He bent down in a squat and poked his head underneath the kitchen table.
"Bren?" He kept his tone gentle, collected, unafraid as he had been advised to do. "Are you ready to come out from under there?"
"Is it gone?" Brenda's knees were locked in place against her chest. Her elbows covered her ears as she rocked back and forth, humming a tune Brandon didn't recognize.
"Yes, honey." Valerie's head joined in. "The train is gone. Should I help you up?"
"Yes, please." Brenda dutifully stretched out her arms.
Valerie brought her up to a standing position, careful to not bump Brenda's head against the underside of the table.
"Did I like those - what did you call them?" asked Brenda as she steadied herself against Val.
"Trains," said the latter.
"Did I like trains?"
"You liked planes," Brandon answered. He kept his response short and simple to prevent Brenda from prolonged concentration. "Boats. Ferries. Ships. Long road trips."
He had been told to answer Brenda's questions, to not dodge her curiosities despite his worry that he would overstep.
"But not trains?"
"You liked trains, too," said Val. "We took one together."
"Oh yes," Brenda smiled fondly, "Syracuse."
"Yes," Val smiled back, "the first time your family visited us."
"We went to the fair."
"We did," Val encouraged, maintaining eye contact with Brenda.
"But I don't remember the train," said Brenda. "Or the fair." Her tranquility transformed into a deep frown. "Or the rest of the trip. Or anyone but you two, and - and Mum's awful outfit. Everything else is all fuzzy."
"It's okay, honey." Valerie set a finger on Brenda's arm, as Brandon had instructed Val to do.
Brenda leant in and permitted Valerie to wrap an arm around her shoulders.
"If you don't remember the trip," said Val, giving her a careful squeeze, "then you don't remember Brandon throwing up on the train."
Brandon groaned. "Oh come on, Val, do you have to keep bringing that up?"
"I told you to go easy on the corndogs."
"After you bet me that I couldn't eat all of them in one sitting!"
"And I was right. You couldn't. They were all upchucked. You should have forfeited."
"No way. I earned that money, fair and square."
Brenda giggled.
"Bran threw up on the train?" she asked.
Brandon liked to hear her laughter, which Valerie had managed to repeatedly bring out of Brenda.
It had served as a welcome release from the weeks Brenda had spent in her bedroom, staring out at the snow-bedazzled rooftops as she repeated the same three sentences in a mantra.
London. Theatre. Brenda Walsh.
Answers to the questions Brenda had been asked whilst Brandon had stood there with as much patience as he could muster.
Where do you live? the doctor had asked her.
London, Brenda had answered.
What is your occupation?
Theatre.
Brandon had been encouraged by Brenda's answers after the dismal prognosis he and his parents had received when she had initially been brought in.
What is your name?
Brenda Walsh. Analiese. Brenda Analiese Walsh.
Who is he? The doctor had pointed to Brandon.
Brandon, she had said with a reaction that reminded him of their childhood. My twin brother.
He had thought they were in the clear.
More questions came out, one after the other. Did she know where she was? Brenda had said London. The doctor made a note on his pad. Did she know the year? She didn't, but she had correctly guessed the decade. Did she know why she had been brought to intensive care? She hadn't a clue. Did she know her age? She had not, but she correctly stated that she had been born in November.
Precisely one week before Thanksgiving, Brenda had added. Mum was due on Thanksgiving. But as Bran says, I was impatient.
Bren wanted to see the world, Brandon had added with a guarded smile.
It had been a challenge for him, a new adjustment. Brenda had always been the one to help him remember important dates, and now he had become the one she relied on to help with her own memory.
Or lack thereof.
"Have I been many places?" asked Brenda.
"A fair few," said Val. "Certainly more places than I've been. And Brandon."
"Really?" A sparkle danced through Brenda's eyes, one that quickly diminished. "I wish I knew which places."
"London. You love London."
"I do love London. I can feel in my heart that I love London, but when I think of London, I draw a complete blank."
"You'll just have to paint a new picture of London when you return."
"If I return," said Brenda. Her gaze lowered to the table.
"Hey," Brandon tried to soothe her, "I haven't given up on looking for work in London."
"But you shouldn't have to," said Brenda. Self-hatred brewed upon her countenance. "I shouldn't be the reason you have to move. I should be able to be without my brother. You shouldn't feel like you always have to be nearby, in case I disappear under tables or break down in the middle of the night. God!" Brenda repeatedly shook her head. "I'm a fucking adult! Why can't I get it together!"
Brandon wanted to tease her. He wanted to tell her that was a question many adults asked themselves. He wanted to engage in their usual banter.
Many adults, however, had not experienced a train flying off of the tracks.
Many adults had not been discovered beneath overturned furniture, holding tightly to the hand of their deceased best friend.
When Brenda's inner frustration began to come out on full display, all Brandon could do was as he'd been told.
He glanced at Valerie, who gave the tiniest hint of an acknowledging nod and asked Brenda of her interest in an activity.
Brenda sat on the sofa, working on her word puzzle as Val found the station of the television series Brenda had requested to watch.
The characters made Brenda laugh, and that pleased Brandon.
He had been pleasantly surprised how patient Val had been with Brenda. Val had readily accepted the notes he had meticulously taken when he spoke with Brenda's care team. Val had told Brandon that she would stay as long as he needed her to stay.
He shouldn't have been surprised, he told himself. Val had always been different with Brenda.
The Val he had known in Beverly Hills had been worlds apart from the Val he had known in Minneapolis.
The Val who now joined in on Brenda's laughter.
Brandon concluded that being near Brenda must have brought out a softer side in Val.
He glanced at his watch.
"Bren." Brandon waited until Brenda turned her head in his direction. "It's time," he said.
"I hate those bleedin' things," she grumbled under her breath.
"I know," he said. "But you -"
"Have to take them," she finished. "I know, I know." Brenda pouted her lower lip. "For the sake of the baby." She glowered at the prenatal vitamin. "But couldn't they make it in a different flavor? A tasty flavor?"
"We can look into it," said Brandon.
"Thank you." Brenda popped the offensive vitamin into her mouth, and then scrunched up her face. "Disgusting."
"That reminds me," said Val. "I got you something." She reached into her purse.
"Oh my God," said Brenda. "I love you." She grabbed at the dark chocolate bar.
Brenda happily broke apart the pieces and stuffed them into her mouth as Valerie aimed her open jaw towards Brandon.
He was shocked, too.
It was the first time since her accident that Brenda had verbalized an emotion towards anyone not named Brandon Walsh.
"Love you, too," said Val, sucking in a tear.
"I think I grew a little," announced Brenda unexpectedly. "Wanna see?"
"Yes!" said Brandon and Valerie, in sync.
"If you're comfortable with that," added Brandon.
In answer, Brenda lifted the edges of her woolen sweater to reveal her bare abdomen.
"Ta-da!" she exclaimed.
"You've definitely rounded. Your hips are curving more and everything," said Val. "Can I say that?"
"You may," said Brenda cheerfully. "My baby girl is starting to make her appearance." She lovingly traced her hand over her curved stomach. "Not long now 'til she starts releasing butterflies and I feel the quickening."
"You're about; what was it? Sixteen weeks?" asked Val.
"Seventeen tomorrow," said Brenda proudly. "I'll have to start sleeping on my side soon. They said she's strong and healthy, which is more than can be said for me." Brenda's cheer faded as quickly as it had arrived. "Can she stay strong if she has to be carried around by someone who's so weak?"
"You are not weak. Far from it. After everything you've been through, be proud of yourself that you can stand at all," said Val. "I'd be hanging out in bed all day every day and guilting people into letting me order them about."
"She would," said Brandon. "I can attest to that."
That managed to bring the tiniest of smiles out of Brenda.
"I'll try," she said, lacking conviction. "But what kind of person forgets their own parents when they're about to become a parent themselves?"
"Plenty of people forget their parents," said Val. "And believe me, it would send me over the moon to forget mine. The only thing they did right was introduce me to you and Bran." She smoothly switched topics. "Could I come with you to the next scan? Hear her heartbeat?"
Brenda stood dangerously close on the edge of tears. "I'd really like that," she said.
It was a strange but wonderful sight for Brandon, seeing Brenda's stomach begin to transform and knowing that the littlest member of his family was developing limbs and bones underneath her skin.
Her kid had already proven its Walsh side when it had beaten the odds and chosen to remain within its mother in spite of Brenda's own uncertain fate.
"Hey," said Brandon, hoping to vanish Brenda's tears before they transitioned into a greater upset, "there's still a chance I'm getting a nephew."
"You're getting a niece," said Brenda. It had worked. "I can feel it, just like Mum felt she was having me. You can easily play sports with a niece."
"Not if she's got an arm like you," said Brandon.
He inwardly berated himself for his retort and watched Brenda carefully for her reaction.
"Maybe she'll have an arm like her dad," said Brenda, brushing off the insult that could have upset her.
Brandon and Valerie exchanged another look.
"Did you decide if you want us to tell you who her father is? If you want us to contact him?" Valerie hedged.
"I've thought it over like you asked me to do." Brenda folded her sweater down over her exposed skin.
"And?"
"And I don't think I want him to know."
"You don't?"
"Well, I assume it was a one-night stand."
Brandon raised an eyebrow. "Why do you assume that?"
"Because he hasn't been here," said Brenda simply. "If it was more than a one-night stand, he would have been here."
"If he wasn't a one-night stand?" asked Brandon. "Would you want to know who he is then?"
"I wouldn't," said Brenda. "Because if he isn't a one-night stand, then he's a tosser, and my baby girl doesn't need a tosser for a father. I'd rather she have no father than a tosser father."
"Well-said," Val told her. "He is a tosser." She paused and added, "I think." She reached over for the binder of English slang that Brenda's friends back in London had compiled for Brandon and slid her finger down a page until she found the word in question. "Oh. Yeah. He is. Definitely."
"Then it's settled." Brenda lay back against Val. "I'll raise her alone. He never has to know. And he won't have to watch the mother of his child cower from a fucking train."
"You won't be alone." Valerie lifted the folded quilt off of the top of the sofa and spread it out over Brenda. "I'm here for as long as you want me to be."
"You know I am," said Brandon. "As long as you both need."
"Right now, all we need is an unlimited supply of Fazer bars," said Brenda, closing her eyes in contentment as she snuggled against Valerie.
"We'll add it to the list," Val assured her.
"And plenty of tea," Brenda added drowsily. "The good kind. And a new book."
"A new book?" asked Brandon.
"Yes. I think I'll pop 'round to the bookshop tomorrow." The pace of Brenda's words slowed as her breaths began to even out. "They've a new shipment I've been - been wanting to browse."
"Would you like us to come with you?" asked Val.
"I'll be fine, thanks. The bookshop is my refuge. I go down to the lower level, where you can't hear the trains. Where it's just you and the books, who don't care if you read something you already - already," she yawned, "already read because they want you to read them again, with a fresh perspective. It's the only place besides memory training where Bran doesn't have to - to acco," a second, elongated yawn, "accompany me. The only place where I feel like me."
Valerie maintained an eye on Brenda, and then shifted towards Brandon. "She's out."
"I should get started on dinner," he said. "She'll be hungry when she wakes."
"What's on the menu?" Valerie slowly extracted herself from Brenda, who rolled over to curl into the cushions of the sofa.
"You know how Bren's been craving lasagna?"
"It's a lasagna night?" asked Val.
"Not exactly." Brandon filled a pot with water and tipped a salt shaker into the pot. "Neither you nor I can make the lasagna she wants - which is Mom's, I'm sure - and I couldn't find a decent frozen one. So I figured manicotti is a good substitute, for now. Mom sent me a recipe she thinks Bren will like that doesn't seem too difficult."
"Either would be delicious, especially one picked out by Cindy. Anything you need me to do?"
"Can you get the stove started?"
"On it." Valerie stood to prepare the wood stove. "So, what are we going to do?"
"About?" asked Brandon distractedly as he gathered ingredients.
"About you-know."
"Oh." Brandon's shoulders tensed. He lifted his head from his task. "There's nothing we can do, even if we wanted to. You heard Bren. She doesn't want him to know."
"Maybe we should at least tell her he's in town."
"Why?" asked Brandon bitterly. "So he can see her? Tell her how much he 'fucked up'? Guilt her into forgiving him? Let her become used to having him around, only for him to take off towards Kelly again?"
"I can say a lot of negative things about that man," said Val, "but I don't think deadbeat is one of them."
"He left Bren," said Brandon. "How do we know he won't leave their child?"
"We don't."
"Exactly. So unless Bren changes her mind and decides to ask us about him, we keep quiet. She doesn't need him making demands and stressing her out."
"I wish I knew what he was thinking when he chose to leave."
"He wasn't," said Brandon. "That's the problem. He never does. He acts on impulse, says things on impulse, and then regrets it later when he's permitted himself a chance to think over his words and actions. I won't have him impulsively running from my niece or nephew the second he gets upset. I won't have him jumping in and out of the kid's life, or of Bren's. He won't be able to take care of her, because he won't stick around long enough to learn how. He asked you to ask her. We asked. She doesn't wanna know."
"Much as I'd like to keep this arrangement, you know we can't live with Bren forever."
"I know," said Brandon. "When she's ready to be on her own, she'll tell us. And if she wants to know about him, she'll ask us."
"And if she asks?"
"We tell her the truth, which she already has the beginnings of. He is a tosser."
Brandon had been half-asleep in the chair beside Brenda's hospital bed, furiously trying to finish a project by deadline when he had received the instant message.
McKay's back, said silverrapattack. Do you know what happened between him and Bren?
He had recognized David's username.
Brandon answered that all he knew was Dylan had left London after he and Brenda had what she referred to as an "ugly fight, our ugliest one possibly ever."
He didn't tell David that Dylan had left whilst Brenda was on tour, or that she had heard about it from their neighbor.
Dylan hadn't even the courtesy to leave a note.
He told Kelly he came back for her, the message read. Told her he had missed her.
Why am I not surprised? Brandon had sent from branthenewsman, and then slammed down the lid of his laptop before seeing what David typed next.
He saw that part of the message later, when Brenda had been taken for another slew of tests.
Val left. Went back to Buffalo.
She mentioned she was thinking about it, Brandon typed back. Wasn't sure she'd follow through.
Is it weird that I miss her already? David had sent almost as soon as Brandon's had been received.
She's got that effect on people. I miss her, too. Miss all of you guys.
All of us?
Well, most of you.
Brandon had shut the laptop again when Brenda had returned, in tears.
He had consoled her, trying to ease out more information about what had brought on her cries.
I'm pregnant, Brenda had sniffled out through her sobs. And I can't remember if I already knew. Did you know?
Stunned, Brandon said that he hadn't.
I'm scared, Bran, she had told him. I can feel in my heart that I want this baby, but I'm scared. Everything is so fuzzy. Blurry. Scattered. Like street lights through an iced windshield. And when you're not in the room, the ceiling crashes. I'm surrounded by black. Pitch-black I can't find my way out of. An endless midnight, without a hint of dawn. What if the midnight swallows me and I can't - and I can't, she had begun to cry again, and I can't hold onto my baby?
Hey, don't think about that. I'll take care of you, Brandon had promised, gathering her into a warm embrace. Both of you. We'll do it together. Like when we were kids.
I can't ask you to do that.
Tough, he had said. I want to. What are we? he had asked in a peppier tone.
The Minnesota Twins, Brenda had smiled. You and me, and baby makes three?
If you want. I haven't always treated you the way you deserved, Brandon had told her honestly, and I'm sorry for it. I've chosen my relationships with others over you. I've believed things about you I shouldn't have believed. I've judged you. Said things about you. I've ripped apart our bond more times than I care to admit.
Why have you done that? she had asked.
Because of a wounded ego. Because of obdurate pride. Because I'm an ass - what would you say? Arse. Because I'm an arse.
Her smile had brightened until it had nearly reflected in her eyes.
Nearly.
Her smiles never reflected in her eyes the way they used to do.
Not even when sitcom stars made her laugh.
You said it; not me, Brenda had said.
But if you still want me to be here for you despite all of that, in whatever way you need, then I will, said Brandon.
Please, Brandon, she had buried her face in his T-shirt, thin enough for an Australian winter. Please don't go anywhere. Please help me hold onto this baby.
I will, he had said. I'll stay as long as you want. He had dropped a kiss to the crown of her hair. Once long enough to drape over Brenda's back, it had been cut short in a way reminiscent of her RADA days to blend in the hair shaved off during her surgery. You know we're getting the kid into hockey, he had added.
Baseball, said Brenda. We'll get them into baseball.
That too, said Brandon. Future star pitcher in the making. Your kid will make Killebrew look like an amateur.
Thank you, Brandon, she had said.
There's no need to thank me, he had said. It's about high time I start acting like your older brother again.
By mere minutes! Brenda had protested, as she always did.
Still older, said Brandon.
He hadn't a clue what he had in store for him when he had made his promise. He didn't know about the nights Brenda would wake up screaming, calling out for Mina Vreeland in a voice Brandon felt certain would haunt him for the rest of his life. He couldn't foresee that Brenda would duck under tables, hide in dressing rooms, drop down to sidewalks, raise her fearful eyes at the ceiling tiles as if she expected them to collapse on her at any moment. He didn't expect that he would learn to make tea, even if Brenda said he didn't make it properly. He didn't anticipate that Brenda would require distractions like word puzzles and coloring books when her self-hatred and frustration began to dominate.
He certainly hadn't expected to be the only connection she would recall, that she would ask their uncle Simon if he was their father.
That Jim would become vexed to the point the doctor would insist he leave Brenda's room.
Brandon would have never guessed that he would quit his job in Washington and begin work as a freelance journalist to be able to adhere to Brenda's schedule.
All Brandon knew whilst standing there comforting his sister was that she had needed him more than she had ever needed him before.
And he knew at that moment that he wouldn't let her down.
"Stove's ready," said Val, breaking into Brandon's reverie.
He carried over the pot. "Thank you, Val."
"It wasn't that hard," she brushed off.
"Not what I meant," he said, opening the box of noodles. "I mean, thank you. For everything."
"My twins needed me," she brushed off.
"It's been a long time since you've called us that."
"But it doesn't mean the feeling ever went away," said Val. "It was still there. Just dormant. Buried under a whole bunch of other shit, which all seem trivial now."
"It does," Brandon agreed. "I guess massive things like this give you a little perspective."
"I promised myself last spring I was going to try to be better," said Val. "I just didn't know trying to be better would mean helping to care for a girl I've known since we were literally all in diapers."
"I had graduated to big boy training pants, thank you very much."
"Brandon, you wet the bed until you were six. There's no way you were already in training pants."
"Damn. You and Bren really couldn't keep from telling each other everything, could you?"
"We couldn't," Val agreed. "I've missed this." She gestured around, "well, not this, of course, but this. Being with both of you. Like the old times."
"I didn't realize how much I've missed it, too," said Brandon. "Bren and her kid are lucky to have you in their lives, Val. And so am I. Despite everything, I really mean that."
"Think I would've done half the shit I did if Bren had stuck around those superficial Hills? If she'd been there when I was?"
"You two were always trouble together, but you balanced each other. Bren calmed you. You -"
"- came up with the ideas that got us in trouble," Val finished.
"Not all the ideas. Remember the Great Sandbox Disaster of '79?"
"How could I forget!" Val laughed. "Bren and I weren't allowed to see each other for a whole month!" Her face fell. "Shit."
"It's okay," said Brandon.
"Nothing about any of this is okay, Brandon."
"I know." He stirred the boiling pot as he poured in the noodles. "But we'll get through it, just like you and Bren got through that Christmas when you didn't get any presents."
"That was the worst!" said Val. "It's not like we intended for that mallet to fly backward into Mrs. Craboche's window."
"Caboche."
"Close enough."
"Why were you even playing croquet in the middle of a blizzard?"
"Don't you remember? We had just watched Alice in Wonderland for the first time." Val flinched. "Shit. I did it again."
"It's okay," Brandon repeated. "We'll work on it. Those aren't phrases you can easily omit from your vocabulary."
"I'm gonna try," said Val. "For Bren. I just wish she wasn't so hard on herself."
"I know," Brandon sighed. "Believe it or not, she's actually doing much better than she was. You being here has helped tremendously. But it's been hard to watch her reprimand herself like that. I can't imagine how it's been for her to constantly think it."
"Wish I could do more. Bren's always been the most confident of the three of us. Well, except for your ego."
"On that note, let me defy my ego and admit that I don't have a clue what I'm doing here so you'll help me figure out how to finish this manicotti without causing a kitchen disaster."
"C'mon, Bran. This is me you're talking to. You want someone to cook breakfast or a turkey, I'm your girl. Manicotti? Disaster. Should we wake Bren to help us?"
"No. Let her sleep. They need it. The train kept Bren up half the night."
"Which train?" Val glanced sympathetically at Brenda. "The one outside, or the one that's always with her?"
"The one that's always with her. This time, she screamed out for Zahur."
"Man," said Val, "I wish I had met Zahur. And Shane. I did meet Mina. Briefly."
"You would've liked them, a lot," said Brandon. "In fact, I'm sure you and Shane would've gotten on famously."
"Did you meet him?"
"Once, that summer Kel was in New York and I visited Bren. Before I went to Texas. It wasn't long since he and Bren had to rush off to class, but it was something. I felt like I knew them all, through her emails."
"Her letters made me feel I knew all of you before I moved in."
"And did the gang meet expectations?"
"Oh no. She made all of them sound worse than they are."
"Alright, Little Miss Comedian. We've got a meal to prepare."
"And a sister we have to help find some semblance of normalcy."
"This is a new and improved Val. I like it."
"Don't get too comfy. I can turn on a dime."
"Don't I know it."
"Admit it, Brandon. I make life more fun."
"You keep it interesting, that's for sure."
Setting the filled glass pan into the oven, Brandon looked at Brenda and wondered if somewhere, deep in the recesses of her brain or perhaps within her dreams, she too thought of their old neighbor Mrs. Craboche's treasured stained glass window and the croquet match from hell.
Caboche.
xx
His unwavering stare bore a hole through the double doors of the hotel lobby.
If the hole grew wide enough, he thought, perhaps he would will her to enter through them.
He didn't care if she came with Val. He didn't even care if she came with Brandon tagging along, insisting on attaching himself to her.
Dylan just wanted her to come.
Fuck, this was frustrating. He clawed a hand through his hair and tossed aside his novel, giving up on the page he had repeatedly tried to read.
He hung his head in his hands, thinking over the events that had transpired since October. Everything he had said. Everything he had done. Battleship. The beach. His flight. Their fight. God, their fight.
He wished he could take back everything in that fight.
Her tears. His stash. Her question. His indecision.
Can you still love me if I'm a mess? he had asked. If that's all I'll ever be?
Yes, she had said. But I don't know if I can continue to be with someone who's stopped letting me in.
Do you want me to leave? he had asked.
No, she had said.
His relief had been short-lived when she added, But I'm not sure I want you to stay.
If you feel that way, then maybe we should reconsider what we're doin' here, he fumed.
Maybe you need to figure out what means more to you: me, or your fucking drugs, she had spat out. I don't know what happened on K2 -
No, you don't. You've got no fucking clue. And you're better off not knowing.
Dylan, I know you. You're so much better than the person you become on drugs. I want to help you.
Maybe I don't want your help.
Her friends had arrived then, ready to bring them to the airport.
Mina, sweet, lovable, irrepressible Mina dressed from head-to-toe in a lime green and turquoise ensemble, had asked Dylan if he planned to buy a whole new wardrobe in Adelaide or if he would be bringing down his suitcase.
Dylan told Mina there had been a change of plans.
He wouldn't be coming.
Brenda asked him to reconsider.
Dylan's response remained firm.
It burnt through him, the look on Brenda's face as she shook her head and clamped down her lips. Crestfallen. Furious.
Have it your way, she said.
He had offered his ticket to Dawn. Dawn had declined. Said she'd already used up all of her holiday time.
Dawn had given the ticket to Zahur.
Guess I'll see you when we get back, Brenda had said, snagging Mina's arm.
The baffled Mina had turned back to give a tiny, questioning wave to Dylan.
He had given her a terse nod in return.
Bren? he had hesitantly asked. Can we get past this?
In response, Brenda had slammed the door to their flat.
Without a goodbye. Without telling of her love, or hearing that he loved her.
Dylan had slammed his hand against the wall and crumpled the paper bag that had initiated their fight.
Then uncrumpled it, to sniff its contents as he had frequently done since returning from K2.
He never thought Brenda would find his stash.
He feared she would return from the tour ready to kick him out, to tell him that she regretted ever meeting him.
He feared she would leave him, as everyone else had.
It wouldn't have been the first time she chose to do that.
So Dylan left her. Told himself he didn't need that shit in his life. That he didn't need her. That he could live just fine without Brenda Walsh. That he could still be whole.
The first lie.
He packed up his duffel, poured his emotions into a goodbye note to Brenda that he left on their bookshelf beside one of her scripts, walked to Clapham, caught a tube carriage half-full, and left.
Travelled around. Learnt to fly. Explored a rainforest. Saw the pyramids.
Considered going to Baja, then changed his mind and headed up to a ranch in Wyoming.
Learnt to mind cattle. Distracted himself at a horse show. Became tempted to buy the winner for Brenda.
He could've stayed in Wyoming. Bought the ranch. Made a life there, perhaps one that brought him the peace he had always sought yet never permitted himself to embrace.
Instead, Dylan ended up in the one place he knew she would avoid.
California.
Decided to clear her from his heart and mind the best way he knew how.
Sex. Lots of it. Booze. More drugs.
Drove down to Beverly Hills after a week up the coast.
Saw Kelly, standing beside Matt in the foyer of Casa Walsh as the members left behind of the old gang had surrounded him with welcoming embraces and handshakes.
And a fucking champagne toast.
Asked Kelly to take a walk on the beach.
Decided he'd get back at Brenda by making a play for Kelly. But this time, the blonde didn't want him. She wanted Matt.
She claimed.
Until Mexico.
And then after Mexico.
Dylan wasn't sure Kelly knew what she wanted.
Hell, he hadn't known what he wanted. All he knew was that he would tell Kelly whatever she wanted to hear, to free his mind of the look on Brenda's face when she had left.
The same look she had carried years before, in a Los Angeles park.
The first time he had caused her pain.
Dylan now knew precisely what he wanted, and he had done everything possible to ensure the impossibility.
Whether or not Brenda knew him, one thing was certain. She would never want Dylan again.
And he had to live with that.
But he still had to see for himself that Port Macquarie hadn't snatched away his Bren, that she was the same Bren he had dreamt of when he lay in his own hospital bed the night he had hit rock-bottom.
Not for the first time.
After he had knocked Donna into a pool.
A fucking pool. Because of the drugs.
The same drugs he had chosen over going on tour with Brenda.
The drugs that had led him to a required resuscitation, where he had woken to everyone but the twins asking about his wellbeing.
He had been hurt that Brenda hadn't called, just as she hadn't called the first time he had battled a drug addiction.
He wondered if his hurt had resulted in Battleship.
It now seemed misplaced, knowing that the twins had been dealing with their own disaster at the time.
How could he ever repair what he had smashed with a cinder block, if neither Walsh sibling permitted him the chance?
"I'll bet fifty bucks I know what you're thinking." Steve handed Dylan a plate full of breakfast breads and porridge.
Dylan picked at the food. "Alright," he said. "Give it a shot."
"You're thinking about if things woulda been different had you had gone on the tour with Bren. If you would've been on the train when it crashed, or if it woulda crashed at all."
"They didn't even tell me, Steve. Brandon knew I was supposed to go on that tour with her. He's probably thinking the exact same, and wishing I'd been the one to be killed instead of Shane."
"I doubt he wishes that."
"Sanders, Zahur shouldn't have been on that train at all. He shouldn't have been on that trip. He had my fucking ticket."
"If you're thinking all these things, why didn't you go with Bren?" asked Steve. "Why did you come back to BH? Why did you go after Kelly?"
"We had a fight," said Dylan. "A really nasty fight. Over my drugs, actually." He gave a sardonic laugh. "The same drugs I could've killed Donna with."
"Why did you start using again?" asked Steve. "You'd been clean for years. You went through the worst shit a man can go through, and you stayed clean. Why'd you relapse?"
Toni. Steve was talking about Toni.
Toni's death had been the catalyst that had led him to London.
Dylan wondered which was worse: losing one's wife of a day to a brutal murder, or losing the woman one had been in love with for years to amnesia brought on by a fucking train after demolishing the relationship with said woman.
He decided they were both fucking shitty scenarios and thanked whomever that he didn't have to visit Brenda in a fucking cemetery.
"I don't want to talk about it." Dylan forced himself to eat a few bites, just enough sustenance to get through until lunch.
"Man, maybe not talking about it is how you got in this situation you're in now," said Steve. "Maybe that's why you decided to go after Kel. Because you knew she'd never try to dig it out of you. And I say that as someone who has been in love with Kelly Taylor since kindergarten."
"You've been in love with Kel since kindergarten?"
"Our love these days has taken on a different form, but she'll always be the girl I let get away because I was too prideful to tell her I wanted her to stay."
Dylan looked at him, thoroughly examined Steve Sanders in a way he hadn't before.
"When did you get more wise than the rest of us, Sanders?" he asked.
"I've always been wise," Steve puffed out his chest. "I've just picked fun and mischief over wisdom."
"And he's back," trilled Dylan.
He needed to get them off of the topic of Kelly. Pronto.
"Real reason," he said.
"Carly taught me a lot," said Steve with a wistful smile. "I miss her."
"And you and Janet?"
"We're friends. I like her, but I don't know if it'll work out in the long run."
"You're looking for the long run?"
"Might be. I'm not ready to settle down or anything, but this jumping after girl after girl after girl thing is starting to get exhausting. I had this one woman show up claiming I'd knocked her up. Jody. Turns out I didn't, but it made me realize that if I'm gonna knock anyone up, I want to make sure my kid doesn't deal with the shit I dealt with. I want my kid to know I love their mom."
"You wanna talk about that shit?"
"You wanna talk about your shit?"
Both men declared they did not.
"How'd it go with Val?" asked Dylan, changing the subject.
"Great," said Steve. "Brandon had to leave early, but Val took me around. Went to a club, or whatever they're called here. We danced. She didn't drink."
"Didn't expect her to, what with the baby and everything," said Dylan. "Did she let loose long enough to cut through her defenses for a hint at whether they asked Bren?"
"Nope, she kept it together pretty well."
"Damn." Dylan tapped his fingers along the table. "I hope Brandon leaving early isn't because something happened to her."
"Bro, you need to get out. Stop staring at the doors. Walk around. See the sights. Go find a poetry reading. Idunno."
"Steve Sanders is telling me to go to a poetry reading?"
"You like those kinds of things, even if I'll never understand why. That's not the point. The point is for you to just do something. You're gonna go crazy waiting for her to come, and then you're gonna drive me crazy watching you go crazy."
Dylan took a large swig of his coffee, savoring the sumptuous flavor.
He'd ask the kitchen for the recipe to give to Nat.
"Have they let you see her?" He dreaded a response in the positive, yet simultaneously hoped for it.
At least then Steve could confirm Dylan's worst fear, or help it to dissipate.
"Not yet," said Steve. "She had some kind of appointment. Didn't get the chance. That's the only time Brando isn't with her; when she has appointments."
Dylan filed that information away for use at a later time and asked what kind of appointment.
Steve said he hadn't been told.
"Don't you want to see her?" asked Dylan, exasperated.
"Of course I want to. Brandon will tell me when Bren's ready. I don't wanna overwhelm her."
"I'm glad he'll tell you," said Dylan. The outside chill seemed a sauna compared to his tone. "If they told her I'm around, she's clearly decided she doesn't want to see me. That's her choice. I understand it, but I don't have to like it. If they didn't tell her, then she doesn't get the choice one way or the other." He slapped his hands against his denim-covered thighs and stood. "I'll see ya later."
"Aren't you gonna finish your food?" Steve eyed Dylan's unfinished meal.
"Not hungry."
"More for me, then." Steve happily transferred the food from Dylan's plate to his own.
He looked for her on every street. Every corner. In the faces of every woman he passed by.
Had she cut her hair? Had she kept it long? Had she highlighted it? Dyed it, as she had before? Would she be wearing it in a braid? In a ponytail? Loose? Under a headband?
Too many coats. Too many large, faux-fur hoods.
On a winter's afternoon, trying to find a woman teased for her height in a crowd of people closer to his was impossible.
He consoled himself with the thought that Brenda would have to show up at some point. If he had run into her in one of the biggest cities in the world, surely he would run into her in a significantly smaller, harborside town.
He popped into the first bookshop he saw, browsing its contents as he always did when visiting a new place. He didn't speak the local language and, not wanting to be found out as an American tourist, kept his head low.
He skimmed through the books written in that language unknown to him, just to see if he could decipher any of their words.
A few. Hardly enough to read a sentence.
Or to comprehend it.
The second bookshop caught his interest from the window display alone. Pieces by local artists depicted watercolor landscapes of majestic environments that he wondered if Brenda had seen, or wanted to see. Bunting displaying quotes with unfamiliar words but familiar names hung suspended from the ceiling. Old torches lined the walls, protecting the modern lights within that reflected a chiaroscuro in the room.
Dylan bought a watercolor that reminded him of Brenda and then headed to the poetry section to look over the English copies.
The classics were next.
He had gathered a small stack of books he hoped would wile away the weeks when he noticed a coat sticking out from behind a bookshelf of plays.
It was the color of ripe plum skins on a summer day and easily stood out against the dark cherry wood bookshelves.
He was drawn to that coat, to the play held in the ungloved hand of the coat's owner.
"That's a good one," he said, pointing to the play.
"Is it?"
At least, that's what he thought he had heard come out in a muffle from behind the thick scarf.
"Yeah," he said. "I'd recommend it."
"I planned to purchase only one new book," said the woman as she adjusted her lopsided knitted hat and pat down her scarf, "but this caught my eye, as well."
She caught his.
His heart seesawed in his chest. Rusted nickels embedded themselves in his tongue. He inched his gaze up to meet hers.
"It's worth the purchase," he said, unable to look away.
"What?" she asked. "Do I have something on my face?"
"Beauty," he said.
"Sorry?"
"Uh, the play. It's a - it's a beauty."
"I'll get it, then," she said. "Along with this." She lifted the book in her gloved hand. "Thank you for the recommendation."
There was no anger in her eyes. No regret. No pain. No joy. No misery. No hatred. No love.
Indifference controlled her features, with perhaps a dash of intrigue as one would show a stranger.
Because to Brenda, Dylan realized he was a stranger.
Though she looked straight at him, she didn't see him.
Her eyes had shone with more recognition when they had first met.
"Anytime," Dylan managed through the enormous ice sculpture lodged in the back of his throat.
"That one's good, too," she said, pointing to the classic in his hand. "Well, happy reading."
"Yeah, you, uh; you too."
He stood dazed, rooted to the floor. He snapped out of it just in time to see Brenda gather up her purchases and head for the door.
"Wai - wait!" Dylan found his voice, and the ability to run. He set down his stack on a shelf, more concerned with keeping Brenda in his sights than purchasing books he could buy at any time. "Bren! Wait up!"
She whirled around with such lightning speed that he thought she may lose her balance and he would need to catch her before she hit the ground. "How do you know my name?" she asked.
The indifference had been replaced with an emotion Dylan had never seen aimed his way from Brenda.
Sheer terror.
"How do you know my name?" she repeated in a faster, more demanding tone.
Could he tell her? Was he allowed to tell her? Would it make it worse if he told her? Was she supposed to figure it out on her own?
He didn't know anything about amnesia, nothing that hadn't been scripted by Hollywood. What if he set her off? Set her back, as Brandon had said Dylan would?
"I," he stuttered, "I - you -"
"Wait a second," she said, comprehension dawning, "I know you."
"You do."
Thank fuck, he thought. She does know me.
Brenda, don't you ever do that shit again!
"Yeah. You're the bloke who called Brandon. His dull not-friend who wanted to know if I was fine. The one he's so mad at. The one he said it's complicated with." She squinted, concentrating on his face as if attempting to place his name. "Dicklyn?"
"Dylan," he said, momentary relief quickly fading.
"Oh." Brenda looked confused. "Val called you Dicklyn."
"She would."
"I think I prefer Dylan. Does Brandon know you're here?"
"He does."
"I best be getting home. I'll tell Bran I saw you. Thank you again for the recommendation. Maybe you aren't so dull. People who read can't be dull, because they carry a million stories in their hearts."
He now carried theirs, alone. All those years, all those moments of fantastic and terrible were his to cling to, whilst she hadn't even known his name.
He tried to protest her leaving, tried to work out how he could convince her to stay.
Before he could utter a word, he watched Brenda's back straighten until she became rigid. The fear had returned, this time tripled. She opened her mouth and screamed, a deafening cry that ground his bones into fine sand blowing about the Sahara.
Alarm sprinted through him as Brenda covered her ears and hummed a tune Dylan knew well.
"Bren?" he asked. "Bren, ba - hey, hey, what's wrong?"
Brenda shook her head. Tears beat upon her previously rosy cheeks. "Get off," she said.
"But I'm - I'm not -"
His gaze whipped to his gloved hands and then back at Brenda. He hadn't touched her, much as he longed to do so.
"We need to get off," she added. "Mina! We need to get off!"
"Mina?" An ax sliced through his throat.
To Dylan's horror, Brenda began to sink to the ground.
He caught her before her knees hit the snowy sidewalk.
He wondered if touching her had worsened the situation.
Fuck it. She's so scared, she's fucking trembling. I'm not just gonna stand here and watch her collapse.
Dylan went all in, cocooning himself around Brenda as he had when he had chased her down a school hallway in their youth.
He tried to not be affected by her initial recoil, which soon faded into wary acceptance.
"I'll get you off," he said.
He didn't know what Brenda wanted off of. He did, however, know two certainties.
One, Brenda felt so damn good in his arms and melded to his body so seamlessly that he wondered how he had ever let her slip out of them.
Two, if Brandon thought Dylan would give up and fly back to California with Brenda in such a state, then Brandon was a simpleton.
The only way Dylan would leave now was if Brenda returned with him. However hard he had to fight for her, however long it would take to have Brenda think of him as someone other than Brandon's ex-friend Dicklyn, he would persevere.
If she wanted the truth; if she was permitted the truth, every last bit of it, he would give it to her.
Even if it meant admitting Battleship.
"Hold onto me and I'll get you off," Dylan said, rubbing her shoulder.
"You can't," she cried into his coat. "No one can."
Then he heard it, the source that had caused Brenda such grief.
The train.
-x
Trying to piece together the illogical shit of what did happen in the ninth season with what may have happened to result in that shit is certainly interesting.
Congratulations to those of you who guessed Brenda's pregnant!
Sources: Google + the websites for the Australian Institute of Health and Welfare, Bleacher Report, Brigham and Women's Hospital, Headway, Iona, Kaplan Lawyers, Keystone Health, Mayo Clinic, New York Post, The New York Times, The Recovery Village, Riverside, Sage Journals, Sydney Morning Herald, Western BrainsCAN; an article by Episcopal Retirement Services in the Cincinnati Enquirer.
I hope to post either for Itero or Lethe, perhaps both, but should that not occur until after the new year, may you and yours have a lovely end to your 2022 and an even better start to 2023. Thanks a million for allowing me to share my wild imagination this year. x