Feeling This (7 page)

Abruptly I turn and walk down the hall silently hoping I don’t run into Andrew.

She calls out behind me, “Damn Kimber, you would wait until now to tell me. I want to hear the deets, okay I’ll be there tonight, but just this one time. “

A smile spreads across my face as I continue walking. I knew she’d come, guilt has a way of doing that to my bestie.

The walk to my car is quick. Andrew doesn’t make an appearance which I’m thankful for. To top it off the car starts right up. My hand automatically goes to the dash and pats it gently, saying a quiet thank you for not giving me a hard time. The ride to the Bruins goes pretty quick for a twenty-five minute drive. They live outside of town on a sprawling two hundred acre ranch. If I were smart, I would take up helping Mr. Bruin out in the fields. I’d probably earn more but hard labor really isn’t my thing. 

Pastures of brown grass reach out on either side of the two-lane road. Once I approach the drive a wooden sign above the gate greets me, Bruin Ranch is scrawled across it in western looking letters. The dirt road twists deeper into the property through a canopy of white ash trees, my favorite part of the drive. Finally, I pull up to the grey two story house stretching to the south. The front porch runs the length of the house. I step out of the car, trying to shake the uneasiness that seeing Andrew caused.

As I climb up the front steps, Mrs. Bruin comes out of the screen door wiping her hands on a towel. Her light brown hair is pulled up into a bun with wisps of gray falling down framing her face. She is dressed in a long cream skirt topped with a chambray button down shirt with her sleeves rolled up. Her blue eyes crinkle with age at the corners as she asks me with concern lacing her voice, “Kimber, is everything okay?”

“Yes, Mrs. Bruin, everything is fine. I got a late start today.”

She nods, “I was getting worried, afraid somthin’ happened to your Momma.”

I chuckle more to myself than to her, “No maam, she’s still alive and kickin’.”

She looks away at my dry humor. She is so good to me. I know I shouldn’t show any disrespect, even if it is to my momma who isn’t even here, but sometimes I can’t help the words that come out of my mouth. Usually she ignores me as if I didn’t say anything; other times I’ll get a disapproving look from her.

I climb the last few steps and follow her into the house. As soon as my foot hits the wooden floor, Michael and Martin run up, each grabbing a leg, squeezing me to death. They both have buzz cuts and blue eyes that mirror their mother’s.

“Whoa there boys, you’re gonna squeeze me to death.” And I fall to the floor dramatically as if they squeezed the life out of my legs. Both boys disengage themselves and burst into fits of laughter. I lean over and grab each one in the chest, tickling them.

The laughter gets louder with lots of squirming and pleading, “Kimber, no, no, no.”

After a few minutes I stand up, reaching out to each of them ruffling their hair.

“Hey guys, I’ll be back in to play a game right after I help your momma, okay?”

Both boys nod and turn back to the T.V. showing the latest and greatest in cartoons. I can’t even keep up with all the shows these boys watch.

Michael and Martin are twins that the Bruins had only five years ago. Mr. and Mrs. Bruin are a little old to be the parents of five year olds. She told me the doctors broke the news to them that they would never be able to have kids and they accepted it for a long time. But one day, right after her forty-fourth birthday, she discovered she was pregnant. 

Before the boys she would visit with my momma every week and bring food over. After the boys though, she had a harder time coming over each week. When Jenna left she suggested I come over here instead. I think she knew that momma was getting worse and she wanted to save me a little. It works for me, I adore those boys and she’s not bad company.

My home on the other side of town is nothing compared to this one. Momma and I live in a small two bedroom bungalow style house. One day, I keep telling myself, I’ll be able to live in a house like this one. It’s old and full of character that tells stories. The rickety staircase leading up to the bedrooms and real wooden floors full of scuff marks are only a couple of the things I love. Mr. Bruin has updated the kitchen with all the newest modern styles like granite countertops and new appliances. As I step into the room, I can tell Mrs. Bruin has her mind on things. She is concentrating on something and not acknowledging that I’m here. The counters are strewn with ingredients and she’s leaning over what looks like a recipe card.

She turns around suddenly aware of my presence, “Kimber, can you get the flour and milk? We’re making pies today for the ranch hands.”

I want to ask what’s on her mind but she seems busy. It’s best not to pester her at the moment. I know she has a lot of things going on with running a ranch this size.

Chapter Seven

The sun beats down relentlessly on the back of my neck. I stand stoically taking anything it has to dish out. This is not a comfortable event and I deserve every bit of discomfort doled out on me. My mom has her arm wrapped around my back as if she knows I need her to hold me up. Susan’s mother whimpers on the other side of her, encompassed in Dan’s arms. My eyes focus unwavering on the long, white, smooth coffin hovering above the hole in the ground, waiting to swallow it up. As the priest utters his last prayer he turns and meets my glare. I take a deep breath and force my feet to move forward. As if not in control of my actions, unfeeling, I raise the white rose to my lips, kiss it and place it at the head of the coffin. As I back up, an onslaught of people including my parents and Susan’s walk forward mirroring my actions. I stand in my spot numb to reality. The only thing I can focus on is that my life is over. My Susan is gone, and it’s entirely my fault.

***

After the funeral Susan’s parents host a gathering. It’s tough coming here, knowing she won’t come barreling down the grand staircase to see me. When we came back home from college, I found an apartment in the city. Susan’s mother, Rebecca, felt it was more appropriate that she live at home for the time being. I knew at some point she would move in with me, she was practically staying at my place every other night as it was. When we first came back though, I had to go through the motions of dating her. I would come over and wait while she finished getting ready. She would come down those stairs as fast as her little feet could carry her and just about plow me over every time, happy to see me as if it was the first time we laid eyes on one another. It was her way of rebelling against her controlling mother. She would do things subtly here and there to let her mother know that she was really the one with all the power. Staying at my apartment as often as she did, proved that. My breath catches realizing that she really wasn’t in control, at all.

I avert my eyes from the stairs and make my way into the back parlor where the bar is situated. Dan, Susan’s father, is standing next to it staring out the wide picture window across the acres of grasses and gardens spanning the backyard.

I turn to leave the room before he can notice my presence but I hear his desperate voice before I can get away, “Jordan?”

I turn on my heel and pocket my hands, staring at the cream tile under my feet.

“Jordan, son, can we talk a little?”

I look up and meet his pained expression, “Sir, I don’t…I’m sorry, I don’t think I can have this conversation right now.”

He nods, acknowledging my apology, but waves me in changing his tone, “I understand. Come have a drink, I know that’s why you’re in here.”

I slowly walk forward and grasp the drink he hands me a moment later. I lift the glass to my lips, savoring the sharp taste of whiskey and swallow the rest in one short gulp. He holds his hand out for my empty glass and fills it back up. This time I sip it, cradling the glass while the numb feeling the alcohol offers, begins to spread. I welcome it. Dan turns back toward the back yard as if searching for something just out of his gaze. I realize at this point we are all lost and searching for something that will never again be present in our lives. My heart aches for her.

As the night rolls on, a barrage of friends and family utter their condolences. After a while I get tired of trying to play the part. Whatever that part is I’m supposed to be playing. I frequent the bar until my dad finally finds me alone in the room endearingly named the library, by Susan when she was a little girl. It has two full walls of books from floor to ceiling. Centered above the leather settees is an amber chandelier which gives the room an incandescent glow.

He comes to a stop in front of me, and slowly lowers himself to the edge of the brown leather couch across from me, “Jordan, I came to let you know that I’m taking your mother home.”

I nod and look away taking another swallow of my almost empty glass.

“Son, come with us, come home for the night. I’ll bring you back in the morning to get your car.” His voice is almost cracking, while pleading with me.

I consider his request as I peruse my options; the empty apartment with reminders of Susan everywhere or my parent’s where there are people, where I won’t be alone.

I push myself up out of the chair and momentarily lose my balance. My dad scurries to his feet as I stumble and secures me before I can fall. I set the glass down on the low, round table and gesture to the door, “Let’s go.”

My words sound a little slurred to my ears. Better this way though. It keeps my mind numb unable to focus on anything for long periods of time.

Chapter Eight

Mrs. Bruin was in her own world this afternoon. I was concerned, but it ended up being a blessing in disguise. The last thing I wanted to talk about was Momma. Lately that seems to be her topic of choice. I know she means well, making sure Momma is getting her meds and the bills are being paid, but it’s too much sometimes. One of the main reasons I stay away from home as much as possible is to avoid all the hassle and fussing.

After making the pies and helping Mrs. Bruin gather lunch for the ranch hands, I played at least six rounds of Candyland with the twins. They beat me every time. When lunch rolled around Mr. Bruin came in to get the food we made for all the ranch hands. I know she likes having me around, but she could do all this stuff on her own. It makes me feel like a charity case sometimes and all I want to do is leave. I stay though, for Momma, even though it makes a serious dent in my pride.