Between Never and Forever by Brit Benson

20

“Fuck.”

I groan as I roll over in bed. My head pounds and my eyes burn.

I’ve never been much of a drinker. I’ll have a beer or two after work, or I’ll whip up an old fashioned at home sometimes, but I never mix the two.

Usually.

I close my eyes and think back on my evening. Beers at SandBar. Making out with Molly in the parking lot. Leaving Molly in the parking lot. Whiskey at home. Lots of whiskey. And a few too many internet searches.

I fell down a Sav Loveless and The Hometown Heartless rabbit hole. Video clips of shows. Official interviews with entertainment magazines. Tabloid articles and gossip blogs. I even read that interview with the Port Town Beanery barista. It’s more Savannah than I’ve had since I was eighteen. I honestly don’t know if it’s that or the hangover that has me feeling like I’ve been hit by a fucking bus.

At least I’m confident that there are no pictures of Brynn from the café circulating online. Just Savannah, looking gorgeous and stunned, and wearing that fucking engagement ring.

I force my heavy body off the bed and make my way to the bathroom. I brush my teeth and take a quick shower, trying to revive myself so I can get some shit done. We’ve been working a lot of Saturdays since the hurricane. There’s too much to do for a five-day work week, and I’ve got to head out to the River View neighborhood rebuild today. We’re running on schedule, and I want to make sure we stay that way.

When I walk into the office, Sharon and Brynn are already there. Sharon’s frowning at the computer, her glasses perched on her nose, and Brynn is sitting on the couch in the corner with a book.

“Morning,” I say, nodding to Sharon, then glancing at Brynn. “What’s the word, Boss?”

“Contretemps,” Brynn says without looking up from her book. “Noun. An inconvenient or embarrassing situation.”

I walk to the coffee pot and fill up my thermos, then turn and look at Sharon.

“The famous rockstar found herself in a contretemps when she was mobbed by photographers and had to flee with the town grump and his intelligent daughter.”

I stare at her, unamused, and her laughter is joined by Brynn’s.

“A plus, Ms. Sharon!” Brynn calls out between giggles.

“How’d she look?” Sharon whispers. I fix my eyes on the floor and swallow back some hot coffee.

“Fine,” I lie. She looked good. Great, even. Fucking breathtaking. “She looked fine.”

“Did she say anything...?”

“Had me sign an NDA and called me a patronizing ass. ‘Bout it.”

Sharon doesn’t say anything for a long time, long enough that I force myself to bring my eyes to hers. She’s watching me with a furrowed brow.

“When do they start the on-site filming?” she asks, and I clench my jaw.

“Three to four weeks.”

“Still want me to keep Brynn?”

I jerk out a nod, then turn to my daughter, ending the conversation.

“I’m heading to the rebuild today, Boss. You comin’ with me or stayin’ with Ms. Sharon?”

She looks up at me and purses her lips, thinking it over.

“Can I video chat with Cameron?”

Brynn’s best friend Cameron is visiting family in Connecticut for the summer. It’s been a huge adjustment for her since she’s used to seeing Cameron every day, especially since Cameron is really Brynn’s only friend. For a while, I was trying to set up playdates and get her into more activities, so she’d meet people, but Brynn put me in my place pretty quickly.

Even though she loves school, she doesn’t like most kids her age, and they don’t like her. I think she’s too smart for them. I don’t tell her that because I don’t want to raise an arrogant kid, but she knows. Brynn’s happy with Cameron, Ms. Sharon, me, and her books. She says she’s not lonely, that she doesn’t want or need any more friends. I get it, but I still find myself hoping she’ll branch out eventually.

“Yeah, you can video chat Cameron.”

“I’ll stay here, then.”

I make sure I don’t let her see my relief when I agree, then I say goodbye and head out.

The drive to my hometown takes about an hour and I keep the radio off. When I pull into town, I go straight to the River View build site. My guys are already working hard when I park along the curb and climb out of the truck, shoving a hard hat on my head as a good example.

The project is about 75% complete. The neighborhood is eleven houses and we’ve finished eight of them. If all goes as planned, we should be done with everything by mid-fall.

“Levi,” Marcus, my project manager, greets me, then gestures to the build in front of me. It almost looks like a house. “They’re finishing up the plumbing here today.”

I follow him into the build and nod a hello to the subcontractors installing the plumbing. Marcus takes me through the rooms so I can see the progress, and I type notes on my phone to send to Sharon. Rough electrical looks good, plumbing so far looks good and should be done by end of day, and if we can get the inspectors out here early next week, we should be able to start insulation before the weekend.

I give Marcus the okay, and then follow him to the build next door to do the same thing. This one isn’t as far along, and the team is still hammering away, getting it ready for electrical, but we’ve been lucky. Weather has been favorable, and thanks to our private donor, money’s been doing the talking, so the construction is moving along quickly.

“It’s looking good, right?” Marcus says as we step back out into the sun. “Movin’ fast.”

I grunt my approval, check my watch, then tell him Sharon will have lunch sent around noon. I do a quick walk through of some of the finished houses, and then I make the drive to the last place I want to be, but where my conscience and guilt won’t let me avoid.

I park my truck on the curb, then walk up the sidewalk to the door. The shrubbery is neatly trimmed, the flower beds weeded and freshly mulched. The landscapers must have been by recently. I step up unto the wrap-around front porch and knock, then wait.

It takes my mother thirty seconds to open the door, another two to check behind me and then meet my eyes with a frown. She doesn’t say anything as she opens the door wider and gestures for me to come in.

“Mom,” I say with a nod, kicking off my shoes and following her into the kitchen. I take a seat in a chair at the kitchen table as she starts a pot of coffee. “The landscaping looks nice. Who’d you have do it?”

“Beverly Windsor’s son came by and did it for me.”

She flicks her eyes to me, then looks back to the task of counting out scoops of coffee and dumping them into the filter. She wants me to feel guilty that it was Beverly Windsor’s son who did her landscaping and not her own. I don’t.

“He did a good job,” I say.

She scoffs and pulls two mugs from the cabinet, then brings them to the table. She sets one down in front of me, then the other in front of the chair where she always sits. I meet her hard eyes, and I brace myself for what I know is coming. When she speaks, her voice is steel.

“You could have brought my granddaughter.”

I inhale slowly. Not even a hi, how are you. She’s just going to dive right into an argument. I’m not surprised.

“Brynn didn’t want to come,” I say clearly. Aside from the slightest flinch in her brow, there’s no sign she heard me.

“I haven’t seen her in over a month.”

I give her a single nod. I’m aware of how long it’s been.

“She’s only seven,” my mother snaps. “She’s a child. You give her too much say in the day to day. She shouldn’t be dictating when or how often she sees her grandmother.”

I drum my fingers on my thigh. Turn my head from side to side to try and relieve some of the tension that’s building.

“She has her own mind,” I state. “I won’t make decisions for her.”

“She’s a child—"

“She’s a person,” I cut her off. “If Brynnlee isn’t comfortable around you, I will not force her to be around you. You’re my mother, but that doesn’t entitle you to anything.”

I hold her gaze as she blinks furiously. She huffs a few more times, then stomps to the coffee pot. She takes out two new mugs and fills them in the silence. When she brings the mugs to the table and sees the other two mugs she’d already brought out, she huffs yet again. She sets the full coffee mugs down, then snatches up the empty ones and takes them back to the kitchen.

“Do you need any help with cleaning out Dad’s office?” I ask, trying to change the subject. She waves her hand in my direction but doesn’t look at me.

“No. It’s just a bunch of files and paperwork. Sermons. Counseling notes. A lot of shredding.”

She doesn’t say more. She won’t be redirected—her mind is still firmly on Brynn. On my daughter and how I choose to raise her. The oddest thing about it is how I know my mother doesn’t want a relationship with Brynn. She just wants something to control. She can’t control me anymore. She can’t control my father. She’s alone and bored.

I grab my coffee and take a drink, watching silently.

Some people might think I’m being harsh, or that I’m wrong in letting Brynn decide not to see my mother. That’s fine. Other people aren’t raising her. I am.

And I also know my mother, and none of the arguments in favor of forcing Brynn to spend time with her will ever outweigh what I know. She might be my mother, and she might be old, and she might be lonely now that my father has died, but so what? She’s also judgmental, hateful, rude, and downright mean, and that’s not the kind of energy I want around Brynn.

Brynn asked not to have to see my mother anymore. I will respect that.

When my mom turns her attention back on me, it’s clear she’s not going to back down.

“Is this because of what I said about her little friend? Is that it?”

I tilt my head to the side and raise a brow. She knows damn well it’s because of more than that, but the body shaming comments she made about Cameron were the icing on the cake.

“What about the Larks,” my mom tries. “Is she going to see them? Helen and William haven’t seen her since Julianna’s funeral.”

I take another sip from my mug before answering.

“The Larks have made it more than clear that they don’t want anything to do with Brynn if they can’t dictate how she’s being raised.”

“Well, they are right that you should be taking her to church.”

“She goes to church.”

My mom’s eyes go wide.

“You take her?”

I shake my head no.

“Sometimes she’ll go with Sharon.”

My mother’s face turns murderous, full of disgust and anger.

“That woman,” my mom sneers. “How dare you let my granddaughter around that horrible woma—"

I slam my hand on the kitchen table, silencing her. She flinches and grits her teeth, nostrils flaring as she glares at me. I glare right back.

“I did not come here to be berated,” I say firmly as I push myself up from the chair. “I did not ask for your advice or input on how I should parent my child. Brynnlee has asked not to see you anymore. Those are the consequences of your actions.”

I turn and walk toward the door, my mother hot on my heels.

“You are raising a wicked girl. She’s been corrupted by the company you keep. That child has no respect! She has no discipline! You spare the rod, you spoil the child, and Levi, you have spoiled that girl. She is—”

I whip my body around to face her, halting her words once more, and shake my head slowly.

“Do not finish that sentence. I don’t have to come see you. I do it for you, not me. But I swear, if you continue to spit that bullshit at me, I’ll never come here again. You are my mother. That doesn’t entitle you to anything.”

She doesn’t agree. She doesn’t apologize. She doesn’t even nod. But she also doesn’t open her mouth to argue.

“Goodbye, Mother.”

I let the screen door slam behind me out of spite, and I walk calmly to my truck. My hands are fisted at my sides until I have to unclench my fingers to open my truck door, and then I drive off without looking back at the house.

I question a lot of things when it comes to parenting—whether or not I’m doing it right—but I have no doubts about this. My youth was miserable because of my mother. It took me years to find my own voice because my parents constantly silenced me. I’m a grown man and still have the occasional scripture-and-belt related nightmare.

I will not make those same mistakes with Brynn.

I made a promise to her mother, to myself, and I keep my promises.

I swing through the grocery store and pick up more water for my crew, then drive it back to the River View build. I do another walk through, talk to some of the subcontractors, make a few calls. When I’m confident everything is under control, I head back to the office.

Brynn asks if she can stay one more night at Sharon’s so they can go to church tomorrow, and I tell her yes. I drive by one of the local builds and do a walk through to check on that progress. I make a few more phone calls. I keep myself busy right until quitting time, and then I drive myself back home alone.

Normally, with a free Saturday night, I’d hit up SandBar for a beer and the band, but I’m not in the mood for a crowd. I also want to avoid Molly for reasons I refuse to admit. I know I’d be shit company, anyway. I could try to fish, but that’s not interesting to me either.

I don’t want to do anything except brood, so that’s what I do.

Despite this morning’s headache, I make myself an old fashioned and take it out to the back deck. I light a small fire in the fire pit and take a seat on the lounger. I sip my drink, then lean my head back and close my eyes.

I focus on the water.

On the breeze.

On the faint laughter and music carried on the night air from the downtown area just a few blocks over.

I focus on everything else except what’s really plaguing my heart and head for as long as I can, but when the drink is gone and so are my defenses, Savannah Shaw is all I see.

She’s all I ever see.

And then I let the guilt consume me.