trace a pattern on my jeans.