-Chapter 12-

The next few weeks went by in a carefree daze. I found time to visit John as much as I could, which kept him happy. Me and Kyra had gotten on better terms since our scuffle; we weren't like we used to be, but at least we had made some progress. I asked some important people at work if my spot at the label was in danger, and they told me not to be silly, and that all it was were rumors. I talked to Brock the day after I found him hung over, and convinced him that there was nothing going on that he should be concerned about. I told him I had just been emotional because John and I were fighting, but that we had made up and I was okay now. I even went as far as to convince him that I thought John could be 'the one'. Of course I didn't believe that, but I had to go overboard to make sure he believed me.

I was back into a natural routine, and between shows and filming and being a mother, I didn't have time to think of any of the feelings that had bugged me so bad before. That was, until one day Barbara Jean came by to talk to me.

"Reba, we need to talk." She said, barging in the back door in her usual manor.

"Hi to you too." I said, focusing more on making dinner than on her.

"Hi Reba. There. Now, can we talk?" She said, sitting on a barstool.

"If I say no, you're going to talk anyways. So I'm not exactly sure why you're asking me."

"It's serious, Reba." The tone in her voice reminded me that we hadn't talked about my events the morning after staying at John's. Knowing Barbara Jean, I was surprised she didn't bring it up earlier.

"Okay, what's up?" I said, taking a deep breath and bracing myself to tell the story I told Brock.

"I know what's going on."

"What do you mean?" What was going on that she knew about? I began to get nervous, trying to think back to see if there was any way she could have known about John. As far as I could see, there wasn't.

"With you and Brock."

"Me and Brock?" I laughed, partially from relief and partially from genuine humor.

"Yes you and Brock." She kept a straight face. "Reba, I'm not dumb. I can see things that you think I can't." Hearing the Big Blonde Bimbo talk so seriously made me a little uncomfortable.

"I'm not sure what you're saying." I responded.

"His drinking every since your divorce, you staying out partying at God-Knows –Where…" She stood up and started walking around the counter towards me. "The way he looked at you when he saw you after you had been crying- Reba, I've never seen him look at anyone like that! The way you had a hard night, and the first thing you did when you got home was go to him!" She was standing in front of me, and I couldn't make since of what she was trying to say.

"Barbara Jean, I don't have time for games. I don't know what you're trying to say, but it's really getting on my nerves-Just like everything else you do. First off, I was not partying. Second, I didn't go to him! He was just here! I had no control over that!" I said. "There is nothing that needs to be discussed. Now if you'll excuse me, I need to make dinner." I moved her out of the way, and it was quiet for a few seconds as I began to boil water. Right as I was about to make sure she was okay (I'd never heard her speechless for over 30 seconds), she spoke.

"You need each other, Reba." She said so softly it lingered in the air. I turned to face her slowly, taken back by what she had said.

"What?" Was all I could manage.

"You need each other." She repeated, "Listen, I don't know what's going on with your personal life, but all I know is it's nothing good. As your best friend, I know when you're hiding something." I rolled my eyes, but let her continue. "That day you came in crying… you looked awful, Reba. I can't even describe it. You are the strongest person I know, and yet that day you looked so weak and vulnerable that it hurt me to see it." Her words stung as she hit hard on the truth. I didn't want to hear anymore, but I needed to. So, I stayed quiet. "Last week, I saw the hickey on your neck." My throat tightened as I realized I didn't hide it as well as I had thought. "And earlier this week, I thought I saw another one on your jaw, but I looked closer and realized it was a bruise." Tears formed in her eyes, and I quickly looked away. John had only gotten 'mad' once in the last few weeks, but of course, it left a mark. The kind of marks John leaves is hardly noticeable… He's smart when it comes to doing stupid things. He makes it just visible enough to where I can see it in the mirror, and I can wince at the tenderness of it, but no one else can notice. Well, almost no one. "I guarantee you no one else noticed. You know why?" I was frozen, but she didn't expect an answer. "Because you've hidden it, Reba. You've hidden it all so well that no one, not even you, realizes just what it is you're hiding. But I can see it. And it's killing me. I know I can't help you, but I know who can…" She trailed off, looking intensely at me. I looked down, not allowing her to see me weak anymore.

"I'm sorry you saw those things. You don't need to worry about me." I mumbled, feeling like I was talking more to the air than to B.J.

"I'm going to worry about you! And nothing you say is going to stop me."

Seconds passed like years as I stared at the floor. It was strange to feel so pressured and serious with her. Finally, still avoiding eye contact, I spoke.

"Are you trying to tell me I need Brock?" I didn't want to ask it. In fact, it hurt to ask it.

"Yes." She answered as if she had wanted to tell me forever.

I took a deep breath. "Maybe I do need him. I'm not exactly sure. But the one thing I'm sure of is that this isn't the most I've ever needed him." I took a deep breath. "The most I ever needed him was when our children were having growing pains. Or, when our baby was having a baby. Or, when I was almost beaten up at a bar. I needed him then, but instead, someone else came to my rescue, and ended up putting me in even more danger." She leaned closer, hoping I'd tell the story behind all of her unanswered questions. I knew I was off track, and didn't want to begin talking about John with her. "What I'm trying to say is that if I can make it through those times without him, I can make it now without him." I still refused to look at her. After my last statement, I grabbed some noodles and poured them in the pot on the stove.

"But if you know you need him, even a little, what is stopping you from taking him back?" The question made me think. A lot was stopping me, really; the idea of being with Brock now just seemed absurd. All I knew is that I didn't want to be having this conversation, especially with her.

"Barbara Jean, I would think you of all people would be the most aware of what happened between us. Brock made up his mind that he didn't want me anymore, and he moved on. Simple as that. He made the decision. You can't just jump in and tell us we need to be together! That's makes no sense what so ever."

"Reba please just listen-"

"I really don't want to talk about this." I said, slamming the spoon, which I was using to stir the noodles, on the counter with a little too much force. Boiling water splashed in the air when it hit the counter and landed on my sleeve, burning my arm through the fabric. I yelled a curse word I know B.J. has never heard me say before, and she jumped back in shock.

"Reba-"

"Please, go." I said through clenched teeth, gripping the spoon hard in my hand.

She made a stern, unreadable face, and walked towards the door. She opened it, and then turned back to me.

"You want to know something, Reba?" She asked. I looked at her. "When Brock and I first got married, we weren't happy. Actually…we never were happy. That's why we filed for divorce. We were never in love, you know? We were just… I'm not sure what we were." She was speaking slow and cautiously. "But I remember, when we first started living together, sometimes I would walk in our bedroom and find Brock staring at a picture with tears in his eyes. I've never seen that man cry, so I'd always rush to him and see what was wrong. But his reaction was always the same- he'd put the picture in a little wooden box before I could get to him, and then act like nothing was wrong. He would hide that box so well that I never found it, and I was always wondering just what was in it." I wondered why she was telling me this before she continued. "When we were sorting through stuff before I moved out, I found the box. And, I know I shouldn't have, but I looked inside. You know what I saw?" I was expecting she would keep talking without an actual answer, but she stopped and stared at me, waiting to see if I'd respond. Honestly, I didn't know if I wanted to know what she found or not. But I knew it would kill me she didn't tell me.

"What?" I asked in a hushed voice.

"Pictures." She stepped back towards me. "Of each of you- on your wedding, your honeymoon. There were some pictures of you alone, too. Beautiful pictures. One of you singing, and one of you holding Kyra. And there were notes that you had written to each other when you were in high school." As her words sunk in, I felt like my stomach had been hit a basketball. It was all I could do to stand straight as my mind processed what she was saying. "Every time I walked in on him looking at a picture or a note from that box with a bottle of whiskey next to him, just realize this- He was looking at you. He was looking at what he gave up." I was sure I wasn't breathing. She started walking out the door, and somehow a part of me didn't want to be left alone with so many thoughts at once. "Just know," She turned around one last time, "That sometimes people make mistakes, Reba. You know something about that, don't you? Sometimes people don't realize what they're doing until it's been done. But, is it fair for them to have to live their life paying for it?" And with that, she walked out the door, leaving me alone in my kitchen, palms sweating and heart beating quickly, eyes threatening to burst.

You know something about that, don't you? I leaned against the counter to support my swaying body. Everything she said related to me, and yet I feel like it related to Brock, too. And about the box…

My mind went blurry and my feet went numb as I pictured Brock, drunken with tears pooled up in this eyes, looking down at us. Does he think he made a mistake? Is that the thought that has been driving him to drink himself numb the way he has been? Does he need us? Does he need me?

Do I need him?