Day two of my exile from Brynne and it sucked. I was moving around and doing things, but nothing felt right. How long would I be like this? Should I call her? If I thought about my situation too much, dread started to creep in, so I left it alone. I left her alone. The empty space inside me pushed for action, but I knew it was too soon to try to go to her. She needed some time and I’d made this mistake before. Pressing too fast and too hard with her. And being an utter selfish prick.
I parked on the street next to the house where I’d grown up. The lawn very tidy, the gate straight and the shrubbery clipped as it had always been. Dad would never leave here. Not the home where he’d been with my mother. My dad gave the term stubborn old man new meaning, and this was where he would die someday.
I picked the cold beer off the seat and went in through the gate. A black cat dashed ahead of me and waited. It was not quite a kitten and not fully grown either. A teenage cat I suppose. It sat down right in front of the door, then turned and looked at me. Bright green eyes blinked as if saying for me to hurry up my too-slow arse and let him in the house. When in the hell had Dad gotten a cat?
I rang the bell, then opened the door and stuck my head in. “Dad?” The cat slithered into the house faster than the speed of light and all I could do was stare. “You have a cat now?” I called out and went into the kitchen. I put the beer in the fridge and flopped on the couch.
Remote pointed, I turned on the box. European Championship. Fucking perfect. I could focus on football for a few hours, hopefully drink four out of the six beers and forget about my girl for a little while. And cry to my dad.
I leaned my head back and closed my eyes. Something furry and soft climbed into my lap. The cat was back.
“Ahh, well you’re here then, and I see you’ve met Soot.” My dad walked up behind me.
“Why did you get a cat?” I couldn’t wait for this answer. We’d never had cats growing up.
My dad snorted and sat down in his chair. “I didn’t. You could say that he got me.”
“I can imagine.” I stroked my hand down Soot’s sleek body. “He just came in the house the second I opened the front door like he owned the place.”
“My neighbor asked me to feed him while she left to take care of her mum, who’s very ill. She’s had to move into her mother’s house and I got him by default. We have an understanding, I s’pose.”
“You and the neighbor, or you and the cat?”
My dad looked at me shrewdly, his eyes narrowing. Jonathan Blackstone was very perceptive by nature. Always had been. I could never slip anything by him. He always knew if I came home drunk and when I started smoking, or if I was into trouble as a lad. I guess he’d been that way because he was a single parent for most of our lives. My sister Hannah and I were never neglected despite the loss of our mum. His senses got keener and he could sniff out problems like a bloodhound. He was doing it now.
“What the hell happened to you, son?”
Brynne happened.
“That noticeable, huh?” The cat started purring in my lap.
“I know my own child and I know when something’s off with you.” My dad left the room for a minute. He returned with two of the beers cracked and handed me one. “Mexican beer?” He lifted an eyebrow at me, and I wondered if I looked the same way when I did it. Brynne had remarked on my eyebrow quirking more than once.
“Yeah. It’s good with a sliver of lime shoved down the neck.” I took a slug and stroked my new ebony friend. “It’s a girl. Brynne. I met her, and I fell for her, and now she’s left me.” Short and sweet. What else was there to say to my own father? This was all that mattered or all that I could think about. I was aching for her and she had left me.
“Ahhh, well that makes more sense.” Dad paused for a moment as if letting it all sink in. I am sure he was surprised by the revelation. “My lad, I know I’ve told you before, so this is not news by any stretch, but you came to your good looks from your mum, rest her soul. All you got from me was the name and maybe my bulk. And your blessings in the Adonis department made it very easy for you with the ladies.”
“I’ve never chased women, Dad.”
“I didn’t say you did, but the point is you never had to. They chased you.” He shook his head in remembrance. “Gods, you had the females clamoring for you. I was sure you’d get caught sowing your oats and make me a granddad long before you should have done.” He gave me a look that suggested he’d spent much more time worrying about this than he’d wanted to. “But you never did . . .” Dad trailed off and got a rather sad look in his eye. After school I’d shipped off to the military and left home. And nearly didn’t come back…
Dad patted my knee and took a pull on his beer.
“I never wanted anyone like I want her.” I shut my mouth and started in earnest on the beer. Someone scored a goal in the game and I forced myself to watch and pet the cat.
Dad was patient for a while, but he got his questions in eventually. “What did you do that made her leave you?”
It hurt just to hear the question. “I lied. It was a lie of omission, but still I didn’t tell her the truth and she found out.” I set the cat off my lap carefully and went into the kitchen for another beer. I brought back two instead.
“Why did you lie to her, son?”
I met my dad’s dark eyes and spoke something I’d never said before. It had never been true before. “Because I love her. I love her and didn’t want to hurt her by bringing up a painful memory of the past.”
“So you’ve gone and fallen in love.” He nodded his head knowingly and looked me over. “Well you’ve got all the signs. I should have realized when you showed up here looking like you slept under a bridge.”
“She left me, Dad.” I started on the third beer and pulled the cat back onto my lap.
“You’ve said that already.” Dad spoke dryly and kept looking me over like I might not be his son at all but some alien imposter. “So why did you lie to the woman you love? Best to tell it, Ethan.”
It’s my dad and I trust him with my life. I am sure there is no other person I could tell, apart from possibly my sister. I took a deep breath and told him.
“I met Brynne’s father, Tom Bennett, at a poker tournament in Las Vegas years ago. We hit it off and he was good at cards. Not as good as me, but we developed a friendship. He contacted me recently and asked a favor. I wasn’t going to do it. I mean, look at what’s on my plate at the moment with work. I can’t provide protection for an American art student slash model when I have to organize VIP security for the fucking Olympics!”
The cat flinched. Dad merely raised a brow and got comfy in his chair. “But you did,” he said.
“Yeah, I did. I got a look at the picture he sent me and I was curious. Brynne does modeling on the side and she is . . . so beautiful.” I wish I had her portrait in my house already. But the conditions for purchase were that it stayed on display at the Andersen Gallery for six months.
My dad just looked at me and waited.
“So I arrive at the gallery show and buy the damn portrait within a few moments of seeing it, like a sodding poet or something! As soon as I met her I was ready to send in the guard to keep her safe if need be.” I shook my head. “What the hell happened to me, Dad?”
“Your mother loved to read all the poets. Keats, Shelley, Byron.” He smiled just slightly. “It happens that way sometimes. You find the one for you and that’s all there is to it. Men have been falling in love with women since time began, son. You just finally made it to the head of the queue.” Dad took another drink of his beer. “Why does . . . Brynne need protection?”
“That US congressman who died in the plane crash has got a replacement. Name is Senator Oakley from California. Well, the senator has a son, one Lance Oakley, who used to date Brynne. There was some trouble . . . and a sex tape—” I paused and realized how horrible it must sound to my dad. “But she was a very young girl—only seventeen—and terribly hurt by the betrayal. Oakley was a right prick to her. She sees a therapist . . .” I trailed off wondering how my dad was taking all this in. I drank some more beer before telling the last part. “The son got shipped off to Iraq and Brynne came to study at University of London. She studies art and conserves paintings, and she’s absolutely brilliant at it.”
Dad surprised me by not reacting to all the ugliness I’d just told. “I am assuming that the senator does not want publicity about his badly behaving son to hit the news.” He looked annoyed. My dad hates politicians no matter their nationality.
“The senator and the powerful party that’s backing him. Something like this will lose them the election.”
“What about the opposing party? They’ll be looking for it as hard as Oakley’s people are trying to bury it,” my dad said.
I shook my head in question. “Why are you not working for me, Dad? You get it. You can see the bigger picture. I need about ten of you, though,” I said wryly.
“Ha! I’m very happy to help when you need me, but I’m not doing it for pay.”
“Yeah, I am very aware of that,” I said, holding up one hand. I’d tried to get him to come and work for me for a long time, and it was sort of a joke between us. He never would accept any money, though—stubborn old fool that he was.
“Has anything happened to suggest that your Brynne needs protection? Seems a bit alarmist really. Why did her father ask you?”
“The senator’s son is still finding trouble, it seems. He was home on leave, and one of his mates got killed in an altercation at a bar. More loud noise that politicians hate for a reason. It causes digging into places they don’t want people to know about. Could just be an isolated incident, but the friend knew about the video. Brynne’s dad went on full alert at that point. In his words, ‘When the people who know about that video start turning up dead, then I need to protect my daughter.’” I shrugged. “He asked me to help him. I said no initially and offered a referral to another firm, but he sent me her picture in an email.”
“And you couldn’t say no after you’d seen her picture.” Dad worded it as a statement. I knew then that he understood how I felt about Brynne.
“No. I could not.” I shook my head. “I was mesmerized. I went to the gallery show and bought her portrait. And when she came into the room, Dad, I couldn’t take my eyes off her. She intended to walk to the Tube in the dark, so I introduced myself and convinced her to let me take her home in my car. I tried to leave her alone after that. I really wanted to . . .”
He smiled again. “You’ve always been a protective lad.”
“But it became so much more for me than just a job. I want to be with Brynne . . .” I looked over at my father sitting quietly and listening, his big body still fit for a man of sixty-three. I knew that he understood. I didn’t need to explain any more about my motivations, and that part was a relief.
“But she found out that her father hired you to protect her?”
“Yes. She overheard a telephone call in my office. Her dad exploded when he realized we were seeing each other and challenged me on it.” I figured my dad might as well know the whole bloody mess.
“She felt betrayed and exposed, I imagine, if her past with the senator’s son, or whomever, is something that you know and didn’t tell her you knew.” Dad shook his head. “What were you thinking? And she should be told about the death of that other bloke—about the possibility of a threat toward her. And that you love her. And that you intend to still keep her safe. A woman needs the truth, son. You’ll have to tell her everything if you want her to trust you again.”
“I did tell her.” I blew out a huge sigh and leaned my head back on the couch to look at the ceiling. Soot stretched and rearranged himself in my lap.
“Well, try harder then. Start with the truth and go from there. She will either accept you or she won’t. But you don’t have to give up, either. You can keep trying.”
I took out my mobile, pulled up the picture of Brynne looking at the painting and held it out for Dad. He smiled as he studied her image through his glasses. A reminiscent suggestion in his eyes told me he was thinking of my mother. He handed it back after a moment.
“She’s a lovely girl, Ethan. I hope we get the chance to meet someday.” Dad looked me straight in the eye and told me like it is. No sympathy, just the brutal truth. “You’ll have to follow your heart, son . . . nobody can do that for you.”
• • •
I left my dad’s place later in the afternoon, went home and worked out for three hours in my gym. I kept at it until I was nothing but a quivering mass of aching muscles and sweaty stink. The bubbly soak in my tub after was nice, though. And the smokes. I smoked too much now. It wasn’t good for me and I needed to tone it down. But fuck, the urge was strong. Being with Brynne had soothed me enough so I didn’t crave it as much, but now that she’d left, I was chain-smoking like the serial killer we’d joked about in our very first conversation.
I hung the Djarum off my lip and stared down at the bubbles.
Brynne loved taking baths. She didn’t have a tub at her flat, and she told me she missed it. I loved the idea of her naked in my bathtub. Her naked . . . This was something that did me absolutely no good to think about, yet I’d spent many hours doing it. And, if I reasoned why, was the basis for everything that’d happened with us. Her naked . . . That photograph Tom Bennett sent to me was the same one I bought at the show. From a pragmatic view it was just a picture of a beautiful naked body anyone would appreciate, male or female. But even with the little he told me in the beginning, paired with that picture of her in all its vulnerability, allure and stark beauty, the thought she could be in danger or that someone would purposefully hurt her galvanized me to go out to the street and get her safely into my car. I just couldn’t walk away from her and keep my conscience intact. And once we’d met my mind went mad with fantasies. All I could see in my head while we talked was . . . her naked.
My bath started losing its heat after an hour and, understandably, its appeal. So I got out, and dressed and went in search of the book. Letters of John Keats to Fanny Brawne.
Something Dad mentioned reminded me of it. He’d said my mother loved reading the great poets. I knew Brynne loved Keats. I’d found the book on the sofa, where she’d obviously been reading, and asked her about it. Brynne had confessed her love for him and wanted to know why I even had the book in my house. I told her that my dad was always giving me books that people left behind in his cab. He hated to toss them out, so he would bring them home whenever he acquired anything decent. When I’d bought my flat, he’d hauled over a few boxes of books to fill the shelves, and it must have been in the lot. I truthfully told her I’d never read any Keats.
I was reading now.
Keats had a way with words, I was discovering. For a man who died at only twenty-five, he sure packed some emotion into his letters to his girlfriend when they were apart. And I could feel his pain like it was my own. It was my own.
I decided to write her a letter using a pen and paper. I found some nice cotton stationery in my office and took the book with me. Simba flickered his fins from the aquarium when I walked up, always expecting a treat. I am a sucker for begging animals, so I dropped in a frozen krill and watched him devour it.
“She loves you, Simba. Maybe if I tell her that you are pining and off your feed she’ll come back.” So I was talking to fish now. How in the hell had I got to this lowly point? I ignored the urge for a cigarette, washed my hands and sat down to write.
Brynne,
“I do not know how elastic my spirit might be, what pleasure I might have in living here if the remembrance of you did not weigh so upon me. Ask yourself my love whether you are not very cruel to have so entrammeled me, so destroyed my freedom.
. . . All my thoughts, my unhappiest days and nights have, I find not at all cured me of my love of Beauty, but made it so intense that I am miserable that you are not with me . . . I cannot conceive of any beginning of such love I have for you but Beauty.” July 1819
I know you will recognize the words of Keats. I started reading the book you like. I can say I have an understanding now of what the man was trying to express to Miss Brawne about how she had captured his heart.
Like you’ve captured my heart, Brynne.
I miss you. Thoughts of you never leave me, and if I can say it once more and have you believe me, then I guess there is some comfort in that. I can only try to make you know what I feel.
I am immensely sorry for keeping my knowledge of your past and how I came to notice you a secret, but you need to know something because it’s the brutal truth. I had no intentions of taking the job. I planned to give your father the name of another agency to secure you. I couldn’t do that, though, as soon as I met you. I wanted to tell you that night on the street that your father was trying to arrange protection, but when I saw how you looked at me, Brynne, I felt something—a connection with you. Things moved inside me and clicked into place. The missing piece of my puzzle? I don’t know what it was, I just know it happened to me the night we met. I tried to keep a distance and let you slip away back into your life, but I couldn’t do it. I was drawn to you from the first moment I saw your portrait. I had to know you. And then to be with you. To have you look at me and really see me. I know now that I fell in love. I fell in love with a beautiful American girl. You, Brynne.
There were many times I wanted to say how I came to find you that night at the gallery. I stopped myself every time because I was afraid of hurting you. I could see how haunted you were when you woke up with the nightmare. I could only guess as to why, but I would do anything to keep you from being hurt. I knew somehow that telling you your dad hired security to protect you from powerful political enemies would scare the hell out of you. It scares the hell out of me to think of anyone targeting you for harm, emotional or otherwise. I know you said I was fired, but if anything happens or somebody frightens you, I want you to call me and I will come to you in a moment. I am deadly serious about this. Call me.
You are someone so very special, Brynne. I feel things with you—emotions and ideas and dreams; a deep understanding that brings me to a place I never thought I’d find with another person. But I have demons too. I am terrified of facing them without you. I don’t know what I’m doing most of the time but I do know how I feel about you. And even if you hate me for what I did, I’ll still love you. If you won’t see me, I’ll still love you. I’ll still love you because you are mine. Mine, Brynne. In my heart you are, and nobody can take that away from me. Not even you.
E
A week passed before I sent Brynne my letter. Longest fucking week of my life.
Not exactly true, but I’d smoked enough Djarums to either bankrupt me or give me cancer. I told the florist purple flowers and to include the letter. It was Sunday afternoon when I ordered them and the florist told me they would be delivered on Monday. I had them sent to her at work instead of her flat. I knew she’d been busy with school and wanted to wait until her final exams were over and finished.
Brynne and I are not over and finished. This is the mantra I continued to tell myself during those days because it was the only option I could accept.
