Page 4 of Come Home to Me

“I see.”

I imagine how I must sound to my brother. Sketchy. Flighty. Selfish. “Anyway, I was in an accident today. Car’s a mess. And since I’m jobless…”

Colton makes a choking sound. “Are you really asking for money after disappearing the way you did?”

“I’m fine by the way,” I say with a sigh. “Thank you for asking.”

Without missing a beat, my brother hits me with a reply. “I thought that was just how we did things now. You know, avoided asking questions about things that matter to each other,” Colton says, the vaguest hint of humor lightening the edges of his voice.

I drag my beer closer to me and cross my legs. “I’m going to ignore that statement. And no. I’m not asking for money. I just thought you might like to know where I was, since it was kind of a dick move on my part to disappear without saying anything.”

“Kind of a dick move, she says…” Colton sighs but I can hear the smile in his voice. Despite everything that’s happened between my family and me, he and I manage to stay close. I like to imagine he has a sense of what went wrong, even though I know for certain neither of my brothers knows the truth of what broke me. “Honestly, I’m really glad to hear from you. Believe it or not, people actually care about you around here.” He pauses. “Tessa says hi.”

“Tell her I say hi back.” I clear my throat, the mention of my brother’s new bride planting fresh guilt in my already churning stomach. “Everyone good?”

“You know how it is, things never change in Brookside. People are happy and healthy and living the dream. Mom’s been yelling at Dad because he keeps falling asleep all the time and she wants him—”

I shift in my seat and tune out the rest of his sentence. The last thing I want to talk about is Dad. Not with all the history between us. Or rather, the lack of history, considering we haven’t spoken in years.

I change the subject as soon as I can. “Look. I’m sorry I missed your wedding. It was a douchebag move and I’ll figure out a way to make it up to you.” I run a hand into my hair and wince as I graze the cut on my forehead. “I just wanted to let you know where I am, especially now that it looks like I’ll be here awhile.”

“So you’re not asking for money?”

“No. Colton. Damnit. I’m not asking for money. I thought you might want to know I’m alive. Silly me for thinking you might care.” I smile through my words, so he can hear I’m only teasing him in the same way he’s only teasing me.

“Of course I care. That’s what I do. I care so much it hurts sometimes.” He pauses and I imagine the look on my brother’s face, all sarcasm and hilarity. “It’s just…this is you we’re talking about.”

“You tell me the last time I called asking you for money and I’ll buy you a drink.”

“How are you gonna buy me a drink when you’re halfway across the country?”

“I won’t be halfway across the country forever. I’ll buy you a drink when I get home.” I lean in close to study my doodle before crumpling up the napkin and pushing it away. “Now, stop trying to distract me with technicalities. Honestly, when have I ever asked you for money?”

There’s a long sigh on the other end of the line. “Fine. I don’t think you ever have. You might be a hot mess, but you’re a hot mess who can handle her shit.”

“Uhh…thank you?”

“You’re welcome.” Colton laughs and we chat for a few minutes before he has to go take care of something around the house.

We say our goodbyes. I end the call, and then drop my phone on the bar before taking a long swig of my beer. My head throbs, but I ignore it as I wait for the alcohol and medication to hold hands and do their job.

To help my hands stop shaking.

My heart stop hurting.

My soul stop screaming for answers I’ll never find.

I clear my throat and take in my surroundings for the first time since I walked through the doors and sat down, anything to distract myself from the tragedy of thoughts and questions about to hit me in the face. The wooden bar gleams, and the bottles lining the shelf glitter in the lights hanging from the ceiling. The front wall is nothing but windows, and the other three are brick, covered in black and white photographs of people. Some laughing and smiling. Some looking pensive. All of them sitting in this very bar, a drink in hand.

I know I shouldn’t be drinking this beer.

Not with a head injury.

Not after taking a pill.

But I have more important things to worry about than getting a little too inebriated. Namely, Denver is expensive, my car is a mangled disaster, and my savings account isn’t healthy enough to pay for this unscheduled stop. As much as I don’t want to, it looks like I’m gonna have to pause on my journey to California and find a short-term job. Something to tide me over until I’ve built my savings up enough to pay for the repairs to Gerty and any other random emergencies that might pop up along the way.

I finish my beer and order another when someone steps into my peripheral vision. “Hey there,” says a familiar voice, deep and soothing, the raspy timber enough to raise goosebumps down my spine.

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