"I ended up with Dylan? I thought I ended up with - didn't I marry Brandon? I thought I married Brandon!" - Jennie Garth, TV Guide interview in 2014
xx
Cool, copper pennies.
In her first semester at California University, directly before a presentation, she overheard an anxious classmate speaking of tasting pennies.
Yet, as Brenda stared at the sitting room wall with her heart racing loudly enough that she swore they could hear the palpitations over in Soho, she didn't taste pennies.
No, what she tasted were giant-ass, bronzed half-dollar Sacagawea coins.
"What do you mean, they found him?"
"Brenda?"
"Kelly, you said they found him?"
"Yeah, Bren. They found him," Kelly Taylor replied, her relieved tone indicating the likelihood of a smile eight hours behind in Beverly Hills.
"Where?" Brenda whispered, closing her eyes tightly whilst a strangled sob reverberated in her throat.
After believing the present moment would never come, Brenda elected to pinch herself to ensure their conversation was based in reality. She dreamt often of a similar discussion, but never did those dreams feature high school best friend Kelly, the woman with whom she shared a rocky past.
It may as well have been a scene from a play, Brenda thought. The blonde who hurt her more than any other in their days at West Beverly High and two semesters at California University now called to tell her the greatest news of Brenda's life.
Observing a blotchy mark left on her skin from her thumb and forefinger, she assumed the call must be real.
"In Bouaké."
"Where?" she repeated, confused.
"It's a city in the Ivory Coast, apparently. Some locals discovered him among rebel forces and recognized him from the posters. I guess a guy from the UN had visited back in June, so thank God someone had a connection and contacted them immediately."
"Is he okay?"
"I don't know, Bren."
"Is he still in Bouaké?"
"No, they airlifted him to Vandenberg."
"Have you seen him?"
"Can't," Kelly said, bitterness filling her tone, "family only."
"I don't get it," Brenda said, "how do you know all of this? Why didn't they call me?" she hesitated, her throat aching, "I thought I was his emergency contact."
"You are, Bren. They tried to call. His contacts list still has your old number."
"Oh," Brenda responded, kicking herself retroactively for changing her mobile number, despite the necessity at the time.
She particularly berated herself for neglecting to share her new number with the Federal Bureau of Investigation, though it seemed hopeless after three long years.
"Well, they could have called Mom and Dad," Brenda added through her frustration.
"That's why I'm calling, Bren. They need Jim and Cindy's number."
"Why don't they have the number? Landline's been the same since they moved to Melbourne and they both have mobiles."
"Mobiles? Are you telling me Jim and Cindy Walsh live in separate mobile homes Down Under? God, if your wholesome parents couldn't make it, what hope is there for the rest of us?" an appalled Kelly inquired.
"I mean, cellphones," Brenda hurriedly corrected before Kelly could get the wrong idea and pass along misinformation to the rest of their group, which would assuredly be communicated to her bewildered parents.
Barring one brief emotional attachment between Cindy and a former boyfriend when the family first moved to Beverly Hills from Minnesota, neither Jim nor Cindy ever gave any indication of being unhappy in their lengthy marriage.
Brenda knew she was lucky. After the divorce boom of the nineties, one could rarely find a set of parents who chose to stay together in Beverly Hills.
Kelly's own mother gained multiple divorces, before remarrying Mel Silver for the final time following their son David's wedding.
"Oh. Right. That makes much more sense. I mean, Jim Walsh doesn't really strike me as a mobile home kinda guy, not that there's anything wrong with that," she rushed.
"Kelly," Brenda said, working to get their conversation back on track, "why don't they have my parents' numbers?"
"I don't know, Bren. They just don't, I guess."
"So the FBI called you to get them?" Brenda asked, her confusion deepening the more Kelly spoke.
Perplexity never mixed well with fatigue and she felt both in spades.
"Ah, no. Not exactly," Kelly said nervously.
"What do you mean, 'not exactly?'"
"Well, see, when they couldn't get through to the main emergency contact and they couldn't get through to your parents, well, they tried his third emergency contact."
"Steve?" Brenda asked.
"No," Kelly answered.
"Andrea?"
"No."
"David?"
"No. Bren, they, um," Kelly said, taking a deep breath that evolved into a dramatic pause.
"Kelly, just spit it out."
"They called Dylan," the blonde replied, her tone turning three words into one.
The Sacagawea coins quickly became wads of Benjamin Franklins that threatened Brenda's ability for oxygen.
Sputtering, she dropped the phone and sprinted to the kitchen. Filling a glass with cool water from the pitcher, she gulped it down before inhaling deeply.
Inwardly, Brenda scolded herself to keep it together.
"Bren? Brenda? Brenda Walsh! Are you still there?"
"Yeah, Kel, I'm here," Brenda replied, plucking her searing mobile off of the carpeted floor.
"So, Dylan told you," she continued, mustering what little calm remained in her possession.
"I was over with Sammy when he got the call," Kelly explained. "He had the phone on speaker to help Sammy with a project for preschool. As soon as Dylan realized the reason for the call, he took it off speaker and went to the other room."
"And then he told you," Brenda repeated, her tone bordering on acerbic.
"I mean, I was standing right there, Bren."
"You got my number off David, right? Did Dylan ask around for it? Or did he not feel the need to call and tell me himself?" she asked, her question laced with an equal dosage of pain and fury.
"He didn't think you wanted to hear from him, Bren," Kelly explained gently.
"Oh, for fuck's sake. Dylan didn't bother to tell me that my own twin brother has been found alive after three damn years because he was worried I wouldn't talk to him?" Brenda inquired, the acidulous words burning through her throat.
"Considering how long it's been since you have talked to him, you can't exactly blame him, Bren," Kelly replied defensively. "I mean, you only communicate regularly with Steve and the Silvers. Even Andrea says it's been awhile."
"Look, Kelly, I don't need a lecture about my poor communication skills with people I knew in high school, okay?" Brenda said irritably.
"That's all we are to you?" Kelly asked, evidently hurt, "Just people you knew at West Beverly?"
"Yes. No. God, I don't know," Brenda responded, her thoughts as jumbled as her words.
A rattled Kelly hesitatingly continued.
"Bren, look, maybe you should just call Dylan. I can give you his number -"
"You can tell Dylan McKay," Brenda said, clutching the infuriating mobile so tightly against her ear that she would assuredly awaken the following morning with a searing red mark engraved on her facial features, "to go straight to hell."
"Brenda," Kelly sighed.
"Kel, it's really late and I've had a long day," Brenda said, initiating a fake yawn that rapidly transformed into a legitimate one. "Thank you for telling me about Brandon. I'll call Mom and Dad in the morning."
"Wait, Bren, before you go. The detective who opened Brandon's case retired last year. You'll want to contact Jay Sutherfield, okay?" Kelly said over the loudspeaker, reading out a phone number for the FBI detective that Brenda hurriedly plugged into her digital address book, "He'll give you the number for his contact at Vandenberg. And, Bren? Can I ask a favor?"
"Depends on the favor, Kelly," she replied.
"I just - you're there in London, Jim and Cindy are all the way in Australia and Brandon's here, in the state - up the coast a bit, but still here. A Walsh is back in California, Bren; that's pretty monumental. You've made it very clear that you're never gonna return. We're in California, too, and we are Brandon's family - your family, Jim and Cindy's family," Kelly hurriedly added. "It's ridiculous that the FBI won't let us see him just because we don't share his blood or have the same last name."
"I don't know what you want me to do about that, Kel. I'm not FBI."
"Bren, please just ask Detective Sutherfield if there's a chance they'll change their mind? Dylan's going crazy over here."
"Good," Brenda said.
"Bren, please?" Kelly asked, dragging out the second word.
"Okay," she sighed, "I'll see what I can do."
"Thank you, Brenda," Kelly said, her relieved voice containing more pep than should be permitted at 2:15am Greenwich Mean Time.
"Goodnight, Kelly," Brenda said pointedly.
"Night, Bren."
Climbing under her patterned duvet twenty minutes after they ended the transatlantic conversation that would have cost a fortune only a few years prior, Brenda lay staring at the bedroom ceiling.
Since news came of Brandon's unexpected disappearance the year after he chose to attend their West Bev reunion without her, Brenda frequently chided herself for her inability to tap into their supposed twin connection and figure out where the hell he went.
The first year was torture, the second vexing. By the third, she maintained such a busy schedule that she barely found time to ponder whether her brother would ever return.
She slept fitfully, visions penetrating her nightmares of the possible hardships Brandon faced whilst in captivity.
Brenda reached for her twin, watching in horror as he vanished in a thick haze of smoke.
She awoke with a start, glanced blearily at the clock and groaned that only an hour had passed since she initially fell asleep.
In the morning, Brenda dragged herself out of bed to meet with Katie in their favorite café, her inner joy at her brother's reappearance overshadowing the severe lassitude of a sleepless night.
To Katie's credit, although she could tell her friend's mind lay with other matters as they spoke of trivial subjects regarding music and prospective casting decisions of the winter program, she did not press the issue as her husband would have indubitably done.
Katie figured that when Brenda could bring herself to speak of whatever bothered her, she would - for Katie Wachinski, formerly of the distinguished line of Northam, had grown up in a family that found discomfiture with emotion.
Her husband's family took an entirely different approach, encouraging each of their children to express themselves openly.
Despite Katie's break with Northam traditions and her own desire for empathy, she understood that sometimes, people needed to hold onto their emotions before allowing others to hear them.
Still, she noted, the heavy look in Brenda's eyes did appear considerably different than at the concert the previous evening and Katie knew it was not due to drink, or lack thereof.
"Text me when you get home, yeah?" she asked, lightly grabbing her friend's fingers in a goodbye outside of Leicester Square.
"Of course," Brenda nodded, giving the woman a quick hug before departing on her planned fifteen minute walk to the theatre.
A message sent from Shane earlier in the day instructed Brenda to head for Bloomsbury, in Camden. She went by way of Chinatown, pensively staring at the vivid teals and reds of the Friendship Gate.
Ironic, she thought, remembering her conversation with Kelly about her own shattered friendships, as if she were the only one to break them.
Brenda found it easier than expected to reconnect with Donna and consequently gained a rejuvenated relationship with the youngest member of their old group - David Silver, Donna's beloved husband of nearly a decade.
She and Steve never lost contact. Once Steve Sanders decided to plant himself in someone else's life, it was difficult to persuade him out of it.
Andrea's busy schedule rivaled Brenda's, as an editor forThe Los Angeles Timesduring the day and a virtually single mother of an almost teenage girl by night.
Although Andrea Zuckerman held joint custody with her ex-husband Jesse Vasquez over their daughter Hannah, his congressional work frequently took him across the country, leaving the curly-haired brunette to raise Hannah alone.
And the others - well, she didn't want to think about the others, though she supposed she did owe Nat Bussichio a call.
Arriving half an hour earlier than anticipated, Brenda chose an empty bench near Russell Square's fountain and pulled out her mobile with shaky hands.
Attempting several deep breaths, she dialed.
"Jay Sutherfield."
"Mr. Sutherfield, this is Brenda Walsh. I heard you spoke with Dylan McKay and that you've been trying to get in touch with my parents to tell them about Brandon?"
"Oh, hello, Brenda," came the smooth voice on the other end of the line, "Yes, we need the numbers for Jim and Cindy Walsh. It would appear yours is disconnected and Mr. McKay was the next emergency contact available in Mr. Walsh's phone. Had he not picked up, we would've tried someone called Taylor, or was it Zuckerman?"
"Yeah, sorry about that," Brenda replied, "I got a new number and it didn't seem important to tell the bureau since it'd been so long without any news."
"That's understandable," said the detective in an accent that hinted at the northeastern side of the United States.
"Can I ask why you need my parents' numbers? I'm fairly certain Mom and Dad shared all the information you guys asked for when your department opened Brandon's case."
"Yes, that would be a clerical mix-up, I'm afraid," replied Jay Sutherfield. "One of our former secretaries misplaced Brandon Walsh's file before we could complete the data entry. She has since been fired and the file located, but your parents' numbers don't seem to be anywhere."
"Oh," Brenda responded, concerned that an error of that magnitude could occur in a building as prestigious as the FBI, "I'll give their numbers to you again, but you better not lose them this time."
"We won't," he assured.
"Mr. Sutherfield," Brenda continued after she shared the requested information, "is it true that Brandon is at Vandenberg?"
"Yes," Jay replied, "we're keeping an eye on his mental state before he can go home. We realize his last home was here in Washington, but when Mr. Walsh was asked where he'd like to be returned to, he said California. Vandenberg had the space."
"Well," Brenda said, "I mean, you know that both myself and my parents are a plane ride away from Brandon."
"Yes, you've certainly got some distance between you."
"Yeah," Brenda said, "and I guess there's a rule that only family can see him?"
"In Mr. Walsh's case, yes, given the extent of his injuries. It varies," Jay said.
"Since you're fully aware that I can't just drop in to Vandenberg on a moment's notice and it would take my parents at least a day to fly over, if they're lucky; two, if they're not, I was wondering -"
"Yes?" Jay prompted as she hesitated.
"It's just, Brandon has family in Beverly Hills that are right there and I know they aren't blood, but I really hate the idea of him being alone in Lompoc and I know that they're probably taking good care of him at Vandenberg, but after three years away from everyone, I think he needs -"
"Ms. Walsh?" he cut in.
"Yeah?" she asked.
"I'll see if we can make an exception, okay?"
Brenda smiled, having successfully completed Kelly's favor.
Kelly Taylor owed her.
"Thank you, Mr. Sutherfield," she said.
"I'm about to check whether I can do you a favor, Ms. Walsh," Jay said, "so I'd like if you could do me one."
"What's that?" Brenda asked cautiously.
"Call me Jay."
"Oh," she replied in relief, "okay, Jay. Just as long as you call me Brenda."
"Sounds like a plan, Brenda."
"Please keep me updated on Brandon's condition," she said, struggling against an impending breakage in her voice.
"Will do. Let me give you the number for Lonnie Brady. He heads up the team at Vandenberg."
"Great, thanks," Brenda replied, briefly placing the phone on speaker so she could key in Staff Sergeant Brady's contact.
"Anything else?" Jay asked.
"Not at the moment, no," Brenda said. "Have a good day."
"Thank you, Brenda. You do the same."
Ending her conversation with the detective just in time to run over to the theatre, Brenda arrived gasping for air.
"You alright?" she heard from a family walking their dog.
The brunette nodded with a small smile and mentally declared a second run in two days a horrible idea.
At least Theo seemed to be a few minutes late himself, allowing time to calm her beating heart before he arrived.
It would certainly not help in their first meeting to let Theo think her heart literally raced because of him.
"Brenda Walsh! Ah, yes, I recognize you from your magnificent performance this summer, though I must say that you're a lot less glowy off of the stage."
Turning towards a springy lad who looked to be Brenda's age or a few years older, she smiled.
"Theo, I take it?"
"Yes, I am Theo Fletcher," he replied, extending his arms upward in dramatic fashion, "and you are the Brenda Walsh who is standing before me in seemingly great health here on this beautiful Monday."
"Shane didn't mention you're a fan," Brenda said, laughing slightly.
"My darling, who wouldn't be a fan of your work? You're simply exquisite and to think that we may have never seen you perform if you hadn't come out this way -"
"Oh, so you've read the bio?" she asked casually.
"Yes, of course, in a playbill before the show began," he dismissed. "California's loss was our gain and now you've come full circle by agreeing to do this tour. Can't tell you how grateful I am."
"Hang on," Brenda replied, holding up both hands, "I haven't agreed to anything yet."
Theo's delighted expression became confused.
"But, I thought; Shane said that -" he stuttered, nervously wiping his hands on faded jeans.
"Did Shane tell you I agreed to do the tour?" Brenda asked patiently.
"Yes," Theo replied, nodding fervently, "he did."
"I can't believe him!" Brenda said. "I told him I'd think about it and meet with you to discuss more information, but I didn't finalize anything."
"Oh," he said quietly, "maybe I misheard him, my mistake."
"I doubt it, knowing Shane," Brenda said - and she did, quite well.
"So you won't do it?" Theo asked dejectedly.
"I'm considering the idea. Tell me more."
"Well," he said, brightening considerably at her request, "I take it Shane already told you the planned route?"
Brenda nodded.
"Right then," Theo said, clapping his hands together. "We're meant to be there for two months, holding different performances, seeing the sights, so it would be great to have someone who's been to them and maybe dropping in to a class or two at the universities - wait, they call them community colleges, right?" he paused, his expression befuddled.
"Depends," Brenda said.
"That's confusing. Anyway," he continued in a thick accent that may have come from Northern Ireland, though she couldn't be sure, "Lavinia's ticket is already booked. It's honestly a nightmare to get a refund, much more convenient for a rebooking in someone else's name. We really need someone with a passport who can learn the material quickly. Shane mentioned you have a passport and everyone knows your memorization skills are legendary."
"Are they?" the brunette asked with a smile.
"Yes, legendary," Theo repeated. "Shane did say you'd prefer to avoid the LA area and I can assure you that we will not be going anywhere near it. We've a flight booked from Heathrow to San Diego, with a stop in Denver - that's in Colorado; wait, I just learnt that today, but you might already know."
"I do," Brenda replied. "I've never been out that way, though."
"Oh, I hear Colorado is beautiful, but it's only about fifteen minutes in the airport, so we won't be able to see any of the state outside of the plane or the airport window. There's about an hour's layover in San Diego before we connect for Santa Barbara. The tour itself begins in Santa Maria, which I understand is almost three hours away from Los Angeles."
"Without traffic," Brenda noted.
"Without traffic," he amended, "though surely you've seen how bad the traffic can get here when they close the Thames."
Brenda laughed.
"Tell me about the schedule," she continued, hazel eyes locked with Theo's excited expression, "do we get any time off?"
"Yes," he replied, "you'll have Saturday mornings and Sundays free. We'll mainly use Friday nights to bond after rehearsals Monday through Thursday, but you might be able to get one or two of those."
"And if I wanted to go, say, twenty minutes away from Santa Maria?" she asked.
"You're welcome to do so, provided you have access to outside transportation."
"I'm sure that can be arranged," Brenda replied, unconcerned.
"So does that mean you'll do it?" Theo asked, his anxious gaze combing over her purple heather blazer.
"On one condition," she said, the corners of her lips lifting in slow motion.
"Yeah?"
"That dropping into the classes part you mentioned. We won't be teaching them, right?"
This time, Theo laughed, smiled and informed her they would leave the following week.
Upon agreeing to join the theatre troupe and having received her new agenda for rehearsals taking place before the date of their flight, Brenda left giddier than she expected after meeting with Theo.
Satisfied that she simultaneously found a way to visit Brandon and to prove Kelly Taylor wrong, she ducked into a corner shop to begin purchasing travel essentials.
Still, she couldn't help but be disappointed that her glorious autumn break lasted the whole of two weeks and it was all Shane's damn fault.
Partly Brandon Walsh's, but more so Shane Wachinski's.
She debated whether to call the Silvers or send a text to Steve and inform them of the news. Sharing her travel plans would inevitably lead to requests about visiting Beverly Hills that she yearned to avoid.
Yet, she would not be able to successfully leave them out of the loop without facing repercussions later on.
Brenda decided to rip off the plaster.
She messaged Steve of news to share that could only be done verbally, requesting for him to please call her despite understanding his texting preference.
Preparing to call Donna, she was shocked to see Steve's immediate incoming call.
"Steve?"
"Yo, Brenda Walsh!" said the former frat boy cheerfully, "It's been ages!"
"We texted last weekend, Steve," Brenda reminded her friend.
"Yes and that was ages ago," Steve said.
She shook her head and let out a small giggle.
"So, what's up?" he asked.
"Did you hear about Brandon?" she inquired.
"Brandon?" Steve asked, his voice unsteady, "No, I didn't hear anything about Brandon. What happened?"
"They found him, Steve!" she replied exuberantly.
"They - what? Holy hell, Bren. Is he okay?"
"I talked to the FBI detective on his case and I think he is, but there's apparently some extensive injuries so they're keeping him at Vandenberg until they're sure he's good to leave," Brenda answered.
"I gotta tell Andrea and Donna and David and Dylan and Kelly and Nat and -"
"I was about to call Donna," she cut in. "Dylan and Kelly already know."
"They know?" Steve asked skeptically.
"Yeah, Kelly is the one who told me," Brenda said.
"When did she tell you?"
"That's what she tried to call me about, Steve."
"Kelly Taylor has known for a whole two days that my best friend Brandon is alive and she didn't tell me?" Steve asked, clearly annoyed.
"You'll have to talk to her about that, Steve," Brenda said, reluctant to cause a rift between Steve and anyone, even if that anyone went by the name of Kelly Taylor.
"Oh, I will. And then I'll kick Dylan's ass," Steve said, his usual cheery voice coated in thick resentment.
"I'll join you," Brenda said.
"It's really great news about Brandon, Bren. I swear I'd nearly given up hope."
"Me too, Steve," Brenda said.
"Is that the reason you wanted me to call?" Steve asked.
"I need a reason to talk to my friend?"
"You do when that friend prefers texting and you know it, too," he replied. "It's just much quicker, with Maddie's schedule and everything."
"Oh, Steve, not the kid card," she said with a sigh.
"Yes, the kid card, your favorite kid," he said.
"Don't let the Silvers hear you say that," Brenda replied teasingly.
"Oh please, we've been friends way longer than you've been friends with Donna and clearly my kid takes precedence."
She laughed, relieved that while many things changed frequently in her life, Steve Sanders never did.
"Sorry, Bren, gotta get back to work soon. I'm on morning break."
"Right. Yeah. So," she said.
"Right yeah so what?" Steve asked.
"Steve, hang on, I'm telling you!"
"Well, hurry up, woman!"
"Fine. I'm coming out to California."
There was stunned silence on the other line, followed by a resounding whoop.
"Brenda! You mean it? You're coming back?" he asked.
"No, Steve, I'm coming out. I'll be in the state for two months, but I'll definitely be returning to London."
"Ah, well, good enough," he said. "When should I pick you up?"
"Pick me up?" Brenda asked.
"Yeah, at LAX."
"Oh, Steve, I'm not going out there."
"But you said -"
"I said I'll be in California, Steve."
"Right, and LAX is in California last time I checked, Brenda, or as we like to call it, SoCal which is clearly the best side on the best coast."
"Steve, I'll be going out there with a theatre group led by one of my friend's friends and we'll be hitting Santa Maria up to Santa Rosa."
"Brenda Walsh," Steve said sternly, "you mean to tell me, your oldest friend, that you will be all the way out here in California for a total of two months and don't intend to come down to your old stomping ground here in the gorgeous Beverly Hills once?"
"Technically, Val is my oldest friend," she pointed out.
"Bren!" he said.
"Or Brandon, if you want to get really technical."
"Brenda!"
"I just don't see why I need to come down to LA, Steve," she sighed.
"This is about Dylan, isn't it?" Steve asked, his voice softening.
"No," she replied firmly.
"Three million people in LA, about 30-k in Beverly Hills. You're more likely to run into Freddie Prinze Jr."
"Oh and Freddie spends a lot of his time at the Peach Pit, does he?" Brenda asked.
"Look, Bren, we know something happened in London, okay? You two can't keep avoiding each other forever," Steve said.
"Who's avoiding?" Brenda asked. "We just haven't talked since I left for London and he started doing Val."
"Yeah, right, Bren," he replied, "that's why we got a letter from him with the address of your old flat and why you told Brandon and Kelly before their failed wedding that they could meet up with the both of you if they made it over that way for their honeymoon. Look, whatever the hell happened out there, it hadda've been almost ten years ago because that's when Dylan came home and he hasn't left since, except for his annual trip to Baja. You have mutual friends and those friends have kids who love you and Dylan. Can't you both let it go? We miss you, Bren. I miss you. California misses you. The sun misses you. Don't you miss the sun?"
"We do get sun here, Steve. I know we don't see it as often as you Angelenos and we definitely get way more rain, but there is sun in London. There's beaches in the UK, too, believe it or not. And I don't know what you're talking about," Brenda added stiffly, attempting to keep all of her inner turmoil from reflecting in her voice, "I hardly know Dylan McKay."
"Sure, Bren," he said.
"Can we just drop it?" she asked.
"Fine. It's dropped. And hey, don't get me wrong, I love the girl, but who wasn't doing Val?"
"Steve!" Brenda said, giggling through her shock. After a moment's pause, she wondered how the blunt, frankly inappropriate and yet simultaneously truthful remark typical of a dialogue with Steve Sanders still managed to surprise her.
"It's nothing she doesn't already know, Bren. Valerie Malone loves to have a good time. She has my full admiration for it. If I didn't have Maddie -"
"Bye, Steve," she said through her laughing fit.
"Text me all the places this tour is taking you and the exact dates you'll be in each, okay? I'll be damned if me and Mads miss you while you're out here just because you're too stubborn to drive south."
"Steve, I don't drive," Brenda reminded the blond. "Even if I did, there's no way my California license would be valid after all of this time, my UK licence has expired since I never use it and I won't be able to get an IDP before I leave."
"And I don't suppose you'll let me give you the red carpet welcome back treatment and be your chauffeur into good 'ole Beverly Hills?" he asked, determined to persuade her.
"Bye, Steve!" she said.
"Okay, okay, bye, Bren."
She immediately followed up on his request, texting him her detailed itinerary and the weekend she planned to visit Brandon.
If Brandon could only have family visit and she, Brenda Walsh, his biological twin sister dropped in, surely they couldn't object to Steve and potentially his daughter coming along.
Then again, depending on how poorly Brandon felt, perhaps they could sway one of the troupe members to sit for eight-year-old Madeline Sanders.
Though Maddie would undoubtedly love to see her uncle Brandon and he in turn would inevitably wish to see her, Brenda also knew that neither Brandon nor Steve would want the little girl to experience anything that may be considered uncomfortable.
And paying a call to Brandon Walsh, presumably stuck in a hospital bed at an Air Force Base after a three-year kidnapping by Ivorian rebel forces for his investigative reporting with The Washington Post during the height of the country's bloody civil war, likely fell along those lines.
xx
Thank you for the interest in this story and for your sweet reviews! I don't believe I've ever updated this quickly. Can't promise it will be the norm, especially with the busy season again kicking off at work. May you all stay safe and healthy.