At twenty-eight, Brian should have known better than to turn his romantic concerns into campaigns. But he had hungered for Carla whenever they were apart. So he had persuaded her to move into the two-bedroom cabin, which the Black Mountain lodge’s owner Nancy provided rent-free in return for Brian’s handiwork. Now, just two weeks later, he was wondering if living together demanded more never-ending tact than it was worth.
He had first noticed Carla, the light bouncing off her sleek, chestnut-colored hair, in the WesternCiv class he taught at UNC. After she graduated and was working in a popular Asheville restaurant, he invited her to go hiking. They had maintained an exclusive relationship for two years, but he wanted more.
[This is the first post in a serial story. Click here to read the next.]
He wanted her all the time. So even though Carla was happy living half an hour away, Brian had enticed her. He’d negotiated with gifts and cautioned her against the perils of denying true love. And when her lease was up, she’d moved in. He should be happy.
After all, her bothersome routines weren’t new to him. He had winced before at her giggling (too loud, too high-pitched). He had already known that she slathered a cloying coconut-scented conditioner on her hair and left it there for hours. And that, also for hours, she painted her toenails ridiculous colors. He realized he would never cure her of hogging the bathroom, or the covers. She would always sigh with mawkish pleasure at anything that was “So cu-oo-ute.” None of that mattered before. Now every incidence jabbed at him. They were no longer preliminaries to sex, but rather, a flow of irritants.
All that—and everything else—changed Monday evening. Seeing Brian was home, Carla waved hello while on the phone. “He just walked in, Trevor. I’m sure it’s okay. Don’t know why I didn’t see it first thing. You guys have the same eyes.”
She handed the phone to Brian, whose hands shook. Or no, they weren’t really shaking. Sometimes his fingers continued gripping after he’d chopped a lot of wood for Nancy’s six cabins. That’s all. Five years ago, when Trevor was seventeen, he had run off without a word, taking Brian’s girlfriend with him.
Previous to that, Brian had made sure Trevor finished high school after their father had sent the skittish younger brother from Florida to Asheville when Brian was a sophomore at UNC. Playing parent to the tricky fourteen-year-old Trevor hadn’t been easy. Brian was and always had been the responsible, rule-bound one. While Trevor charmed most people to the point where he breezed along, eluding all repercussions.
Even before their mother had disappeared and so you might rationalize that he was deliberately compensating, Trevor had tapped straight into the feminine heart. With few exceptions women were eager to nurture him. And by the time Trevor reached puberty, they all more or less desired him—mostly more. So after all these years of not knowing where Trevor was, Brian trembled—not from chopping wood, although Carla didn’t need to know that. He’d been frantic when Trevor had vanished. Brian had grieved and searched and finally put it aside: another sorrow Brian did his best to forget. And now that sorrow was waiting for him on the phone. Brian breathed deep, stared at the ceiling and spoke with a false heartiness, disguising his dread. “Hey, Trevor. Long time. When did you get back in town?”
Not long—Brian knew that, really. “And you’ve already met Carla. How’d that happen?”
Trevor mumbled something and Carla at their end waved her hands. That afternoon she had hired Trevor to sing and play guitar at the restaurant.
“Quite the coimpetus, huh, Bri?” Trevor loved fooling with words, so Brian couldn’t tell if his younger brother was wasted or not. Except, when wasn’t Trevor out of his mind?
Brian cleared his throat, determined to stay calm. But—and this was typical of Trevor’s effect on women—Carla had already invited him to stay in the cabin’s extra bedroom. “She says you’ve got plenty of space.”
“Thing is,” Brian said, “the timing’s not great. Where are you staying now?”
“At night? In random UNC buildings. But they’re gunning for me, Bri. Not ’cause I deserve it. Just ’cause they can. —What?” Trevor was talking to someone else now. It sounded druggy.
But Brian dismissed that suspicion: How could someone’s side-stream conversation sound druggy? “Sorry about the disturb-ruption. Point is, Brian, me staying with you won’t be like last time. I’m not a kid. We’re past that.”
True, Trevor was an adult now. So maybe. “A few weeks, Trevor, but not much longer.”
“Thanks. And, oh yeah—can you or Carla come get me?”
“Hold on.” Brian asked Carla how she felt. “Say the word, sweetheart, and I’ll tell him no.”
“He’s your brother. I think he’s great.” Great? Trevor great? Brian whirled around so he faced the door. It was an expression. Everyone was great. “Where should I meet you then?”
“In front of Carla’s restaurant. You know where it is. Carla likes me, Brian.”
“That’s part of what worries me.”
“Shit, it’s not like that. She’s my boss.”
(Click here to read the next episode.)
