Next to You (Life) (6 page)

Chapter 10

“
Y
ou look all
grown up now, son,” Doctor Williams says when I shake his hand, my jaw twitches at the comment. It sounds as if he is an uncle greeting me. I find it unethical for my old therapist to treat me in that way. “It surprised me to see your name, boy. Another trip to Juvie?”

“That was more than ten years ago.” A lifetime back when I had to defend myself and my brother from our natural predators, I want to add but he had to live that life to understand. The urban jungle hid more dangers than the rain forest. Folding my arms across my chest I argue with myself if it’d be wiser to leave. Damn Rebecca and her mind games that brought unpleasant things back into my life. Foster housing isn’t all that great when you live in a poor neighborhood with greedy men who think you’re their ticket out of the nine to five, Monday to Friday chains. “My lawyer made sure you shredded that file, there’s a—”

“Daniel.” The man now has salt and paper hair color, wrinkles around his green eyes, and an attitude I don’t care much about. He sits on his old brown leather chair. “Take a seat. Care to tell me why the rage came back?” Then he chuckles at some internal joke, I guess. “Not that it ever left, you’re smart and knew where to hide it well. Is it old enemies? Your parents resurfaced? Or the need of control went on vacation?”

“Is this legal?” I ask. “This sounds more like a discussion with an old family member. The deal usually goes as follows, I pay you, you listen, I move on.”

“Boy, your case was pro-bono.” He turns on the old lamp and waves his hand to the chair opposite of his, insisting I sit. “Back then you didn’t know better. You thought we finished what we started, what happened after Harvard?”

Clenching my jaw, I sit where he pointed at. “Yes I think we did finish. I had dealt with the issues at hand; changed, moved on and reinvented myself.” Of course I’m here because there’s this girl… one I fell in love with and got dumped by. Talking to the other counselor who is guiding me regarding her rape and other issues sounds illogical. What’s there to say, can you help me forget her too… then, what’s the point of going into counseling? Damn, another inconsistency, it’s essential to do something so I can regain my control—myself. “You cured me once, made me forget about my shitty past. I need the same, a second chance.”

His expression remains neutral; the annoyance of his attitude grows stronger. Seconds before I stand up and leave his practice, he speaks, “Child/Teen practice.” He taps his chest lightly, then stands up, walking toward his desk and pulls out a business card. “That gave me the right to talk to you like an old uncle that thinks and knows that you still need help.” Then he hands me the name of a colleague. “Your case was a miracle, since it was so hard to work with you. With the attitude you gave me during each appointment… you’re strong and very intelligent.” He writes things on a pad, a useless movement since he’s not my doctor. “So smart that you like to manipulate anyone and everyone around you. Manipulation… you should know that only works like drugs and alcohol, a quick fix that won’t make you happy.

“Moved on.” He taps the pen over his chin while thinking what to say next I guess. “I liked that, thrilled to know that indeed you forgot about that shitty past; your parents abandoning you, foster parents not caring much about you and your brother. The nights you had to sleep with one eye open so the older children wouldn’t steal the little that you had. Saving him from danger, making sure your brother didn’t fall into the bad crowd and kept a knife handy. Until that day when you tried to show those boys a lesson. Rough life, one I don’t see mentioned anywhere in the news. I admire your tenacity; the Brightmore name goes hand in hand with success. Yet, here you are, with that same anger. Wondering which part of your life should change to avoid my chair—again. Call Stewart. I think that’s what the doctor recommends.”

“Shitty jokes.”

“Same lack of vocabulary,” he answers. “How is it that you close deals with that mouth, boy?”

I shrug, answering that I’m a manipulative asshole will prove his point.

“You came for help.” He looks at the card I hold. “Take it. May I ask what happened?”

“None of your business.” I stand up and head to the door. “Have a good rest of your day.”

“Boy, for your own good,” he says when I open the door, “stop keeping others at arm’s length and give yourself a real chance. Pay my assistant for the unrequited chat on your way out.”

*

My office door opens, but I don’t look up until I type the last details of my next trip and save the final draft of the contract to finalize the merge with the Vancouver food packaging company. Lifting my gaze, I find Buddy who nods when our gazes meet. He slides into the black leather couch, tosses his head back and like the boss he thinks he is, puts his leather boots on the coffee table.

“Friday, nine o’clock at night and you’re working,” he says, and gives me a disapproving glare. “You still sad because your little princess left?” Buddy puts his feet down and reaches for the silver frame with several pictures of Becca and me from our multiple trips. “She sent you a package, it’s sitting outside on top of Betsy’s desk. Hopefully food, because those darn mittens she sent you are the crappiest things I’ve ever seen. Miss my Baby Girl. Do you know when she’s coming home?”

Home? That word makes me wonder where she’ll go after Geneva. Three weeks, not long for her to come up with a plan. Her house has been across the hall from mine since she finished college. Well, up until the accident in Aspen when I decided it was time to take her home where she belonged—with me. I hope her future plans don’t include living across from me. That apartment is gone, my crew tore it apart, along with my own place and they’ll be building four different penthouses.

“Uh, he misses his girl.” Buddy’s mocking sound is going to give me an ulcer if he continues. I miss her, but not the one who turned into a whacked up job, I miss the one who fought me at every turn but loved my bossy ways—as she called them. Becca’s happy smiles filled with love, eager to see what would be our next adventure and overcoming adversity. “She might never come back.”

The boiling rage begins to cripple from the bottom of my feet all the way to my neck. “Don’t go there, Buddy, not today.” He frowns, as if expecting some kind of explanation. “I went to visit fucking Dr. Williams on Monday and the man didn’t do shit.” Consumed by the flaming heat the doctor’s words created, I avoided everything and everyone for a week, except work. “Forget, move on, second chance… is that too much to ask for?”

“Did you forget what happened back then?” Buddy pushes himself out of the couch and walks toward the chair in front of my desk, sitting down there. “Recounting the events briefly… we had to escape the house before we faced the same fate the older boys did. Then Gus, one of our former foster brothers ended up with a gang and decided we should join, you had to choose between him and our survival.” He touches his temple. “Fresh, as if my brother almost went to jail because he defended himself and me.” His last words are deafening. “A hard move, Dan. Remember those moments, self-preservation and all. I’ll be eternally in your debt for getting us out of that house, keeping us out of trouble even when we weren’t saints; then for choosing to live and defending me. Now think about her. First, ask yourself if you want to forget her and all that you’ve shared with her.” He pauses, tilting his head. “Becca chose surviving. Don’t be hard on her. Yes, you cleaned up your act and here you are… but that’s why you try to control everything and everyone, Daniel. Remember, we don’t live in the ghetto anymore. We’re not running away from the system or gangs or… You were a child that tried his best to keep us in line. I wasn’t your responsibility, but you became that big brother that I’ll always love. Have you thought what would have happened if she hadn’t chosen to survive?” I feel how my blood freezes and I can’t move for a moment or two. “Exactly, I would be watching you waste yourself away because she wouldn’t come back—ever. Let her do her thing, big brother.”

There is a sudden silence in the room, I stand up and turn to the window, staring at the horizon when suddenly he retakes the conversation. “You know what else, you should tell her about our past.” My body turns one hundred and eighty degrees after that statement. Becca thinks I’m perfect, why would I… she is innocent and wouldn’t be with—“She’s not the girl from the other side of the tracks that would never accept you for who you were and are. Yes, we had to run away from that foster home, does she know one of the shelters she runs used to be our own shelter back then?” It was one of several abandoned buildings, there were no doors, broken windows and was filled with trash and rats. The nasty winter there almost killed us, but we got out. “We didn’t have to endure it for that long, we were lucky enough to find Raj… well, he was lucky to find us.” Buddy’s crooked grin appears, he always likes to tell that to Raj. “Then he introduced us to the Swansons, giving us that second chance. You already got it, Dan. She needs hers. The two of you ought to bring each other down from that fucking pedestal. Becca has trouble understanding how a smart-accomplished guy, that could have any woman, loves her.”
Because though life had given her a hard hand, she dealt all the cards and survived. She taught me how to love and see the world in a different way, not only as a place to exploit.
“The fucked up life we had brought us to where we are now. Don’t lose the best thing that has happen to you because of the shitty past we all had—including her.”

“Are you taking her side?” I ask searching for a fight, a good fist to fist encounter would take the edge off the anger I have carried for so long.

“Nuh,” he dismisses me. I head to my desk and begin putting my things away. “If I had to take sides, obviously I’d take hers. She’s all tiny and cute; plus she bakes like a goddess—no knitting please. Your cooking isn’t that bad. Plus I’m your brother, as you once took a knife for me, I’m trying to do the same—metaphorically speaking. Now let’s go home and call it a night. Behave and I might take you shopping for a new place tomorrow. Living in your hotel suite or sleeping on my couch must be getting old.”

“I bought it for her.” Buddy looks at me and I stop packing. “The penthouse, I thought we’d live there and…” Massaging the sides of my head with both hands, I realize one of the biggest stupidities I had done to her. “When we set the Foundation, she begged me not to open it here. She explained to me how technology would allow her to work anywhere in the country—or the world. But—”

“You wanted Becca close, to protect her the way you know how to.” Scratching the back of my head I nod. “My point exactly, let it go. If you have to choose, the girl or your imaginary territory, what would it be? I’d visit you anywhere, she’s like the little sister I never had, D. You two bonded since day one…the first time you mentioned her to me, your exact words were
: I met this girl, Joseph, you’re going to love her.
My translation was,
I met the girl of my dreams.
After you introduced me to her, I got it, she is different. You never saw her like a sister, as Raj and I do.”

One person to another sends me back, to the time when they met her, I met her or something significant that happened between us. All the moments I’m trying to forget. It reminds me of the times when Becca would wipe away whatever Donna had done to her. As the bruises disappeared, so did the memory—she lived in denial.

Becca never wanted to set foot here, in Massachusetts where her entire life had been filled with emotional and physical pain. My responsibility had been to know that, since I always took care of her. Instead, I failed. The monsters grew bigger here—she mentioned it in one of her letters. I witnessed it years ago, during her breaks, if she traveled to visit me. The screams and sobs began as soon as she fell asleep. Boston is my turf, I took over the city—my own way. I own the old buildings that used to hide those gangs. I demolished them and cleaned the trash from the root of the problem. Leaving what I rightfully owned wasn’t an option, not back then—maybe not ever.

Before I turn off the lamp on my desk I look at the frames where her beautiful face and friendly smile stares at me. In a few pictures we appear together, me hugging her and protecting her from the world. Tonight I feel lonelier than ever, vulnerable to my own emotions and doubting everything I’ve done for the past twelve months, or six years or nine… Opening up to one person brought me down, and I have no idea what to do next. I don’t’ know if I want her back or not and how much of that love I swore I had for her remains untainted.

Chapter 11

A
s I seal
the letter and attach it to the already packed box with some goodies Mary baked earlier for Becca and some new book releases from her favorite authors, the memories of our trip to Telluride—the good times and bad—replay like one of those pirate VHS cassettes from the early 90’s. Low resolution, blurred volume and static included.

“Oops, I wasn’t supposed to tell you that,” Becca said out loud. “Can you redeem yourself after you are raped by your childhood best friend…? I’ll never know, if anyone finds out…I’ll have to leave,” she mumbled those words.

My world shook but didn’t crumbled at the time, because what she said didn’t make any sense at that exact moment and I blamed the pain medication.

“Sir,” Betsy steps inside my office after knocking twice. “Tony and Nick are here to pick up the package.” She takes the box as I slide it toward the opposite end of my desk. She stuffs in a few more envelopes, seals it with the tape she carries and grabs it. “Do you have any further instructions for them?”

“No, Betsy, thank you.” I dismiss her with a hand wave.

Nick knows what to do. His job is to make sure Tony—Becca’s new bodyguard—gets settled in Geneva and to explain his duties for the time being. This feels like Aspen all over again, damn it. A new security detail to watch out for her when I can’t be there… I send up a prayer so that nothing happens like it did last year.

*

Dan:

You mentioned in your last letter that you ran out of the pink hug supply. I’m sending you some virtual ones. I miss you, I truly do. This coming from your normal friend and not the crazy clingy person you dealt with pre-Switzerland. Thank you for the books and the brownies, tell Mary no one bakes as amazingly as she does. I’m not sure what to address first.

Please, send me a picture of the blanket you describe, which I fondly used to call a scarf. A little for my amusement and also to see you, it’s been so long… the longest we’ve been apart since we met. Shaking the melancholy, here is a promise: I’ll have a better sweater and scarf for you by winter. On that note, it’s not as if I expect to stay here until winter.

In other news, I convinced them—my team of therapists—to stretch my time a bit… one week at a time. We are planning on the second week of September—October in Switzerland doesn’t sound bad either. The reason-excuse… the nightmares. They insist on appearing often, but I swear they won’t win. I can say proudly that I’m not taking medication. I’ll miss the apple pies, hamburgers and last days of summer, no summer vacation for us this year. At least for me, hope you went somewhere exciting to rest from work—and me.

On second thought, will the hiatus in Europe count as my summer holiday?

Could you please explain the overnight packaging supply you sent along with the blond Tyler Hoechlin guy? Who, by the way told me that I need to contact him when I’m ready to send you stuff. Is that your way of asking for more knitting gear and art? No, of course not, you want me to send you the letters and miscellaneous things in those boxes, with hot guy, so you can receive them the next day by eight AM. Just like you’re doing with the letters you send me. Patience, Brightmore. Got some? Sorry if this letter reaches you a week after you expected it, but it took me that long to think of a response.

Give me your thoughts about selling grandma’s house. I don’t think I’ll ever go back there or want to have it as a keepsake. Actually, let’s vote, I say sell and if your vote is the same, can you please go ahead and wave your magic wand to make that happen?

Now onto why I procrastinated to answer you:

Your letter said, if not Boston, where? I’m not sure, that’s one of the reasons I’m here. So I can deal with living there, close to you. Your life settled long ago in that city, the headquarters of Brightmore limited are there, the Foundation and… of course I want to be near you—if you allow me to. Is that your message, that you don’t want me around you anymore? God I hope I’m being a crazy person and imagining stupidities. Let’s state the obvious, once I’m out of here, I’m not jumping on a plane and flying to Massachusetts. However, that’s the final destination. Though, hypothetically speaking, what are my options? My mind ponders now, but I can’t give you much since it feels weird to think outside the box.

Why do you ask?

Love,

Becca

P.S.1 Wish you were here so I could give you the pink hugs myself.

P.S.2 Can you really buy the moon?

P.S.3 How are you?

P.S.4 Have I mentioned how much I miss you?

P.S.5 I don’t have a thing for blondy, don’t fire him.

To: Henry Theroux

From: DBrightmore

cc: BeccaT

Subject: Sudbury Property

Per Becca’s request, please initiate the transfer of the property under Brightmore Limited. I’ve wired the real-estate value into her account. [See attached documents] Buy the others around the block and when the entire operation is finished, contact me so I can initiate the demolition plans. My architect is working on a new development for the lots.

Thank you,

Daniel Brightmore

Becca,

What a coincidence, I miss my best friend too. Yes, it’s been the longest I’ve been without pink hugs since I was introduced to them. My soul is withering without them, thank you for the artificial ones… they aren’t the same but they’ll keep me on life support for the time being. Mittens? They are ridiculous. I’m not four, Bex. The gloves you knitted Buddy made him look like a cartoon character, keep those needles hidden you’re terrible with them. Don’t you hate needles? Your grandma’s house has been disposed of and the money has been transferred to your savings account.

My question isn’t to get rid of you, Becca, only to find out what your plans are for the not so near future. I thought you’d be out in two weeks. That’s what my calendar says. The only places you ever mentioned you’d go to were Alaska and Hawaii, but that was when you planned to run away after high school. This is different, more like a: where do you think you’d like to restart?

There won’t be any pictures of me wearing your ridiculous gear, and I’ll send you one when you send me a picture of you. Insert mocking voice here. Of course I know you don’t have your camera to take pictures of yourself, therefore there won’t be any in exchange. Come home and then we… Damn it, why is it that some of your letters put me on the edge, Rebecca. Maybe it is the lack of those hugs, the ones that unthawed my cold heart on a regular basis. Here’s something coming from that bitter organ of mine: I fucking miss you, baby, and I hate every minute you’re away from home… It drives me insane not knowing there’s a home for us and that we might never go back to us.

D

P. S. For you, I’ll buy the entire universe if that will give me back the smile your past stole from me.

What are my options?
Becca asked so I browse through the entire United States to find a nice place with a body of water close to it. Ocean, river, pond… a pool? And four seasons, unlike L.A. where they lack real winters and falls.

But then, there is a promise Buddy and I made after we lost track of each other for four years. We wouldn’t abandon the other; same with Raj, and she’s right, my company is here. Though I have the power to uproot it and move it wherever it pleases me—or her. Where… there are offices around the country. San Jose, which is an hour and a half drive from Napa. There are plenty of water bodies there. Seattle, Florida—she’d hate the lack of seasons.

All possible to achieve, there are ports close to Napa and Seattle. I wouldn’t close the offices in Boston though, only a few key moves to where I would work. Technology closed distances. There are two factors to consider before an entire—empire, as Becca calls it—relocates. This calls for an expedition and a long conversation with my brothers.

*

There’s that famous quote, if the mountain won’t come to Mahomet, Mahomet must go to the mountain. In this case I’m Mahomet and Becca is my mountain. My patience has run thin and I have to do something. Static isn’t my idea of progress, my energy is about to make me explode again or make something explode—call it reflex. Not as easy when I have a bodyguard behind me… and not for my own security. They still don’t trust me after my snapping got me almost into a fight two days ago with my human resources director. Exactly a day after receiving a letter from Becca saying… I won’t be back until the end of September, maybe October, but definitely before winter.
What the hell?

“This is the stupidest thing I’ve ever agreed to,” says Drew in a secret, religious voice. “There’s no real incentive, only my boyfriend’s eternal gratitude.” Then he looks at me. “By now I already have two of those—eternal gratitude—and there’s not much I can do with them. He better be grateful or… I got nothing.” Drew shrugs and lifts his palms simultaneously.

There is no following statement, and I appreciate it. Raj did offer him that thing he likes a lot—that thing, thank goodness, that neither one of them explained, nor I would be scarred for life. Hearing about Raj’s and Buddy’s sex life is on the top of the list of things I don’t want to know, that along with their significant others complaints, or have I mentioned their sex lives? The pattern leads to them sharing more than anyone should know.

“You ready?” I ask him before entering the three story building that looks more like a ski resort than a rehabilitation center. He stops and stares at the building. “You talk to them on a regular basis. They think you’re her shrink. Do the same now, Drew.”

“Why did I agree to this?” Drew asks in an altered voice for a second time. Redundant from what he just said, but I keep quiet to prevent myself from answering something along the lines of:
Because my brother convinced you?

“This is an emergency intervention,” I add, without reminding him this was his idea—Becca moving into some center where they’d keep her away from me. “She left around mid-May and three months later, she added four more weeks or something like that to her treatment, instead of leaving soon.”

He ignores me as we continue looking at the entrance and not moving.

“Oh yeah,” he suddenly said. “Because I’m whipped and an idiot,” he utters before stepping inside.

Dr. Andrew Charles and I sign the visitor log and follow the nurse who takes us to the director’s office. We have a ten o’clock appointment, one I scheduled when her letter reached me saying something about staying during the month of October but she definitely wouldn’t stay during winter in Switzerland. As we arrive at one of the corner offices of the building, the nurse opens the door.

“He’ll see you soon,” he says with a thick accent. Before leaving, he adds as a second thought, “Take a seat.”

We both sit and look toward the window, it continues raining, but even with it, the entire view of the mountains and the lake gives a peaceful sight to the spectator.

“Mr. Brightmore.” A grey haired man with blue eyes and white coat extends his hand to Drew, who introduces himself as Dr. Andrew Charles. Then the man turns to me with an apologetic smile and shakes my hand. “Mr. Brightmore I presume.” I shake hands with him and nod. “I’m Dr. Von Arx.” He emphasizes the way his name sounds different from its spelling: Fon-Arx.

“As I explained over the phone,” I begin without any preamble, a hard transition from how his name should be pronounced to down to business and get to the point. “Rebecca’s release date is the first week of September—in a week. You can’t possibly push her—”

“Yes, I remember what you said,” he interrupts, then pushes the manila file, that lies on top of the desk, toward Drew. “Dr. Charles, you can see her file and agree with me. Part of the treatment is to work with the patient, not push the patient.”

“Here it says she was ready to be discharged two weeks ago.” Drew takes a deep breath. “Why on earth is…” he stops, continues reading, shakes his head and makes some mumble noises. “Your patient needs to be shown the door, Dr. Von Arx. The codependency toward your center might grow bigger if you don’t do it soon.”

“She has occasional nightmares,” the doctor tells him, ignoring my presence. “We can’t ignore her needs.”

“Your file says that she’s aware those might never disappear completely,” Drew continues talking with his eyes on the file. Flipping pages and I realize, taking pictures of it with his phone. “Can you find an incentive?” Drew finally directs his gaze toward me and arches an eyebrow. “Of all people, you know how to push her buttons.”

My bag of tricks stayed at home. There were times in the past that I’d know how to shake her out of whatever mood she attached herself to. However, that stopped when her past caught up with her and the snowball effect carried our relationship down the mountain. By the end I could barely read her body language, unless it was during sex. We couldn’t communicate with just one look and her soul had shut the entrance with a big sign that said stay away, danger zone, not allowed and many other warnings. By now I am sure she borrowed some yellow tape from the police department to declare it inhabitable.

“What do you need, Dr. Charles,” I address him as a third party and not my brother’s boyfriend. “A positive incentive, like you’ll get a brand new car or better yet a factory of chocolate… or something along the lines of your position in the Foundation has been deleted since you’ve been gone for so long.”

“The latter,” both say in unison.