Courtney Cole - Until We Fly

“Let me know if you change your mind,” Gabe tells me. “And if you decide you need me, call me. I’ll be on the next plane.”

“Stay home with your wife,” I tell him. “I’ve got this.”

“I know you do.”

Gabe hangs up and I stare at the wall.

Fuck this. I didn’t want to be here in the first place, and now I’m fucking stuck here.

I can’t roll onto my side, I can’t even get up to take a piss.

Growling, I stuff the crinkly hospital pillow over my head to drown out the hospital sounds.

This is real.

I need to get used to it.

Nora

I stare at the little newspaper on the kitchen island.

Brand’s picture is plastered to the front, along with a big headline.

Local Hero Hasn’t Lost His Touch.

The story goes on to detail how Brand was a Lt. Colonel in the Seventy-Fifth Regiment Army Rangers, served a colorful stint overseas in Afghanistan and earned a Purple Heart. His father died last week and Lt. Col Killien retuned home only to save a bus of cub scouts upon arrival here.

The picture was taken by a by-stander, and it shows Brand carrying a kid off the smoking bus. There’s fire all around him, but he doesn’t even seem to notice. Instead, he’s tall and strong, and rises out of the wreckage like the hero he is.

He’s here because his father died.

I don’t even realize I have goose-bumps until my mother sits next to me and rubs them off of my arms.

“That was something, wasn’t it?” she murmurs, handing me a glass of fresh orange juice as she glances at the picture of Brand.

“It was something,” I agree. “He saved me, maman. He picked me up and carried me out of that building.”

“Well, almost,” my mother smiles. “But he was certainly amazing and I, for one, am certainly in his debt for coming to your rescue. Isn’t that the boy who used to work at the club? I seem to remember that you were frequently tongue-tied whenever he was around.”

I roll my eyes.

“I’m all grown up now,” I announce. “No one tongue ties me.”

Well, hardly anyone. But that’s neither here nor there.

“I’m going to the hospital again today,” I tell her. “Do you need anything from town? When is dad going back to Chicago?”

Mom looks away. “He left early this morning, my love.”

Without bothering to say goodbye, or make sure that I’m really okay. I shake my head. It’s for the best. I didn’t want to see him anyway.

I push away from the counter and kiss my mother’s cheek, grabbing the newspaper. “I’ll be home later.”

My mother perks up and smiles at me. “Rebel is waiting for you,” she says brightly. “You’d better take him some carrots on your way out.”

Of course I will. The mere thought of my old horse always brightens me up. I’ve had him since I was a kid, and although he’s getting old, he’s still perfectly capable of leisurely strolls on the beach. I head straight down to the stables, only stopping to say hello to Julian. The groundskeeper/groomsman has been with our family since before I was born. He takes care of this house all winter while we’re gone.

“Miss Nora,” he beams, holding his tanned arms out. I fold into him and inhale. Julian always smells like sunshine and happiness. “I’ve been waiting for you. Rebel too. He isn’t the same when you’re away.”

I laugh as I take a step back. “He should be used to it. I’ve been away at school for six years.”

Julian grins back. “Yes, but you come back every summer. He waits for that all year.”

A sad but true fact: Rebel was my best friend growing up. My father never approved of any friends I tried to bring home from school, so I never had a proverbial BFF. Rebel was a poor substitution, but he did his best.

“It’s because I bring him carrots,” I announce, holding out the orange veggies. “You starve him when I’m gone.”

Julian chuckles, rolling his dark eyes. “Yeah, he’s neglected. I think he’s fat enough to roll out of the stables now.”

I giggle, and continue on my way, anxious to see my old pet.

Rebel nickers when he sees me, stretching his long chestnut neck out so he can nuzzle my fingers.

“You know I come bearing gifts, don’t you boy?” I murmur, stroking his silky coat. He chomps on his carrots, then nudges my hand for more.

“Nope, that’s it. Julian wasn’t kidding,” I tell him, eyeing Rebel’s barrel sized belly. “You’re getting fat.”

Rebel flicks his ear, regarding my comment with disdain. I giggle. “I’ll come back later and ride you.”

He snorts, and I wander out of the stable, and down the winding trail to the beach below. The smells here assail me… the sand, the sun, the water. It brings back instant memories of playing out here with my older brother Nate. Fun, lighthearted memories.

The images of my brother laughing and running make me smile, until they’re replaced by more recent memories… of a serious, subdued Nate. The Nate who is being groomed to take over for my father. Distinguished and polished, self-disciplined and sharp.

A good Greene.

I swallow hard as I stand staring out across the water, my feet sinking into the wet sand. I pull off my sandals and dangle them in my fingers.

Tilting my face to the sun, I absorb it, soaking it in. The sun means health, and happiness and warmth. I can take all of that I can get.

What if I don’t want to be a “Good Greene”? After everything that’s happened this past year, I don’t know if I want any of it.

But it’s done now.

I start work in the Fall.

There’s nothing to be done about it.

I ignore the nausea in my stomach, fighting to control the billows of anxiety that flood through me. To change the channel in my brain, I focus on something else, anything else that might distract me from my own impending fate.

The first thing that comes to me makes me smile through my panic.

A golden-haired warrior reminiscent of a Norse God.

Brand.

It’s always been Brand, even if he has never known it.

All through college, even though I dated periodically, no one ever stacked up to the image of the perfect man that I held in my head, the memory that I held close to my heart, the memory that sustained me through horrible things.

Brand.

Warmth floods through me and it doesn’t have anything to do with the sun.

I need to see him again.

Not just because I owe him my life, but because I need to see him. It’s a need I can’t explain, a feeling that hearkens back to my youth- and it hasn’t faded over time. If possible, after yesterday, it’s only flared up even stronger.

The memory of his calm face staring down at me as he carried me in his arms sends flutters through my belly.

God, he makes me feel safe.

He makes me feel safe in a world that is dangerous and ugly, a world that has only hurt me.

That’s what it boils down to. No matter what ugliness has happened over this past year, there’s one thing, one person, that can eclipse it, because in my head, he’s always personified everything good in the world.

Brand can take away the ugliness and make me feel good again, even if it’s only an illusion… a temporary illusion.

If I can get Brand to want me, then there must be something good in me, something redeeming, something to balance out all of the black ugliness.

I know the logic is ridiculous, but I can’t help how I feel. And honestly, I’ll cling to any notion that gives me hope.

And that notion is Brand.

I’m only here for the summer, and I doubt Brand will be here long, so the window of opportunity is closing by the minute. After futilely watching for him every summer, I know I can’t waste this opportunity. He’s only here because his father died. This might be my last chance.

I know what I have to do.

Clutching the newspaper under my arm, I drop into my car and head for the hospital.

I arrive just as a nurse is going over his discharge instructions.

No weight bearing at all. Keep the wounds clean and dry. Pain pills every four to six hours. Make sure you take them.

I linger in the doorway hesitantly, but then the nurse bustles by.

She smiles. “I’m glad someone is here,” she told me. “He can go home today, but he can’t drive himself. And…um…he doesn’t have any pants.”

I flush at the thought. “No pants?”

The nurse shakes her head. “No. They had to cut them off when they brought him in.”

She bustles away and I look at Brand. He looks so tanned and healthy and strong in the white hospital bed, so entirely out of place in this building full of sickness.

But yet still so alone.

I can’t fathom why his mother hasn’t come. It makes me seethe on the inside, and I’m so terribly sorry that I called her at all. I can only imagine that she’s grieving, but I’m sure Brand is too. He doesn’t deserve to be alone.

As if Brand can hear my thoughts, he looks up.

He smiles when he sees me, a smile that shows off one dimple in his cheek, but doesn’t quite reach his eyes. His eyes take me aback. They’re beautiful, yes. They’re like oceans and oceans of blue. But they’re haunted by something. They scream out his demons to anyone who looks closely enough.

“Hey,” he greets me. “You didn’t need to come back.”

Not exactly the greeting I was hoping for. I would’ve preferred that he was just the tiniest bit happy to see me. But I paste on a smile and pretend it doesn’t matter. I’m good at that.