The Girl He Needs (27 page)

The wall between us is high and wide and it’s as if every time I take a step closer he adds another layer. Now is the moment I could use to walk away, but I remember the look in his eye when he asked me not to end it via text message. I think of all the people that have let him down and I don’t want to be on that list. When this ends, if this ends, I want him to only have fond memories of our time together.

“Help me understand,” I say, nearly pleading. Not only because I want to be let in but because I want us to be more than this moment. I want what we’ve shared to have more depth.

Slowly, he lifts his hand to rub his arm and looks at the space over my head. “Even if I tell you what it was like, you won’t get it. You grew up with ready access to food, in a warm house, with more than enough. I grew up raising Vann, working so I could buy food to feed us because our mother spent every dime she could get on booze or worse. We slept in our car when we were between government housing. I washed in sinks at gas stations or at school, and I had to fight for every single thing I have.”

He tells it like a veteran talks about a war, a statement of fact. There’s no bend toward heroics or a ploy to make me feel sorry for him because pity is the last thing he wants. He doesn’t tell it with anger but the weariness I’ve also seen in Will. The weariness that comes with extensive struggles. Struggles Brinn has certainly had, but for him it was just a way of life. For Will it was a loss of a way of life.

“What you do for them is wonderful.” I step toward him, hoping to close the gap.

“I do it just as much for them as for me.” He glances at me but doesn’t come off the wall.

“Who doesn’t? That’s the whole purpose of doing something of this nature. By giving, you get—”

“No, I do it to remind me. To keep me in line. Sure, my main reason is to help these kids. To be a positive role model and show them that they have options other than what the street offers them. I want these kids to be able to protect themselves from not only other kids but adults too. But I also do it as a reminder of how far I’ve come and how much further I have to go.” He remains rigid against the wall.

“I think you’re amazing,” I say softly. “You’re right. I only understand as much as I can from this position, but just because I had more doesn’t mean I don’t recognize how lucky I am. Life must have been very—”

“Chaotic,” he says, his gaze meeting mine.

“I suppose chaos is one word.” Funny how Will had used that sometimes, too. “I was thinking uncertain or unpredictable. Living with constant uncertainty can be very frightening.” I want to touch him but he continues to stand tall and stiff and my hesitation feeds into my doubt.

On a sigh his shoulders slump. “It got better when we moved in with my grandmother. At least there we knew we had a steady place to sleep and didn’t have to move schools. Though, she used to try and hold food over our heads to get us to comply. It never worked though because I was working two jobs by then and would take Vann to the little mini mart down the street and get him a hot dog and a Yoo-hoo.”

“How old were you then?” I move to the space next to him and lean against the wall sideways, my shoulder resting next to his.

“Fifteen.” He looks down at me.

“You’re a good brother.” I place one hand on his bicep.

His lips twitch.

“It’s okay to smile,” I tease and squeeze his arm.

He drops his arms to his side and faces me. “This one time, when we were living in Deltona in this real dump of a place, my mom was gone—had been for a few days. It was raining, hard, and Vann’s scared of thunderstorms so I didn’t think I could leave him alone without him freaking out. There was nothing in the cabinets to eat except a box of Dream Whip. Why we had Dream Whip, I’m not sure. Maybe it was left over from Thanksgiving when my mom, in her completely manic way, got it in her head to make us a real Thanksgiving dinner, except she never did because she’d get too drunk or too high and the dates would slip past her. But we had this box of Dream Whip and food coloring. So I made it up and added the coloring to make it seem like we were getting the food groups. That’s also why I come here. To see if these kids are getting fed. To bring them a balanced meal so that they may be getting at least one quality meal.”

“And to give them strength.” I lean toward him. I want to wrap him in a hug but I know he’ll shrug me off. “You should teach a self-defense class for women. Like Jayne and Pippa—they could use it and I could use the additional practice.”

His eyes search my face and I desperately want him to lean forward and kiss me. Kiss me good, too. The laughter of the kids in the gym behind us floats through the door. I smell the food, the welcoming aroma of the fried chicken.

“Where do you get the food?”

“From that diner down from my house.” He smiles and picks up a lock of my hair.

“You have the diner make up a meal every week?”

“Yeah, I worked out a deal with them. They write off half the expense, I pay the other half, and every week I bring a well-balanced meal to these kids. The club provides the milk, paper plates, and stuff.”

“I’m a shitty person,” I say and lower my head. “I’ve never done anything like this because I wanted to. Charities are always an
event
for my family. A chance to look like you mean well while you look good.” I look up at him.

“There’s always time to change.” He drops my curl to stroke my arm, his lips lifting in a tease. “How did you find me here, anyway?”

“Zach,” I say, followed by a gasp. “Oh, shit.” I slap my forehead.

“What?” He grabs both my arms and pulls me upright.

“The hurricane has shifted. The projected path puts the eye right over us. Mark called and said he wants you to fly the Cessna south. The TV says that even if the path shifts it will only shift more north so Mark thinks the best route is to go south. He said if we take a direct hit, we can still function with one of the planes. He was real emphatic about getting the plane out.” I roll my eyes. The urgency is lost on me as a gymnasium full of children is behind me, their value far greater than an airplane.

“It’s because that’s the one we use the most. Most of the flight training can be done in it.”

“Oh.” That makes total sense.

He lets go of my arms and takes a step back. “How much time before landfall?”

“About six hours from what they’re predicting. It’s increased in speed and winds.”

“OK, get back to the hangar. Back up the computers and make sure you make two copies. One I’ll keep with me when I fly down to Miami, and put the other in the safe.”

“I’ve already done that.” I pull the external hard drive from my purse and hold it out to him. “What are you going to do? What else can I do?”

“I have to make sure these kids get home. Most of their parents get off late, and I usually stay here with the staff until seven.”

I look at my watch; seven is over two hours away.

“I’ll stay here. You go to the hangar and start prepping to leave,” I say but he’s already shaking his head.

“Brinn?” A stocky guy, wearing a similar gi but his belt is a dark purple, steps through the door. ’

“Charlie,” Brinn says. “We need to get these kids home. The hurricane has shifted its trajectory.”

“That’s what I was coming to say. Kim,” he says, pointing behind him, “is calling as many parents as she can to come now.”

“The city will be shutting down soon,” Brinn tells me. “They don’t mess around with hurricanes, especially as Cat four.”

“Cat five,” I say. “They think it’ll hit as a Cat five.” I try not to tremble.

My experience with hurricanes is limited to what I’ve seen at the Jersey Shore, devastation nonetheless, but it wasn’t a first-hand experience for me. I was also able to go back to an intact home, electricity, and everything where I left it.

“You need to go inland. Can you go to Will’s? Don’t stay in your apartment. It’s likely that area will be evacuated anyway.” He starts walking down the hall but turns back and takes two large strides back.

“Or come with me. Either way, go home, grab some clothes and anything of value to you. Text me and let me know if you’re going to Will’s.” He slips an arm around my waist and pulls me close, planting a quick but meaningful kiss on my lips.

“Be careful driving, Josie. Once those rains start coming in the roads get covered quick.” He rests his forehead on mine for a brief moment before he lets go and starts walking toward the gym.

“OK, you be careful too. Can I—” But he’s gone into the gym and is starting to organize the delivery of thirty plus kids.

Where did he go as a child when the hurricanes came? Was he solely responsible for Vann during those scary times? To shelters? He’s right, there’s no way I would understand what he experienced other than to experience it first hand, and driving around the country trying to find myself while I have my grandfather’s trust fund waiting for me in an account makes me wholly unable to comprehend even a smidge.

I do the fastest walk to my car that my heels will allow and dial Will’s number as I slip into the driver’s seat. I leave a voice mail when prompted and send a text, as if that might reach him.

Where R U? Can I come stay with u? Hurricane.

I wait but there’s no response. It’s not lost on me that the night Will’s car caught air off the bridge was a night similar to this. Torrential rains and unpredictable weather patterns.

Zach’s scooter is resting against the side of the hangar. The air is muggy and heavy with moisture. There’s no sound of anything but twin engines and propellers spinning. Occasionally a horn sounds through the air but the leaves barely rustle, the birds have long flown away from the impeding storm.

I stare at the long line of planes waiting to take off and worry Brinn won’t get out in time.

I glance at my phone, looking for some word from either Will or Brinn. I press the link that will dial Will directly and wait for it to ring through. Nothing happens so I try again. I still can’t get the call to connect and decide to try Brinn and get the same response. Nothing.

After leaving Brinn, I dashed home for a quick change of clothes, throwing my laptop, a change of clothes, and my hematite stones in a bag. Don’t ask me why I grabbed them. They were sitting in a bowl on my counter and I snagged them on the way out the door. I’ve changed into jeans and a tank top and tied a hoodie around my waist. To keep the wind from owning my hair I’ve pulled it back into a low ponytail.

Back at the hangar, Zach is trying to get Brinn’s plane ready for takeoff.

“Is he here yet?” I ask Zach.

“No. He better hurry because he might miss his window out.” He looks toward the runway.

I retreat back to the offices to make sure I’ve stored, backed up, and protected all the important stuff and anything else. Then I wander aimlessly around the room trying to call them both.

“You coming with me?” Brinn asks as he walks into the office.

A sigh of relief escapes me. One accounted for. One to go.

He’s changed into jeans and a T-shirt with his flight vest. He does a quick scan and follows it with a brief nod before signaling me to follow him.

I try Will again. Nothing.

“When are you leaving?” I walk behind him to the hangar doors.

“About forty minutes. Why, what’s wrong?” He looks out toward the runway and then back at me.

“Nothing. I can’t get a hold of my brother.”

“Leave him a message and come with me.”

“If I could just get a hold of him,” I mumble and chew my lower lip.

“He’s probably fine. He’s far enough inland.” Brinn glances at his watch and a fat drop of rain lands on its face.

I look up at the sky. The green is mixed with the fading yellow of the sun and clouds are rolling in, thick and heavy, holding back the weight of flooding rains.

“We’ve got to go,” he says. “Smitty, how are you getting home?”

Zach is pulling his scooter into the hangar. “My mom is picking me up.” He nods toward the entrance of the aviation park.

“Go now,” Brinn says and takes the scooter from him. “Where are you going?”

Zach grabs a backpack that’s lying against the hangar wall. “To the high school shelter.”

“Here, take some cash.” Brinn hands him a wad of bills. Watching the struggle on Zach’s face makes me want to turn away. “You’re going to need it.”

“Take it from my pay,” Zach says, taking the bills.

“Sure.” Brinn clasps him on the back. “Now go.”

Zach takes off at a run, and I start chewing my other thumbnail, having worked the first one down to nothing.

“You look worried,” Brinn says. “Try calling him again. Call his girlfriend.” He rubs my arm, sliding his hand to mine, taking the thumb from my mouth.

“Daanya! Why didn’t I think of that?” Relief that Daanya had had the foresight to give me her numbers blows through me. Now if only the call will connect. As I wait for the ringing sound, I step closer to Brinn and lean against him.

“Daanya,” I nearly cry into the phone. “It’s Josie. I’m sorry to call you at work but I’ve been trying to get a hold of Will. The hurricane is headed for us and—”

“Will is in Daytona,” she cries. “He wasn’t feeling well this morning when I left for work. I asked him what he was going to do, and he said make sure you’re leaving town because of the weather. I didn’t think he would drive there.”

“He came here?” I look at the sky and remember a night seven years ago similar to this.

“I pulled him up on the Find a Friend app and it stopped updating an hour ago. It says he’s by the speedway. He’s on his bike and he is very agitated today. Not himself.”

“I’m still in Daytona. I’ll start looking for him and get back with you as soon as I know anything.” I disconnect and put my forehead on Brinn’s chest, trying to steady my racing heart and erratic thoughts. I need a plan. I relay what Daanya told me. That Will is likely in town.

“What are you thinking?” He rubs my back.

“I have to go look for him.”

“Where do you think he went?” He searches the sky. “You don’t have much time.”

I step back. “He hasn’t gone to my place. He knows where I keep the hide-a-key and he would’ve called by now wondering where I am.” I wrack my brain. When a horrific idea settles, I shake my head in denial, pressing the heels of my hands to my eyes to hold back the threatening tears.