I frowned. Damn, when you looked at it that way, it sounded pretty pathetic.
She noticed my frown and her voice gentled. "Must've been a pretty incredible two days."
I nodded with a sad smile. "Uh-huh..."
Once I started talking, I didn't shut up until we reached Georgetown, and by then I had completely rationalized my decision to leave well enough alone and avoid all contact with Kimberly Scott.
Brenna had been quiet through most of the drive. Without knowing Brenna, you'd have no idea how strange that is, but just for the record, it was very strange. Occasionally she would interject a question or comment, but mostly she just listened and watched me with an intensity that, to be honest, creeped me out a little.
I finally stopped talking, and the car was silent for several minutes. She kept watching me, compassion evident in the light brown eyes so like my own. I was horrified to feel the sting of approaching tears. I blinked several times, fighting them back.
"Oh Darcy..." Her voice was full of love and understanding, and all it took to turn the waterworks on. I'm not a big crier - I'm more of a 'hold it inside and take it out on some unsuspecting, completely innocent person later' kind of gal - but this, I couldn't hold inside.
Brenna took it in stride, calmly instructing me to pull the car over and then pulling me to her, rubbing my back and making soothing noises as I collapsed in her arms and sobbed like a baby. Twenty-plus years of stoicism ended up on her bright turquoise top in the form of tears, drool, and all the other body fluids that you tend to emote while balling your head off. When I finally heaved my last gasp and sniffed my last sniffle, saying I was a wee bit embarrassed would be like saying the jagged Rocky Mountains surrounding us were wee little hills.
"Oh, Jeez, Brenna, your shirt..." I said as I sniffed and tried ineffectually to wipe my snot, drool and tears off her shirt with a Wendy's napkin that I should have been using for all those sundry fluids in the first place. "Oh, God - I'm sorry."
She stared down at her shirt with a mixture of bemusement and curiosity; as though she wasn't quite sure where the mess had come from, and wasn't sure that she even wanted to think about it. As I looked at her expression, my sniffles turned into giggly hiccups, and when she turned her perplexed face my way, the hiccups gave way to snickers then all out laughter.
She blinked and looked down at her shirt again before adding her own braying laughter to mine. This time the tears that came were that of mirth; I welcomed them as readily as I had fought them minutes before, relishing the release of tension.
When our laughter subsided to occasional giggles, I pulled the car back out onto the Interstate and continued our journey. We had driven in silence for several minutes when I felt a light touch slide down my arm and a warm hand grasped mine.
"So whatcha gonna do about this girl, hmm?" she asked with a gentle smile.
I sighed, and squeezed her hand. "Hell if I know, Bren. Hell if I know."
That was pretty much my standard answer throughout the five days Brenna stayed with me. We rarely talked about Kim, but every once in a while, out of the blue, Brenna would ask 'Whatcha gonna do?', forcing me to deal with something I was trying hard, unsuccessfully, to put out of my mind.
Other than Brenna's questions and other occasional reminders of Kim - occasional meaning every morning when I woke up alone, my face pressed against a pillow that still bore faint traces of her; every time I heard Patty Griffin, which I morbidly played over and over when I was alone; every time a flash of dark hair would catch my eye...Other than those occasional reminders, I managed to keep my mind off Kim and salvaged a fairly decent Christmas. Brenna kept me laughing; her bluntness and unique way of looking at the world always did. We talked, shopped, sledded, ate, drank, talked and ate some more - Brenna even tried snowboarding for a day, and was surprisingly good at it.
Five days flew by, and sooner than I thought possible, I was standing again in the terminal of DIA, Brenna's skinny arms wrapped around me, my chin resting on the top of her head.
"Merry Christmas, Bren. Thanks so much for coming, and listening and...well, everything." I murmured as she pulled away.
"I had a great time, honey, thank you." She looked at me mischievously. "So, Lil'Bit, whatcha gonna do?"
I gave her a crooked smile. "Hell if I know."
She smiled back, and grabbed my hand, pressing something into my palm. "Maybe this will help." I looked at her quizzically then down at the slip of paper she had given me. On it was a phone number in bold block letters that I recognized as Greta's writing.
I looked back at her. "What's this?"
"Her phone number."
"Who's phone number?" I knew perfectly well whose number it was, and she knew I knew.
She smirked, and grabbed me again in a quick hug. "Bye, honey. Take care of yourself, ok?" I nodded, and she turned and started for the concourse. After a few strides she stopped and looked back over her shoulder at me. "And for christsakes, call her!"
I looked at Brenna's retreating back then down at the number.
Crumpled it up in my hand.
Walked towards the nearest trash can.
And didn't throw it in.
On the walk back to my car I must have past two dozen trash cans. At every one, I reached out my hand, held it over the rim...and didn't let go.
Couldn't let go.
Frustrated with myself, I finally stuffed the wad of paper in my pocket where it burned a hole in my pants the entire drive home. What a wimp I was. Couldn't even throw a little-bitty piece of paper away.
I put in a Nine Inch Nails CD for inspiration - I used to always listen to them before meetings, when I knew I needed to be a hard ass - but even screaming 'head like a hole' at the top of my lungs didn't take my mind off the paper in my pocket.
I played 'how many license plates from different states can I identify'. That game was a lot more fun when I was 8.
I played 'I spy with my little eye', but playing that solo takes most of the challenge out of it.
I played 'red truck, blue truck', but without beer involved, what's the point?
I sighed.
I fidgeted.
Sighed again.
I gave up and put in Patty Griffin. What the hell - if you're gonna wallow, you might as well do it up right.
Still was humming 'Wishing Well' and thinking about the number on the paper in my pocket, I followed the flagstone path around my house to my front door after parking in the small garage in back. I tried to remember what I had in the refrigerator, thinking I should just call Greta and see if she was interested in going out...
I stopped cold. What the...
She pushed herself off the porch railing and stood, watching me silently.
I had wondered, in the last week, whether my first, nearly visceral, reaction to her beauty had been accurate or merely a result to the situation.
As blue eyes surveyed me coolly from head to toe, I felt the kick of it again.
No doubt about it - I'd been right the first time. She was flawless; like a slap to senses that made you want to blink and mutter 'Daaaaaammmmnnn...'
I managed to keep it to just a blink or two before I realized I was staring - I took in a deep breath and forced myself to move forward.
I stopped a few feet from where she stood.
"Simone." I said neutrally with a nod.
She looked at me a few more moments, then crossed her arms. "You're not Greta."
The corner of my mouth almost twitched into a smile. "No, I'm not."
"Then who the hell are you?" Apparently I was no longer worthy of her good manners.
"No one important."
"Bullshit."
I shrugged, and walked past her to the door. When I got the door open, I turned. "Do you want to come in? If I'm about to be interrogated, I'd rather do it over a beer."