Horrible News
I was shy of turning twenty-five by two and a half months, and it was just starting to get cold, as it should in October. My husband died two years ago, and with my chosen estrangement from my parents the only person on this earth I had left, was my grandfather. His death, while not unexpected at 89, was devastating. I received the call from a man named Bran Cornick, at three in the morning. My grandfather had often spoken about his friend, with a great deal of admiration and respect, however I had not expected how young he sounded. After a few hours of arrangements, I was on a plane, headed to Troy, Montana where Mr. Cornick would be waiting to drive me into Aspen Creek. I insisted that I could find my own way, but Bran had a remarkable way of manipulating my plans, creating the temporary perception that I did indeed need his assistance. It wasn't until I was half way to Montana that I had realized I had been vanhoozled. I chocked it up to the grief I felt just behind my eyes. I refused to break down until I got to Montana, and then an only then, would I cry. For now, I had to ensure that everything I did was controlled and precise. If I didn't, then Gramps funeral would never take place, I would never have his ashes placed, and all his belongings would be a mess for ages, that was the nature of my personality. Store it up until it has to be dealt with, then it would be manageable.
The plane landed in a town called Troy, which owned a very small airport. The town was beautiful, from what little I could see, and I didn't blame Gramps a bit for loving this place, or moving here after Grams died. It felt like home, which was a feeling that I was not used to. I went to the small carousel to retrieve my luggage, and wondered when I would meet the infamous Bran Cornick. I recalled Gramps talking about him like a wise friend that he trusted, and appreciated. The sound of him on the phone told me he was maybe twenty-five; it hurt my brain, and I was suspicious of the whole situation. I knew Gramps was dead though, because his lawyer, Mr. Robert Matthews had left three voice mails during the flight. All of which ensured me that my grandfathers estate was squared away, and he would meet me in Aspen Creek right after the funeral.
The flight into Troy was perhaps half full, and the extra space was comforting to me. I have always had a sixth sense so-to-speak that allowed me to know things about people, mostly feelings, and motives. When I was younger, my Gramps told me it was Spiritual Discernment, but as I grew his storey got a little more colorful, with a claim that the now ousted Fae were a part of our family line thousands of generations ago. I suppose it isn't impossible, but I could hardly fathom how the traits could have survived this far down the line, at least to the degree that it was presenting itself in me. I was perfectly comfortable accepting that God simply blessed each of us with purpose and this trait had something to do with the path I would travel until death. With that thought my bag finally made it around and I grabbed it. I turned to find the exit that lead to the parking lot, which was where I agreed to meet Bran. He let me know I could find him in his Hummer, waiting just outside the terminal. I stopped by the bathroom before I went outside to brush my hair, and make sure my mascara wasn't running down my face. I didn't wear much makeup, just a little eye shadow, mascara, and lip gloss. Once I was sure I looked presentable, I made my way to the parking lot. I insisted we meet this way, because if I didn't like him or the way he felt, I was out of there. Once I explained this to Bran, he merely chuckled and agreed, which frankly was about the only thing he conceded to.
The air in Montana was crisp, clean, and about five degrees below zero. As I stepped out of the terminal, I took a deep breath and took in my surroundings. Most of the broad leafed trees were bare; however the pine trees made up for the lack of green. To my surprise the pines were enormous and thick; full of birds and life even in this cold weather. I felt a small part of me spark to life, and realized, even if only in the back of my mind, that this place had a life of its own. I glanced around and saw a hummer in front of me. I started toward it, and at about fifty paces from my destination, a youngish looking man emerged from its interior. He walked towards the front of the vehicle and waited, leaning on the grill with his arms crossed. I inspected him with my sixth sense, and I felt grief. As I listened, I realized he truly missed my Gramps, maybe as much as I did, and this revelation served only to make a mushy spot in the place I had guarded against this man. If he truly loved my Gramps this much, then he must not be a horrible person. I realized I had stopped walking and felt my face flush, but I recovered and called out, "Mr. Cornick?" I did my best to make it sound normal, not paranoid. He smiled, and approached me with a sad smile on his face. I got the impression he was used to people being scared of him, and it was wearing on him.
"Let me take your bag, Jessica, I'll load it in the back. It's very cold, why don't you wait in the Vee?" Bran said as he reached for my bags.
"No, I only have this one, I can load it myself thank you." I replied. I don't know what made me be so stubborn, maybe the tone in his voice. He spoke to me with a full expectation of my obedience. I felt the impulse to correct that expectation from the get go, because while I can be very compliant, each person has to earn that loyalty and trust from me. He stopped short, and looked at me. His expression reminded me of the failsafe expressions people will create when they don't want you to know how they really feel. Too bad for Bran, I didn't need to worry about facial expressions. Beyond his grief, and tiredness, were curiosity, loneliness, intense control, and seething rage that caught my breath. I quickly removed myself from where ever it was my sixth sense takes me, and caught Bran giving me a suspicious look. I smiled and headed around the back of the Hummer. All I could think of is this person is a raving lunatic, who is that angry? What was more; I was still actively loading my bag into this man's car, still concisely preparing myself to go into the wilds of Montana to attend my Gramps funeral, and totally aware, that despite my discovery, no other person on this earth had made me feel as safe as this man did. I decided as I shut the back of his Hummer I would just be as silent as I could until I could get to Gramps place. As I walked towards the passenger door, Bran appeared from the other side of the Hummer, and opened the door for me. I decided I would be gracious this time, because his expression looked irritated and amused all at once. I smiled at him, as I climbed up to the seat, and said, "Thank you." He shut the door, and walked around the front, and I took the opportunity to really look at him. He looked like he was a twenty-something, but he felt older. Much older, maybe this is why Gramps liked him so much. Or maybe this man was the world's best con artist, and attempted to lure an unsuspecting old man into ruin. I quickly let that thought go, because if Bran was trying to cheat anyone, grief like his wouldn't fit. Not to mention, my Gramps was sharp, and stayed that way even towards the end. I begged him to let me come out to him, when we realized he was so ill, but he refused. Finally I decided I was going to go to Troy and call him for directions to his house. He wouldn't turn me back if I had come that far, and the day after I made that choice, he died. I felt the tears well up behind my eyes, and couldn't stop them from their treason as they streamed down my face. Bran opened the door, and I looked at him, and started to apologize for crying. To my surprise, Bran shut the door, reached over and pulled me into a hug. I was so shocked I just let him, because he didn't feel like a stranger, and I think it was comforting to him, to comfort another. I let my forehead rest on his shoulder and the tears just poured and poured. I wasn't even actively crying, but the grief just ran through me like water running down a mountain. It was taking everything in its path, until there is nothing left. Once I had control of myself again, I gently pulled away from this person, who was closer to my Gramps, than most. I looked at him, and saw he too was crying. I smiled a little and said, "I won't tell anyone if you won't, we wouldn't want people to think we aren't tough." I felt week, despite my words, and wished I could just find a place to sleep. Bran smiled at me, a relieved smile, and I thought he was just doing it to be funny. I reached out gave his hand a squeeze, and then wiped the tears off my face. That's when I noticed that Bran's shirt was really wet.
"Oh Bran, I'm sorry, I ruined your shirt." I said as I pointed to the very wet area. Bran gave me a hard look, and replied, "How many shirts can I have in a lifetime? To mourn the passing of a beloved friend, that happens too often it seems. I would give all the things I own, to keep all those I love and care for safe and alive." I was shocked at the honesty of the statement, and I think Bran was too. He exhaled and looked at me for a moment, then put his seatbelt on and started the car. We were barley on the highway, when I fell fast asleep.