I woke up to golden sunlight streaming in through the windows. Another beautiful summer morning. I stretched slowly, then rolled over to snuggle in close to Brian. To watch his peaceful, sleeping face--a face that would be covered in the dark, early-morning whiskers that I loved so much. To run my fingers through the hair on his chest while I waited for him to open his eyes. Just like I did every Saturday morning. Then he’d smile and kiss me and we’d make love. Just like every Saturday morning.

   Except that he wasn’t there.

   It was the first time I’d had to face the morning alone in over two months and I couldn’t remember if we’d spent the night in my bed or his. I looked at the clock. 7:56 in bold, red numbers. Red. Brian’s room.

   I kicked off the covers, slipped on his favorite t-shirt and staggered into the kitchen. He’d left a note propped against his coffee maker, right where I’d be sure to see it. Short and to the point.

   Be back later.

   So I drank my coffee, then spent the morning puttering in the garden. Running my fingers through the cool, dark soil, tossing aside errant weeds, removing spent blossoms from my marigolds and petunias. Summer had been kind to them and they glowed their appreciation in hues of gold and fuschia, alongside spiky, red salvia and delicate, purple pansies. But behind them all stood a Highbush Blueberry that hadn’t fared so well. It was a gift from Laura’s garden; supposedly old enough to produce fruit, but barely holding onto its leaves. I gave the thing a reproachful shake of my head, then stood up to brush the dirt off my hands. And that, of course, was the moment Laura chose to show up for a visit. It had been nearly a week since I’d seen her. Brian and I spent every Sunday afternoon at the Burkes’ house, eating pretzels and drinking beer and losing all our spare change to Jeff at Penny Poker.

   She gave the plant a thorough inspection and said, “I think it’s your soil.”

   “My soil?”

   “Blueberries need acidic soil.”

   Then she gave me a brief lesson about balancing the pH levels in my soil that went right over my head. I nodded along anyway, just like I understood every word, and when it was over I promised her that I’d visit the greenhouse in the fall to get some sulfur and peat moss. Even though I knew I probably wouldn’t. Then there was silence, and it was my turn to fill it.

  “Uh…if you came to see Brian, he’s not home.”

   “I know. He’s at my house.”

   “He is?”

   She didn’t seem surprised that I hadn’t known where he was. “Jeff is helping him fix his carburetor.”

   “I thought it was his alternator that was acting up.”

   “Everything on that truck is acting up.”

   “Ah.”

   That left us to stumble through the land of Small Talk. We exhausted the subjects of Zeke’s walls, Brian’s upcoming birthday--less than a month away--and the proper conditioner to use on color-treated hair before she finally worked up the nerve to bring up the real reason she’d come over to see me.

   “Tess, I need to ask a really big favor.”

   I nodded. That was obvious.

   “It’s about Cassidy.”

   Long pause. “Uh huh.”

   “My mother’s been watching her during the week for awhile now, but we’re going to stop that. She said some pretty rough things yesterday and…well, I don’t want Cassidy exposed to some of my mother’s opinions.”

   “I’ll watch her for you. What days do you need me?”

   She hesitated, so I gave her a smile. Because she needed to know.

   She smiled back. “Tuesday and Thursday. I work nine till three-thirty.”

   “Perfect. All my Tuesday and Thursday jobs are in the evening.” But she knew that. Either because she had a good memory or because she’d talked to Brian already.

   “You’re sure?”

   “Yep. If Cassidy doesn’t mind hanging out with me twice a week.”

   “She’s actually looking forward to it.”

   There was no accounting for taste. “Then we’re all set.”

   Almost. She wanted to pay, and of course I said no, so we decided on the barter system. The hair. She looked at it the way I always looked at Zeke’s lilac wallpaper, and that’s when I knew that when she’d brought up the subject of conditioner for color-treated hair it wasn’t as random as I’d assumed. After we were done bargaining she lingered. Silent. Still upset. So I asked, “What happened with your mom?”

   Another silence, one that was so long I thought she wasn’t going to answer the question. But then she asked, “How old were you when you lost your virginity?”

   It wasn’t exactly the direction I’d expected the conversation to take.

   “Sixteen.”

   “I was seventeen.” Then she told me her First Time story. Teenage Love. Visions of a thing that is full of Beauty and Fireworks and Romance. Instead, of course, she got Reality. Jeff, well meaning and kind, but with nervous, fumbling hands. There was a little bit of pain and then it was over. There was relief and guilt and then...Cassidy. But still there was Jeff and love, enough of it to keep them going; enough, even, to thrive on.

   And, from her mother, a lifetime of If Only You Had Listened To Me. Judgment and condemnation. Lectures about Sin that Never Washes Clean, lectures that never ended, even after years and years. Even when what she’d done didn’t feel like a sin anymore.

   I knew what she meant about mothers who just couldn’t let it go, but I didn’t say so. I just said, “Laura, your mother is full of shit. You’re a good person. And…you’re a good mom. That girl you’ve got…she’s an awesome kid. So whatever it is you’re doing, just keep right on doing it.”

   She actually burst into tears and collapsed on my shoulder. It was the first time anyone had ever done that and I just stood there, patting her head, trying not to get dirt in her hair, hoping it was what I was supposed to do. If it was enough. It must have been, because it didn’t take her long to get control of herself. She thanked me, wiped her eyes on the back of her hands--carefully, so as not to smear her mascara--then looked at me, expectantly. I knew what it was she was waiting for. She’d opened up and that meant it was my turn. But it wasn’t going to happen.

   Fortunately Brian picked that moment to come home. Unfortunately he was in a rotten mood. He slammed his truck door, but managed to fake a smile as he walked over to us. He gave me a quick kiss and nodded a hello to Laura. She nodded back, then said:

   “Your truck sounds a little better.”

   “Yeah, a little. The carburetor was running too rich. It was bogging down the engine.”

   I said, “Ah,” just like I knew what that meant. Laura looked like she actually did, which surprised me. She lingered for a few more minutes, gave Brian a quick hug--which surprised me even more--then left.

   He followed me upstairs to my apartment, stomping his feet all the way. He slammed the door behind him, then landed hard on the couch while I washed the dirt off my hands. When I was done I sat down beside him, skipped over the why did you take off without letting me know where the hell you were going? lecture and went straight to:

   “Bad day?” He only nodded and rubbed his hands on his jeans so furiously I thought he might catch on fire. “What’s wrong?”

   He sighed. “I didn’t sleep good last night, and you were sound asleep this morning, so I thought I’d go see Rachel for a little while.”

   “How was she?”

   “She’s fucking insane. That’s how she is.”

   And he told me all about it. He’d caught her home with Fuckwad. And as I listened I nodded sympathetically and held his hand, just like a Supportive Girlfriend who had absolutely No Prior Knowledge of his sister sleeping with a drug dealer named Tim would do. Until he said:

   “He’s thirty-five, Tess. Thirty-five!”

   My first thought was, He looks older than that. Rough living sure takes a toll.

   Then, of course, there was the other thing.

   “Wait a fucking minute. You say thirty-five like it’s just this side of senility.”

   He amended his position. “She’s still a teenager for Christ’s sake! He’s been married twice already and he’s got a daughter who’s fifteen. Fifteen. That’s only four years younger than Rachel.” He shuddered. “I told the pervert to keep his fucking hands off her and to stay the hell away. So he took off and Rachel got all pissed. She told me to get the hell out of her apartment and stay the hell out of her life and to leave her the fuck alone. I wanted to go out and find the sick bastard so I could kick his stupid pussy ass, but I went to Jeff’s to cool down instead.”

   “Smart move.”

   “Maybe. But what the hell am I gonna do with her?”

   “There’s nothing you can do. Like it or not, she’s not a little kid anymore. And if you keep coming down so hard on her about it you’re just gonna push her away. She’ll wise up eventually. Or this guy will move onto someone new.”

   “Wow. That’s reassuring.”

   I shrugged, pulled a loose string from my shorts and tucked it away in my pocket. “I’m just being realistic. You can’t live her life for her, Brian. She’s got to make her own mistakes.”

   “No she doesn’t. And...God, I don’t wanna talk about this anymore.” He stretched, suddenly restless, bounced fitfully up and down for a minute. Then he said, “I feel like dancing. Wanna dance?”

   His sudden change surprised me. “Dance?”

   “Yeah. I’m going fucking insane just sitting here.”

   “You know I can’t dance.”

   He dropped to his knees on the floor in front of me and smiled. “Come on.”

   I shook my head. “I can’t dance.”

   He hopped up, yanked me to my feet, and pulled me towards the stereo.

   “Brian…”

   He ignored me, and said, “I know you don’t have any good music up here, so...” Then he turned the radio on and flipped through the stations until he found what he wanted: a loud pop song with an obnoxious beat. “Okay. Ready?”

   “Nope.”

   He grabbed my hand anyway and pulled me close. The music seemed to fill him, inhabit him, possess him. He was both graceful and funky, like he’d been built to dance. And I couldn’t figure out what the hell to do with myself.

  He sighed. “You know, it might help if you’d relax a little.”

   “Oh, I am. I’m super relaxed.”

   “No, I mean for real. Just listen to the music.”

   “I hate this kind of music.”

   “That’s only because you think you can’t dance.”

   “I can’t dance.”

   “Yes you can.” He lifted me up into his arms and spun me around. “I can see it in there, Tess. It’s just bustin’ to come out.”

   “No, Brian. It really isn’t.”

   “Come on, it’s easy. It’s…” He stopped the spinning and grinned. “It’s just like sex.”

   I wrapped my legs tightly around his waist. “Then let’s have sex.”

   “Later.”

   I smiled and pulled off my shirt.

   “That’s not gonna work.”

   And my bra.

   “Tess, you’re not playing fair.”

   “I know.” Then I kissed him. And the dance lesson was over before it had begun.

~~~~~

   Later that evening we sat out on the lawn waiting for the sunset. The world was still and peaceful; the crickets already chirping, the scent of pine needles heavy on the light evening breeze, the sky just beginning to glow.

   And that’s when an unfamiliar car crept up the driveway.

   It was a big boat of a car. The paint was chipping and rusted, one headlight was out, and the red paint of the drivers’ side door didn’t match the green of rest of the vehicle. It came to a stop almost directly in front of the porch steps. I could distinguish that the driver was a man, but he was looking down at something on the empty seat beside him so I couldn’t see his face.

   “Do you know who it is?”

   “Nope.” Brian stood up, stretched, then walked towards the car, and I followed close behind. Finally the door opened and a fairly tall man got out. He closed the door and turned to face us. Brian stopped in his tracks and I gasped out loud. Even with only the orangey light of the sunset for illumination I could tell who he was.

   “Hello Brian.”

   Brian said nothing. Just stood unsteadily, gaping at his father.

   Mr. LaChance smiled at me, took a few steps forward and said, “You must be Tess. I’ve heard a lot about you.”

   I nodded. Wondered who it was who had told him a lot about me. And I tried not to stare, but I couldn’t help it. Brian looked just like him, except for the eyes. His father’s were hazel. Van Dyke brown must have come from Wendy...

   “I’m Rick LaChance.”

   The words roused Brian at last. He stepped between me and his father. “Don’t you fucking go near her,” he warned. “Tess, get in the house.”

   “But--”

   He glared at me and I took a step back. I knew the anger was directed at his father, but it still scared the shit out of me.

   “I didn’t come to upset you, Brian. I just wanted to see you. To see how you’re doing.”

   “I’m doing great. Never been better. Now get the fuck out of here.”

   Rick pressed on. “I just meant...I know it’s probably been a rough day for you.”

   Brian folded his arms. “You think today’s been rough? Why would you think that?”

   “Well…it’s the day your mom died.”

   “Oh my God. Brian...” Why hadn’t he told me?

  He ignored me and took a step towards his father, who didn’t have the sense to back up. “You remembered? Holy shit, how’d you manage that?” He gave a bitter laugh. “Oh wait, I know! It’s the day she made you a free man, so of course you remember. It must be like a birthday to you, right? If I knew you were coming I woulda got you a gift.”

   “Brian, I--”

   “Fuck you. Just get outta here.” He turned towards the house, and as he did he bumped into me. “Goddamn it, I told you to get in the house! I don’t want you out here with him!”

   Before I could say a word his father said, “Brian, wait. Don’t walk away. Please.”

   Brian sighed and turned back around. His hands were clenched into two tight fists.

   “I came here tonight…I want to tell you that I’m sorry. I know I let you down. I was a horrible father and a worse husband and I’m...I came here to...” He took a deep, shaky breath. “I want you to know that I’ve been making some changes. I quit drinking and--”

   “Oh, sure. You quit drinking. Of course.” He started back towards Rick, slowly. “You’re taking it one day at a time. Doing those twelve steps. How many days has it been this time? Dad? Huh? How many steps?”

   “Brian...you...”

   “Oh yeah, I know all about it, all about that A.A. bullshit. You’re powerless over the demon liquor, aren’t ya? Yeah I know.” He shook his head in mock sympathy. “I know. You poor, poor man. It’s not your fault, right? The booze made you do it.”

   His father finally backed away but Brian kept right on going.

   “So what step are you on? Are you still trying to get in touch with your Higher Power? Didja find Jesus or something?” He laughed. “Oh yeah, you must’ve done that by now, because that’s an easy one. Say a few ‘hallelujahs’ and ‘praise the Lords’ and you’re all set. Ready to move onto the next step. You’re good at the easy stuff, aren’t ya? So why would you come here? Why would you wanna come and see me?” He pretended to mull it over. “You wouldn’t do it on your own, because that’s a hard one, and you’re nothing but a fucking pussy, aren’t ya? Dad.”

   The mockery was starting to have an effect. His father looked surprised and hurt, which only encouraged Brian to keep at it.

   “And that means you got yourself an idiot sponsor to tell you what to do and he must’ve made you come here. And why would he do that? Let me think. What step could it be?” He started counting on his fingers. “Moral inventory. Well, that wouldn’t take long, would it?” He laughed again. “Jesus, do you even have any morals?”

   I walked over and pulled on his arm. “Brian, come on...”

   He shook off my hand. “No, Tess. This man has the balls to come to my house, on today of all days, and expects me to just welcome him back into my life with open fucking arms? Just forgive and...”

   He snorted and turned suddenly to face his father once more.

   “Oh my God, are you here to make amends? You made it all the way to step nine? You actually hung in there that long this time? Holy shit, it’s time to celebrate. Tess, quick! Run in the kitchen and get this man a drink!”

   He laughed loudly, so loudly that it echoed all around us, through the trees and against the house and the shed. He kept at it for so long that he actually had to hold onto his stomach. It scared me and irritated his father, who finally broke.

   “It’s real easy for you to stand there judging me, isn’t it, Son? I’m trying to start over. I’m trying to fix what I’ve done wrong. I left you, yes, and that was wrong and I’m sorry--”

   Brian’s laughter stopped.

   “Sorry? What good does sorry do? Sorry does me no fucking good.”

   His father continued as though Brian hadn’t interrupted. “--but I could’ve done worse by you. At least I left you with a home and a good business to run. You didn’t have to start from scratch like I had to do, like I’ve got to do again. You never had to do that, Brian, so you don’t have a fucking clue how hard that is. You had it all given to you.”

   “Given to me?” Brian’s anger finally boiled over and I went suddenly cold; my legs shaking, rooted to the ground. “You gave me nothing! Fuck you! I did better than start from scratch! I had to start from a fucking hole that you dug!” He wiped some spit from his mouth. “I had to start off in debt because you spent all our money on booze and whores. Drinking on the job and losing jobs because of it. Slacking off and doing fucking piss poor work! Or not working at all, spending all your time screwing around. Fucking your friends’ wives, fucking your workers’ wives, fucking your clients’ wives, just because you could!”

   “Brian, please...”

   “‘Brian, please.’ Fuck you! You know, Mom knew you’d leave us. She said you wouldn’t stick around and she was right. You took off like a fucking coward and that’s what I had to start with. That’s what I had given to me, you fucking asshole.”

   Brian took another step, shoved his father, shoved him hard, but his father didn’t back away.

   “You know, I might not have much, but I worked for what I’ve got! I had to. I didn’t have a choice. I have to work twice as hard as everyone else because most of ‘em are still afraid I’m gonna end up just like you.”

   He shoved his father again, this time hard enough to send him stumbling back a few steps.

   “What do you know about work? You don’t know shit. I coulda run away, too, you know. I coulda run away and left Rach in a fucking foster home and had a life of my own, but I didn’t. I did my job and yours too, raising your kid while you were out getting shit-faced and fucked. ‘I had everything handed to me.’ Who the hell do you think you are, coming to my house and saying that shit to me? Fuck you!”

   He had to pause to take a breath and his father took a turn, his voice shaking. “I know you did a good job with Rachel. I stopped in to see her tonight at Fran’s and she said--”

   He had finally done it, finally pushed the wrong button and even before Brian snapped I winced, knowing what was coming. He grabbed his father by the shirt, dragged him over to his car, threw him against it and punched him in the jaw.

   “You stay the fuck away from Rachel!” He punched him again. “You’ve done enough to her!” He shook him hard a couple of times, then threw him back against the car. “You’ve done enough! You know what she’s doing? Huh? She’s out there fucking up her life, fucking guys who are old enough to...she’s just looking for a...God damn you, you fucking bastard!”

   He hit him again and again and again, wouldn’t stop, no matter how loudly I screamed. I grabbed his shirt and tried to pull him back. “Brian, stop it! You’re gonna kill him!”

   He shook me loose, gave his dad another shove, punched him three more times, then backed off. He stumbled, righted himself, then brushed his hands off on his pants.

   His father stood up, too, stunned. He wiped his face with his hands, then his shirt, covering it so I couldn’t see exactly how much damage Brian had done to him.

   “I mean it.” He pointed viciously at his father. “You fucking stay away from Rachel. Because I’ll kill you if you ever go near her again.” He grabbed my hand and marched into the house as his dad got into his car and drove away.

   I sat down at the kitchen table, shaking violently, too horrified to think, let alone say anything, but wishing Brian would. Instead he walked to the sink and started washing his hands without a word. I gasped out loud as the water turned red.

   “Oh my God! You’re bleeding!”

   He shook his head. “It’s not my blood.”

   I looked down at my own hand, the one Brian had grabbed on the way into the house, and jumped out of the chair.

   He turned around, annoyed. “What the hell is your problem?”

   I had never been a witness to an actual fight before, not a real one with yelling and fists and blood. It had left me with a sick, hollow, fluttering in my stomach. Made me feel as powerless as a kid. But not so powerless that I was going to stand there and let him take his anger out on me.

   “It’s nothing,” I said. “I’m going upstairs.”

   “Great. Go for it.”

   I shoved the chair under the table and marched towards the door, but before I got there he switched the faucet off and said, “Tess, wait.” He wiped his hands gingerly on a towel. “Please don’t leave.”

   He came over and put his arms around me. He held me silently until I stopped shaking, then said, “I’m sorry I snapped at you. And I’m sorry you had to be here for that.” He kissed the top of my head, backed up and looked down at my face. “Are you okay? I mean, are you hurt or anything?”

   I shook my head. “I’m not hurt. But I need to clean up.” I showed him my bloody hand, and he shrank back from it. I walked around him to the sink without a word and he took the seat I had just vacated. I washed up, dried my hands on the same towel he’d used and sat across from him. I really didn’t know what to say, and I wanted, so badly, to say something that might help him, even if it was just a little.

   I closed my eyes, tried to imagine what life must have been like for Brian after his mom died; how I would have felt if it had been me. Stuck, without any real guidance, to raise someone else’s kid, to be suddenly responsible for her welfare and happiness. I tried to imagine it, tried to feel it, the injustice and unfairness of it all. Losing his mom, having his childhood ripped away, his life ripped away. So burdened with responsibility that he didn’t take any time or pleasure for himself. Living in constant fear that he was going to screw up, hoping that every decision he made was the right one, so he didn’t mess Rachel’s life up the way his had been. And then having to watch, helpless, as she did it to herself.

   I opened my eyes. He was sliding the salt shaker from one hand to the other, his eyes fixed on its movements. I cleared my throat. “I wish I knew what to say.”

   He blinked a few times, like he was waking up from a trance. “What?”

   I felt stupid, but repeated, “I just wish I knew what to say. Something helpful. I--”

   He pushed the salt shaker back to the middle of the table. “I gotta get out of here for awhile.”

   I reached for his hand. It was swollen. “Where are we going?”

   He shook his head. “No, I need to take a drive. I want--I need to clear my head.” He stood up and got his keys from the peg on the wall, shook his head and said, “It’s not you. It’s not you, I swear. I love you and I’m sorry. I just...I just need to be alone right now. Just for a little while.” He walked out and closed the door quietly behind him.

   I stared out the window long after he drove away, waiting. As though he’d only gone to the store for milk and was coming right back. Listened to the clock on the wall. Ticking. I finally turned away, looked around the kitchen for something to do, something to clean. There was nothing. Even the supper dishes were done.