Trouble had made a habit of latching onto her family.
In most cases, it had clung to her husband. In some, it had clung to her brother.
Her sister-in-law. Her best friend. Her various other siblings, all of whom had been born from other parents.
She had not been immune to trouble herself, though never anything of the magnitude that had led her to a lengthy separation from her children, with no end in sight.
"I've been calling every day," he told her as she played with the cord of the community phone. "They said you couldn't talk."
"I had my phone privileges revoked," she said.
"Visiting privileges too, from what I hear," said Dylan. "Reason?"
"Some of the ladies around here thought my entrance required a warm welcome," said Brenda.
As she had expected, Dylan released a string of curses.
"How's Gina doing?" asked Brenda.
"They didn't tell us you were in Lynwood," Dylan avoided the question. "We had to track you down. How, uh, how was the transfer?"
"I don't want to talk about it," said Brenda.
She didn't want to think about the transfer to Lynwood, either.
"Bren, they've got you locked up in a dilapidating jail, one I hear is absolute shit and one of the worst women's jails in the whole fucking country," said Dylan. "How've they been treating you?"
Dylan didn't need to tell her about the hellhole that was the Century Regional Detention Facility in Lynwood; Brenda had been living through the atrocities every day.
"I'm sure there are worse places to be in," she said diplomatically.
"I'm gonna kill 'em," said Dylan.
"Probably not the best thing for you to say."
"I didn't expect gourmet meals, but you could at least get some decent ones and a bit of humane treatment like Jack did."
"Jack didn't kill anyone."
"Neither did you. If you need us to break you out, say something Shakespeare. No, actually, say something Balzac."
Brenda did not quote anything written by Honoré de Balzac, as she did not want Dylan to get into trouble with the law himself if he did go ahead with breaking her out.
He had been in hot water with the law far too many times to get into it on her behalf. One time more and he, too, would be given accommodation in jail.
"How's Gina?" she asked again.
"I didn't call to talk about Gina," said Dylan. "I wanted to check in on my wife."
"I will keep pestering you about Gina if you don't answer."
"Good news is she loathes my very presence, so I don't think you'll have to worry about her throwing herself at me," said Dylan.
"Really?" asked Brenda. "She was quite adamant about your future together."
"We don't have a future together. I doubt she thinks that now when she blames me for the early delivery just as much as she blames you."
"God, she must be a wreck right now," said Brenda. "Losing her child like that; I can't even imagine…and you; fuck, Dylan, I know you and Gina aren't on the best of terms, but he was your child and you must feel something about that –"
"Speaking of children," Dylan interrupted, "how are ours?"
"We were talking about yours."
"And now I'm asking about ours. I'll repeat the question -"
"They miss you, I think. An awful lot."
"They do, or you do?"
"I should probably go; we don't get a lot of time to talk…"
"You've got your visiting privileges back?"
"I've been told they start up again tomorrow."
"Then I'll see you tomorrow, baby."
"I don't know if you can get in that quickly."
"Trust me; I'll find a way. They've kept me away from you for three weeks; they ain't getting away with any more."
"Three weeks? It's been that long?"
"Must've been one hell of a welcome."
"The girls; how are they? Adrianna must be having a lot of rehearsals and Callie had to have gotten more goals."
"I'll tell you how they are when I see you."
The next line she had expected from him didn't come.
"No 'I love you'?" she teased.
"Not 'til I see you," he replied. "But I do…you know."
"They love you, too."
"That's something, at least. Still not giving up on getting my kids' mother to say it. Maybe she'll say it when I get her out."
"Do you truly think that's possible?"
"Baby, you've taught me all things are possible, if you try for them."
"None of us have ever faced a life sentence before…"
"We don't know that's what you're getting."
"I'm on trial for murder, Dylan, of an innocent little baby…"
"I know everything, Bren. Everything. I know why you're in there. I know what Gina had planned."
"You do?"
"The best decision I ever made is choosing you to be the mum of my children. You're an incredible mum, Bren, the best; fucking phenomenal, and you shouldn't have to stay in there because you were being a mum, because you were protecting our child when she protected you."
"You would have done the same."
"Damn straight I would have."
"Taking your sweet time on the phone, La Diva of the 90210? Some of us have people we want to call, too!"
"That the one who gave you the warm welcome?" Dylan's previously sweet tone took on a menacing quality.
"Bye," said Brenda.
She handed over the phone, attempting to avoid another confrontation with the woman who had been responsible for Brenda's time in solitary.
What should have been thirty days had been cut down to fifteen, mainly due to Brenda's cooperation.
Cooperation, however, only went so far.
Calculating herself well into the second trimester with the cleavage to show for it, Brenda had not given into the leering remarks of a section of the guards.
She saw their eyes upon her, the eyes of one in particular who had a predilection for Brenda's ever-increasing chest.
She had taken to covering herself as much as possible, showing little skin, but the eyes of the guard continued to follow her.
She had to be careful. She knew the stories she had heard from her brother about Lynwood.
There were jails that weren't like the movies; jails that were far better, jails that treated the incarcerated humanely.
Then, there were jails that were worse than the movies.
Lynwood, Brandon had said, fell into the latter category.
Brenda could now confirm that Brandon's years of investigative research for his Pulitzer-winning piece had proven correct.
Outside of her time in solitary, she had been placed in the close vicinity of people who had evidently suffered significant traumas that haunted their minds and emitted as eerie sounds that she expected would haunt her for eternity.
Brenda waited every day for notice of her trial. Nothing had yet arrived.
She had seen women come and go, mostly harmless non-offenders who had served incomplete sentences due to the jail's overcrowding.
Brenda herself had waited a whole day for a bed to be available on her first day.
She did her best to not become ill, as she had seen the poor treatment towards those who did.
The jail's supply of water, Brenda noticed immediately, was imbued with heavy contamination. She had made up her mind to not drink it, a decision which lasted a half-week before her body and the children within it demanded she drink the water regardless.
One could only go so long without water before one had to accept whatever water was available.
Brenda thought of everyone she knew who had been arrested, of which there had been many.
None of them, not even her husband with his drug-riddled past, had been behind bars as long as she had.
None of them had been held in a cell in as horrific of a jail as she had.
Upon her release, Brenda planned to funnel a chunk of her generous income into jail reform for southern California.
If she were to be released.
If she would still receive generous income.
Who would want to hire someone who had done time for murder?
Perhaps, if she could not get work, she could persuade Valerie into hosting benefits.
She thought of the first benefit of Valerie's she had attended, an appearance by internationally-rising star Brenda McKay to raise funds for awareness of the breast cancer that had taken her beloved aunt Sheila.
What would Aunt Sheila think of the mess Brenda had stepped into?
Brenda longed for her daughters. Fresh fruit. Food that hadn't become science experiments. A bed she didn't share with disease-riddled vermin. Her bed; God, she missed her bed.
In all fairness, Brenda told herself, her normally immensely comfortable bed may have been just as uncomfortable as the bed in her cell when lugging around two cantaloupes beneath her baggy uniform.
Brenda refused to admit to herself who else she had missed, enormously.
She did; her dreams did not.
He came to her, every night in those dreams.
Pleasured her every night, in those dreams; oftentimes on one of the beaches they had frequented in their time together.
Mostly in Australia, the country so dear to both McKays' hearts that they had named their firstborn child the first letter of the country-continent's name.
As they had named their second child with the first letter of the state in which they had met.
The state which seemed determined to separate them and had done so, several times over.
Waking to the increasing movement of her husband's children comforted Brenda for a few minutes every morning, until the same disconcerting thought crept in:
I won't get out until they're teenagers, if that.
Followed by:
Will I get to hold them when they're born?
And:
Will they survive in here? Will I?
Brenda didn't doubt that Dylan would try everything within his power – and perhaps outside his power – to get her released, but there was no guarantee that it would work.
It was better for her to accept that this had become her life. Perhaps there would be less disappointment if she accepted it.
She could not, however, accept that her children would all grow up without her around.
What was the alternative? Her daughter in the place where Brenda sat?
Never.
She would remain in Lynwood without complaint, or prison if that was to be her fate, if it meant her daughter could remain free.
Adrianna. Calista.
Had it truly been three weeks since she had spoken to her girls?
Since she had held them? Seen them?
She supposed her midsection had increased quite a bit since the confrontation, though she never would have taken it to be three weeks of growth had Dylan not told her.
Nineteen more weeks with her twins, assuming she was neither late nor early.
Nineteen more weeks they would have to be in Lynwood, if it took that long or longer for her trial.
What would Calista think, what would the twins think if they learnt of the true reason Brenda had become incarcerated?
Would they think she had chosen protecting Adrianna over her other children? Would they understand that Brenda had done what she had thought best for her family?
"McKay," barked the gruff voice that slashed into Brenda's sensual dream. "You're wanted upfront."
"I'm wanted upfront?" asked Brenda.
"You got company," said the guard, a weaselly, freckle-faced, stout man who had shown an affinity solely for brunettes. "Quite an attractive bit of company, if you ask me. Kind of like the chick they're here to see. Though I've yet to see anyone who tops that kind of beauty."
Avoiding the guard's eyes, Brenda acted as if covering up her chest had been a modest afterthought.
She stilled in her walk.
She had not been led to the visiting room, which meant it had not been Dylan who had come to see her.
Or perhaps she wouldn't be led to the visiting room.
Perhaps all of her visits would occur on the other side of glass.
"I – I –" she stammered.
"Go on." The guard gave Brenda a push to her back, one that lingered on her back far too long for Brenda's liking.
She stumbled forward.
"But I – I only get one hour visit a day, two visits a week, and – and that's not my husband…"
"Then keep it short," said the guard.
"This woman is not on my approved list of visitors," said Brenda.
"She's here on behalf of the woman whose son you killed. Makes the visit pertinent to your case. If you don't talk to her, the Judge will think you've got something to hide. If you want the Judge to think you've got something to hide, then far be it from me to stand in your…"
Brenda approached the woman. Trepidation permeated her bones.
"Hello, Brenda," said the woman.
"Hello," said Brenda, unsure with whom she was speaking. "Is – is Gina – how is she do –"
"How do you think she's doing, after you killed her child?" railroaded the woman. "How does it feel, by the way? To murder an innocent baby like that, all because you were consumed with jealousy of the connection his mother has with your husband?"
That voice. She had heard it before.
"It's you," said Brenda. "You're the one who was there, the one who told everyone I pushed her."
"Guilty as charged," the woman said, offering a rictus grin. "What can I say? I don't care for bitches like you who get away with crimes like that."
The ease with which she had denigrated Brenda had greatly reminded Brenda of someone whose name she had intentionally wiped from her memory.
"Laura?" she asked, almost in a whisper.
The woman tilted her head, her reaction indiscernible.
"Laura?" she asked.
"You," said Brenda. "You're Laura…" She wracked her brain for a surname. Dukeman...no, that wasn't it. Prince…MacQueen…King…Kingman. "That's it, Kingman!"
"Oh, am I?" asked the woman. "Am I Laura Kingman? Or are you imagining me, Brenda? Am I real? Are you real? Is any of this real?"
"It – it is real," said Brenda. "This is my life, and it's very real. Laura; you're LL? You – you're the woman who has targeted my family and coaxed Gina into stealing my husband?"
"Stealing? It takes two to tango, sweetheart, and Gina didn't hear any complaints out of your husband when he was spilling out into her hand."
"When he – when he what?"
"I don't know who this Laura person is," the woman rushed on. "I'm here to tell you that you hurt a dear, darling friend of mine. You took her son from her, and I will make you pay for it dearly."
"I know it's you," said Brenda. "I'm sure of it."
"What did you do to this Laura that you would think she had it out for you?"
"I – I didn't do anything to her…"
"Then you have nothing to worry about, do you? Since you didn't do anything to her. Since you aren't responsible for her longtime residence in a psych ward, the complete destruction of her life. Since you didn't sleep your way to her part and steal the career of her dreams right out from under her."
"That's why you're doing this?" asked Brenda. She stood in rapid motion. "You've wrecked my life, my daughters' lives, my husband's life, to get back at me for something that never happened?"
"How does it feel, Brenda?" asked Laura. "How does it feel to lose everything, to know a sliver of what Laura went through when she lost everything to you? To have the media circus shout to the world how insane you are?"
"You are Laura," said Brenda.
"You must feel immensely guilty about what you did to Laura if you've decided I'm her. Good. You should feel guilty. You destroyed that poor girl's life."
"I didn't!"
"Destroyed it!"
Brenda closed her eyes for what she thought was only half of a millisecond as she clamped her hands over her ears and used an old lullaby she had sung to her children to drown out Laura's taunts.
When her eyes reopened, her old nemesis had departed.
So had the guard who had brought Brenda there.
"Where did she go?" asked Brenda.
"Where did who go?" asked the guard who had stepped into place of the previous one.
"Laura," said Brenda, "she was just here…"
"You didn't have a Laura on your list of approved visitors," said the guard.
"I didn't," said Brenda, "but she was here; I swear she was here…look her up on the list, she was here…"
"If she was here," said the guard, "then where is she now?"
Brenda couldn't answer that.
Laura had up and vanished.
"I was talking to someone," said Brenda, "wasn't I?"
"I saw you talking to yourself when I walked in, if that tells ya anything," said the guard. "Seemed you were getting a bit overargumentative with yourself. Might want to watch that or folks 'round here are gonna start to talk."
Perhaps Laura truly had been a figment of Brenda's overactive imagination, an invention of a conscience combing through every action Brenda had taken in her life.
"I will escort you back to your cell," said the guard.
"My husband will be here soon," said Brenda. "I should wait for him."
"As I understand it, your permitted hour has been used up."
"What?" A stifling mudslide collapsed onto Brenda's soul. "No! That wasn't an hour! That couldn't have been an hour."
"Notation here said you had a visit lasting an hour," said the guard with a careless shrug. "I don't make the rules, honey; I just enforce them."
"Laura," said Brenda. "She was the visitor for an hour. Look her up. Laura Kingman! She'll be there, in the visiting record."
"Is Laura Kingman an immediate family member, or your attorney?"
"No, but…she was…she was here…"
Wasn't she?
Sinking onto the poor excuse for a bed, Brenda brought her knees up as far as her abdomen allowed.
She tucked her head into her knees, turning her focus less on Laura and more on what would be going on at home when Dylan learnt he had again been forbidden from seeing her.
And further, why she wanted to see him just as badly.
Hormones.
Those had to be the reason.
Her damn hormones, coupled with the worry that her mental state had begun to deteriorate; that it would continue to deteriorate, as long as she remained in Lynwood, until she hadn't a piece of sanity left.
xx
The name of his wife didn't often make him livid.
Since the secret transfer to Lynwood, he had been frequently livid in conversations relating to her name.
"You're wrong," he spat into the phone. "I have a visit scheduled with her today. I was assured it had been approved. I have triple-checked and quadruple-checked that it was approved!"
"I'm sorry," said one of the few attorneys Dylan had not contemplated on sacking; at least, until that moment, "they're saying she had a visitor earlier that took up the allotted hour."
"Who the hell was this visitor?" asked Dylan.
"Lynn Queen," said his attorney.
"Lynn Queen," said Dylan. "Lynn Queen, visiting Lynwood, taking up my hour with my wife! How convenient."
"We can try again for mid-week," said the attorney.
"I was supposed to see her today. Today! Not later this week. Today!"
"Sir, I have to urge you to please keep calm."
"How the fuck do you expect me to keep calm when my wife is locked up in a rat-infested shithole like that?"
"I would advise you to not fight them on this."
"Yeah, because they could take it out on Brenda. So I've been told. Numerous times. You ever go three fucking weeks without being aware of where your wife is? Because let me tell you, it ain't a picnic! I want my wife out of Lynwood, and I want it today!"
"As we have said, we are unable to get Brenda released from jail prior to her trial."
"Get her transferred. Moved to another jail. Something. House arrest – can she get house arrest?"
"They don't give house arrest for charges like this."
"I am this close to sacking every single one of you. How hard is it to do the job I hired you to do?"
"With all due respect, sir, you didn't hire any of us to get Brenda out of jail and a few of us have been working for your family long before you knew Brenda."
"I have you on retainer for a reason. Get her out of the fucking jail, or kiss your careers goodbye."
There was one option, said the unfazed lawyer. Dylan demanded to hear more.
"Brenda can plead not guilty, by reason of insanity."
"Yeah, she's not doing that," said Dylan.
"It may be her best option for release."
"She'd go from jail to a psych ward. She's not doing that."
"Mental hospital, sir."
"Calling it a mental hospital is the same as calling trash rubbish. You can dress it up all you want, but it's still the same damn thing, and my wife will not be pleading insane when she isn't fucking insane. Can't she plead self-defense? Gina was going to attack her!"
"Brenda would have to be able to prove that. Can she?"
"If she could, she wouldn't be in there, would she? Goddammit, where did you do your degree?"
"Cambridge, sir."
"Did they teach you how to cut your check in half at Cambridge?"
"They did not, sir."
"It's real simple," said Dylan. "Keep telling me that my wife's only option out is a psych ward, you get your check cut in half. Capiche?"
The beep on the line signalled another call.
Instantly recognizing the area code, Dylan drew back his mobile.
He accepted the call, putting an abrupt end to the one with his attorney.
"Brenda," he said.
"Dylan?"
Her voice both calmed and concerned him.
It had quaked. He didn't like it quaking.
"Baby, what is it?" he asked.
Could she have been half as upset as he was about their cancelled visit?
Was it possible she had missed him as much as he had missed her?
Had she dreamt of him, as he had dreamt of her? Did she meet him on the beach in those dreams, as he had met her? Did she allow him to pleasure her, over and over again until their dreams felt more real than fantasy?
Was he pushing it by hoping that their time apart had coaxed her into reconsideration of her desire to modify their marital status?
"I need," Brenda puffed out a breath, "I need you to do something for me."
"Anything," said Dylan.
He discarded his earlier rage as best as he could, allowing Brenda to hear only a soothing tranquility.
She didn't need to hear his rage. It would only worry her. She didn't need to be worried.
His rage was reserved for the people who had kept them apart: the woman who had falsely claimed Brenda's charge, the lawyers he was beginning to think had turned incompetent.
"Laura," said Brenda. "Steve's crazy ex. She was Laura, Laura Kingman. Can you – can you get Brandon to look her up? I think she's in LA."
"Is there a reason we're looking her up?"
"Just please look her up."
"You – you could've called Brandon."
"I thought he'd be at work."
"I could've been at work."
"If I know my brother, and I do, he's been there with the girls frequently so I'm sure you're seeing him plenty. You can pass on the message."
"I think you wanted an excuse to talk to me. You don't need an excuse for that, baby."
"How are the girls?"
"Like I said, I'll tell you when I see you. How are the twins?"
"I'll tell you when I see you."
"Brenda."
"You said it about the girls!"
The girls aren't stuck there in jail with you, Dylan would have said if he knew in advance that Brenda wouldn't have taken it the wrong way.
"The girls aren't in the safe cocoon of your belly," he told her instead.
"The 'safe cocoon of my belly'?"
Dylan detected the hint of a laugh hidden in Brenda's sad voice, invoking a minimal smile of his own.
"Cal's studying the cycle of a butterfly," he fibbed.
"Didn't she do that in primary?"
"It's the Monarch butterfly. Their cycle is more intricate."
"Callie studied the Monarch butterfly. She did a whole report on it and its rare sightings in the UK. We drove her down to the south coast, she spotted one, and she talked about it for weeks on end like we'd taken her to Disneyland. Remember?"
"So California's a little behind. Blame the American school system."
"The one we both went through? You did your entire schooling in California. Are you admitting we Minnesotans have a better school system?"
"Babe, you don't consider yourself a Minnesotan."
"Maybe not, but I did do most of my schooling there. This is quite the elaborate way for the writer to avoid admitting he sometimes has bad metaphors."
"Point is," Dylan ambled on, "I can see how the girls are doing. I can't see how the twins are doing."
"I can't see how the girls are doing, either."
"Brenda." Dylan dragged out her name, in a faux accent leaning more towards South London.
"They're kicking away, frequently," Brenda answered, "as if they've been assuring me they're still in there."
"Our last little kicker did become a surfing soccer star," he said. "We could have more surfing soccer stars on our hands."
"Or dancers, like Ade."
"Why not a little of both? Cirque du Soleil's next set of trapeze artists. Do trapeze artists compete at the Olympics?"
Brenda had either been yanked off of the phone, or Dylan's battery had died.
"Bren? Are you still there?" he tried, just in case she had merely gone silent.
"I just…I'm thinking."
"About?"
"About how much you're missing. I know you're trying to distract me and I appreciate it, but I…keep thinking about all those pictures I promised you that I can't send."
"Don't. It's -" Cool wasn't the right word. Acceptable; nothing of their situation was acceptable. Fine certainly wasn't the answer. Fine and dandy could pucker up for an attempt at kissing his arse. "It's…out of your hands."
"I guess, but I - I had that whole plan to ensure that, however it went with us, you'd still very much be involved with this pregnancy, and – and now I've – I've taken that from –"
"Look, Bren," Dylan slid his hand into his pocket, wishing he could reach through the phone and slide that hand around her, "I may not be there with you, or with them, but I was there the entire time for Ade's, for Cal's. You haven't taken anything. Everything we've wanted, we've had, and everything we still want, we'll have. You just keep growing our twins, focus on the three of you staying healthy, and don't beat yourself up about the circumstances. Know that I will be there. This week. I'll be there."
"I think they know your voice," said Brenda, "even through the telephone."
"I've got a pretty unmistakable voice," said Dylan.
"And a huge ego to boot," said Brenda.
"How could a guy not have an ego when he scored a marriage and a family with you?"
"Alright, I'm gonna go now. Tell the girls I love them."
"Tell them yourself, when I get you out," said Dylan, but Brenda had already gone.
He had spent far too much time researching Lynwood, the stories people had told about difficulties with visiting incarcerated loved ones.
"Did you get the information?" he asked, forcing his attention away from the stack of papers on his desk that had momentarily served as a distraction from imagining what his wife could be going through whilst Dylan sat in the comfort of his office.
"Bren thinks Laura Kingman is LL?" asked Brandon, handing over a manila folder.
"She didn't say as much, but with how adamant she was about looking Laura up, I think that's what she was getting at," said Dylan.
"There's not much in there," said Brandon. "Laura seems to have gone off the radar for a while."
"Probably when she was getting help," said Dylan. "I think I recall Sanders mentioning that at one point, way back when. Didn't Laura snap?"
"Yeah," said Brandon, "Steve and Bren stopped her from offing herself."
"Alright, then it's simple," said Dylan. "Laura gets institutionalized, blames our Bren for it, creates LL, plots out this whole revenge scheme and somehow gets Gina involved. Laura must have been the voice we heard in the news report. We prove this, and we can get Bren free."
"Uh, yeah; bro, you might want to check out the research there before jumping to conclusions like that," said Brandon.
Dylan zeroed in on the last page of the file.
"This can't be right," he said.
"It is," said Brandon.
"Can't be," said Dylan.
"Is," said Brandon.
"But it…it has to be her…maybe, maybe she faked it."
"How?"
"Dunno. Jack faked it."
"With the help of the FBI."
"So it can be faked."
"I doubt LL has the FBI helping her."
"She obviously has someone helping her, Brandon! This has all played out way too damn conveniently to just happen."
"Maybe if you'd tell me what really happened between Bren and Gina…"
"I told you. I can't. All you need to know is it wasn't Brenda."
"And Gina didn't throw herself down."
Dylan confirmed Gina had not.
"Then there's got to be a third option here, D. If you tell me how Gina fell, I can help Brenda more."
"One day," said Dylan, "you'll understand why I can't tell you."
"Then I'll move on, for now," said Brandon. "Let's talk your daughter."
"What about my daughter?" Dylan jumped immediately on the defense.
"I'm concerned about Adrianna. Did you know she's been getting into fights at school?"
"I'm aware," said Dylan. "Did you know that the people she's fighting with have been calling Bren a baby killer to Adrianna's face? One even wrote 'Spawn of a Baby Killer' on her locker! Back in my day, shit-talking came with a price. If you couldn't pay the price, you didn't talk the shit."
"Doesn't work like that, McKay. We're in the twenty-first century."
"Okay Walsh, and in the twenty-first century, I'm supposed to tell Adrianna to not fight people who do shit like that, despite fully knowing I'd do the exact same thing if their parents talked that shit to me? Hell, Ade and Cal both know I would. You want me to come off a hypocrite to my daughters?"
"It's not just the fights," said Brandon, "you've seen how red her eyes have been…"
"Yeah, because she's been crying a lot. Over her mother."
"Don't be this dense, Dylan. Of all people, you know the signs of addiction."
"My daughter does not have an addiction, okay? She's upset and rightfully so, because so am I! She wants her mother home."
"We all want Bren home, but you aren't doing Ade any favors by overlooking this."
"Do you know how torn up she was over that fucking Collins kid giving her the LSD? She doesn't have a fucking addiction, Brandon. I'm taking care of my kids the best way I know how when what I want to do most is something so fucking reckless that it will wind up with me sharing Bren's cell. I really need you to be on the same page with me about this."
"I am on the same page, but I can't help thinking Ade's gotten herself into trouble. Or that she will get herself into trouble, if she hasn't yet."
"If I haven't touched anything during all of this – and I swear to you on my love for my girls that I haven't – then Bren's and my daughter isn't going to touch anything, either. Drop it, Brandon."
"D –"
"B, I know my daughter. She didn't take anything. Alright? She wouldn't."
"People do a lot of things when they're upset, D. You know that better than anyone."
"I'm not talking about this."
"Just consider it. Adrianna watched her mother be arrested. She's around people trying to convince her that Bren attacked Gina. She sees the headlines, probably sees what's being spread around social media. Yeah, you have Bren's very vocal fanbase telling anyone who will listen that she didn't do it. You also have the ones insisting Bren did. Ade sees both sides. That can fuck with anyone and as good as Ade is, she's just a teenage girl."
Bren took the fall for Adrianna, Dylan thought. That's got to be eating Ade up inside.
But to take drugs? Our Ade? Willingly take drugs? Fuck no; Bran's got to be on some himself to make that assumption.
Addictions do run in families…
How are we even entertaining this shit?
He's not wrong about the bloodshot eyes. You've seen it yourself.
Yeah, so? In case you haven't noticed, bucko, we've had plenty ourselves.
There could have been numerous different reasons for Adrianna's bloodshot eyes that didn't have anything to do with addiction.
Callie had not been without bloodshot eyes, herself, and Callie certainly didn't have an addiction.
"What do you want me to do, Brandon?" said Dylan. "Snoop through Ade's belongings and make sure she hasn't secretly stashed drugs?"
"Maybe you should move the girls back into your place," said Brandon. "It might be too hard for them to be in the bungalow without Bren."
"Bren wanted our bungalow back in our kids' lives, and that's how it's going to stay."
"Thought you loved your new place."
"I do; we did, but I - I can't explain it, B; I just - I feel closer to Bren in this one."
Brenda's presence filled every room of the bungalow. Her laugh had tucked into its walls.
In the short time the bungalow had again been in the possession of his family, it had become as if it had always been the home he had shared with Brenda.
Moving his girls out of it, he thought, would do them more harm than good.
Perhaps there would have been some truth to Brandon's theory if Adrianna's grades had dropped or if she had uncharacteristically begun to skip class, but from what Dylan had been told in the parent-teacher conference, Adrianna was as bright of a student as ever.
Sure, she didn't speak up in class as much as she had done in London, but it had been like that prior to Brenda's arrest.
He abhorred it; attending the girls' parent-teacher conferences without their mother.
He abhorred the possibility that that could become his life.
Abhorred the idea of being a single father.
Plenty of fathers did it.
Steve had done it.
He wasn't Steve.
He wasn't supposed to live the life of a single parent. He was supposed to remain one-half of a parenting unit.
He wasn't supposed to be told the times he could call his wife. He wasn't supposed to be watched as he visited with her, told her availability or unavailability for visits, have those visits be on the other side of glass.
If anything, it should have been him on the other side of that glass, where Brenda sat.
He certainly had the arrest record for it; yet, his arrests had never lasted as long as hers.
How is that fair? he screamed internally, at no one in particular.
He had verbally screamed about the situation a bit with Erica, who had temporarily moved into the bungalow to help with her nieces in Brenda's absence until Erica would be called away on another assignment.
In true Iris fashion, Iris had left for her fifth remote retreat of that year prior to Brenda's arrest and had been unable to be reached since.
"I think they're going to start limiting my phone time if you keep giving me a ring like this."
"Tell them I'm making up for all those weeks of silence."
"Did you find out? About Laura?"
"Yeah; uh, I had Brandon look into it." Dylan stretched his hand behind his head until it met his shoulder blade. "Just as you asked."
"And?" Brenda pressed.
"She's dead, Bren," said Dylan. "Died eight years ago."
"She's – she's dead?"
"Brandon found an obit for her in the Times archives."
"She – how is she dead? I just…"
"You just?"
"I…I thought…no, never mind."
"What's going on, Bren? Why'd you ask me to look up Laura?"
"It doesn't matter, does it?" asked Brenda. "Since she's dead and all and I'm losing my mind."
"What'd you just say?"
"I'm losing my mind in here, Dylan. Seeing things that aren't there. Hearing things that aren't there. There's no use beating around the bush about it."
"Have you been talking to our lawyers?" asked Dylan.
"What?" asked Brenda.
"Never mind," he said. "Bren, listen to me. You have to stay with us," he urged. "Alright? Don't get lost in there. Stay with us."
Come back to me intact, baby, he thought.
Dylan slid his fingers through his hair, gathering it into a fistful. "What do you mean, seeing and hearing things that aren't there?" he asked.
"Nothing. Forget I said anything."
"The girls and I need you to get out of there in one piece, Brenda. Can you do that? Can you hold on until we can get you out?"
"And if I don't get out, Dylan?"
"You will. You will get out."
"Gina's baby is gone. Your baby, he's gone. There's no denying that."
"You are not responsible for that."
"Someone has to pay for it. Gina's not gonna rest until someone pays for it, and I – I can't really blame her, because if someone hurt our children that way, if someone took them from us so viciously, I'd want them to pay, too. That person will not be our daughter."
"I agree, but it doesn't have to be you."
"The only way for me to get free is to tell everyone what really happened and I'm not going to do that."
"I refuse to accept that, Brenda. There has to be another way to get you free and to keep our daughter with us."
"If there was, you would've found it by now."
"I will find it. You have to hold onto that. Baby, I will find it, and I will get you out. But you can't – you can't shut down. You can't shut me out. You can't tell yourself you're going crazy because you aren't. You hear me? You aren't!"
"I miss our girls."
"They miss you, too. I can bring them to visit you."
"No, I don't want them to see me in here. I never want them to see the inside of this place."
"Another reason to get you out, so you can see them."
"You're not mad at me?"
"Why would I be mad?"
"For choosing Ade over Callie and the twins."
"Is that what you did?"
"No, but…"
"Then why would I be mad at you for something you didn't do?"
"Is that a trick question?"
"Baby, I'm not mad. No reason to be. You did what you thought was best for our family, for our daughter. I get it. I don't have to like it, but I get it. If the shoe was reversed, I'd do the same. Hell; wish I'd had the chance to do the same, so I could be in the system, instead of you."
"I wouldn't want you in jail."
"After everything I've done, I have a million more reasons to be in there than you do."
In an obvious switch of subject Dylan caught on to easily, Brenda asked about the gang; every grown and miniature member of the gang on both coasts, as well as across the sea.
"They're heartbroken that Lynwood said only immediate family can visit," said Dylan.
"I guess immediate family doesn't include sister-in-law, niece, or nephew," said Brenda.
Dylan confirmed it did not.
It did, however, include Brenda's parents.
"Last thing I need is to waste an hour getting a lecture from Dad," said Brenda. "I'm guessing Val also doesn't count as immediate family?"
"She's heartbroken about that."
"Heartbroken, or pissed?"
"Both. Silver had to stop her from doing something idiotic that he convinced her would ultimately affect you, whether or not it would. Sanders was pretty pissed, too. Hell, even Donna said a few words we never expected to hear from her. You're loved, Bren. You're so loved, and God, are you missed."
"I miss everyone. I miss our home."
"Did – did you say our home?"
"And I miss – I miss –"
"The hat on your fine husband's head?"
"No, not the hat. Definitely not the hat."
"What do you miss, Bren?"
"I miss -"
"Brenda? Hey, hey, Bren! What were you going to say? Brenda!"
He loathed having a time limit enforced on their calls.
He loathed that their call had cut off before he had the chance to tell her goodbye.
He loathed that when he called back, he was told Brenda had met her phone allowance for the day.
They were goddamn adults, yet their communication was being monitored as if they had de-aged to teenagers fighting strict curfews.
Dylan supposed he should be glad that Brenda was able to phone at all. Jack had barely phoned when in prison, though that may have been more his decision than the decision of the system.
Dylan further loathed the call he had received a half-week earlier, a call shortened by his explosive response.
"I keep thinking about my daughter, locked up in that horrible jail," Cindy had said. "How can I help, Dylan? Maybe Jim and I could take the girls this weekend? It's supposed to be beautiful out. We could drive them up the coast."
"Cindy," Dylan had said as he rubbed at his ear, "whilst Bren and I appreciate your willingness to help, it would have to just be you."
"Jim is their grandfather," said Cindy.
"Who both of my daughters have said they don't want to see at present and I aim to respect both of their wishes," said Dylan. "Bren and I gave them a choice. They chose."
"They are not old enough to make a life-altering choice like that."
"I disagree. I made plenty of life-altering decisions at Cal's age."
"None of which were good," said Cindy. "Do you think they were good?"
"Probably not," Dylan had admitted, "but Cal has a much better head on her shoulders than I did at that age."
"Is this about Jim's argument with Brandon?" Cindy had queried. "Dylan, he was upset. We had just learned from the news of all places that our daughter had been arrested and -"
"And instead of calling to check on Bren, check on the girls, or fight to get Bren and our twins looked at, get them some decent medical care as I was doing - after which myself or Brandon would have called you so that you didn't have to hear it from the news - Old Jimbo chose to storm downtown and cause a scene when he tore apart the girls' and my Bren and blew up at me for her arrest. Do you think I want that kind of mindset around my children, that Bren would want that kind of mindset around our children?"
"Truly, he was just upset…"
"Funny how Jim is always 'just upset' when he denigrates my wife, or when he would denigrate my fiancée, my girlfriend."
"You don't know him like I do, Dylan…"
"Cin, I don't think you know him like you do," said Dylan. "Seems to me you're holding onto this ideal of him that is long gone and you just aren't willing to admit that or accept it."
"We don't all turn to divorce as the easy option," Cindy had said briskly.
Dylan didn't think any words he had heard Cindy speak had cut him half as much as those had.
"I better go," he had said glumly.
"I - I didn't mean…"
"My decision is final," he had said. "Unless my girls express a specific desire to see their grandfather, he is not to come near them. And Cin, I'm afraid if you can't adhere to that, then I'm going to have to ask that you also refrain from coming near my girls."
"They are my grandchildren!" Cindy had said indignantly.
"And I'd be happy to let you around both of them, but not with him," said Dylan. "I will not allow Jim the opportunity to denigrate my children's mother in front of them."
"Jim would never!"
"He did. He denigrated her in front of our twins."
"I hardly think that counts -"
"They were in front of him. It counts."
"I really wish you'd reconsider. I don't want to fight with you, Dylan."
"In the weeks since my beloved wife was put in that place, how many times has your husband railed against her?" Dylan had asked. "How many times have you defended her in response? Think about that, Cin, and then get back to me."
Cindy had not yet gotten back to him, but he had received a notice penned in Jim's hand threatening legal recourse if Dylan did not permit the Walshes to visit with their grandchildren.
It wasn't the first time Jim had threatened to use the law against Dylan.
He had meant what he had told Brenda.
He could handle Jim.
It was Cindy that Dylan had more difficulty fighting against; Cindy who had always been like a mother to him when his relationship with his own mother had been craggy, at best.
Yet, Adrianna and Calista had not changed their minds. Dylan wouldn't, either.
Not even to salvage his relationship with the woman he had thought would always be a mother to him.
"How's she doing?"
The question slashed through Dylan's unwanted reverie.
"She's in a shithole, Val. How do you think she's doing?" Dylan cupped his hands, sliding them up and down over his nose. "Sorry, I didn't mean -"
"You did mean," said Valerie. "You're angry. You're hurting. We all are, but it's…it's different for you."
"We want to help, but we," Donna looked at Kelly and Steve, "we don't know how."
"Keep bringing the kids around mine," said Dylan. "Naomes, Kai, Rubes; they're all helping Ade through this, same way Christy's helping Cal."
"Should we have more sleepovers?" asked Kelly. "Maybe ongoing ones, at the casa?"
"Ruby calls them wakeovers," said Donna.
"She got that from Mads," said Steve.
"I'll provide the pot," said Val.
Four parents shipped off heated glares in her direction.
"Joke," said Val. "Obviously."
"I mean, I'm definitely buying Kai his first beer," said Steve. "But he's a little young for it right now." Steve appeared horrified. "Oh fuck, did I just become Jimbo?"
"I don't think it's the best time to mention Jim," said Donna, "since both of the twins are currently not speaking to him. Dylan?"
"After what he said about my wife and what he's trying to do to my family? Fuck no."
"Kelly?"
"I'm a tad bit too miffed at Jim right now to speak with or about him," said Kelly.
"In that case," said Steve, "when did I become Felice?"
Donna snorted.
"I wouldn't go that far," she said.
"Well, I'm obviously not myself," said Steve.
"You're a parent," said Dylan. "It happens."
"Sure did," said Val. "It happened to you."
"It's my wife," said Dylan. "I wouldn't be half the parent I am without watching the one she's become."
"I miss her," said Kelly. "Sammy was telling us all about this girl he's been talking to in the dorms and all I could think about was how badly I wanted to tell Bren so we could tease him about it relentlessly."
"You can call her, you know," said Steve. "Dylan does."
"She hasn't been answering calls," said Donna, "from any of us."
"The bastards took her phone privileges," said Dylan. "Can you believe that? These asshats are monitoring my wife's phone time and judging her behavior on whether she's allowed to call people, like her goddamn husband."
"Will you be bringing the girls to see her?" asked Kelly.
"Bren doesn't want them seeing her in there," said Dylan, "which does nothing to assure me they're treating her humanely. Pretty sure the twins are the only reason Bren hasn't forbade me from coming; not that I'd listen to her if she did."
"This is crazy," said Donna. "Bren isn't a criminal. There must be some way to get her out."
"How?" asked Dylan. "You got any ideas? Because if you do, I'm all ears, Don. We've tried all the legal ways, the ways my inept team of attorneys swore up and down would work. They told me to wait, to let the law handle it, that it would be better for Bren if I let the law handle it. So I waited. Against my better judgment, against every bone in my body that screamed at me to try for a jailbreak, I waited. Guess what? Nothing happened. She was supposed to have her prelim within ten days of her arrest. Gina's lawyer got it postponed until the key witness is healthier and better available to attend; which, who knows when that will be. We tried the bail review and it didn't do shit. They're adamant Bren doesn't qualify for bail and the motherfuckers won't take my bribes. What good is my money if it won't help my wife?"
"It has helped her somewhat," said Donna, rubbing at Dylan's shoulder. "You were able to use it to continue paying Bren's bills, to ensure she'll still have a car and a functioning phone plan when she returns. You kept the wi-fi on, which allows the girls to continue doing their schoolwork at home. You've kept the groceries coming in. And you worked with the bank to keep them from freezing Bren's money, in case the girls need to draw from it. I'm sure Bren must be appreciative of that."
"No offense, Don," said Dylan, "but if that's all my money does for my family, then it feels like nothing."
The meetings he had sat through with Brenda's agent and her producers to ensure Brenda had a job to return to - a guarantee that remained in discussion - had also seemed pointless.
A recast, Dylan had been told, was likely.
He had also been told, however, that the cast and crew were on Brenda's side, which would perhaps nix Dimtri's idea of a recast.
The crew had shared stories about Brenda; stories that further proved to Dylan what he had many a time experienced himself: his wife was a kind, caring soul who could still harness a certain level of ferocity if the situation required it.
He hoped Brenda were utilizing that ferocity at that moment, especially if the Lynwood guards treated her anything like Dylan had read.
If they did, Dylan would end up arrested for murder, himself.
"I'm telling you," said Steve, "bombard the media with this. Get Bren's fans onboard. Enough eyes land on this case, we can speed up the trial. Her massive fanbase spans the globe. They can get things moving, from this country all the way to the tiniest island no one's ever heard of."
"Last time I agreed to cooperate with the media, they asked their readers to theorize the paternity of my unborn children. They have been dead-set on the idea of Bren having an affair, despite my insistence that she has not, so excuse me if I'm not so gung-ho about working with the perpetual prevaricators as you are," said Dylan.
"I've got contacts in the biz," said Steve.
"So does Brandon."
"Brando has contacts on the up-and-up. I know how these tabloids work. I know how they operate. I know how to use their desire for money to our advantage to make the people aware of Brenda's plight."
"If you think you can use those evil forces for good, if you think you can use them to get my wife home, be my guest," said Dylan. "I will do anything it takes to get her home. Anything. If I could take her place in there, I would; in a heartbeat."
"I'm still willing to get arrested myself and join her in there," said Val.
"I thought David changed your mind about that," said Donna.
"Hello, Don, we've met, right?" asked Val. "Can anyone change my mind on anything?"
"There's no guarantee you would end up in the same jail as Brenda," said Kelly.
"Don't tell me you'd actually agree with Val on this otherwise?" said Dylan.
"We need eyes in there," said Kelly. "We need someone who can keep us informed on how Bren is doing; how she's truly doing. The administrators certainly won't. They'll sugarcoat things and make sure potentially ethically questionable actions worthy of a lawsuit can't come out to the public. Brenda won't -"
"She won't want any of us to worry, so she'll pretend like everything's okay," Val interrupted. "She might believe it hard enough that she'll convince herself it's true."
"That's what I'm worried about," said Dylan, "because from what I've read, she can't possibly be okay in there."
What they needed, the group agreed, was for one of them to go undercover in Lynwood.
"You could probably get a gig in there as a guard," Dylan told Steve.
"Sexist, much?" asked Valerie. "I could be a guard, too."
"You have a company to run," said Dylan.
"And Steve has clients to tend to," said Val.
"Maybe I can get Brenda's case as part of my caseload," Kelly suggested.
"You don't work with adults," said Steve. "And you're a Walsh, which everyone knows Bren is. They'd be suspicious of your intention."
"I'd offer D'Shawn as a guard," said Donna, "but it's a crazy season for him and I doubt he'll get much time off."
"David can't do it; he's too scrawny," said Val.
"I'll do it," said Dylan. "My jobs are the only ones that are flexible enough."
"You're forgetting that they won't hire on a McKay when they know another McKay is in there," said Val.
"Even if you were guard material, which you aren't," said Steve.
"Are you telling me that in this whole entire gang, none of us can offer something to Lynwood?" said Dylan, equally perturbed and distraught. "None of us offer qualities Lynwood might be looking for?"
"Next time," said a voice that had snuck up behind them, "I would advise you to check the job postings for Los Angeles correctional facilities, and you would see that they are currently seeking a physician, for which I am fully qualified. They were particularly pleased to hear I also specialize in obstetrics, as it seems they have been lacking in that department and, I hear, may especially require it for a certain twin pregnancy that may or may not be high-risk. Of course, it has been a while since I have held either of these positions, but my time as an editor for the Courant either did not phase them with my extensive time in the medical field, or they are so desperate to fill the position that they overlooked the gap."
Dylan whirled around to see a short-haired Andrea Zuckerman in a smart pantsuit, setting down her suitcase as she offered them all a limited smile.
Standing beside Andrea, Brandon beamed at her.
"Surprise," he told Kelly.
"Of course," Andrea continued, "this wasn't how I planned to spend my extended visit to this side of the country, but if it will help Brenda, in addition to the other women held in inhuman conditions at Lynwood -"
Barreling into Andrea, Dylan threw his arms around her and jostled Brandon in the process.
"Thank you," said Dylan, muffled into Andrea's hair. "Thank you."
"We're going to get her out," said Andrea. She pat Dylan's back. "We are, but in the meantime, I will ensure that Brenda and your children receive the best medical care the East Coast and multitudinous student loans provide."
The strength Dylan had latched onto to continue caring for their children when Brenda could not, the strength he clung to to hold his torn family together, to find a solution through the trouble they had found themselves in, rapidly drained from his body.
He collapsed into Brandon, shaking and crying.
"I fuckin' miss her," said Dylan, and that was all he could say through his suffocating tears.
He had stopped counting how long it had been since he had pleasured her, instead resuming the count of how long it had been since he had seen her.
"I know," said Brandon, "I miss her, too. But I'm here for you, bro. You and the girls aren't going through this alone. I'm here."
"We're all here," said Val, who snuck in beside the men.
"All here, and all willing to help you and Bren however much we can," said Steve. "You just gotta let us."
Intense pressure pressed against Dylan's back, indicating a pile-on of his and Brenda's friends.
"I don't know how to do this without her," he said. "I'm not cut-out to be a single dad. Two, I can handle, to a point, but four?"
"It won't come to that," said Brandon. "Bren will be free before the twins are born, but if for some reason she isn't, we'll help you take care of them."
"You all have lives and families of your own," said Dylan.
"I don't," said Val.
"And may I remind you that my daughter is in college," said Andrea.
"You, Bren, and those four kids are our family," said Steve.
"We want her out just as much as you do," said Kelly.
Dylan was tempted to ask if the circumstances had changed their minds on his supposed affair, but decided it wasn't the time.
Without permission from Gina, he had been unable to get a maternity test done on the lost child.
The child he was certain he had lost, with Brenda.
How could he tell Brenda of his suspicion, without concrete proof?
What if his suspicion turned out wrong, and Brenda would have become upset over nothing?
"Okay," said Dylan, "here's the plan. Andrea, you'll be Bren's doctor and keep me informed on her health. No sugarcoating; I want the specifics, however hard it may be to hear. Brando, get the paper involved. Sanders, use the tabloids. Kelly and Donna -"
"We'll take turns picking up the girls," said Donna.
"Val and David -"
"Hang on," said Val, "there is no 'Val and David.'"
"Val and David," Dylan ignored her, "will continue to work Gina."
"I could throw a gala," said Val, "with all proceeds going to the correctional system, stipulation being they release Brenda if they want the money."
"Doubt they'll give into that," said Brandon, "but it's worth a try. I'll get the paper to cover it."
"You could ask David to be the videographer," said Donna.
"Does anyone else think it's weird that Don keeps trying to get me teamed up with her ex?" asked Val.
"I just want David to be happy," said Donna, "that's all."
"David wouldn't be happy with me," said Val.
"He seemed a lot happier in those few days he was staying with you," Donna argued.
"…as he proved the two times he dumped me," Val continued on as if Donna hadn't spoken.
"And yet, you're the only woman besides Donna that my brother has ever properly loved," said Kelly. "That should tell you something."
"You're not gonna convince me David didn't love Samara," said Val, "and wasn't he with some chick named Camille or Claudia or something?"
"He was with both," said Kelly, "but I wouldn't exactly say he loved either. David went to bat for you, several times, against me. That's love, Val. I'm not gonna deny he loved you then and I can clearly see he loves you now."
"Can you uninvolve yourself from this, Kel?" asked Val. "It's weird. We get along strictly for the kids' and the twins' sakes."
"Which we appreciate," said Brandon.
"But we aren't friends," finished Valerie. "You're not supposed to cheer for me."
"I happen to want my brother happy," said Kelly. "Even if it's with you. Somehow, you have made him happy and I do think it is possible you could again."
"Bren tell you to say that?" asked Val.
"She may have mentioned it," said Kelly.
They had gotten off track.
Loudly, obnoxiously clearing his throat, Dylan returned them to the task at hand.
"Val, you are going to ask David to film this gala," he said.
"But Dyl!"
Valerie's lips seemed puffier when she pouted.
"His name recognition alone will draw in the kind of crowds we want when people realize they can be filmed by a thrice-winner of the Berlin Film Festival," said Dylan. "Deal with it."
"Brandon," Valerie dragged out the name of her first love, "can't you help a girl out here?"
"If you teaming up with Silver is going to help Brenda, I don't see what the problem is," said Brandon.
"Both of you suck," said Val. "And I'm sure you put them up to this," she told Steve.
"Was not I," said Steve, "but maybe your godson got involved."
"Kai wouldn't get involved if you didn't say anything to him."
"Valerie, another time!"
Val apologized and allowed Dylan to continue his verbalized planning.
"I'm sure I can get Bren's agent to agree to some star-studded prizes based on how much someone donates," he said. "I'll do free autographs, maybe some free books if I can persuade my own agent of it. I probably can. He loves Bren. She shipped him over a box of valuables when he lost his mother-in-law and he never stops bringing it up. Don, could you do one of your fashion shows for this thing?" asked Dylan. "If that's alright with you, Val."
"So now you're allowing my opinion," Valerie grumbled.
She and Donna concluded that having a fashion show of original Donna Martin Silver Hardell creations would be beneficial for their cause.
"I can auction off some of the new line that hasn't been released yet and get D'Shawn to bring in a handful of his teammates to do free M-and-G's," said Donna.
"And I can get non-NBA athletes in to join them," said Steve.
"Now we're talking," said Dylan. He clapped his hands, becoming more enthused by the idea of a gala than he would have assumed possible for a man who preferred to stay out of the spotlight. "Most of you use social media," he said, "so flood it. What's that thing people use to get something noticed?"
"Hashtag," said Donna.
"Trend," said Kelly.
"Hashtag the shit out of this," said Dylan. "Trend it, whatever. Turn the world in support of Bren and against Lynwood. That place is wrecking her. It's making her question herself, question her mental state, cutting her communication line to the outside world."
Almost as if this whole disaster has been pre-planned and executed to the letter, Dylan thought, though he couldn't determine who would have planned out Brenda's incarceration in such detail.
Did LL have help? Who would be helping them?
"Blast it," Dylan went on to say. "Blast it to everyone; anyone and everyone who will listen. I know how these people work, how they think, how they operate. Bren could get released just to satisfy some higher-up who wants the media noise, the public outrage to die down in case it reveals something nefarious about their operation that they don't want revealed."
"So you and Bren," Steve began.
"Bren and I will work on saving our marriage when she's out," said Dylan. "For now, we all have to work on saving her. She is not missing out on another second of the girls' lives. The rest of her pregnancy will not be spent in a fucking cell and no fucking way is any fucking court going to separate her from our twins after they're born. Put everything you've got into it because my baby will be saved. She didn't do the crime; she shouldn't be doing the time. I won't accept anything less."
"You heard the man," said Steve. He stretched out his arm. "Team Brenda on three."
Valerie's hand covered Steve's. Donna's covered Valerie's. Kelly covered Donna's. Brandon covered Kelly's. Andrea covered Brandon's. Steve covered Andrea's hand with his free hand, claiming the second hand counted for David, who duty had temporarily called away to Big Sur for the latest of his full portfolio of documentaries.
The hand bearing Dylan's wedding ring covered Steve's.
It had taken a mountain of determination and months of pertinacious persuasion to arrive at the place where Brenda had been ready to accept the proposal that would lead to Dylan's ring.
The ring that would have to be pried from his frozen, six-feet-under, decaying fingers.
He had added a special engraving into Brenda's, an engraving that meant Brenda had been unable to hold onto her ring in jail.
Dylan had bought a simple, cheap band as he had been advised, for Brenda to wear something representing their marriage.
He didn't know if she had put it on.
He wore hers, on a chain around his neck, until he could return it to its proper place on her finger.
He raised the ring to his lips, gave it a tiny kiss, and thought of the day he had given it to his wife.
They had been unstoppable then, convinced nothing could no longer come between them when they had both chosen to live the rest of their lives with each other.
He couldn't bring himself to think of how the ring may have been removed from Brenda's finger, when she had told him it had been stuck.
Unless she had fibbed.
Unless she had clung to her ring more than she had let on.
Valerie counted down.
"Team Brenda!" they all said, lifting their hands into the air until they broke apart.
"Fight like a Brenda," Kelly added.
"Which means we all fight like hell," said Dylan, "just as she would do for any of us."
"But not for herself?" asked Brandon.
"She's fighting," said Dylan. "Believe me; she's fighting. I may not like how she's chosen to go about it, but she is."
"Gonna have to take your word for it," said Brandon, "because unless you or she let me in on what's going on, then it doesn't seem like it to me."
Dylan would have told Brandon.
He would have.
If he told Brandon, Kelly would be informed next; then Donna, David, Valerie, and so on down the line. All of them would be privy to the revelation of what Adrianna had done. All of them would put their own futures at risk to protect her. All of them would be considered accomplices.
Brenda would not want her brother to be seen in the eyes of the court as an accomplice.
Adrianna should not be looked at twice by her aunts and uncles for the way she had chosen to protect her mother.
For the promise he had made to his wife, and for the promise he had made to his daughter, Dylan would not tell any of them.
Including Brandon.
If Brandon were to know, Brenda would have to tell him herself.
As she had barely told Adrianna's own father and instead forced him to come to his own conclusion based on a limited set of clues, Dylan did not think it likely that Brenda would.
-x
Jennie put "Fight like a Brenda" in an IG post upon the announcement of Shan's first battle with cancer.
Just got back from holiday/vacation, wherein the only chapter that was worked on was this one since it had been started before leaving. Hope it was worth the wait!
Sources: Google, web anecdotes from Lynwood; and the websites for Dignity & Power Now, Los Angeles Criminal Defenders, Los Angeles County Sherrif's Department,Lynwood Jail, Solitary Watch, Stephen G. Rodriguez & Partners.
(Shout-out to KJ to express my continued gratitude and appreciation, as well as those of you whose review I could respond to directly. KJ, Brandon can't ever be truly done with Dylan; as much as he would like to be, at times! His defensive brother side came out towards Jimbo. The McKays are certainly dealing with a lot! [as per usual...])
Thanks a million!