It had been about a week since Barbra Jean's hiding of assets had come to light, and having not heard anything about it since Reba foolishly assumed that the two were handling it just fine. She was sitting on the sofa reading when the front door opened, and Brock walked in.
"Hey, Reba."
"Hey, Brock, what's up?" she asked.
He shut the door and looked around, "Kids home?"
She shook her head. "No, why?"
"Can we talk?" he asked, closing the distance and sitting on the arm of the chair closest to the door.
Reba sighed and set her book down, "What about?"
He shifted uncomfortably. "Well, this whole thing about Barbra Jean tuckin' money away hasn't really been sittin' right with me."
Reba pursed her lips, "Understandable."
He crossed his arms and his legs. "I– I just don't understand why she felt like she had to."
Reba rolled her eyes and shifted closer to the edge of the couch cushion. "Oh, come on, Brock. You don't really give off an air of "stable husband," she air quoted.
"I'm stable," he scoffed.
She leaned heavily on her knee with one arm and locked her elbow, skewering him with a wicked glare. "You're kiddin', right?"
He blinked at her, "Okay, fair." He got up and moved to sit beside her, "Reba, there's a bigger issue here. She's technically been stealing from me; it's a betrayal of trust!"
She raised an eyebrow, "You do realize who you're talkin' to, right?"
He clamped his mouth shut and looked down at his hands.
She pushed off from her knees and got up. "Look, Brock, all I'm sayin' is that if I'd thought of it at the time, I'd have done the same thing." she glanced around the house. "And, I woulda been better off for it too."
Brock jumped up to follow as she headed toward the kitchen. "Where are you goin'?"
"To grab a couple of beers."
"Oh, thanks!" he smiled.
"They're for me."
He frowned.
She kept walking, "Brock, I don't think I'm the right person to be talkin' to about betrayal of trust."
"Alright," he agreed and scampered after her. "Maybe not, but I don't have anyone else!" he pleaded. "C'mon, Reba, you're my best friend."
She crinkled her nose. "Yeah, how'd I let that happen again?" she grumbled and yanked open the fridge. "Here," she tossed him a long neck.
He pulled open one of the drawers under the window. He took out a bottle opener, cracked open his beer, and took a seat at the island.
She cracked the top off her own and let the cap fall into the sink, then folded her arms over her chest. "Why are you really here?" she asked as she watched him take several long chugs.
He sighed and set his now half-empty beer on the tile in front of him. "To be honest, Reba, I kinda feel like Barbra Jean and I–"
"Ah, ah!" she put her hand up. "If you're about to have a half-baked epiphany about your marriage again, I don't wanna hear it."
"But–"
"Have you ever stopped to consider how some of the things you say might affect me?" she asked.
He shrunk and sat back against the chair. "No, I– I guess I hadn't." He picked at the label on his Corona.
With her arms still crossed, she took a long pull of her beer and then chewed her lip as she contemplated outing herself to him. "I've been seein' Dr. Baker," she said after a moment. "Professionally," she quickly clarified.
He looked up, the surprise evident on his face, "You have?"
"Yeah, I have. Three times now."
He leaned forward again, "How's it been goin'?"
"Rough, initially, but overall it's been good."
He nodded, "That's good."
She sighed, "Yeah."
"When?" he asked before taking another quick swig.
She frowned, "What do you mean when?"
"When did you first go see him?"
She unfolded her arms and set her palms on the counter behind her. "He called me that evening after the whole, y'know," she said.
Brock nodded absently, "I wondered if he would."
Realization dawned on her. "It was you," she whispered.
Brock met her eyes, "Me what?"
She pointed an accusatory finger at him. "That gave him my number. It was you!" she exclaimed. "Brock!"
He slid off the chair as soon as she started to pace and moved swiftly toward her. "I'm sorry, Reba, I had to!" he stuttered.
"Had to?" she cried. "You had no right!" she jabbed her finger into his chest and turned away from him, seething. "Comin' over here talkin' about the betrayal of trust, you're despicable, Brock," she spat.
He finally caught her and held her firmly in front of him. "Reba, I was there. I saw the look on your face."
She shook her head and tried to pull away from him, "No."
"I wasn't sure if you were gonna be alright after you left," he continued.
She could feel her hands shaking at her sides. "I was fine."
"Honey,"
At her feeble attempts, he relented and finally let her shove him away. "Don't," her voice had dropped an octave and was thick with raw emotion.
He reached for her again but thought better of it. "Reba, I was only tryin' to help."
"Help," she balked. "Help would've been keepin' your mouth shut instead of tellin' me you made a mistake!" her hands rose up in front of her, and she clawed at the air between them. "Help would've been lyin' in the bed you made with her instead of rakin' me over the coals of your sham of a marriage!" she blinked furiously as her weak attempt to hold back her tears failed.
He did reach out again this time, "Reba," he said softly.
"Barbra Jean loves you, Brock," she whispered.
He sighed. "I know she does."
"You love her now," she said.
He ran his hand through his hair and sighed.
Her lip quivered, and she started to back away from him, only to bump into the counter. "No," she breathed, raising a finger in defiance.
"Reba,"
"If you say it–"
"Reba–"
"Brock, you're depressed, you're confused; don't do this," she said weakly. "Please," she begged.
He reached for the hand still pointing an accusatory finger at him. "Reba,"
She yanked it away. "Didn't you hear a word I just said about doin' somethin' like this?"
His face relaxed, and he pressed his lips into a firm line. He exhaled evenly through his nose and dropped his hand. "You're right," he nodded. "It's not fair to you."
She exhaled sharply, both in shock and relief.
He backed up to give her some space. "I made that whole point about not wantin' to hurt the ones I care about, but that's what I keep doin', isn't it?" He curled his fingers into a loose fist, looked down at his hand, then brought his fist down hard onto the countertop.
She jumped.
"I'm sorry I keep dragging you into this, Reba," he said quietly as he flexed his hand. "I don't mean to; I just– I, I don't know."
She absently picked at the corner of her thumb. "I know," she breathed as she watched him.
He met her eyes and stepped in front of her, placing his hands back gently on her arms, "I'm sorry."
She brought her's up underneath his and cupped his elbow. "I know."
Brock pulled her into his chest and wrapped his arms around her. She hesitated a moment remaining completely stiff in his arms before she hugged him back. He held her tighter. Her breath was shallow, unsteady against his shoulder. She patted his shoulder and clung tightly to him to mask the silent sob coursing through her body. She knew it hadn't concealed anything when he softly pressed his lips against her hair. She squeezed her eyes closed, inhaled deeply against his shoulder, then let go.
She held tightly to his fingers after she let her hand slide down the length of his arm and smiled weakly at him. "Go home, Brock."
He chewed the inside of his cheek as he searched her eyes, nodded, and then he was gone.