Thank you for the input on Scott. I am still debating on how his part will turn out, but should anything happen to Scott, I have decided it will not be written in the same way as in the series.
xx
Sleep.
She had forgotten the concept.
Between her new job, helping to build her future home, and the nonstop wailing of her son, Brenda was lucky to get any sleep.
Dreams, for now, were out of her grasp. Catnaps had taken precedence.
"He just will not stop crying," she said. Tears roamed over her own countenance, both dried and fresh.
Her son was suffering. Without an early invention of antibiotics, there was little Brenda could do.
An infection of the ear, Doc Haloran had said.
An ear infection, Brenda had thought. A fucking ear infection.
To say she was terrified would be lightly brushing over the precise level of her fear. Ear infections in the nineteenth century were known to cause permanent hearing damage or, at times, lead to worse.
All the parenting books she had read in the twenty-first century involved home remedies of items not yet created. Cotton balls. Cotton, yes; cotton balls, no. The shopkeeper had given her a funny look when she inquired. Brenda had fibbed and said she had heard of it in an advert. The shopkeeper had blithered on about eejit women with fanciful notions and moved on to the next customer.
Cotton balls were out. Antibiotics were out. Ibuprofen and paracetamol were both out.
Even a fucking blow-dryer was out, unless Brenda and her son journeyed to France to try what Nuala had called a "hair heater" and Nuala's younger sister Eileen had corrected to "hair dressing device." Invented by Alexandre-Ferdinand Godefroy four years prior, Brenda had zero chance of bringing it into her home.
Cold and warm compresses were all she could do for her son; as often as she could warm up a compress with the woodstove in the Buckley kitchen.
"Allow me." He had Aiden snuggled into his bare chest before Brenda could question when Aiden had left her arms or when Diolún had removed his shirt.
Brenda faced the wall, attempting to keep her eyes averted from Diolún's well-purported frame.
"Ye may look," he said, laughing. "We have seen far more of each other than this."
"You needn't -" she began.
Diolún's hand went up, palm facing outward against Aiden's back. "My time with ye both is limited. I would like to grasp as many of these moments as I can, to think of in the more lonely times on the ship. Ye need not handle the leanbh's illness on your own."
"But -"
"I have drawn a bath," said Diolún. "The Doc thought it may help."
"But Bath Day isn't until -"
"I checked with the Buckleys. Daragh has made an exception for this week."
"Aiden's meant to be the last one who -"
"Ye may protest as much as ye like, Brenda. It is, however, moot, as the entire household has agreed to this idea."
"Very well," said Brenda, blowing out a puff of air. "I insist on giving Daragh a portion of my wages." Calling the Buckley patriarch by his first name had taken some getting used to, with Brenda attempting to not think of her grandmother's reaction to what Arlene Beevis would have considered improper.
"I have taken care of it," said Diolún.
"I appreciate your consideration, but I must do some things on my own."
"Ye just started working, Bren. Allow yourself some time to save before ye start insisting on offering compensation."
He did have a point, as much as she hated to admit it. Her years of wealth were out of her grasp. She no longer held the position as one of the world's top-paid actresses. Brenda now had to save what little finances she could for her future, and for Aiden's future, making significantly less than she had become accustomed to.
Making even less than in her first job, a short stint at the Peach Pit during Brandon's short-lived career as an actor himself.
Brenda would return to standing on her own when Diolún returned to the sea, a thought she wasn't prepared to face.
She wasn't ready to join him. Nor was she ready for him to leave.
She wanted to be upset with him for going behind her back to ask Daragh for an additional bath day that week. She knew why Diolún did it. If he had mentioned his plan to Brenda, she would have rejected it.
If her mother, her real mother, were standing there listening to their conversation, she would have encouraged Brenda to give in. Cindy had stood by her mother's and grandmother's belief that a warm bath or shower could cure any ailment.
That had been added onto by Connor's mother, who insisted a cup of tea also worked the trick.
Tea would not work in Aiden's case, as Brenda's reading had also told her to not give tea to a baby under six months old. Connor had thought the warning preposterous.
Brenda would not take that chance.
For Aiden's sake, she supposed she could accept the Buckleys' generosity.
Clothed everywhere but his chest, Diolún sat with Aiden in the cast iron tub that sat in the middle of the living room.
Brenda bowled over in her laughter.
"What is it?" asked Diolún.
"You," she said. "Sat in the tub in your trousers."
Diolún offered her a winsome smile. "I thought it may provide ye with a higher level of comfort."
How the fuck can I not stare at him when he looks like that!
He began gently massaging Aiden's neck. Brenda's knees detached from her body. All logical thought tried its best to flee, but Brenda clung on.
For the first time in weeks, Aiden stopped crying and became his usual bubbly self.
"I do believe I may love you," Brenda blurted. It only took a second until she felt unsure of her statement. "I apologize; that was terribly forward of me."
"Ay, 'tis not a bother," said Diolún. "For I do believe I love ye as well."
There was no "may" about it. There wouldn't have been, as Diolún's statements of affection were not a new occurrence.
For Brenda, it was new. Not only was it new, but it was also downright terrifying.
"As a friend loves a friend?" she asked to save face.
"As a friend loves a friend," he confirmed.
His eyes betrayed his statement, speaking to the same love, lust, admiration, devotion, reluctance to part that she had once seen reflected in the eyes of her Dylan.
She could not fall in love with a man who thought her to be someone she wasn't.
She couldn't.
I can't.
Oh, but you can.
No, seriously, I can't. This is bad. This is really, really bad. It'll be another rabbit hole of disappointment. I thought marrying Connor was supposed to be the end of my fucked-up relationships.
But it feels so fucking good, doesn't it?
Good? What, getting my heart broken when he leaves for life on the sea? Cheating on Connor? I'm fucking cheating on my husband just by looking at Diolún's chest!
Your husband who you're unlikely to ever see again. Chill, Brenda.
You thought that before, you know. In Vienna. You thought you were done with Connor.
What the bloody hell are you talking about?
Vienna. Remember Vienna?
Sure, of course I remember Vienna. Girls' weekend with Val and Nicola. What about it?
Girls' weekend? I don't think so, babe.
Images gripped her mind with formidable strength. A club in Vienna. A strapless dress. Four-inch heels. The gasp of surprise. The clearing of a familiar throat.
She had been polite. Asked about his girlfriend. Heard of their breakup, several years prior. She had wondered why, but hadn't voiced the query aloud. He had answered regardless.
We realized we loved other people more than we could ever love each other, he had said.
Oh, was all she could muster.
People we probably don't have a shot in hell with now. People like you.
Don't go there.
Too late. If this is the only time I'll see you, then I'm not gonna bullshit around it. I love you. It isn't fleeting. It isn't a phase I'll just get over. You are what keeps the blood flowing to my veins and without you, I have struggled to find oxygen.
You're drunk, she had said. There's a park nearby. Choose a tree and you'll find your oxygen.
Correction. I'm sober as fuck. I know I hurt you, hurt you so badly you'd prefer we never spoke again. I'm a selfish fucktard because I can't give you what you want. I can't give you closure. I can't go through my life being distant from yours.
You think that's what I want? she had asked. I never wanted that. There was a time when you and I were -
Steps away from the altar?
She had taken a sip of her drink and had refused to answer.
We were, Bren, he had insisted.
I never thought it would come to this, she had deflected.
It doesn't have to be like this. We don't have to be strangers.
We can't just rewind time.
No we can't, but please baby, let me find a way to start the repairs. Can you really keep living your life without me? Because I can't live mine without you, in some form. I didn't think every bridge I burnt would plunge me into total darkness, that our London Bridge falling down would extinguish the flame.
Huh?
Just something I told your brother once. Look, I don't expect you to take me back, but we were friends once, weren't we? Family? Can we at least be that again?
We can talk, Dylan. I won't make any promises.
Talking is good, he had nodded with his double dimples on full display. Talking is real good.
Dylan?
That couldn't be right.
I never saw Dylan in Vienna. It was Val and Nicola; the three of us, warding off wannabe suitors.
I'd know if I'd seen Dylan there, if we'd talked. If he'd broken up with Kelly.
Wouldn't I?
More images. Memories. A truckload of memories. His curly hair, light brown with blond highlights that she had told him looked ridiculous; the color, not the curls, she had clarified. He had teased her that she had always loved his curls. They had shared a meal and then…shared more?
Brenda's hand flattened against the wall. She bent, arching out her back as if she were experiencing a repeat of her labor.
"Bren?" asked Diolún. "Brenda," he repeated, fearfully. He moved to climb out of the tub and was halted by Aiden's protests.
Brenda barely heard Diolún through the reverberating clanging in her head.
They weren't just memories. They were memories that Brenda knew for an absolute fact had never occurred in her life.
Dancing with Dylan at a summer pool party. Performing as Titania in a play shown on local television. Going to the drive-in with Dylan and Brandon. The backyard of Casa Walsh transformed into the Catskills. Getting a job at the YMCA, where both of her boys had also scored jobs. Going camping; that one had happened, but not with whiplash from falling off of a cliff.
Because Brenda had never fallen off of a cliff.
Her certainty that Valerie hadn't been part of that trip waned.
Perhaps Val had joined them in camping. Perhaps Brenda had fallen off of a cliff.
Stranger yet was a fight with Kelly that Brenda both recalled and thought a fabrication.
The harder she thought about it, the less of a fabrication it became, which heightened Brenda's bafflement.
"Brenda." His dripping wet arms snuck around her. She felt, rather than saw, him bring her back into his chest. "Bren, are ye quite well?"
It wasn't the sophomore summer she had initially experienced; yet, when the memories ceased their pile-on, it became the only one she recalled.
Snapping out of it, Brenda saw Aiden's closed fist waving in her direction. "Grand," she assured Diolún. "'Twas a barrage of memories."
"Memories?" He gently spun her to face him. "Of the ship? Boston, perhaps? Or," his fear transitioned to optimism as he ran his hand over her cheek, "perhaps of moments prior to the ship?"
"Other memories," said Brenda. One hand shot out to bring Aiden into her grasp. The other touched Diolún's own cheek. "I am sorry to have arisen your hopes."
His fingers caressed over her hand. "An apology is unnecessary. Even without yer knowledge of the life we shared, I believe ye are aware of the great level of care I possess for both ye and yer son?"
"If I was not aware previously," said Brenda, "climbing into the tub with my ornery son in your trousers for the sole reason of soothing his pain certainly served as an exemplary example of how much you care."
"I wish I could do more," said Diolún. "I do not like to see the wee lad in such agony."
"Nor do I," said Brenda. "It is the worst feeling in the world to see the pain of your child and know there is little you can do about it." Her eyes fell on her son, sated by the bath to the point that he slept calmly against her. "To know he relies on you, that you are solely responsible for his health and wellbeing. That your milk keeps him alive, yet you do not have access to the necessary tools to help him through his ailment. It leads one to question oneself."
Diolún stepped closer and tucked a stray hair behind Brenda's ear.
"There is not much to be done for an infection of the ear but wait for it to pass," he said. "Ye are doing what ye can. Daragh is out attempting to secure garlic and olive oil with the shopkeeper, an old remedy suggested by Eileen. May I add it is also upsetting to see the tears befall yer beloved friend." Diolún added extra stress to the last word.
"Friend." Brenda's lips formed the words; her ears hardly registered them as her eyes locked onto Diolún's. "Indeed."
"Indeed," he echoed. "Beloved friend, mo shíorghrá, whose skills in motherhood are far greater than she believes."
Brenda teetered, minutes away from losing her resolve. "How, may I ask, do you not have the local women fawning all over you?"
"Because the women of Cork do not like to appear foolish by running after a man they know was caught long ago."
"Oh," was all she could say.
Diolún tilted his chin forward.
Brenda's head whipped towards the sound of the opening door.
"Hush!" Diolún told the boisterous interlopers. "We have only just persuaded Aiden into sleep."
Lucas and Nuala both began whispering apologies.
Brenda had realized quite early on that Lucas McKay was in love with Nuala Buckley, the future Nuala Walsh. Nuala was unaware of his feelings towards her. It had trapped Brenda in a dilemma. She could not decide whether to help Lucas show Nuala how he felt, thus risking the births of Nuala's descendants - including Brenda herself - or hoping Nuala continued to be none the wiser.
"The weather feels wonderful." Nuala spun out her skirts as she quietly spoke. "We had wondered if you held any interest in going for a picnic out by the seaside, as we used to do in our childhoods."
"The seaside," said Brenda, glancing at Diolún. "Do you think a visit to the sea would also help Aiden?"
"He does appear to take great pleasure in it," said Diolún. "Ye can hold him as the waves strum out a melody against your feet, and I will hold ye to ensure my Walshams do not drift into the Irish Sea without a raft to latch onto."
"What would propriety say?" asked Brenda, looking at Nuala.
"Oh, to hell with propriety," said Nuala. "Buckleys and Walshams have never heeded propriety and I am not about to end this tradition."
"Then that sounds delightful," said Brenda. "Twenty minutes more of Aiden's nap and then we may leave?"
"That will give Lucas and I time enough to search the house for whatever sweets we may still have."
"And I to prepare the wagon," said Diolún.
"Oh, it has been ever so long since the four of us have picnicked," said Nuala.
"Ay," Diolún eyed Brenda, "it is a return to days past."
"With the addition of Aiden," said Brenda.
"A welcome addition," said Diolún.
"I do not understand why you do not simply give Aiden a sip of coffee, tea, or ale," said Lucas.
At Diolún's affront, Lucas hastened to add he had meant the third beverage selection as a jest.
"It is inadvisable for babes as young as Aiden to be given tea," said Brenda.
"She has gone American on us," said Lucas with a dramatic show of disappointment. "Your Ma used to say Two teas a day -"
"- are a guarantee to keep the pain away," finished Brenda.
The McKay brothers and Nuala gawked at her.
Diolún cracked a smile first, hesitantly asking Brenda if she recalled other sayings of her mother's.
She did - of Cindy Walsh, not of Aoife Walsham.
"There is hope yet," said Nuala, squeezing Brenda's hand.
Aiden alerted them all of the end of his nap. Nuala and Lucas gathered supplies. Diolún hitched the horses to the wagon.
Brenda observed their movements through the window of the nursery where she sat to breastfeed her son.
"Do you ever think of him?" asked Brenda to the babe. "Your father? Do you remember anything about him?"
Aiden's eyes focused on his mother.
"Your Ma is trapped in this web of half-truths," said Brenda, "but I promise you I will never lie to you, Aiden. When you are older and begin questioning me about your Da, I will tell you how he loves you so. He cannot be with us and I don't expect that will change. Don't ever entertain the idea that is due to you. It is Ma's choices that have put us here, separated by miles from your Da, and yet - yet -"
Brenda leant forward in the chair, eyeing Diolún's movements and the jubilant expression he wore as he worked.
"And yet I love him, Aiden. I am falling hard, painfully hard, for your Uncail Diolún, and we do not know when we will see him next after his travels. It is imperative that your uncail and I remain nothing more than friendly. He has become my best friend, my family, the person I can see helping me to raise you. The person who could become your Da. I know he loves you. But he will leave, just like Dylan. He will leave, time and time again, and I do not want that life for you. I do not want you to feel abandoned by the only Da you know, when you will never know the Da who helped Ma to form you. He will leave and find his Brenda. He will realize I am not her. He will be hurt and infuriated that I have allowed him to believe otherwise."
She grabbed the cloth that hung beside Aiden's bassinet, lifted Aiden to her shoulder, and began rubbing over his back.
"I make another promise to you, dear Aiden," said Brenda. "I promise you that in all things, Ma will put you first. Above everything."
Including her heart.
Including the feelings that had grown so intense for Diolún that Brenda struggled to breathe when she thought of them.
"You are my heart," she told Aiden. "You are my soul. My greatest love. Mo shíorghrá. Men will leave - men always leave, or get left behind when you traverse time - but the love a mother has for her son will last throughout eternity. Even when he, too, grows up and leaves. I couldn't protect your brother, our little Liam, but I can protect you."
She dropped a kiss upon Aiden's scrunched brow and looked up at the knock.
"Wagon's ready," said Diolún with a blinding smile. "Are ye?"
"Yes, Aiden is well-rested and fed. He has not yet complained of his ear. I believe the bath may have produced successful results."
Diolún crossed over to her chair. His hand smoothed through Aiden's curls.
"We had hoped as much," he said. "The Doc may not have half the expertise as your Da, but he does have expertise of his own." Diolún examined Aiden's hair. "Yer husband must've had quite the head of curls. I am convinced Aiden has somehow acquired more."
"Perhaps in his childhood," she said.
That was doubtful. Connor Monaghan didn't have any curls to speak of. The baby photos shown to Brenda hadn't shown any, either.
She had a bit of a curl herself, but not to the extent of Aiden's.
His hair must have come from her mother.
"Shall we?" asked Diolún, holding out his hand.
Brenda accepted his hand to bring her up to her feet. "When we are in the sea," she said, "you will have to regale Aiden and I with stories of your travels."
"I can begin now," said Diolún.
"Please," said Brenda, who required the distraction.
He still had her laughing when she joined Nuala inside the wagon, where Nuala watched Lucas' back and Brenda attempted to not watch Diolún's.
It didn't help that his back reminded her a fuck ton of Dylan's, who now plagued her mind with puzzling thoughts of a First-Aid kit in Vienna.
She shook off those thoughts, listened to the McKay boys' light banter, and allowed herself to bask in the sun-drenched waves with her friends wading a short arm's length away.
Her other friend maintained a light hold on her back, to prevent her from drifting.
The issue, Brenda thought, was that she had already begun to drift.
xx
They were younger than him.
Some of them weren't. Mrs. Davidson, his chemistry teacher in one of the only classes he shared with Brenda; she wasn't. Coach Mallory who taught physical education wasn't. Madame Renaud, the French teacher, barely surpassed him in age.
His trigonometry teacher, however, was so young that Dylan had to stop himself from speaking his thought aloud in order to justify his unspoken rebuttal that no, they would never need trig in their life, as Dylan had never found cause to use it outside of high school, and would Mr. Clark please stop claiming otherwise.
He had voiced his frustration to his mother, who had merely laughed and said she had felt the same way in her home economics class.
The dynamic between Dylan and Iris had strengthened over the years, through constant work on Iris' part. In his new life, in the secret they shared between them, it was easier for Dylan to let his mother in before his adulthood.
Iris had now become Dylan's biggest confidant, the person he could tell stories of his past. Stories with Brenda, stories with Iris, his regrets when it came to the Walshes, his confusing memories of Boston.
When Dylan had run out of Brenda stories, which he decided he would never do again, he told Iris of his Madster. How much he missed her. How scared he was that Mads would not factor into his new life.
It was no surprise, then, when Madeline reentered his dreams.
What was a surprise was the location.
"We're back home," she said, watching Dylan glance around. "I took a bunch of videos and stuff for you of Cork, but I don't think my iPhone 4 made it into the dream." Maddie stopped searching through her room and threw her hands up in exasperation. "So much for that."
"No problem," said Dylan. "I've got this trick that works for Bren and I."
"Auntie Bren?" asked Madeline. "You dream of Auntie Bren? I thought you said you were with her."
"I am with her," said Dylan, "but sometimes we dream of each other." Trying to tell Maddie details of the two Brendas would have been puzzling, both for Maddie and for Dylan.
He conjured up the big screen he had used with Brenda and showed Maddie how to call her memories onto it.
"This is so cool!" said Maddie. "I'm totally going to invent something like this. I need it all the time."
"A movie screen?" asked Dylan. "Madster, they do still have movie theatres, you know. I don't think I've been gone that long for the mall to have taken it out, even if Netflix is slated to take over the movie viewing industry."
"I know, Goddad. I'm not talking about that. I can easily go see a movie with my friends on a movie screen. This wouldn't just be a movie screen. It would be one that you can put your thoughts onto. Can you imagine how helpful that would be for girls to understand guys? Viv can't understand her boyfriend at all. He keeps ditching her every time a new video game comes out."
"Okay, first of all: sounds like Viv should break up with that boyfriend. Second of all, you're too young to think about stuff like that."
"I just started high school," Maddie noted.
"Yeah, but I'm in denial about that as much as I'm sure your dad is, so we'll just pretend you aren't. Just like Steve's probably still in denial about you starting anywhere other than the alma mater."
It had been a compromise between Janet and Steve: Steve could choose Maddie's private middle school if Maddie attended Janet's public high school.
"Men," said Maddie, rolling her eyes.
There were three women Dylan knew who would have put that expression in Maddie's head. He didn't think she would have recently seen Erica.
"Exactly how much time did you spend with Val while you were over there?" asked Dylan.
"Practically every day," said Maddie. "She was really concerned about whatever we're calling that person who isn't Auntie Bren. I snuck in to hear what Aunt Val was telling Unc - I mean, Connor. It's on the video, so let me see if I can remember it in full detail."
Dylan eyed the screen as an image began playing of Val. It was a bizarre sight after Dylan's time spent with the teenaged Val.
"Okay, so in this part," Maddie narrated, "Dad and Uncle Brandon were really mad with Connor."
"Why were they mad with Connor?" Dylan thought Brandon had been on relatively decent terms with Connor Monaghan based on Brandon's Facebook posts.
"Oh, because Caoimhe - that's Auntie Bren's social media assistant who was dating Connor's best mate, I think he said? told Uncle Brandon that Connor was making arrangements for fake Auntie to go to - shit, what's the name of that place again?"
"Since when have you started cussing, Madster?"
"Since Viv does it all the time," said Maddie. "I don't think saying shit is cussing, though. You say far worse. Like cun -"
"Uh, you shouldn't have heard that and please don't repeat it in front of either of your parents." Dylan tapped his forehead against Maddie's desk. "Do you have any idea what kind of place Connor was trying to get her into?" The more Dylan talked to Maddie, the more he recalled their previous dream and the stranger claiming to be his Brenda.
"Dad thinks it was a mental hospital, but I'm pretty sure you're not allowed to call them that anymore," said Maddie.
"A mental hospital?" Dylan shouted. "Why the hell was Monaghan trying to get her into a mental hospital?"
"Dad thinks it's to keep Uncle Brandon away from her, since Uncle Brandon's trying to get her to open up about who she actually is."
"Wouldn't Monaghan want to know?"
"No, because Connor told Uncle Brandon and Dad that he knows Auntie Bren better than anyone."
"Oh really?" asked Dylan. "Does he know of the reason Bren has her fear of heights? Or exactly how many hours she spent working on her final project for RADA? How about her favorite surfing technique? He must know all of that if he knows her better than anyone."
"Wrong person to ask," said Maddie. "Anyway." She flicked her hand towards the screen as Dylan had demonstrated.
Valerie's voice came out: loud. Crisp. Infuriated.
"You can't send her to a fucking mental hospital," Val yelled. "She might be the only person who knows where Bren is."
"She is Brenda," said Connor. "I won't have you or your brother convince her otherwise, or make her question how well I know her."
"So you're gonna have her be locked up instead? We'll fight you on this. It's not happening."
"It won't be a permanent arrangement. My wife has been severely depressed since the loss of our children. Last night, she was mumbling something about a ship."
"Let's just pretend for a minute that you're right, we're wrong, and she is our Bren. My girl's been on plenty of ships."
"Cruise ships," said Connor. "She was mumbling about an ocean liner."
"Maybe she was thinking of Titanic. We've only seen it a thousand times."
"Valerie." Connor's voice took on an impatient air. "I know of every ship Brenda has been on and every experience she had on that ship. She was never once ill on a ship, as she was speaking of last night. Cholera, Val. She was mumbling about cholera. Leo and Kate, suffering from cholera? Sure look."
"Bren reads a lot," Val shrugged. "When we were kids, she told people she was going to track down Anne Shirley and Pippi Longstocking. For fuck's sake, she wrote a fucking seven-page letter to Jo March asking Jo for acting advice!"
"This wasn't about a book. I distinctly heard Brenda talk about her mother being ill with cholera. Cindy, Val. Ill with cholera? You've got to be fecking joking. Yesterday, Brenda jumped out of her skin because of our toaster. Our fucking toaster! Last week, she thought the hoover would attack her. Last month, she didn't know how to turn on the shower. And that's not even the worst of it."
"There's more?"
"A daughter. She mentioned a daughter, when she knows the doctor said we lost twin boys. My wife is banjaxed, Val. I am only trying to help her. As her husband, I am her next-of-kin and am able to make these kinds of decisions."
"And you still insist she's Brenda?"
"She is Brenda. She's just an addled Brenda."
"Then we're her siblings. We can help her. Bren or whoever can come home with me and Gianluca. I promise you Brandon and Talia will drop in often."
"I have no doubt both of you would try to help her. It wouldn't be enough. Neither of you can provide Brenda with the level of care she needs."
"Maybe we can't," said Val, "but Dylan can."
Dylan sat up in Maddie's chair.
"I have known Brenda for twelve years," said Connor. "In that entire time span, she has mentioned her ex exactly three times and in one of those times, she said they were unlikely to ever speak again. What makes you think he would help her, if he can even be found?"
"Because I know him. He may be an ass, but he's an ass who cares. Plus, he's got money out the wazoo."
Valerie's backhanded compliment told Dylan that Val didn't hate him as much as he had assumed.
"Brenda and I have money of our own."
"Not like Dylan does. Not like his connections do."
"This discussion is pointless," said Connor. "If he cared about Brenda at all, he would have held her when she lost out on the roles she desperately wanted. He would've been there for her first film premiere or outside with a big bouquet of her favorite flowers after her first telly appearance. Where was he when all that was going on? Far across the sea. I was here, with her."
"Fuck you," Dylan told Monaghan's image. "It's not that fucking simple."
Maddie's customized piggybank for her college fund appeared before him. Designed in the style of Ukiyo-e, it featured Maddie's personal heroine, Aki Kurose, and likely contained most of Dylan's checking account.
"Just so you know," said Maddie as the screen darkened, "that's a word I barely use, although you, Dad, Auntie Bren, Aunt Val, and Connor seem to like it a lot. Cough it up."
"I'll pay you later." Dylan's attention remained hooked on the screen. "Was there more to their conversation?" he asked when nothing further appeared.
"Probably, but Uncle Brandon came in about that point and he makes it really hard to eavesdrop. I still haven't learned how Auntie Bren succeeded."
"It's her gift."
"Oh!" said Maddie. "I almost forgot."
The screen flickered back on, this time showing a woman Dylan didn't know speaking in hushed tones with Brandon.
"Who's that?" asked Dylan.
"That's Ellie, Auntie Bren's long-time hairstylist," said Maddie. "She always sends me Cadbury creme eggs around Easter. And that's Caoimhe, who's sent me enough bags of Taytos to fill our cupboards for a lifetime," Maddie added, pointing to a second woman. "Shit. I mean cabinets."
"What do you mean, you deleted a request from Dylan?" asked the recording of Brandon. "Dylan sent her a friend request?"
Dylan shot up out of Maddie's chair.
Brenda had an approved list of Beverly Hills residents permitted to be added to her Facebook, said Caoimhe, as well as a list of those not permitted to be added to her Facebook.
Great, thought Dylan, Brenda put me on a fucking don't-add-to-Facebook list.
He was as gobsmacked as Brandon when Caoimhe shared that Dylan had been on neither list.
"But he wasn't on the approved list, so Brenda said to decline the request," said Caoimhe.
"Did Bren know that Dylan had sent it?"
"Brenda never looks at her friend requests. It's my job to accept or decline them."
"I don't know," said Maddie as the screen again went black, "I figured that was probably important for you to hear."
"It was." Dylan tasted sawdust. "She didn't decline," he murmured. "She," his heart skyrocketed through his chest, "she still cares."
"Now we're switching tactics," said Maddie. "How do I conjure things?"
"You just think of it and it appears."
Dylan ducked from the books that nosedived from Madeline's ceiling.
"Sorry!" she said. "I may have overthought that."
"You'll get it." Dylan dodged a hardback engraved with a large shamrock. "Ireland?" he guessed.
"It's all the books I looked in when I was there," said Maddie. "I'd conjure up all the articles I read in microfilm, too, but I probably shouldn't after that book almost hit you." She sprinted over to her computer, bringing information out into the open air. "This is everything I found on Google about your past lives with Auntie Bren."
Dylan read the information as fast as he could, skimming back over a mention of a Diolún McKay in West Cork.
"Diolún McKay?" asked Dylan.
"I figured he was a relative of yours," said Maddie.
"My family wasn't in Ireland in - what does that say?" he squinted.
"1892."
"1892? I've been reading about Ireland in 1892. I didn't find anything on a Diolún McKay."
"Maybe you're not looking hard enough."
"Maybe. What else can you tell me about those past lives?"
"Not much," said Maddie. "This book on the Middle Ages mentioned a Sir Dylan of the family Mackay. I think there was another Dylan in another book, but it was in French so I couldn't read it 'cause I'm not taking French until next year so I can take Japanese this year."
"Mads, you know Japanese."
"I don't know nearly enough," she said. "Besides, I skipped to advanced Japanese so I can learn to read Japanese novels without English translation. Oh, and a book on Vikings also mentioned a Dylan, I think, but Dad took that book from me because he said it was too graphic. I couldn't find any mention of a Brenda in any of those."
Of course she couldn't. He had eradicated any mention of Brenda from those other lives.
"Although there was a Dylan and Brenda mentioned in a book about the Elizabethan era," Maddie added. "Courtiers of Good Queen Bess. They popped up again in the Victorian era, this time as a wealthy couple in Hertfordshire."
The reunions he had seen, added to the text of the future.
It was working. Dylan was getting his lives back with Brenda, one by one.
"Hertford," he said, trying his hardest to block the memory of when he had gone with Brenda and a handful of her RADA classmates to visit Hertford. "Thanks, Mads," he said. "You have no idea how grateful I am for you doing this."
"I'm not done. I've still got plenty to research, but -"
"Maddie!" Janet. It was Janet's voice. "Maddie, honey, we really need to go if you wanted to get to the school early. Come get the bacon before Eric takes all of it."
"Who's Eric?" asked Dylan.
"Mom's new boyfriend's son," said Maddie, with her second eyeroll.
"So your mom and dad are -"
"Who knows. I've given up trying to understand my parents' relationship. Dad hates Eric's dad."
Eric. Damn, just hearing that name made Dylan realize how much he missed Erica.
He wondered if he could dream her up, too.
"Welcome to the club," said Dylan. "Parent relationships are confusing. Guess this is another see ya?"
"For now, but only because I wanted to get over to the school first thing today to work on my tryouts. I'm gonna be the first freshman on the varsity team."
"Knowing you, Madster, I'm sure you will."
Their farewells became emotional, with Dylan promising to Maddie that he would pop in for another visit to hear all about her victory with the varsity team and Maddie promising Dylan she would scour Brenda's Facebook wall for any sign that Brenda had been in Boston during the time Dylan had.
Practicing a technique told to him by Iris, Dylan waited for his body to wake up on its own without the aid of his alarm clock.
When he awoke, he immediately snatched his journal to write down what Maddie had shared with him.
He remembered just enough to jot down incoherent statements.
Fuck. He had forgotten. Iris said both parties had to slowly awaken on their own in order for their dreams to be retained.
But it was a start.
It was a damn good start, and he could perfect it before he met with Brenda.
September flew by, sans a single dream visit with Brenda.
He couldn't be too upset. He saw Brenda daily. He studied for chemistry quizzes with her. Evenings were spent with his mother and the Walshes, Cindy having become fast friends with Iris following their trip to a mind gym. On the nights he didn't work at the diner, Nat dropped in with meals to give Cindy a break from cooking.
Even Jim, rare though his appearances were, had taken a liking to Iris after they had swapped stories of their time at Woodstock. Iris asked Jim when the former hippie had become a corporate cog. Jim denied that he was a corporate cog and said he was providing the best life for his family that he could in the way he knew how.
Iris asked if there was a better way than Jim's constant business trips.
Jim sat, thinking over her question.
Halfway through September, Nat and Cindy began an entertaining competition to see who could perfect the most gourmet meals. The twins benefitted in their lunches. Dylan benefitted in his dinners, as there wasn't a need to bring lunch since Brenda always shared hers with him.
When Samantha Sanders tasted Cindy's baking, she asked if Cindy had ever considered opening a bakery. When Samantha tasted Cindy's cooking, she asked if Cindy would consider opening her own catering company.
Cindy had confessed that she did have those dreams, but discarded them to raise her children. Samantha encouraged Cindy to reconsider.
Cindy was still reconsidering.
Changes were made at the Peach Pit. With Pop of Pop's Popcorn - or, the Popcorn King, as some members of the gang called Robinson's father - endorsing the Pit, it was currently undergoing a major renovation that Nat hoped would bring it back to its glory days. Dylan and his twins were heavily involved in the renovation, listening to Nat's ideas and finding ways to elaborate on them.
Iris also helped in the renovation. During dinnertime stories of their days as aspiring Hollywood crew members, Dylan caught Iris and Nat throwing glances when they knew the other one wasn't looking.
He mentioned it to Brenda, who spent at least four minutes planning out their future double date before Dylan distracted her with neck kisses and begged her to never suggest a double date with his mother.
Brenda asked how he felt about the potentially shifting dynamic between Iris and Nat. Dylan said he found it odd, but that he already considered Nat more of a father than Jack whether Nat dated Iris or not.
Nat, Iris, and Brenda all accompanied Dylan to urgent care when an unbearable pain fulminated in his ear.
It was a wasted trip. Dylan was pronounced to be in tip-top condition. Perhaps, said the doctor, he had merely hit his ear on something.
Dylan knew he hadn't.
Brenda decided the best way to remove Dylan's pain was by kissing his ear, repeatedly.
He didn't complain.
When a new girl, a blonde with a spiked, pixie-haired cut and a number of ear piercings showed up at the start of October on a motorcycle, Dylan blocked Brenda from seeing her.
"What are you doing?" she asked.
"Doing?" Hand pressed above Brenda's locker, Dylan positioned himself to obstruct her view of the rest of their classmates.
"Dyl, I have to get to class." Brenda set her palm against the left side of his chest. "We've got a quiz that I do not want to be late for."
"I'll walk you over," he said.
"You have five minutes and two staircases to get to your next class," she said.
"Iverson's always late anyway."
"The teacher can be late. Students can't."
"How is that fair?" asked Dylan.
"It isn't, but just get to class."
"If I didn't know any better, I'd think you were trying to get rid of me."
"Never." Brenda dropped a small kiss to the tip of his nose. "I'd stay in this hallway with you all day, but -"
"But good grades for London call," said Dylan as he nodded.
"Or Glasgow," said Brenda. "Don't forget about RSAMD."
"Thought you were pretty set on RADA."
"I still can't decide."
"We have plenty of time to decide."
"But not plenty of time to get to class."
Dylan glanced over his shoulder and moved out of Brenda's way when he saw that Emily Valentine had left.
"People probably thought we were making out," said Brenda as she gathered her books out of her locker.
"Probably." Dylan smirked at the clearly annoyed Nate Cantrell.
Nate slammed his locker, glared at Dylan, and stalked down the hall.
"Oh yeah," said Dylan, "it's official. Cantrell hates me for dating the most captivating girl in school."
"Boys are so territorial," said Brenda.
"And girls aren't?"
"Touché."
"Speaking of territorial," Dylan trailed off as Kelly approached.
"Hey, Bren, I'm heading over. You coming?"
Reina.
Right on time, thought Dylan.
"Coming!" said Brenda. "I wish you were in AP US history with us," she told Dylan.
"So do I, but Mrs. Teasly said I have to show improvement in my grades first before I can join you on the AP track."
"Well, we know you're intelligent enough," said Brenda. "Mom would say you just have to apply yourself."
"Iris said the same," Dylan told her. "Meet you after class? We can sneak some alone time before the gang shows up for lunch."
"Deal." She pressed a kiss directly beneath his lower lip.
Dylan watched Brenda walk off with Reina. He stood there both irate to see her walk off with Reina and pleased that Reina had kept their arrangement.
It was a complicated mixture of emotions, to say the least.
"Dylan."
He didn't even glance at Kelly as he walked right past her.
"Dylan!"
He kept walking.
"Dylan, I know you can hear me! We have too much history for you to keep pretending I mean nothing to you."
That one made him want to turn around. Tell her off. Mock the history he had once believed important. He instead began to run from the clack of her heels until he was required to stop due to the enforcing of school rules.
She wasn't worth the effort. Never had been.
Advanced Placement in history had been out of Dylan's grasp. He had, to his gratitude, scraped by enough in sophomore year to make it onto the honors track.
At least, when it came to English class.
He shared English III Honors with Andrea, Robinson and Brandon. Having his male best friend in the class was certainly a plus, but Dylan thought the best part was that Kelly wasn't in the class with them.
He only had one class with her that semester: study hall, where they were forced into quietude or threatened with lunch detention.
Their lack of shared classes came as no surprise. Kelly had never been interested in the honors track or Advanced Placement classes.
It wasn't until her choice to study psychology in college that she would apply herself in school.
They had been similar that way, a similarity Dylan eliminated when he put his mind to attending classes during the day and saving surfing for the weekends when Brenda could join him.
Losing time in the waves wasn't easy, but Dylan decided it would be well-worth it when he achieved acceptance in the writing program at either University College, if Brenda chose London, or the University of Glasgow if she opted for Scotland.
It wasn't as if Dylan hadn't surfed plenty of times before.
Brandon expressed surprise at Dylan's change in attitude, until Brenda told her twin of their plans.
Dylan briefly met with Chris Suiter after class to discuss the revisions Suiter had in mind for Dylan's play. There weren't many; Suiter liked the idea, but thought it lacked something. Dylan said he had considered adding fairies and thought that was overkill after Brenda's summer role. Suiter wasn't sure about adding in fairies, but agreed to a magical species appearing in the play. He assigned Dylan to research those mythological creatures which rarely appeared in literature and choose one to write in.
It was a homework assignment Dylan actually wanted to start immediately.
Their lunch spot had changed from the lunch spot Dylan remembered, bringing with it David and occasionally Scott. Scott had politely declined membership in The Gang, but had become an honorary member nevertheless due to the close friendship David worked to maintain.
It had been difficult enough for David to lose Scott when they had no longer been close.
Dylan didn't want to think of how wrecked David would be this time, if there was a this time.
He himself had become closer to Scott, as had Brenda and Donna.
Dylan bit into Cindy's home cooking, bringing Brenda to sit between his legs as they talked about Suiter's notes. Asking Brenda's opinion on which creatures he should research, Dylan almost choked on his food when Brenda mentioned creatures out of Greek mythology.
Brandon was first to join them, arguing with Andrea over what bullet points their editorial should emphasize. Steve came next, telling the Pulitzer hopefuls that lunch wasn't the place to discuss such matters. Donna rounded out the group with David. The latter sat beside Brenda to ask if Valerie preferred letter writing or calling.
Brenda told David about her long letters with Valerie, a letter exchange that had begun in their childhood when Val once attended a summer camp without her twins.
Donna situated herself between Brandon and Steve. Her legs almost touched Brandon's as she asked Brenda if Valerie had thought any more about moving to LA.
Neither Dylan, nor the twins, shared that they had been working to get Valerie to open up since Steve's party.
Val wasn't saying a damn thing. His inability to connect with the other Brenda ever since the summer had ended had prevented Dylan from even a glimpse of what could be happening in the Malone household that had worried David.
Dylan hated separating from Brenda, but it was a necessary evil in their afternoon redos. He headed for physical education, known as P.E. or gym, where he would spend the rest of the day in competition with Steve to see who could climb higher, run faster, push-up more.
Their antics amused Donna as she chatted with Bonnie Clayton whilst their arms spun circles through the air.
It was during a round of volleyball that Steve told Dylan he had asked out the new blonde.
"Oh?" asked Dylan, shocked that Steve had gone for Emily. "And?"
"She's into chicks," said Steve, spiking the ball in a perfect sail to the other side.
"Sanders!" yelled Coach Mallory. "You gonna join the volleyball team this year?"
"Not unless we play on the beach, Coach," said Steve.
Fuck beach volleyball, thought Dylan.
"So the new girl turned you down because she's into chicks?" he asked.
"I swear, I must've been doused in female repellent this summer," said Steve. "And before you say anything, we don't count Stace."
"I wasn't gonna say anything."
Brandon won't have a chance with Emily now. Emily won't go psycho after trying to date rape him and won't wave a lighter around a gasoline-covered float.
Good, 'cause we've already got one blonde to worry about when it comes to Bren. Don't need another one.
Was Emily Valentine the second blonde Itero had mentioned? Couldn't be. They'd gone on one date when Dylan and Brenda were separated, one meaningless date Dylan never thought of again once he had his girl back in his car, his arms, and his bed.
Then who the fuck is that second blonde?
"Attention students," boomed Principal Yvonne Teasly's voice over the intercom, "will Donna Martin, Emiio Reina, and Kelly Taylor please come to the principal's office?"
Dylan shot out his third finger to the classmates who started immaturely dragging out ooh's towards Donna.
"McKay!" barked Mallory.
"Sorry, Coach," said Dylan, though he didn't feel apologetic in the slightest.
"But I didn't do anything." Donna's eyes enlarged with petrification.
"I'll go with you," said Steve. "Mrs. Teasly and I are practically best friends at this point."
"I wouldn't go that far," said Dylan.
"I can't get in trouble," said Donna. "I won't be able to audition for Color Guard if I get in trouble."
On the days Brenda wasn't at the Y, she and Donna had practiced for their respective auditions. Donna had listened to Brenda's choices of song and helped her to settle on one. Known as the eighth-grader donned in grunge ensembles, Sue Scanlon had ended up enrolling in Brenda's program. Brenda had asked Bonnie when she came along with Scott to drop off Sue if Bonnie would be willing to work with Donna to perfect Donna's flag spinning in time to eighties pop music. Bonnie herself had auditioned for Color Guard, had been accepted, and had ultimately chosen to turn down the troupe when she also got into cheer squad.
For whatever reason that Brenda knew and Dylan didn't, Bonnie had chosen to audition for Color Guard again instead of rejoining cheer squad.
She had been over at Casa Walsh almost as frequently as Steve, even more frequently than Andrea.
Significantly more frequently than Brandon, whose afternoons were split between the Y, the Pit, and the Blaze.
"I'm sure it's fine," said Bonnie. "It's you, Donna. What could you possibly be in trouble for?"
"Maybe I failed my math quiz," said Donna. "I knew I couldn't remember those dang formulas."
"You don't get sent to the principal's office for failing math quizzes," said Steve.
"Yeah," said Dylan. "Sanders would know. Besides, Reina's the top math student in our year. Why would he be called into the office if it was about your math quiz?"
"Okay, that's a good point," said Donna. "The last time Mrs. Teasly wanted to talk to me was about my dyslexia. Do you think it's about that?"
"She wouldn't've told Reina and Kelly to come if it was about your dyslexia," said Dylan.
"Me and Kelly have barely said two words to each other since she demanded compensation for every present she ever gave me," said Donna worriedly.
"You'll be fine. Reina can buffer between you two if it's needed."
"I thought you hated Reina." Steve eyed Dylan with a high degree of suspicion.
"Hate's a strong word," said Dylan. "It's more an intense mutual dislike, on account of Reina thinking he should be with Brenda and me wanting to punch him for it."
"Dylan," Donna shook her head.
"Wanting's not doing, Don."
Brenda had told Dylan that her dinner with Reina had been nothing more than a platonic meal between two friends where the only subjects discussed between them were his upcoming swim season and her upcoming theatre auditions.
Dylan trusted Brenda. He was trying to pass on a modicum of that trust to Reina. The constant summer companionship between Brenda and Reina had become a conversation on the way to class or a brief discussion between classes. Brandon had resumed his daily morning carpool with Brenda and the addition of Donna. Dylan drove Brenda home or to work. Donna was often taken home by Steve, who chatted with Donna and Cindy as he waited for the nearly inseparable trio to get off of work.
The bell rang, signaling with it Dylan's change of attire before his daily walk over to Brenda's last class.
"How's Donna?" asked Brenda. "I could barely concentrate on differential equations after hearing Mrs. Teasly."
"Completely freaked." Dylan wrapped his arm around Brenda's back as he slung her backpack over his shoulder and grabbed her books. "She thinks it's because of her math quiz."
"Emilio and Kelly wouldn't've been called in if it was about that."
"That's what we said."
Brenda calculated how much time they had to stick around and wait for Donna.
They did not have to wait long. Steve emerged walking on one side of Donna, who appeared to require the aid of an old fainting couch. Reina walked on the other side.
Brenda rushed over to Donna, Dylan on her heels.
"It's Zosha." Reina looked more shell-shocked than queasy. "They found her."
Dylan's gaze bounced between Reina's shock and Donna's misery. "Isn't that a good thing?"
"It would be," said Reina. "It is. But it also isn't."
Donna removed her head from Brenda's chest long enough to blubber out, "They found her in - in -"
"In a psychiatric hospital." Reina's voice was strangled. "In Nebraska."
What's more, he added with the attempted help of Donna, was that a warrant and APB had been issued for their old classmate Harry Wilson. Three years after the disappearance of Zosha Blake, eighteen-year-old Wilson, now a resident of Pittsburg, Kansas, had been named the number one suspect in Zosha's abduction.
Formerly called the Nebraska Little Jane Doe, Zosha suffered from a neurological disorder labelled Locked-in syndrome caused by a significant blow to the head. She was cognizant of her surroundings and could communicate with her eyes, but lacked the ability to move or speak.
Harry Wilson, Dylan recalled, had once been Kelly's neighbor who possessed such an infatuation with Kelly that he would have done anything to please her.
Brenda busied herself comforting Donna. Moving off to the side where no one could hear them, Dylan asked Reina how Kelly had reacted.
Kelly, said Reina, certainly knew more than she had let on to Mrs. Teasly in their phone call with Zosha's parents. Kelly hadn't been shocked about Harry, as Donna had. Reina added the possibility that, based on Kelly's expression, even she may not have known the full extent of Zosha's condition.
Reina suggested, and Dylan wholeheartedly agreed, that Brenda continue to be closely watched by as many people as possible.
Dylan was torn between confronting Kelly on the full details of what had happened between her and Zosha to better know how to prevent Brenda from facing the same fate, or sticking to Brenda like gorilla glue.
He chose the latter, going with Brenda to the Y despite it being his day off. He sat in the audience as she instructed her students in ages ranging from eight to fifteen. He grabbed a guitar from the musical instruments the Y offered and began to strum. He hadn't played in years, in both lives.
Amazed Dylan knew the guitar, Brenda sang along with his chords and encouraged her students to do the same.
He brought Brenda home in slightly uplifted moods for the both of them, which were quickly dashed by Cindy sprinting out of the house with an overlarge suitcase.
"Mom, what's with the bag?" asked Brenda. "We aren't moving, are we?"
Fucking Minnesota better not be fucking taking my girl again.
"Oh good, you're here." Cindy kissed first Brenda's cheek and then Dylan's. Her arms enveloped both at once. "No, we aren't moving. Your brother called. He's stuck at work for another hour or two. I've called a cab."
"A cab?" asked Brenda. "Where are you going?"
"The airport."
"Oh my God." Brenda stood on the edge of hyperventilation. "What's wrong? Is it Daddy? Did Daddy have a heart attack? Is it Grandma? Did something happen to Aunt Paula? Crap, Mom, is it Bobby? Lottie? Holly? Trey? Trey fell off his mountain bike, didn't he? Dad always said he would."
Dylan pressed an array of kisses into Brenda's hair and held her as she trembled.
"Your father is fine," said Cindy. "Well, as fine as can be expected. The others are all well, to my knowledge. I'm meeting Jim halfway, in Dallas. Nat and Samantha have both promised to check in on you and your brother if you need anything. Iris said she can stay with you."
"Mom, what is going on?"
"Victor and Abby were arrested." Dylan had never seen Cindy with such pallor. "Your father and I are flying to Buffalo to try to get custody of Valerie, Suzanna, and Curtis before they're taken in by the state. As their godparents with the paperwork to prove it, our lawyers believe we might have a chance."
"Oh my God," said Brenda for the second time. "Mom, go. Brandon and I will be fine. Go, and tell Val we love her!" She disentangled herself from Dylan to fiercely embrace Cindy.
"Mrs. Walsh," said Dylan, "you don't need to take a cab. I'll drive you."
"Dylan, are you sure? That's awfully kind of you."
"Of course, it's no problem. Val's important to all of you, so that makes her important to me." Dylan looked at Brenda. "You'll call Steve or Scott to wait with you until Brandon gets back?"
"Dylan -"
"Brenda, there's no way you're staying home alone after what we found out today. On second thought, call Steve, Scott, and David, if only for the peace of mind of the guy who loves you and the brother who adores you."
Brenda nodded, too overwhelmed by the afternoon's events to protest. "Normally, I'd remind you I can do just fine on my own, but I get that this isn't a normal situation." She turned back to Cindy. "I wish I could come with you, Mom. School seems so trivial now."
"Oh honey, we'll be back before you know it. Right now, the best thing you and Brandon can do for your father and I is to concentrate on your schoolwork and continue to be the excellent students you both are. Don't worry; we won't leave Buffalo without your sister. You and your brother are almost seventeen. We're putting our trust in the both of you that we will not come home to the remnants of another crazy party."
"Cross my heart and hope to die," said Brenda, following her words with the action.
"And no sleepovers," Cindy reminded them.
"Mrs. Walsh," said Dylan, "you and Mr. Walsh have too much trust in me now for me to jeopardize that."
"You're a good kid," she said, touching his shoulder. "Brenda is blessed to have you. We all are."
Dylan fought the tears that chomped at the back of his throat.
He swallowed them down as he kissed Brenda's forehead and promised to not be long. Brenda agreed to stay at a neighbor's house until at least one of their friends arrived.
Dylan had barely turned his car onto the main road when Steve's Corvette smoothly rode up beside the Porsche.
"Bren said you wanted me to stay with her?"
"Donna's with Reina," Dylan glanced over at Cindy, whose head was bowed as if in prayer, "you know why -"
Steve nodded, understanding the need for secrecy.
"Brandon's held up at the Y, I'm taking Mrs. Walsh to the airport, and I just don't feel comfortable leaving Brenda alone right now."
"How 'bout I take Mama C to the airport?" asked Steve.
"Thanks for the offer, Sanders, but I think both of her parents would prefer if Bren and I weren't left alone in their house."
The Walsh parents were unaware about the Catskills, and none of the teenagers who knew were about to share that Dylan and Brenda had, in fact, been alone together in Casa Walsh.
"Ah yeah, true. Silver said he and Scanlon are on their way."
"Thanks, man. I owe you one."
"No, you don't," said Steve. "Bren says something came up with Val, and if something came up with that firecracker of a chick, then you don't owe me a damn - sorry, Mama C - a dang thing."
Before Dylan could ask what Steve meant by that, the red light turned green and the two cars separated.
Steve, towards Casa Walsh.
Dylan, towards LAX.
"I just can't believe it," said Cindy, more to herself than to Dylan as he merged onto the freeway. "Paula, Abby, and I were inseparable in high school. Victor was Jim's groomsman. How could we not see this coming? How could we be so blind as to what has been going on in that house?" She wiped a tear from the corner of her eye. "Did our Valerie mention anything to any of you?"
"Not really," said Dylan. "Val is an actress. Her acting may not be as blatant as Bren's, it may not be her career of choice, but she still acts. She shows the world a tough exterior so no one can see the pain she feels she needs to hide."
"You gleaned a substantial amount of information of my oldest goddaughter after only two weeks of her being here?"
"Brandon knew something was off. Bren and I noticed Val's mask slip at times. We all have them. Some of us wear them better than others."
"Abby must've been wearing one of her own, for Jim and I to miss something like this. If we had known what the Malones were doing…" realizing who she was speaking to, Cindy took a breath, "well, our godchildren would already be living with us. When we agreed to be their godparents, we agreed to caring for them if their parents were unable to do so. We now know Victor and Abby have been unwilling to competently do so for many years. We love those children as our own. Jim feels that through our ignorance, we have failed them." Cindy fiddled with the buttons on the radio. "I don't know why I'm telling you all of this."
"I've been told I'm a great listener." Dylan offered her a smile as an upbeat Beatles song came over the airwaves.
"That is what our Brenda needs," said Cindy. "Her father struggles with listening to her, a struggle your mother has recently pointed out. It is my struggle, as well. If Brenda is upset over something, it's my instinct to suggest we do an activity that will cheer her up. But what Brenda needs most of the time is for someone to listen, and even Brandon can't do that with the frequency Brenda needs."
"I like listening to her," said Dylan. "We listen to each other, something I've also needed for a long time. People around here don't like to listen. They like to name solutions and then move on. Be the big heroes who help you out for a split second and then bounce over to the next tragic person they see."
"Maybe that's the issue," said Cindy. "Maybe Jim and I have tried too hard to conform with the rest of our peers that we stopped listening to our daughter. The Jim I knew when we married, or even the Jim he was when our twins were young, would have never acted as if Brenda's virtue was at stake when we found out about - well, you know. My Jim back then would have been the first to jump down anyone's throat who acted that way."
"Might be something for you to talk about with Mr. Walsh."
"We're working on it," said Cindy. "You may not be aware of this, but earlier in the summer, after Jim heard from Nat of your moving in, he spoke to me about it and about his fears regarding the possibility that you may hurt our daughter. I reminded Jim that my father had worried the same of him. I told Jim that he needed to learn how to accept you, because our daughter is in love with you and we were going to lose her if he didn't."
"I wasn't with Bren at that time," said Dylan. "I'm still not, technically."
"You didn't hear the fear in my daughter's voice when she called to say you had been in your surfing accident. Brenda has always been one to take charge of a difficult situation, but the hours she spent on the phone with your family lawyers arranging for your care was something new. I told Jim this wasn't just a passing fancy as he had assumed. You weren't just another Oisin O'Malley or Jim Townsend. We had watched Brenda go through crush after crush, a minor heartbreak after her first boyfriend. What I saw at the beginning of the summer was not minor, and I'm sure it would have only amplified if Brenda hadn't had her drama class to distract her. The way you clung onto my daughter, both when Jim announced we wouldn't be moving to Minnesota and before his announcement, was also not minor. I knew your breakup wouldn't last - that no matter what would transpire between you two, Brenda would always ensure you were a part of our lives. If Jim continued to fight that, all he would be doing was bringing more hurt upon our daughter."
"I never intended to come between your family, Mrs. Walsh."
"Oh, sweetheart, you haven't. As parents, it is our job to ensure that when our children are hurt, it is not because of us. Jim and Brenda were close when she was growing up and he is learning how to share her with you, with the world. When our twins were born, we promised each other that our children's hopes, dreams and needs would always be prioritized in our family. My father and mother both meant well, but I was raised in a home that very much had a conformist mindset. Jim had a conservative father he never saw eye-to-eye with. We said our children would be raised in an equal setting where they could both express their opinions without judgment. We've been floundering on our promise since our move out here. We needed a reminder of that, which Samantha and your mother were happy to give."
Dylan recalled when the old Cindy had also supported the relationship between him and Brenda, even after Cindy's severe hurt over their Baja lie.
It had been Brenda's lie and became Dylan's when he went along with it to have time alone with his girl.
Despite that, Cindy had invited Dylan to Jackie's wedding at Casa Walsh. She had encouraged Dylan to talk things out with Jim. She had continued to encourage Dylan, after another whopper of a lie when Brenda snuck around with him before Paris; after Brenda had moved into the old bungalow; after Brenda had left for London; after Dylan had turned to drugs.
His relationship with Cindy hadn't been perfect, but it had been much more stable and comparatively less volatile than his relationship with Jim.
He didn't want to know the answer to the inquiry clomping through his head. He needed to know, all the same.
"Then Jim talking to me about writing, about the old days? That's," Dylan swallowed, "that's just a show for Brenda?"
"The sixties are hardly the 'old days,'" said Cindy. "My husband speaks on those often; too much, at times. Jim may have gone into this with the intention of keeping a place in our daughter's life, but Dylan, after this summer, we have both come to think of you as a son. Iris has become my closest friend here, which helps to somewhat lessen how much I miss my Paula. And of course, you know how much we love Nat."
"Everyone loves Nat," said Dylan, attempting to keep Cindy from observing how buoyant her words had made him. "I promise you I will be the guy both you and Mr. Walsh have pictured for your daughter, even if I have to give up my motorcycle."
"That won't be necessary," said Cindy. "If Jim says otherwise, I'll remind him of the time he showed up on a motorcycle to meet my parents. Not to mention the leather pants and long hair. Dad was convinced I had started dating a convict."
Dylan cracked up.
"As for Val and her siblings," said Dylan as he regained control, "neither of you failed them. Sometimes, we have so much faith in people we've known forever that we can't see when they flaunt their flaws in front of us. They'll do horrible things we'll never know because we don't believe they have the ability to be so cruel and they use that naivety to their advantage."
"That's extraordinarily wise, Dylan. Your mother's words?"
"Sure," lied Dylan as he drove out of the blind spot of an eighteen-wheeler, "my mother's words."
Opening Cindy's door and helping her with her suitcase, Dylan swore the universe had, as usual, conspired to mock him as the conversation on one side of the Porsche swirled with tidbits of a family's planned itinerary for London.
On the other side, a husband told his wife of their need to run to their gate.
Their license plate read Baja.
In their rush, a piece of paper fluttered to the ground beside their car.
Dylan glared down at the paper.
Litter. Fucking litter.
As any good environmentalist or human being would do, Dylan picked up the paper to properly discard it.
It was a letter, addressed to the couple from their son, a boy called Liam living in Western Cork's town of Kinsale as he studied abroad in a history program at UCC.
Instead of discarding the paper, Dylan tucked it into the barely-cracked car window and wondered why he had the impression of being throttled in the chest by a champion of the WWE.
LAX had already stood on shaky ground with Dylan as the airport that had seen Brenda off to London and the airport that had welcomed Dylan in from London. It was now added to the list as another place to avoid, directly below Roxbury Park which still held strong at number one; the Bel Age pool; and a restaurant Dylan had eaten at only once.
Were Dylan to fly anywhere with Brenda from LA, he would drive her down to San Diego International instead of risking a flight through fucking LAX.
-x
Thanks to starlite22 for the idea of Harry Wilson. I had completely forgotten about him (from the nu90210.) As he had evidently grown up in Kelly's neighbourhood and grew romantic feelings for her, he's perfect.
This may be the only chapter posted in August, or at least the only one for most of August. I will be on holiday for two weeks beginning on Thursday and don't anticipate to write for Itero whilst I'm gone. That being said, August is my birth month. Just saying, one of the best gifts to give a writer is written feedback.
I'll be posting pictures/videos/links to my travel blog posts in my IG story at wishuponamilliondreams, if anyone is interested.
Glad several of you enjoyed Iris being let in on the secret! Completely agree about David and Val, Guest. I didn't anticipate messing with David and Donna in Itero since high school D2 is iconic, but that's the way the story has thus far gone. DnV are my babies. D2 should have never been endgame after David stole Donna's money.
As always, thanks a million for the readership, reviews, follows, favourites, alerts, discourse, plot ideas, etc. Stay healthy and safe out there. x