The truest solace she had found in months hadn't been in the embrace of her brother. It hadn't been through the one-armed hug of her friend, or the cautious caress from her mother.
It had, instead, been in the arms of a stranger.
Or, rather, not a stranger.
The person who had been her brother's friend.
"I'm sorry for my behavior," she said, withdrawing from him as the terrible whistle of the train faded into silence. "It's just, I've discovered that I hate trains."
His arms slackened before using one of them to sideswipe Brenda's concern. "There's no need to apologize. That's understandable. If it helps any, I hate cash registers."
"Why do you hate cash registers?"
"I knew a girl once who got held up for one."
"That must have been horrible."
"It was."
There could be no qualms of the man's allure. His hair was curled and unkempt. His eyes, though filled with centuries of torture that far surpassed his twentysomething years, were kind. In that way, they reminded Brenda of her brother's, if Brandon's eyes had been shaded in a darker hue.
Dylan had neither muscle nor flab; perhaps one of those individuals who preferred a certain strenuous activity to working out at the gym.
"You're a surfer, aren't you?" Brenda surprised herself as she asked.
He, too, appeared startled. "You know that I surf?"
"Not at all," she said. "I've gone down to the ocean with Brandon, both here and when we were still in Australia. He showed me the people that surf. I can't help but notice you are a similar build."
"Oh." Hope slid off of his face. "Thanks."
"You've got very nice arms," said Brenda.
"You think so?" His disappointment thinned.
"Am I correct in thinking they have held me before?"
"What gave you that impression?"
"Because I can't be touched."
"I'm sorry." Dylan began to release her.
"No," she said, "Ever since the hospital, I hate being touched. Maybe too much poking, maybe too much prodding, or maybe it's part of my condition. Either way, Brandon's the only one who can hold me without issue. Val has to go about it carefully, almost painstakingly so. She has to first ensure I will let her near me before she can try." Brenda scrutinized Dylan with awe. "But you - you touched me, hugged me even, and I - I didn't hate it."
He smiled. "That's a relief. I was worried I'd overstepped, but; well, it was either give it a try or watch you hit the ground. And the latter; Bren, it wasn't an option."
"You keep calling me Bren," said Brenda, slipping out of his hold. "Were we close?"
"Am I allowed to answer?" he asked warily. "Are you supposed to figure that out on your own?"
"It is better to be told the truth than to shield me with a lie," she said. "But only tell me when I ask you. It's easier for me to listen that way. Less straining on the brain. Less chance of becoming overwhelmed, because it allows me to prepare for your answer."
"What happens if you get overwhelmed?" Dylan questioned with palpable concern.
"The ceiling crashes," she said.
"We don't want the ceiling to crash," he said.
"Exactly. It also helps if you keep your answers short, or give me some kind of warning if you think they will be longer."
"I can try to do that."
"I appreciate it. So then, there must be some reason I allowed you to touch me. Were we close?" she repeated.
He gave a languid nod. "We were. Quite close. The," she noticed the way his jaw moved as he swallowed and looked at her, "the closest."
He had a lovely jawline.
"We're friends, then?" asked Brenda.
"The truth, huh?"
"A lie will only come back around and cause a dissolution of trust."
"Yes, I suppose it will." Dylan's chest heaved underneath his navy blue coat. "We used to be friends. Close, extremely close friends."
"Extremely close to the point that we were more?"
His eyes slid down her front. They lingered for a moment on the part of her coat that, along with her aqua aran jumper, hid her growing abdomen.
Brenda wondered if Dicklyn knew of her child, or if perhaps he knew of her child's father.
She wondered if Dicklyn had children of his own.
Dylan, she mentally corrected; she'd have to get used to that.
Dylan continued past her stomach, and then resumed their eye contact.
"We were," he almost coughed out. "We've always been much more. Much," he dragged out the word, "much more."
"So we're family."
"Yes; well, we have been."
"I can't help but notice you keep speaking in the past."
"Bren, you have been my family and my closest best friend. I can't be sure if you still felt the same."
"Why wouldn't I have? Did something happen?"
"Put it this way," he said, self-bitterness boiling, "I'm capable of hurting you, Brenda, and I just seem to keep doing it. This one's going to be longer."
She nodded. "Go ahead."
"Bren, I want to stand here and tell you how sorry I am - sorry for the last time I hurt you, sorry for every time I've taken you for granted, sorry for not being in your life to know how badly you had been physically hurt and to be here with you while you've been healing, sorry for things I've said that weren't true and the things I've done that were cruel - but the truth is, saying sorry isn't enough. I don't know how to even begin trying to repair what I've torpedoed with a chainsaw."
"This is a start," said Brenda soothingly. "Brandon has also apologized for the things he's said and done. He called himself an arse."
"Did he?" Dylan laughed. Brenda liked his laugh. She thought of it as an orchestral piece, one where the violinists crossed their bows rapidly along the strings in jubilant song. "Well, whatever's worse than an arse, that's what I've been. And I don't want to keep being this way. In hurting you, I hurt myself. I make myself go numb. I don't want to keep hurting you. I don't want to numb myself to you."
"Lots of words are worse than arse. I can provide you with a list for you to choose from."
"Sounds like a plan." Dylan tucked one hand in his pocket. His other hand lingered out in the air, perhaps wanting to touch Brenda again but fearing pressing his luck. "Can I buy you a drink?" he added.
"No thank you. I'm not meant to have alcohol."
"Fuck," he conducted a mental facepalm, "that came out wrong. I meant, could I buy you a hot chocolate, cider, tea, or something. Also longer. I'm trying to stay on the wagon, so being around alcohol is the last place I should be. Twenty-six days sober."
"That's wonderful. Congratulations."
"Don't congratulate me just yet. I've fallen off and gotten back on more times than I can count."
"The important thing is that you're trying."
"Would've been better if I'd tried sooner," he said, transfixed on Brenda's visage. "I really am sorry, Bren. For everything. And I," his voice became choked, "I should've been here. There. Maybe I could've - could've done something."
"I don't think there was much that could be done." Brenda folded her gloved hands together. "I take it you would like to be there for me now?"
"If it's a possibility."
"You'll have to speak with Brandon. He's my primary caregiver."
"You," Dylan's eyes ignited with barely-concealed terror, "you need a caregiver?"
"This has been a good day," Brenda explained. "I like to go to the bookshop on a good day, like a little treat for myself." She glanced down at her hands and lowered her eyelashes. "Some days aren't so good. Val helps Bran take care of me. I can't hold glass, because it shatters when the train comes. I can't make tea or use the stove, because I've burnt myself when the fear comes. There's a lot I can't do on my own right now, but I'm learning. Bran says I've improved quite a bit from last month."
"I'll talk to Brandon," Dylan said definitively. "Might take some time 'til he'll agree, but I can't let you go through all of that without helping to take care of you myself."
"You can start by walking me to my appointment. I'm afraid I won't have time to stop for a drink, but I thank you for the offer."
"Raincheck, then?" asked Dylan.
"I think I'd like that," said Brenda with a tiny smile.
Dylan granted her one in return.
He made small talk, asking Brenda about her schedule and appointments. She told him about cognitive training and occupational therapy, that she had begun learning how to organize new information so that it wouldn't become lost. She pulled her memory notebook out of her satchel, showing Dylan her calendar, to-do lists, and other helpful bits of information that permitted her as normal a routine as possible.
Her discussion, Brenda could tell, had both fascinated and severely pained the significantly paler Dylan.
"Should I go in with you?" he asked, peeking inside the building.
"I should go alone," said Brenda. "I always go alone to memory training, and sudden shifts in my routine knock everything off-balance. But you may wait here, if you'd like."
"I would," said Dylan. "Very much so. I could get you a cuppa while you're in there. If you; ah," he raised his elbow to scratch the back of his head, "if you want one."
"I'd love that. Thank you. It's -"
"Strong brew. Dash of milk. One block of sugar. Stirred to perfection."
"You've made me tea?"
"Many times." Dylan tilted his head, locking his eyes on Brenda's. "Always made sure you had a thermos before you raced off to class, or to rehearsal. Never been much of a tea drinker myself, but you; well, you always kept it supplied around the flat. Mina turned you on to ginger."
Brenda examined Dylan for a moment as she gathered her thoughts.
"Who is Mina?" she asked.
"You," Dylan almost tripped over a rock half-hidden in the snow as he stopped in his tracks. "You just called out for - you; you don't know Mina?"
"I don't believe so," said Brenda. "Did we all share a flat?" she asked.
Dylan opened his mouth as if he planned to answer, but silenced himself before unleashing a response.
"Brenda, there you are," said a melodious voice behind them. "I was about to be on the phone to Brandon. You are normally earlier than this. It was becoming worrisome."
"Sorry, Alina." Brenda turned towards the doctor. "Alina, this is Dickly - sorry, Dylan. I will have to remind myself of that. Dylan, Alina is the one I'm working with in memory training. I rather think Brandon likes her."
"Does he?" asked Dylan, somewhat amused.
"Oh sorry," Brenda covered her mouth, "I'm not always good at watching what I say."
"I get like that, too," Dylan assured her. "I'll wait here."
"You don't need to," said Brenda.
"I did tell you I'd get you a cuppa."
"That's right. You did."
Brenda continued to eye Dylan as she walked down the long hallway with Alina.
It had only been in recent weeks that Brenda had become familiar enough with the halls that she no longer needed to cling to Alina.
She thought of the first time she had entered the building. Her steps had been wary. Her hand had stayed in Brandon's. She had eyed Alina as a child eyes their kindergarten teacher when determining whether to accept separation from a parent.
She had been quieter then, less able to organize her mind to comprehend the information Alina had told Brandon.
"He is - how do you say in America?" asked Alina, leading Brenda back to the present. "Cute?"
"He is cute," Brenda agreed. "But he's more handsome. Beautiful. A classic kind of beautiful. More of an old film star beautiful. Don't you agree?"
"I have never been one for the type that is dark and broody."
"You think he's broody?"
"Brenda, that is a man who the dictionary may as well hire a photographer for to snap a photo they can place beside the word broody."
"How do you feel about lighter brunet and blue eyes?" asked Brenda innocently.
"Is this in reference to your brother?"
"It's just a question."
"I do not date men in love with another," answered Alina, opening the door to her office.
"You think my brother is in love?" Brenda seated herself in her typical spot, perched upon the area of the loveseat situated closest to the window.
The idea that Brandon may have had a love should not have been a foreign concept to Brenda. She vaguely recalled that he had been in a number of relationships, though the women of those relationships were nothing more than colors and shapes in her mind.
"Brandon carries a great deal of sadness," said Alina. "It is the sadness of one who has known a life without the one they love. But come, enough about Brandon. We are here for you. Have you been working on your exercises?"
"I have."
Throughout her training, Brenda forced herself to concentrate. She worked on the techniques Alina set before her, trying to strengthen her weakened mind, but her mind didn't want to be strengthened.
It wanted to wander, mainly towards Brandon and his secret love.
When it moved away from Brandon, it settled on Dylan.
Brenda was still thinking of Dylan long after he had brought her perfect cuppa, long after he had said goodnight, long after her early dinner, and through the musical Val had specifically put on for Brenda.
"I ran into Dicklyn," she announced, causing Val to press pause in the middle of one of Brenda's favorite musical numbers. "Dylan, I mean."
"You did?" asked the startled Brandon. "How was it?"
"He caught me before I fell."
"You almost fell?"
"It was the train. I heard it, but I couldn't move away from it. Dylan held me until I couldn't hear it anymore."
"He held you?" Brenda understood Brandon's concern. He had stood there as she had stiffly shaken Valerie's hand when Val had first arrived. Brenda had warmed up to Val, but even Val was limited with the gestures she could show.
"It felt nice, when he held me," said Brenda. "Familiar. Like he had done it many times before. Like he had leapt into a frozen lake to ease me out. Like he could help me off of the train, if I only let him hold on."
"Bren, Dylan is -"
"Worse than an arse," said Brenda. "He told me. But he also asked if he could see me again and I told him he could."
"If you want Dylan around, then that's your choice."
"I did tell him he needed to speak with you about it. He said you know where he's staying. Could you talk to him? He offered to get me a cuppa. You and Val can surely use a break in making the tea and he knows just how I like it."
Brandon hesitated. "You really want me to talk to him? You really want him hanging around?"
"He's lonely, I think," said Brenda. "I can see it in those pretty eyes of his. Like he's lost everything that ever mattered to him, and he's kicking himself for it."
"You don't have to feel bad."
"Brandon, I can relate to how he feels. And he's a good listener. I think it would be nice to have him around."
"I don't like this," said Brandon, "but you make the decisions around here."
"Thank you. He said you have his number."
"I'll call him and schedule a time for us to meet."
"He seemed sad. It's weird, but I didn't like seeing him sad." Brenda curled a strand of hair around her ear. "I just wish I had more scans. I always worry when I fall that she'll fall, too."
"Maybe I should come with you to the bookshop next time," suggested Brandon.
"It's fine. I just came out at the wrong moment," said Brenda. "But speaking of sadness, Alina brought up something interesting today. Something I think I would have noticed, if I were my usual self."
"And what would that be?" asked Brandon, who began to gather up the dinner dishes and place them in the sink.
"That you're in love."
Brandon sprayed water on himself as he lurched against the sink. "What?" he barely got out.
"Alina says you're in love." Brenda cocked her head in her brother's direction. "Are you?"
"She thinks I'm in love?" asked Brandon.
"Well, aren't you?"
"That's irrelevant."
Brenda noticed the looks thrown between her brother and Val, how Brandon gestured with his eyes for Val to remain mum.
"Shit!" Brenda gaped. "You're in love with Val!"
"What?" asked Brandon. "No." He repeated the word several times, each time adding more force to his pronunciation. "No," he said once more. "I am not in love with Val."
"Liar," said Brenda. "I saw that look."
"What look?"
"The look you gave Val."
"God, I wish," said Val. "Bran's in love with someone, alright, but it isn't me."
"Too bad," said Brenda. "I should have liked for us to become sisters."
"We are sisters." Valerie held out her palm, which Brenda clasped in hers. "In every way that counts."
"Besides," said Brandon, "Val may think she loves me, but she's in love with someone totally different."
"You are also in love?" asked the bewildered Brenda. "What is wrong with you two? You should be with the ones you love."
"It's not as simple as that," said Val. "Besides, you and that baby you're carrying are our main priority. We're young. Brandon and I have plenty of time for relationships."
"Have you two learnt nothing?" Brenda batted her hands out at the both of them. "I bet I also thought I had plenty of time, and now look at me. I need you to constantly tell me the time, because the hands on a clock are confusing and the digital numbers blur. If I look at them too long, my head fills with ice."
"Really, Bren," said Val, helping Brandon scrub the dishes. "It's no big deal. It's not like Bran and I broke up with people to take care of you. Incoming." She spun around to face Brenda, propping herself up on the counter behind her. "Neither of us were in relationships when it happened. Both of us had already left our exes behind after our respective breakups. Even if we hadn't, you can bet your ass we would have still prioritized you over them."
"Neither my child nor myself will be a burden on your love lives."
"You aren't," Brandon emphasized.
"If you're sure," said Brenda, skepticism thick in her veins. "Well if you aren't in love, then you'll want to tell Alina, because she won't date anyone who is. And I know you've been wanting to date her."
"Is this your doing?" asked Brandon to Val.
"You honestly thought Bren wouldn't notice how you practically drool over the doc?" asked Val.
"You also noticed?" asked Brenda.
"Hard to miss it," said Val.
"Okay. Let me make that call now, before you two decide to get licensed to be matchmakers." Brandon swatted his hands at the dish towel hanging over the oven handle and retreated into his room.
"You need a license to be a matchmaker?" asked Brenda.
"Maybe in some countries," said Val. "Anything yet?" She glanced over at Brenda.
"Not yet." Brenda unbuttoned the top button of her jeans to loosen her clothing. "Maybe she'll kick if Auntie Val spills about who she's in love with."
"Nice try," said Val. "All you need to know about him is that he's gone back to his ex. He's decided to move on. I'll have to do the same and right now, that moving on is sitting here and listening to you try to sing like a Broadway star while I wait for your kid to let you know she'd rather hear the actual Broadway stars."
"Sheesh," said Brenda. "I'll drop it. No need to attack my singing."
"I'm kidding," said Val. "I'm sure she'll love your voice."
"I do hope so. Should we continue watching?"
"Absolutely! We paused it right at the trolley. You can't pause it at the trolley."
"Then by all means," said Brenda, amused, "please continue."
Her gaze drifted towards the window as she wondered if his gaze had also spotted the moon that seemed to waltz in the sky.
Or perhaps it had chosen to waltz only for her.
xx
The moon was dancing.
It had been the first thing he noticed as he returned to his hotel from the alcoholism support group he had located after separating from Brenda.
Despite her assurances that she wouldn't fall a second time, a great discomfort had overtaken Dylan as he watched Brenda turn the corner from the harbor street she had allowed him to walk her to.
He had wanted to follow her, but had worried that doing so without her invitation would reflect poorly on her image of him.
Then there were the stalker charges Brandon had threatened.
Energized both from his meeting and from seeing Brenda, Dylan flipped aimlessly through the television channels. He stopped on a program he had been introduced to by Shane before flicking the television off.
Did he carry the memories of their friends alone, too?
It had seemed Brenda had remembered Mina, but the moment the train had departed, Mina had also departed.
If it was this hard for Dylan, it must have been fucking disastrous for Brenda.
He jumped up from the bed the moment his mobile rang.
"Hello?" he asked without checking the caller identification.
"I was told to call you."
"You were? Good."
"Bren says you kept her from hitting the sidewalk. Thanks."
Brandon's tone remained clipped, with an infusion of gratitude.
"She told you?"
"She tells me everything these days. Mainly because it helps her with clarification later. Why'd you ask her to ask me to call you?"
"Because we need to talk," Dylan spoke firmly. He looked at his newly purchased painting, a piece he knew Brenda would love. "Meet me at the hotel. I won't accept a no."
"There's a great late night coffee shop Val and I like to go to, down the block from your hotel. The owner's sister has been working with Bren."
"Alina?"
"You met Alina?" Dylan pictured Brandon squeezing his mobile on the other side. "McKay, did you go with Bren to her cognitive training?"
"Only outside the building. We walked over there as we talked."
"Bren let you walk her over there?" Brandon paused long enough that Dylan believed the call had dropped. "Alright. I'll book their private room. Can it wait until tomorrow?"
"Fuck no it can't."
"Then I'll call you back if they've had a cancellation."
He considered showering, but feared missing the phone. He considered shaving, but knew he wouldn't hear the ringtone over his buzzer.
He instead paced the carpet of his hotel room, glaring at his mobile every few seconds.
When it rang again, he flew across the bed to answer on the first ring.
It was, as Brandon had mentioned, a nice coffee shop. Quaint. Minimally decorated. The owner nodded towards Brandon from behind the coffee bar.
"Coffee?" Brandon threw over his shoulder.
"Never say no to coffee," said Dylan.
"Don't tell Nat I said this, but it's a lot better than his," said Brandon.
"That isn't hard to do."
Dylan and Brandon took their respective mugs into the room Brandon had reserved. Their forced chatter soon transitioned into the reason the warring men had agreed on their meeting.
Dylan pleaded with Brandon to tell him more about the rail crash.
"I'm only telling you because Bren could've been worse off if you hadn't caught her," said Brandon.
Dylan's heart had been spliced whilst listening to Brenda speak of her difficulties. As Brandon further elaborated, Dylan felt certain his heart had vanished completely.
Brenda had either blocked out the accident, or couldn't remember it whatsoever. Brandon himself knew only of what he had been told. Emergency services had extracted Brenda from the overturned train. Whether intentional or accidental, Brandon painted a picture so vivid of Brenda trapped underneath uprooted furniture that Dylan had to close his eyes and release his pent-up tears.
Brenda had undergone surgery for a coup-contrecoup injury to the head, an injury that had caused bleeding and swelling on her brain. Dylan nearly gripped his mug to the point of breakage.
"Her - her brain slammed against her skull?" asked Dylan. His shoulders trembled ferociously. His mug rattled in his hand. His tears ramped up to full-blown, guttural sobs that attacked every part of him.
"To tell you the truth," said Brandon, "and this is gonna make me sound awful, but it was almost a relief when Brenda woke up with her cognitive difficulties. Because," he shakily inhaled, "because it meant she had woken up. Not knowing whether she would; those were the longest three days of my life. If she needs me to take care of her for the rest of our lives, I'll happily do it. But burying her? Wasn't gonna happen."
"I hate that I wasn't by her side during all of this," said Dylan. "I hate that I let it - let us - get to the point where no one even considered telling me. I hate that while I was telling fucking lies about my relationship, my Bren was having fucking brain surgery."
"No one knew," said Brandon. "We were concerned about springing people on Bren before she was ready. We started out slow, just our parents. Uncle Simon. Aunt Alicia. Aunt Paula. It became clear early on how bad things were when Bren didn't know any of them."
"She doesn't know Jim?"
"She thought he might have been a nurse, and that uncle Simon was our dad."
Despite the tension that hung in the air, Dylan began to guffaw.
"Would've loved to have seen Jimbo's face on that one," he said. "Does she remember anyone?"
"Just me," said Brandon, "and even that is tricky. She'll remember moments we had alone, but not always the conversations we had. She's recently begun to remember Val, but only enough to know how important Val is to her. In the moments we were with others, Bren either only knows how I was, or doesn't know at all."
"So the moments the three of us had together?"
"Completely wiped from her memories."
Dylan swiped a napkin from the corner of the table. The shredded fragments that floated through his fingers gave him a sense of calm in a moment that would have otherwise had him agitated.
He had hoped that though Brenda had forgotten their relationship, remembering Brandon meant she would remember how she and Dylan had begun.
Instead, Dylan had to face that the only things Brenda knew of him were what she had been told.
That she had only figured him for a surfer due to his physique had been enough of a blow.
"Bren needs routine," said Brandon. "I remind her of her appointments, show her familiar objects, play music to help her recall. There's one piece in particular she's taken to humming when she gets scared. I've tried to find it to buy her the CD, but I don't recognize the tune."
"How does it go?" asked Dylan. "Maybe I'll know it."
Brandon had hummed only a few notes when Dylan whipped up in his chair.
"I'll buy Bren the CD," he said hoarsely.
"You know the song?"
"Yeah." Dylan slid his fingertips underneath his eyelids. "It's Paganini. Bren and I would play it in the flat, enough times that the neighbors went out and bought us a CD in concern that we didn't have any others." Dylan held his mug with both hands. "Bren may not know me, but she does know our song."
"Bren needs encouragement to keep uncovering her scattered memories," continued Brandon, his only acknowledgement of Dylan's response a momentary shock. "If it gets to be too much, she has to be redirected with activities."
"Brandon, I distinctly heard Bren call out for Mina when she heard that train. She was shouting to Mina that they had to get off. But when I mentioned Mina, Bren didn't know her."
"That happens." Brandon twirled his mug. "The other day, Val and I had to help Bren out from under a table, and that wasn't the first time. She gets spooked every time she hears a train. The rest of the time, she's fighting the train that chugs through her mind. She cries out for her friends in the night, and doesn't remember them in the day. Bottom line," Brandon inhaled his coffee, "Dylan, Bren is in a place right now where she really needs stability, to be able to rely on someone. She can rely on me."
"She can rely on me, too," said Dylan.
"I don't think she can," said Brandon. "If there's even the sliver of a possibility that you'll take off after one of her bad days, then you need to figure that out now. Because this isn't gonna be easy. Trying to care for Bren on those really bad days can be downright terrifying. Take your worst days, amplify it by fifty, and you almost get close to hers."
"It's not happening. I want to be here for Bren on the good days and the terrible. I can't leave her, Brandon. I won't. Not again. Not after this."
Brandon scrutinized Dylan. "Val and I aren't gonna be letting you move in anytime soon."
"I get that. Maybe I can start small; take Bren to the shops, walk her to memory training. Help you with the errands. Make her tea. Fund her chocolate desires. That kind of thing."
"Why?" Brandon stared Dylan down.
"Why what?"
"Why do you care all of a sudden?"
"I never stopped caring," said Dylan. "About either of you."
"You sure have a funny way of showing it."
"You really gonna sit there and tell me you've never lied to a girl about another girl?"
If looks could shoot lightning bolts, Dylan would have been fried.
"No, I'm not going to tell you that," replied Brandon tersely, "because unlike you, I can admit when I've been wrong. And I know damn well that if I hadn't cheated on Kelly, she would've had more faith in the idea of marrying me. So I do realize that I brought that on myself, thank you very much."
"That's not what I -" Dylan blinked. "You cheated on Kelly?"
"She didn't tell you?"
"She hasn't told me a lot of things," said Dylan. "Like that you told her about the chandeliers."
"Oh God," Brandon groaned. "We are not getting into the fucking chandeliers." He stiffened. "In fact, I don't want to talk about Kelly with you at all."
"Fine by me. I agreed to meet with you for Brenda, not to talk about Kel." Dylan's tone bordered on begging. "Please let me help her. I don't ask you for much, Walsh. I wouldn't be asking you for anything if Bren hadn't been hurt."
"Okay," said Brandon. "We can try it. But only because it's what Bren wants."
"She does?" asked Dylan, trying to taper his hope.
Brandon slouched in his chair. "See, that right there, that hope; you can't let it run free or you'll end up disappointed."
"Understood."
"This is what we'll do. You'll get the mornings. I'll give Bren breakfast. You can help Val take care of her from that point on until the evenings, when Val and I will take back over. If it goes well, we'll consider letting you care for Bren yourself in that same timeframe. You won't know where we live until I know if you really are in it for the long haul. Capiche? And I'll give you my notes. You better study them like you've never studied before."
"I won't let you down, Brandon."
"You already have. I just hope you won't let her down again."
"I'm done letting people down," said Dylan with more confidence and determination than he had possessed in months. "I'm done letting myself down when I let my twins down."
"Those words are all very well and good, but let's not pretend you wouldn't still be chasing after Kel if Donna hadn't let slip that something had happened to Bren."
"I think I knew," said Dylan, more into his mug than to Brandon. "In a weird way, I think I knew, and that's why I completely lost control. Did you know I knocked Donna into a pool? A fucking pool, Brandon. She hit her head. We were lucky she came out of it just fine. But I; I've been arrested, been numb, been drowning. I overdosed. I was in a fucking coma last month. I've been a mess since I left her, and never stopped to think about why."
"Why you left, why you're a dick, or why you're a mess?"
"Why I'm always a mess without Bren. Because I gave up on her. Stopped letting her in. She called me out on that, but I - I didn't want to face it." Dylan tilted his mug, examining the residue within. "Instead of turning to her to help me deal with the shit from K2, I turned back to drugs. I gave up on us, and in turn, gave up on myself." He set the mug back down. "I don't exist without Brenda. Not because she makes me who I am, but because subconsciously, I don't want to exist without Brenda. Every time I start to think otherwise, every time I think I can let that part of me go, I spiral. If - if the train had taken her, I - I don't - I - I can't - I wouldn't -"
"The train did take her," said Brandon quietly. "She's not the Bren we both know. She scares easily. She constantly needs reminders. She actually prefers to have people tell her what to do, because it keeps her mind from wandering to places she doesn't want to go." Brandon grazed a finger over the handle of his mug. "If Val and I are gonna accept your help, you have to realize that Bren will always come first. Always. If she argues, let her. If she remembers something incorrectly, don't correct her. Believe me; I learned that one the hard way. If she hides, patiently wait for her to come out. You'll scare her even more if you try to get her before she's ready."
Brandon battled his own tears.
"She'll say things that hurt you, because she can no longer control what she says. You have to be patient. You have to be encouraging. You have to put your own wants and needs aside for her. You have to realize she may never be the same, that she may never remember."
"I will," Dylan swore. "Bren did all those things when I showed up a wreck to her place three years ago. It's the least I can do in return."
"Like I said," Brandon didn't bother to hide his disbelief, "we'll give it a trial run. But if at any point, you can't handle this and you take off, then that's it. Bren won't give you a fourth chance. And I'll stand by her decision."
"If I'm going anywhere, it's with her."
"If you're entering into this with the primary goal of getting Bren to fall back in love with you -"
"That'd be a nice bonus, but I'm not doing this for that. I'm doing this because Bren is my family, and she's hurting. If she eventually remembers me, then that's the chocolate on the cheesecake. If she never does, it won't change how I feel about her."
"And how is that?"
"I'm in love with her, Brandon. I want her to be my wife. I want her to mother my children, if we're blessed to have them. I know she may decide she never wants to be either of those things. I know that, but it doesn't matter. I'm still going to do everything in my power to prove to you and to Bren that those aren't just words. I'm going to fight for her. For us. Maybe if I'd done that to begin with, Zahur would still be alive."
"You know I don't blame you for that, right?" said Brandon. "There's a lot you can be blamed for, but it was Zahur's idea to accept that ticket."
"I blame myself enough for the both of us." Dylan exhaled out an uncertain breath. "So where am I meeting Bren tomorrow?"
"I'll take her to the park nearest the galleries at nine. You can meet us by the fountain. I'll pick her up at six sharp in front of the library. Bren will know which one."
"Six? Isn't that kind of early?"
"Bren has medication that she has to take promptly at six-thirty, daily. That allows me time to get her home."
"Okay. Six it is. Thank you, Brandon."
"Don't thank me. I'm still not sure this isn't a horrible mistake."
"It isn't."
"We'll see."
Dylan ventured to ask if he could take Brenda out of town. Brandon said it may be a future possibility, but that Brenda presently needed to be in familiar surroundings.
Dylan returned to the hotel with a lighter footfall than he had since leaving London. He felt like skipping. Dancing. Swinging around a lamppost.
He made to do just that when he saw Steve walking up the driveway.
"Uh, Sanders?" Dylan stared at Steve. "Did you steal someone's kid?"
"Don't be ridiculous," scoffed Steve. "This is Hannah. Hannah, say hello to Dylan. He looks much less annoyed than he was earlier today."
"Hang on," said Dylan, flabbergasted. "How many little girls do you know named Hannah?"
"Not many, I'm guessing," smiled the woman who panted behind Steve. "You know I can't walk as fast as you, Steve."
"Andrea!" Dylan raced to embrace her. "What the," he glanced at Hannah Zuckerman-Vasquez, "heck are you doing here?"
He had last seen Andrea when she had decided to leave California to work on her marriage, a whole year before Dylan himself had left California.
"It's more like what the heck are you doing here," said Andrea Zuckerman as she rubbed Dylan's back. "I thought you were in London."
"I - I was," he answered. "It's a long story."
"Which we can tell Andrea over this delicious funnel cake," said Steve, holding up the dessert. "Can you believe I ran into her in front of a museum? I wasn't even looking for a museum. I was looking for a bar, but there she was, standing in front of a museum. Oh, and you'll never guess who else I saw today."
Andrea must have noticed something in Dylan's demeanor, for she cleared her throat and pointed at him.
"But what about you?" asked Steve, catching on. "Did you get out and do something like I told you to?"
"I did get down to the bookshop," said Dylan.
"And?"
"Best idea ever," Dylan said as he snagged the boxed dessert from Steve. "I've talked to Brandon. He agreed to let me help with Bren."
"Help with Bren?" asked Andrea, her brows creasing in concern.
"So there is something wrong with Bren." Steve's happy-go-lucky attitude faltered.
"You both better talk to Brandon," said Dylan. "All I'll tell you is I'm gonna help take care of my girl for as long as she needs, and hopefully longer than that."
"If you were able to get Brando to agree to let you see Bren, then I hope I'm next," said Steve. "So is it her memory?"
"Not my place to tell," said Dylan.
"Okay," said Steve through his dejection. "Then let me tell you who I saw today." He didn't wait for Dylan to ask before barreling on. "Clare," he announced with dramatic flair.
"Clare?" asked Dylan.
"Clare. My ex, Clare. The Clare I was in love with Clare. The Clare who left me to take care of her Daddy in Paris Clare. She's a research scientist at a local hospital, specializing in neuroscience."
"She is?" asked Dylan, standing more upright in his intrigue. "How much does she know about the memory?"
"Haven't got a clue," said Steve. "Why?"
"Because I want you to ask her to talk with Brandon."
"Ah." Steve fidgeted. "Clare and I didn't exactly end on the best of terms, McKay."
"Do it for Bren," said Dylan, without further explanation.
"Don't know what I'm doing for Bren because nobody will tell me nothing," grumbled Steve, "but fine, I'll ask Clare."
"Now tell us about you, Zuckerman-Vasquez," said Dylan.
"It's just Zuckerman," said Andrea.
She proceeded to speak of her divorce, of her decision to enroll in medical school abroad, of the campaign trail her ex-husband Jesse had joined that made it impossible for Jesse to share custody of their young daughter.
As Andrea talked, Dylan watched Hannah flip through the pages of her picture book, thought of Brenda, and wondered if someday, he would be watching their daughter play with her own picture book.
Someday.
Maybe.
If he didn't fuck up another chance with Brenda.
If they were able to return to a place where she allowed him another chance.
Dylan decided he would find contentment in knowing that Brenda had asked Brandon for Dylan to help care for her.
Because Dylan knew that was the only reason Brandon had agreed to something Brandon had been adamantly against.
Which meant that, perhaps, Brenda was sitting at home, thinking of Dylan as he continued to think of her.
And maybe that meant he hadn't lost her completely.
-x
And with that, I bid 2022 adieu.
Sources: Google + the websites for Arnold & Itkin, Flint Rehab, Johns Hopkins Medicine, Mayo Clinic, Proliance, The Simon Law Firm, United Brain Association.
Thanks a million! x