The old attic had been fond of torture.
Storms whistled through its creaks. Precipitation leaked. Thunderclaps echoed twice as loudly as they did in rooms elsewhere in the house.
Her room had sat directly below the attic.
She had, in the early days of her youth, convinced herself it was a haunted attic.
She had imagined hundreds of thousands of ghosts, all floating in the attic, waiting to be released with every storm.
Minneapolis had many storms.
Snowstorms. Rainstorms. Tornadoes. Thunder blizzards.
She had decided quite early on in life that she would not be tied down to Minnesotan storms.
She had also decided quite early on in life that when the storms hit, there was only one room for her to run to.
"Brandon?" she asked timidly, ready to turn the doorknob if he wouldn't answer.
"Bren," he said, "go back to sleep."
"I can't," she said. "The storm."
"I thought you weren't afraid of storms anymore."
"I'm not afraid of the storms, Brandon. I'm afraid of the ghosts that leave the attic when there are storms."
"That imagination of yours is something else, Bren. There are not ghosts in the attic."
"Would you like to go to the attic and prove it?" she asked.
"I would very much like not to do that," said Brandon, "when I could be sleeping instead," he hastily added, though Brenda had already caught on to Brandon's own wary attitude.
"I won't tell anyone you're afraid of the ghosts," she said.
"If I share my bed with you, will you stop mentioning the ghosts?" asked Brandon.
"You said we couldn't share a bed anymore," said Brenda. "On account of us being seven. You said seven-year-olds who share beds are crybabies."
"I said the other kids would think we are crybabies," Brandon corrected. "But no one has to know."
"No one has to know that you're afraid of the ghosts?"
"Get in." Brandon opened the corner of his comforter.
"Will you always save me from the ghosts like this?" asked Brenda.
"Not gonna make a promise I don't know if I can keep," said Brandon.
Brenda climbed in, ensuring that she didn't get too close in the event that she would pick up the cooties Valerie and Darla had warned her Brandon now carried.
"You usually get closer than that," said Brandon.
"You have cooties," said Brenda.
"Girls have cooties," said Brandon.
"Then you got your cooties from a girl," said Brenda. "You musta hugged a girl 'cause that's how you get cooties."
"Who told you that?"
"Darla."
"Darla's got her own cooties," said Brandon. "Who'd she hug to get 'em?"
"You," said Brenda. "And she said you hugged Val, too. Did you hug Val?"
"Maybe."
"Then you're giving all my friends cooties."
"Maybe your friends are giving me cooties."
A light went on in the hallway.
"Jim."
"I hear the twins."
"They're probably just comforting each other from the storm," said Cindy. "Let them be."
"They're seven, Cindy. They can't keep sharing a bed anytime Brenda's afraid of a little storm."
"She's not afraid of the storm," said Cindy. "She's afraid of the –"
"The ghosts," said Jim. "How many times do we have to tell her our attic is not haunted? Weren't you going to take her up there and show her?"
"We were barely on the first step when Brenda began to panic that we were entering in uninvited to the ghosts' home. I did everything I could to try to calm her but in the end, only Brandon could."
"Sometimes I think we've let that girl have too much of an imagination. It might have been better if we had put Brandon and Brenda into separate rooms once they were out of the crib."
"They have plenty of life ahead of them to be separate," said Cindy. "For now, come back to bed and let them rely on each other to get them through the storm."
"I don't rely on you," said Brenda. "Do I rely on you?"
"Ask me after I've looked up rely," said Brandon.
"We could look it up now," said Brenda.
"I have a game tomorrow," said Brandon. "You can look it up if you want, but I'm going back to sleep."
"What if I can't?" asked Brenda.
"Try," said Brandon.
She had tried.
She had closed her eyes tightly, trying to will sleep to come.
It hadn't come.
She had, however, been less afraid of the ghosts, as she had told herself that Brandon would protect her from them if they were to force their way into his room.
Ghosts never forced their way into Brandon's room.
Anything bad that came into her room had never come into Brandon's.
When the imaginative ghosts had become real and had clogged her brain with diner chimes and gunshots, Brenda had again returned to her brother's room.
"Bren?" he asked.
"I can't sleep," she said. "Can I climb in with you?"
"Dylan's worried about you," said Brandon.
"Both of you are worried about me?" asked Brenda.
"Isn't that what I said?" said Brandon.
"I'll be alright, Bran," said Brenda. "It could have been worse. Much worse."
"You only ask to stay in my room when you're scared," said Brandon. "You're scared the guy will come after you again."
"I can't sleep because I figured you wouldn't be able to sleep," said Brenda. "I'm staying in here for you, so you know that everything's okay with me."
"If it would help you to sneak over to Dylan's tonight, you can," said Brandon. "I won't tell."
"After what Dylan heard in the hallway today, I'll be surprised if he's even still attracted to me," said Brenda.
"I heard him asking Mom and Dad earlier if he could drive you to therapy tomorrow, instead of Dad," said Brandon. "The guy's definitely still attracted to you."
"He can't come with me to therapy," said Brenda. "What if the therapist gets me to open up about other stuff, like the ghosts?"
"D's got ghosts of his own," said Brandon. "He's not going to be weirded out that you had a whole clan of them up in the attic."
"Would you really not tell if I snuck over to Dylan's?"
"After your ordeal, Bren, you should be wherever you feel safest. If that's with Dylan –"
"You might regret you said that, Brandon."
"Why would I regret it?"
Because, said Brenda, Brandon would need to add an additional bed to his room, as the place she felt safest was with both of her boys.
At least, it had been, until life had thrown curveballs into their relationships that neither boy had attempted to dodge.
Her relationship with one had begun to repair, in university, whilst her relationship with the other had become further strained.
By the time she had left for London, she had been determined to find a new safe haven outside of Brandon and Dylan, the two boys she had foolishly relied on.
She had thought she had found a new one, in Shane.
Shane, however, could not protect her from the feelings that had returned when Dylan did.
"Why do I feel safest when I'm with you?" asked Dylan. "Like nothing can hurt us as long as we're together, sharing a room."
"You had a long flight," said Brenda. "You're probably feeling the effects of jet lag."
His wife had recently died. He had sought shelter. Brenda would provide it.
That was all.
There couldn't be more between them.
It didn't end well when there was more between them.
"Toni, Bren; she's – she's gone," said Dylan.
"I know, honey," said Brenda. "I'm so, so sorry," she said emphatically.
What else could be said when one's wife had been murdered?
"You should be on your honeymoon," said Brenda. "Not here with me."
"I should be in Hawai'i," said Dylan. "That's where we had planned to move. Hawai'i."
"You went the wrong direction for Hawai'i," said Brenda.
"I went the direction I feel safest," said Dylan. "Why didn't you come, Bren?"
"Come?" asked Brenda.
"To my wedding. You didn't come."
"I sent a letter."
"A telegram. Brandon read it."
"I thought that was sufficient. I didn't think you wanted me to know about your wedding."
Dylan questioned why Brenda had thought that.
"You didn't tell me about it," she said. "I had to hear about it from Brandon."
"I couldn't bear hearing your indifference if I told you about it," said Dylan.
"My indifference?" asked Brenda.
"Isn't that why you didn't come home after your year in London?" asked Dylan. "You were indifferent to me."
"I stayed for –"
"For RADA. An acting scholarship. That's the reason you gave."
"We shouldn't be talking about this," said Brenda. "You're grieving."
"I've been grieving for a long time," said Dylan, looking straight at Brenda. "The loss of Toni has amplified the grief I already had before I met her. Grief borne from the ghosts that haunt me."
"Jack," said Brenda knowingly.
"Jack is part of it," said Dylan.
His piercing stare unnerved Brenda, making her self-conscious about the thin lingerie she had chosen for that night's outfit.
"Bren," said Dylan, "there are so, so many things I regret and – and I need you to know that –"
"It's late," said Brenda. "I was going to go to bed before you spoke up on the intercom."
"Why'd you let me in?" asked Dylan. "You could be sleeping. I would've found a hotel or something."
"Brandon wouldn't forgive me if I let you leave when you're knee-deep in grief," said Brenda, "and truth be told, I probably wouldn't forgive myself. I'll run out and get an air mattress in the morning."
"It's no problem," said Dylan. "I can sleep on the couch."
"Heater's broken and I don't have a sleeping bag for out here," said Brenda.
"Blankets will do," said Dylan.
"It's much warmer in my room," said Brenda. "You can stay in there."
"Sounds like an invitation."
"An invitation out of the cold? Yeah, it's an invitation out of the cold."
"Warmest place is probably your bed."
"I don't sleep with married men."
Chillier and sleepier the longer she stood there beside the door, Brenda headed to the stash of blankets she had on hand.
"Am I, Bren?"
"Are you what?"
"A married man," said Dylan. "Toni was killed the night of our wedding. Can I call myself a married man when we barely spent any time together married?"
"Baby, you can call yourself whatever you want," said Brenda.
Fuck, she thought, covering up her mouth with both hands.
"Baby?" asked Dylan. "Been a long time since I heard you call me that. A very long time." His look had become beseeching, whether or not he was aware.
"Honey," said Brenda. "I said honey."
"You said baby."
"Maybe it isn't too late for you to book a hotel. I'll get you the phonebook."
"You said honey."
She couldn't set him up on the floor, not when its temperature reminded her of the winter storms of her old hometown.
"You can get in the bed," she said. "I'll sleep on the floor."
"You're not sleeping on the floor, Brenda," said Dylan.
"You California boys can't handle the cold the way us Minnesotan girls can," said Brenda.
"There's always the option of us sharing the bed, but you already vetoed that," said Dylan.
"I don't think your wife would like it much."
"I think Toni would be just as upset with me if I let you sleep on the floor when this bed looks plenty big enough for both of us."
"Your wife," said Brenda.
"Yes," said Dylan, "Toni."
"You've not said it," said Brenda.
"Not said what?"
"You keep saying Toni. You've not called her your wife."
"I have."
"Not tonight, you haven't."
Brenda was almost asleep when she heard Dylan murmur, "Calling her my wife to the girl I convinced myself would stop our wedding just seems wrong. I was waiting, Bren, waiting for your permission. You gave it, and now I'm here. Except I – I killed Toni. I'm the reason she's dead and I'm afraid – Bren, I'm afraid that the same thing will happen to you. I'm tired of letting you be one of my ghosts."
Brenda bolted upward in bed, shaking off the memory.
That wasn't what Dylan had said.
"I was waiting, Bren, waiting for your permission."
She must have been recalling wrong.
He hadn't said that in regards to his marriage with Toni.
He hadn't said any of that in the bed with her the night he had first arrived in London.
"Calling her my wife seems wrong when she's gone. I – I killed Toni. I'm the reason she's dead."
That must have been what Dylan had said.
She hadn't meant to think of Dylan at all.
She had meant to think only of her children and of Brandon, of the moments when he would help her feel safe and secure, so that she could in turn disillusion herself to feel safe and secure within the walls of the jail.
She could not think of Brandon without also thinking of Dylan, as the three of them had been intrinsically connected from the first year they had met.
When she had panicked over the results she and Dylan had received, Brandon had been their first call.
"You gotta help me calm your sister," Dylan had said. "She's freaking Ade out."
"She's freaking you out?" asked Brandon.
"That's what I said, isn't it?" said Dylan.
"Ask your brother why he isn't freaking out!" Brenda had told Brandon.
"Because if I do, that would scare you more," said Dylan, "and that would really freak Ade out."
"Didn't you two have an appointment today?" Brandon had asked.
"Unfortunately, the appointment is why your sister is panicking," said Dylan.
"How can I not panic when our daughter might be safer outside my womb than she is in?" Brenda had asked.
"That's not what they said," said Dylan.
"That's what it sounded like," said Brenda.
"Explanation, please," said Brandon.
"There might be a bit of trouble with Calista," said Dylan.
"A bit?" Brenda had scoffed.
Ebstein's anomaly was more than a bit of trouble.
"Please tell your sister it is not her fault because she won't accept it when I tell her," Dylan had said.
"It's not your fault, Brenda," said Brandon.
"My baby's heart isn't developing properly," said Brenda. "How can it not be my fault? I shouldn't have had that drink."
"What drink?" Brandon had queried.
"You barely drink, Bren," said Dylan.
"And the last time I did, I was pregnant!" said Brenda.
"Neither of us knew you were pregnant," said Dylan. "You weren't exhibiting any symptoms. You weren't breastfeeding anymore. There wasn't anything wrong with you having a little fun on Paddy's Day."
"Bren, sometimes babies' hearts have trouble," said Brandon. "It's no more their mothers' faults than it is yours."
"She might need a little extra help, baby," said Dylan, "but she'll make it through okay. You both will."
"Don't make promises you can't keep," said Brenda.
"This one, I'm gonna keep," said Dylan. He had scooped Brenda into his arms. "Ade and I ain't letting the two of you escape us so easily. You, Brenda McKay, are not gonna be my ghost story. Nor is Calista."
He had repeated it as she had struggled to remain with him after giving birth to Calista.
"Brenda Analiese McKay, you are not going to be my ghost story."
Would she be his ghost story when her body no longer inhabited the jail?
Would her spirit remain within the jail when her life was no more?
Perhaps her spirit would return to the attic in Minneapolis.
Brenda's thoughts of ghosts were interrupted by a clamor in her cell.
She glanced over at her new cellmate, a younger woman who appeared farther along in her pregnancy than Brenda.
A woman so young, she could have almost passed for Adrianna's age.
"Didn't mean to wake you," said the girl. "Was doing my best to keep quiet."
"I'm glad for the company," said Brenda, whose thoughts would have filled with memories of snogging Dylan if there hadn't been interruption.
She blamed her conversation with Andrea.
There might have been an extra ingredient in those latkes, though Brenda could not fathom what kind of ingredient would have her mind continuously trained on Dylan's lips.
She wondered if she would forget their taste.
She wondered why she had wondered that.
"They didn't mention I was getting a new cellmate," said Brenda.
"Yours was the only one with an open bed," said the girl. "Mind if I ask how far along you are?"
"Twenty-two weeks," said Brenda, "closer to twenty-three, now. You look to be about thirty-four."
"Close," said the girl. "Thirty-three. The father, is he in the picture?"
"No," said Brenda.
"Ah," said the girl. "A deadbeat."
"He wouldn't be a deadbeat."
"You said he isn't in the picture."
"I mean, yes, he is, for our children – we have two others at home – but…well, it's rather complicated." Brenda didn't want to pry, but a question like that, she thought, should be reciprocated. "Yours?"
"He's dead," said the girl.
"Oh," said Brenda, "I'm so sorry. How – how did it happen?"
"Not the way I've been told, that's for sure. But when I told people my Bryant was not killed in active duty, that I believed the government was covering up the real reason for his death, I was charged with assaulting a police officer and am now a resident of this cell."
Perhaps it would have been better if Brenda had not asked.
"What are you in for?" asked the girl.
"Assaulting my husband's pregnant lover and killing their baby," said Brenda. "That's what they say I'm in here for, anyway."
"If that's what they've said about you, then I won't believe a word of it. I'm Kris."
"Brenda."
"So what passes for food around here, Brenda?"
Kris was in her mid-twenties, "but I get told all the time that I look younger," she said.
"You could almost pass for my daughter," said Brenda.
"I'll take it," said Kris. "Never had a good relationship with my mom."
"I did," said Brenda, "but we're not in a good place. Mostly because my father and I aren't in a good place. Mom doesn't like it when he and I fight."
"And you're not in a good place with your husband."
"As I said, it's complicated."
"If your parents berated him for his affair?" asked Kris.
"I would not let them talk to my hu – Dylan like that," said Brenda.
"It doesn't seem all that complicated to me," said Kris.
"Let's eat," said Brenda. "Our babies need their nutrients."
She led Kris towards the cafeteria for another meager portion to temporarily satisfy her aching belly.
Brenda had eaten well the day before, when Andrea had come for their second appointment.
Brenda would continue to eat well on those days, as long as Andrea continued to share her lunch.
Their appointments would be weekly, Andrea had said. Brenda had started a countdown to the third one.
"Hold on," said Brenda, stopping near the entrance to the cafeteria which, in turn, caused Kris to stop.
"Brenda?" asked Kris.
"I think I know them," said Brenda. "Go on ahead. I'll join you later."
They should have been imposing figures to a woman in jail.
They may have been, had she not looked beyond the nun's habit and overlarge priest's hat.
"Has Halloween come early?" asked Brenda. "I would've never expected this from either of you."
"How'd you know it was us?" asked Valerie.
"Both sets of your eyes give it away every time," said Brenda. "Hi, David."
"Hi, Bren," said David.
"We should get props for making it this far without being noticed," said Valerie.
Brenda asked why her two friends were pretending to be involved with the Catholic faith.
"We are looking for a tape," said David, low enough that Brenda had to strain her neck to hear him.
"A tape?" she asked, matching his volume.
"We have reason to believe this tape is with the administrators of this jail," said Valerie. "Hence the costumes."
"They were Val's idea," said David.
"My idea was the nun," said Val. "David decided to join me, as a priest."
"It's a woman's jail, Val," said David. "One wrong move and you could wind up here, too."
"He's right," said Brenda. "I'd rather have you be safe than sorry." She fought her hardest to not cry, in case it gave away her siblings' cover. "I thought I'd never see you guys again," she said.
"You haven't seen us," said Val.
"Unless you want Dylan and Brandon to learn we saw you before they did," said David.
"Right then," said Brenda, "I've not seen you. Either of you." She glanced to the cafeteria. "Is this tape truly that important for you to risk coming in here?"
"It could be the difference between life and death," said Valerie, sans the theatrics befitting of such a statement. "I want to give you a hug so badly, Bren."
"Best that you don't," said Brenda. "You'd have to go around hugging a lot of people if you don't want them to question why you hugged only me."
"Brenda," Kris called, "they're starting to put away the food."
"Before you've eaten?" Valerie asked Brenda. "Unacceptable."
"If I go in there," said Brenda, "I'll come out and you'll both be gone. I've done that: imagined people who disappear. How do I know I've not imagined either of you?"
"As colorful as your imagination can get, babe," said Val, "I doubt even you could imagine me dressed up as a nun."
"Does this mean you're back together?" asked Brenda.
Valerie did not give David a chance to respond.
"No, we are not," she said.
"Will you still be here when I come out?" asked Brenda.
"McKay!" barked the guard Brenda went out of her way to avoid. "Have you eaten?"
"No, sir," said Brenda.
"Then I'm afraid you've missed your shot," said the guard. "You're wanted in the visiting room."
"I'm not accepting visitors," said Brenda.
Her mind had not yet recovered from the last time she had spoken with a dead woman.
"You don't have a choice," said the guard. "They're on the approved list and one of them is threatening to sue if –"
"That would be Dylan," said Brenda and Valerie, at once.
"Did that nun say something?" asked the guard. "The priest said the nun had taken a vow of silence."
"My voice is a little croaky," said Brenda, putting it on to make her voice appear to echo.
She put on a waddle as well, thinking it would put off the guard.
"I read your husband has asked for a divorce," said the guard. "I do not usually have an attraction to women this far into their pregnancy, but I am drawn to you, Brenda. Consider letting me console you in your grief –"
"Is that the outlet that says my husband asked for a divorce?" asked Brenda, eyeing the magazine tucked under the guard's arm.
"It was a different magazine," said the guard.
He moved the magazine out of Brenda's view, but not before she had noticed the cover page.
A full-size vibrant photo of Dylan was accompanied by the words Fighting Against My Ghosts: Why I Need Your Help in Saving My Wife.
Though solemn in the photo, it could not be denied how fanciable he appeared, even if he had worn that fucking hat.
Brenda had believed she had managed to get her hormones under control, but one look at her husband in that hat had sent a jetpack of hormones hurtling.
"May I see that?" she asked, reaching for the magazine.
"For a price," said the guard, grabbing Brenda around the chest. "Ooh. Nice and thick. Just the way I like it."
His hand grazed its way down her back.
Brenda thought quickly.
"I wouldn't do that if I were you," she said. "The last guard who put his hands there ended up with my dinner on his shirt. Heartburn. Can't control it."
"You didn't have dinner," said the guard uneasily.
"I did have breakfast," said Brenda, who had unintentionally missed lunch. "Same concept."
The guard withdrew his hands.
"Offer still stands," he said. "You get the magazine. For a price."
"I am married," said Brenda.
"So am I," said the guard. "But I ain't the dumb prick who's demanding a divorce 'cause you're in here."
Brenda asked which publication had spouted that lie.
The National Enquirer.
She should have known.
They hadn't yet walked to the visiting booth and she could already feel the presence of both of her boys.
She was tempted to sob. That would have made her vulnerable. She couldn't show vulnerability, especially to the guard who would undoubtedly use it to his advantage.
"Brenda. God. There you are."
"I – I expected you both to show up earlier," said Brenda through the phone, attempting to not show how relieved she was to see Brandon and Dylan.
How delighted she was to see them together, getting along.
"If the people running this jail weren't total pieces of shit, we would have been," said Dylan.
He placed the palm of his hand against the glass.
"You shouldn't say stuff like that," said Brenda. "You might get your time cut short."
"You've been in here for over a month," said Dylan. "Did you know that? Over a month, and this is the first time I've been permitted to see you. I'll say whatever I want to say about these fuckers."
"I didn't expect you two to come together."
"I'm here to ensure Dylan's temper stays intact and doesn't explode to the point that it leaves this jail in pieces," Brandon joked. "How are you holding up, Bren?"
"I'll be better once I know how my girls are doing. Has Callie remembered to take her meds?"
"Yes, Kel has her on a schedule for them and Callie's been sticking to it," said Brandon.
They continued to speak about Calista: her games, her grades, her sleepovers with Christy.
"And Ade?" asked Brenda. "How is she?"
Brandon looked at Dylan, who did not look at Brandon.
"She's good," said Dylan. "As good as she can be; you know."
"Grades?" asked Brenda.
"Great," said Dylan.
"Play?"
"Says rehearsals are going well."
"You're hiding something."
"No, I'm not."
"Yes, you are."
"Adrianna's just…having some difficulties," said Brandon hesitantly.
"She is not," said Dylan, gritting his teeth at Brandon.
"What kind of difficulties?" asked Brenda. She began to panic. "Is there something wrong with our baby girl?"
Had they been exposed? Had the public learnt that it was Adrianna who pushed Gina? How would they learn that? Oh God, was Adrianna on her way to Lynwood as they spoke?
Adrianna wouldn't survive a place like Lynwood. She wouldn't.
Would juvie be kinder to her?
"Bren!" Both of Dylan's hands were on the glass. "Baby, you've got to breathe! Please! Dammit, Brandon, look what you've done!"
"Can my sister get some help?" Brandon shouted.
"Brenda, you're scaring your brother!" said Dylan.
"You're scaring both of us," said Brandon.
"That's what I said!" said Dylan. "Dammit, baby, breathe! Breathe, dammit!"
"Will someone fucking help her!" said Brandon.
The guard Brenda did not want to help her moved forward.
"I'm good," she told the three, holding up her hand as she took steady breaths in and out.
"You're not good," said Dylan. "You're stuck behind glass and I can't give my wife a fucking hug when she's panicking."
"If it helps any," said Brenda, "I've not panicked like this."
"It doesn't," said Dylan.
Brenda turned the conversation in the direction of the others, asking about Brandon, Kelly, Naomi, Sammy, and everyone else.
"Was my new doctor your idea?" she asked Brandon.
"Don't know what would give you that impression," said Brandon with an easy smile.
"I didn't know you were into science," she told Dylan.
"Only for you, baby," said Dylan. His smile matched Brandon's.
"You heard?" asked Brenda.
"I heard," said Dylan. "Developing just fine."
"I need you both to do something for me," said Brenda.
She told them as cryptically as she could about her new friend Kris, about Bryant, about Kris' alleged unjust arrest, and asked for Brandon to dig into the matter the way Brandon did best.
"They've offered me a family visit," said Brenda. "Unfortunately, the only open date is next Thursday and I am only permitted one of you."
"Next Thursday?" asked Dylan. "I'll put it on the calendar."
"I had considered asking Brandon –"
"I object!" said Dylan.
"– but have been informed that there is only one bed in the apartment, no sofa, and I don't feel comfortable asking Brandon to sleep on the floor –"
"I wouldn't mind," said Brandon.
He winced.
"Dylan, don't kick him," said Brenda.
"I did no such thing," said Dylan.
"You know what next Thursday is," said Brenda. "Do you really want to spend it in a jail?"
"I want to spend my birthday with my girls," said Dylan. "I can spend the morning with our girls and come here later to spend the rest with you."
"It's a horrible place to spend your birthday."
"What would be horrible is having a birthday without you. Can you remember the last time I did?"
She could remember.
It had been nearly twenty years since they had been apart on either of their birthdays.
"I can't promise I'll be able to get us another visit for mine if we have it for yours," said Brenda.
"You won't be in here long enough for yours," said Dylan. "What?" he asked, glancing down at his shirt.
"You look…different," said Brenda.
"I'm not wearing the hat," said Dylan. "Had to leave it with security."
"No, it's not that." Brenda bit the corner of her lip. "Did you really talk to the press? Willingly? For me?"
"Oh, that," said Dylan. "Guess you saw the article. Yeah, Sanders convinced me it'd help you if we got the press on your side."
He held Brenda's gaze as firmly as she held his.
"Jeez," said Brandon, "you two can't even touch each other and I still feel like I'm intruding on something."
"I can't get over it," said Brenda. "Dylan never does a full conversation with the press. He lets me do all the talking and maybe throws in a sentence or two."
"Whatever gets you out, Bren, I'll do it," said Dylan.
"The Enquirer says you've asked me for a divorce."
"The Enquirer can go fuck itself. All I want is you and the twins out of this place, back home where you belong."
What if home is London? Brenda asked herself.
"Don't worry about anything at home, Bren," said Brandon. "The lot of us have it covered."
"And don't worry about whether you'll get out," said Dylan. "We've got that covered, too."
"Mom and Dad have been trying to get in to see me," said Brenda.
"Do you want to see them?" asked Brandon.
Brenda answered in the negative.
"Then we'll keep blocking them," said Dylan. "You can still change your mind about seeing the girls," he added. "Any time."
"I haven't," said Brenda. "The less they see of this place, the better. It's bad enough the twins have to go through it with me."
"I love you," said Brandon. "I've got your back, Bren, and I'm gonna make sure that back doesn't remain here. Whatever I have to do."
"I love you," said Brenda.
"I love you," Dylan told Brenda.
"I won't be upset if you change your own mind," Brenda told Dylan. "I wouldn't want to spend my birthday here, if I had a choice."
"Not changing my mind," said Dylan.
"Time's up, McKay," said the guard.
"He can go fuck himself, too," Dylan whispered into the phone.
Brenda laughed.
Dylan released another smile, momentarily, before it leapt off his face as Brenda's arm was taken to be led back to the belly of the jail.
"Next Thursday!" Dylan shouted, muffled behind them.
"I can walk myself," Brenda told the guard.
"Making sure you're good to walk after that little panic attack of yours," said the guard.
"Do you have children?" asked Brenda.
The guard said he did not.
"It is difficult to describe the level of worry you have for your children, unless you yourself have children," said Brenda. "And as I expect you heard our entire conversation, does that sound like a man who is asking me for a divorce?"
"You didn't tell him you loved him," said the guard. "He said it to you and you didn't say it back. There is still hope for me."
"There is no hope for you," said Brenda.
"Careful, lady," said the guard. "As much as I like you, I'm not against teaching women like you a lesson if you get a little too sassy."
Brenda held her tongue for the rest of their walk.
She did not see any priest or nun about, real or otherwise.
Perhaps she had indeed imagined David and Valerie, but she could be certain that she had not imagined Brandon or Dylan.
Her overlarge stomach begged for food. The mealtime was over.
Brenda returned to her cell.
"I tried to sneak you a full meal," said Kris, "but got caught. Was able to sneak you some stuff, though."
She gave Brenda the few items she had been able to bring back with her to the cell.
"It's okay," said Brenda. "I've been satisfied in other ways today."
"You didn't mention how insanely gorgeous your husband and brother are," said Kris.
"Were you in the room?" asked Brenda. "I didn't see you."
"They were on the TV," said Kris. "Talking about you. Gotta tell you, if I had a man that looked like that, willing to talk to the press about me, I wouldn't be able to keep my hands off of him. Not even my Bryant looked that good."
"They were on the telly?" asked Brenda.
"They were," said Kris, "with about six or so others."
"That's my gang," said Brenda. "My gang went on the telly, for me."
"You're in a gang?"
"That's what we call it. Our gang. The eight of us, nine when you include Val, on and off since secondary – high school."
"You're lucky, to have that many people who believe in you," said Kris. "That many people who are working on getting you out of here."
"I am blessed to have them in my life," said Brenda, "truly. But I'm afraid how they'll all react if their hard work is for nothing and I never get out of here."
Or I do get out, thought Brenda, as a ghost.
"Bryant and I never had friends like that," said Kris. "We didn't have family like that, either. It was just the two of us, the two of us fending for ourselves."
"I've been there, too," said Brenda. "Dylan and I. There were times when it felt like we were the only two against a roomful of others. Times we knew we were the only two who could understand each other, who could believe in each other."
"It sounds like you love your husband a lot."
"As I said, it's…complicated."
"Not made any better by that." Kris gestured at Brenda's stomach.
"This," said Brenda, putting her hand on her stomach, "and this." She waved the other one about the cell. "Dylan would spend his whole life waiting for me if he could and I don't want him to do that. I've told him to move on. He's done it before; it isn't like he can't do it again."
"If he moved on from you before, then how are you married now?" asked Kris.
"Because he," Brenda had to think about that one. "Because he came back," she answered, a response she thought insufficient.
"Then it doesn't seem like he ever moved on. Not really. You don't go back to something you moved on from, if you did move on from it."
"He wouldn't have come back," said Brenda. "If his life had gone differently. He would have stayed with the reason he came back. And it doesn't matter because then he moved on again. So he moved on twice, which means it isn't impossible for him to move on a third time."
"He came back twice?" asked Kris.
"Yeah," said Brenda. "Twice."
"That is not a guy who moves on," said Kris. "That's a guy who refuses to move on, no matter how many opportunities he gets."
"He'll get a third one," said Brenda, "and then he can. For real."
"Or he'll go through the rest of his life focused on the ghost he can't get over."
"He already has a few of those."
"The way you have a few children with him?"
"Yeah, so?"
"Yeah, honey; that boy ain't getting over you."
"What about his affair?"
"Are you sure he had an affair?"
No. No, she was not sure Dylan had had an afffair.
"There was a baby…"
"You're thinking in the box. You've got to think outside of the box. Use your imagination. Think of how there could have been a baby without an affair."
"I can't think of that."
"Why not?"
"Because I've lost so much because of that fucking affair and if – if it didn't happen…then why am I in here?"
"That might be the question you should keep asking yourself, until you have an answer."
Gina didn't hear any complaints out of your husband when he was spilling out into her hand.
It was what the ghost of Laura Kingman had told her, assuming her visitor had been a ghost.
When he was spilling out into her hand.
Could Dylan have been correct? Could he have knocked up Gina without sleeping with her?
How?
All three times Dylan had knocked up Brenda, it had been a result of sex.
When he had thought he had knocked up Kelly, it had been due to sex.
When he and Brenda had their pregnancy scare as teenagers, they had enjoyed sex.
There were other ways to get knocked up, Brenda knew, but would Gina have gone to the trouble to use those methods just to destroy Dylan's marriage?
At the behest of a ghost?
Laura was a ghost, wasn't she? Dylan had said she had been dead eight years.
The woman had not acknowledged herself as Laura, but had known everything Laura Kingman would know.
Fuck, Brenda's brain panged.
Her stomach panged, too, from lack of a proper meal.
"I'll get you one in the morning," she promised her twins. "For now, concentrate on the fact that Daddy will be with us next Thursday."
They responded with a jolt against her hand.
She set aside thoughts of Gina and of Dylan, instead trying to figure out what Brandon hadn't told her about Adrianna.
He and Dylan had not been on the same page about whatever Brandon had been about to share.
Brenda's mind drifted to memories of the younger version of her oldest daughter.
"Mummy," Adrianna had said, jumping up onto the hospital bed, "you almost died!"
"Adrianna," Dylan had said.
"She did almost die," said Adrianna. "Uncle Brandon said so."
"Uncle Brandon said that without you in the room, young lady," said Dylan.
"I have my ways of listening in," said Adrianna.
"I almost died?" Brenda had asked Dylan.
"It was touch-and-go there for a while," he said, joining them on the bed.
"Calista?" Brenda had asked. "Did she –"
"No, no, she's great," said Dylan. "She's perfect. The doctors have been doing an excellent job with her."
"Ade, is your uncle outside?" Brenda had asked.
"Yes, Mummy," said Adrianna.
"Can you go play with him whilst Mummy and Daddy talk?"
Adrianna did as she was told.
"I thought the delivery went smoothly," Brenda had said.
"The delivery did," said Dylan. "It was afterwards. You, uh, you had what they call a retained placenta."
"A what?"
Some of the placenta had remained in Brenda's uterus beyond Calista's birth, Dylan had explained, causing excessive bleeding within Brenda.
"You had to have surgery to remove the rest of it and then you had to have a transfusion to stock back up on blood, but you're all good now," said Dylan. "The important thing is we can get you looked over by the doctor and then get on home to start our new lives as a family of four."
"Are you sure Calista is okay?" Brenda had asked.
"Promise," said Dylan. "You did well, baby. You both did well."
"Can you hug me?" Brenda had asked.
"You don't have to ask me twice," said Dylan, going in.
She shouldn't have thought of that memory, for the flashes careened towards her.
All the times Dylan had held her in his embrace, including the last time.
"We'll always be a family of six," Brenda murmured to her twins, "but I can't make a promise to you that I'll be in that family. I can't make a promise I might not be able to keep. But I have faith in your Daddy. I have faith that he'll be around to take care of you if I can't."
Brenda imagined Dylan's and Brandon's arms around her, comforting her. Calming her swirling panic.
Saving her from the ghosts attempting to take her with them.
She would have liked to speak with one ghost in particular.
Toni Marchette-McKay.
Antonia.
"Will you help me?" she asked the picture she had in her head of Toni. She mulled over if it were rude to do so when she had made a family with Toni's husband, but it didn't stop Brenda from expanding on her question. "Will you help me to re-learn how to live without him, the way you've had to learn? I have to let him go, or he'll keep trying to hold on. I've done it before, twice before; rather successfully, I might add. Why is it so damn difficult to do now?"
Brenda thought she heard Toni respond in Brenda's dreamlike state, though she didn't know how Toni's voice would sound and perhaps had imagined that, as well.
You won't have to.
He won't let you.
He never has before. He isn't going to start now.
He wouldn't have married me if you had been an option. I've accepted this, and it's okay. I know Dylan loved me, maybe some part of him still does, but the fact is Brenda that the love he's had for me, the love he's had for Kelly; it's never been able to touch the love he has for you. You're the one he always wanted, but he kept letting himself lose you to the ghosts.
He didn't let that happen last time.
He isn't letting it happen this time.
You aren't going to be one of his ghosts.
Oh, and Brenda? Your daughter? Adrianna?
She needs you.
The ghosts have found her, too.
-x
This chapter may have been inspired by Carrie Underwood's Ghost Story.
I do hope to update Lethe and/or Floe next, but we will see how that goes. (Ideally, Itero and Illumination also, but...)
Sources: Google and the websites for Mayo Clinic, Tommys, ScienceDirect, SSM Health.
(Shout-out to KJ to express my continued gratitude and appreciation, as well as those of you whose review I could respond to directly [Crystal, I will respond to you at some point!] KJ, thank you! Jeffie is most definitely bad news. Glad someone in the gang could sneak into the jail on a regular basis! Poor Dylan is indeed in for a shock when it comes to Ade. Brenda being in jail and watching Dylan have to deal with that has certainly made David more determined when it comes to getting Val to reconsider him, though it's a bit tricky when he's supposed to be in a relationship with Gina.)
Thanks a million!