Echoes Page 4

  Now all those plans had vanished into emptiness. She had no plans.

  Lauren reached over the top of the couch to the drawstring hanging from the window and gave it a pull, raising the pleated shade to let in the morning. The view from her window was peaceful. A patch of pine trees ran along the back side of the apartment complex. The summer morning sky began to warm, as if the pilot light of the sun had been lit and any moment now burners all across the heavens would catch the flame and set the sky ablaze.

  Suddenly she heard heavy footsteps on the outside stairs leading to her front door. Lauren held her breath, staring at the closed door. The door knocker was lifted and tapped firmly two times.

  Lauren slid off the couch, her heart pounding. She straightened her robe and quickly ran her fingers through her hair. She knew she looked haggard and grabbed a tissue, trying to wipe off the dark mascara rings under her eyes.

  The knocker sounded again, twice. Lauren cleared her throat. “Coming!” She tried to sound composed. Her hand clutched the brass knob, and she let out a huge breath before opening the door. A pleasant smile was on her face as she prepared to greet Jeff.

  But the man at her door in the early morning haze was not Jeff. This man was scruffy looking, unshaven, with brown hair parted crooked on the side and hanging almost longer in the back than Lauren’s. He held a battered box in his arms and wore a gray T-shirt and jeans.

  “Oh, good. You’re up,” he said.

  “Bradley,” Lauren whispered in disbelief. “What are you doing here?”

  “Since when does a guy need a written invitation to visit his sister?” The athletic young man walked in and asked, “Where do you want me to put this?”

  “Put what?”

  “Your computer.”

  “My computer?”

  “Yeah, I brought you a computer.” He waited for a response, and when he didn’t get one, he said, “And now you’re supposed to say, ‘Thanks Rad! You’re a doll.’ ”

  “Thanks, Rad. You’re a dork. What are you doing here?”

  “Visiting you.”

  “You mean to tell me you drove all the way here from California without even calling to tell me you were coming?”

  He gingerly placed the box on the kitchen table. “I knew you would be home. Mom told me that donkey dumped you. Thought you would like a little cheering up. So, ta-da!” He spread his arms and gave her a cheesy grin. “Here I am!”

  “Jeff didn’t dump me. It was mutually agreed that we discontinue our relationship.”

  “Oh yeah, right,” Brad said, opening the refrigerator door. “You’ve rehearsed that one a few times. This isn’t a job interview, Wren. It’s me, Rad. Remember? I know it’s been a few months …” He took the milk out of the fridge and sniffed it before drinking out of the carton.

  “Try years, Radley. When did you grow your hair out?”

  “A while ago,” he said, sliding the milk carton back into the refrigerator. He turned and looked at Lauren. “Did you do something to yourself? You look different.”

  Lauren pulled a strand of hair out to its full length. “Could it be my hair, which used to hang to my waist?”

  “That must be it. You look different,” Brad said, looking her over. “Actually, you look pretty good for someone who just got dogged.”

  “I didn’t get dogged.”

  “Oh, that’s right. What was it? ‘Mutual disagreement’ or whatever? You got dogged. Totally. What I can’t figure out is why would anyone dump you? You’re the best, Wren.” He poked his head deeper into the refrigerator. “Don’t you have anything to eat around here?”

  “Get out of there. I’ll make some breakfast.” Lauren set to work making a blowout breakfast for the two of them. She hadn’t eaten much in days, and her vegetable bin was full of ingredients for an omelet. Brad found a box of pancake mix and went to work alongside her, making Mickey Mouse pancakes.

  It brought back lots of memories for Lauren. The two of them had always been close. Brad was only thirteen months younger than Lauren, and their mom had referred to them as slow twins. Their father left before Brad was born and never came back. In all her twenty-four years, Lauren had only wondered a few times about her father: what he was like, why he left, if he was still alive.

  When she was fifteen she wrote a composition for English about a girl who was abandoned by her father when she was young and grew up to be a nurse. Years later the nurse was treating a terminally ill patient who was homeless and had lost his memory. The doctors wanted to let the welfare patient die, but the nurse took pity on him and did all she could to keep him alive. She cared for him tenderly, as if he were an infant. In the end he died anyway. When the nurse went through his few belongings, she found a picture of herself as a baby and a newspaper clipping of her marriage announcement. The man was her father, and even though he wasn’t capable of being a responsible parent, he must have never stopped loving her.

  Lauren won a city-wide contest with that essay. It was the closest she had ever come to exploring her feelings about her birth father. Brad never knew him. Their mother married Stanford James Phillips, a Canadian with a strong temperament. He brought order to their family when Lauren was just beginning kindergarten, and he was a generous provider for them. Lauren and Bradley never doubted that Stan loved them or that he was crazy, head-over-heels in love with their mother. For all intents and purposes, he was their father.

  Brad considered him to be his only father. Lauren never had a problem calling him “Dad” or taking his name when he adopted them. But somehow, through the years, she and Brad had bonded in a way she never had with her mother, nor Brad with Stan. Lauren and Brad were in their own circle. And it was a small circle with only enough room for the two of them.

  The first thing Brad did after stuffing himself with every last pancake and Lauren’s omelet was to set up the computer and printer he had brought her. He told her they were about to enter the Web. They would now be able to e-mail each other daily at a minimal cost. Brad yammered on about how much it bothered him that Lauren hadn’t called to tell him about the broken engagement.

  “What if Mom hadn’t called me?” Brad challenged. “When were you planning to tell me? Christmas?”

  “I wouldn’t have told Mom if she hadn’t called,” Lauren said. Earlier that year their mom and Stan had moved back to Stan’s hometown of Victoria, British Columbia, after giving up on the five or so years of trying to start the walking horse business in Shelbyville. “Are you going to computerize Mom and Dad, too?” Lauren teased, clearing the breakfast dishes.

  “I’ve thought about it,” Brad said. “But I only had one spare computer, and I decided you needed it more than they did. I got it from my roommate. He upgraded and traded me this dinosaur unit for my mountain bike and a bunch of CDs.”

  “I still can’t believe you drove all the way here. In what? How long did it take you?”

  “I drove my truck. Did you know I bought a truck?” Brad said, ducking under Lauren’s narrow desk and plugging in the computer. “It only took a couple of days. Nice drive. Okay,” he said, kicking off his floppy loafers.

  “Your feet smell,” Lauren said.

  Brad ignored her and flipped a switch on the side of the monitor. “We have lift off.” He pulled the chair closer, and his fingers flew over the keyboard.

  “Rad?”

  “Hmmm?” His eyes were glued on the screen.

  “Nothing.”

  “Okay,” he answered.

  Lauren wanted to pour out her heart and ask her brother all the questions that had been chasing around in her brain that morning. Questions such as: What should I do now? Why should I stay in Nashville? Where would I move? Certainly not back to Shelbyville. And she had no desire to move in with her parents in Canada. Brad was wrapped up with his college life and friends in southern California. She couldn’t slip into his life. At least in Nashville she had a steady job and some good friends like Mindy. And there was the reason she had told her parents she
was moving to Nashville in the first place. She had told them it wasn’t completely because of Jeff. It was also because so many colleges were available. She could finish up her teaching credential. Perhaps that was the answer, as obvious as it seemed.

  Something Jeff said during their last meal at Giovanni’s loomed over her, something about his not wanting to hold her back from realizing her potential. Yet there seemed to be a twist to his words. The message she had read between the lines was that she was the one holding him back. And he had decided to go about his life without her.

  A stab of familiar pain accompanied the thought. Abandonment. Rejection. Failure. The hurt dug down so deep within her heart all she knew to do was to shut it out. And she knew how to do that quite well.

  Brad worked feverishly, making a few phone calls, tapping away at the keyboard, and plugging in the well-used printer. Lauren cleaned up the kitchen and thought about how useful this computer was going to be. She wouldn’t have to use her ancient word processor to type her papers if, or should she say when, she went back to school.

  “Voila!” Brad suddenly announced. “Get ready to ride the info highway, Wren, baby! And be sure to fasten your seat belt, because this highway ain’t paved.”

  Chapter Five

  Okay, Lauren, come here and let your little bro teach you a thing or two,” Brad said.

  Lauren stood behind him at the computer and watched the screen suddenly go blank.

  “You were saying?”

  “Okay, okay. So I don’t have all the bugs worked out yet. Give me a minute or two.” He turned and glared at her with mock annoyance. “Don’t you have anything better to do than stand over my shoulder all day nagging me? Go get a life, you pathetic woman!”

  For some reason, his teasing hit a nerve, and Lauren started to feel the room closing in on her. In a small voice she answered, “I don’t have a life.” The glass of milk in her hand began to quiver.

  “I was only kidding,” Brad said, trying to read her expression. “It’s not your fault that jerk dumped you.”

  A numb feeling began to invade Lauren’s brain.

  “You’re better off without him.”

  “Yeah,” Lauren said aimlessly. She imagined Jeff boarding the airplane right now, leaving her forever.

  “Hey, you don’t look so good,” Brad said.

  “No,” Lauren said, a haze of insecurity settling over her. “I don’t suppose I do.” A gurgle bubbled up in her throat. A swallowing of tears and an attempt at laughter combined into one indefinable sound.

  “I think you’re starting to lose it, Wren. Maybe you should go to bed. Take a little nap. Get your head clear.” Brad stood up and cautiously approached her. “Come on, lady,” he teased. “Put the glass of milk down nice and easy, and nobody gets hurt.”

  Lauren fell into a crazy laughter mixed with tears and put down her glass of milk.

  “That’s right,” Brad coaxed. “Come with me. Back to bed. A little nap is in store for you, missy.”

  “But I’m not tired,” Lauren protested as Brad led her to her room.

  “Right. You’ve barely eaten or slept for weeks, and you don’t think your body needs any refueling. You’re cruel, Wren; heartless and cruel to treat your frail flesh like that. Take a rest. Go ahead. Lie down.”

  Lauren complied.

  Brad pulled the covers over his sister, tucking her in nice and snug. “That’s it. Close your eyes.” His deep voice lowered to a whisper, “Go to sleep. Shhh.”

  Lauren’s spasming chest settled into a normal breathing pattern. She suddenly felt tired. Very tired. Brad’s strong hand rested on her cheek for a moment, and then she was asleep.

  When Lauren woke, it was dusk. The room seemed small. Forcing her eyes open all the way, an invisible weight pressed against her forehead. A moment later she remembered what day it was. Then it all came back, rushing at her with unhappy urgency.

  He’s gone. Jeff is out of my life forever.

  The covers stuck to her legs, and she kicked them off. Her queen-size bed was made up in white cotton sheets and frosted with a coverlet she loved. She had found it in a catalog several months ago and saved up the $119.99 to buy it. It was called “Tulips Jacquard” in the catalog and was a white-on-white, loomed quilted coverlet with a tulip design embroidered around the scalloped border. The ad said it was imported from Portugal. When it arrived, Lauren was sure it was the nicest thing she had ever owned.

  Taking several deep breaths, Lauren gazed around her room, waiting for her eyes to adjust.

  Only two pictures were on the walls. One was a Monet-style watercolor in blues and soft golds with tiny, muted red tulips in the background. The other was a Norman Rockwell poster of a young man in a suit and a young woman wearing a yellow dress standing on her tiptoes as she signed a marriage license before the justice of the peace. Lauren had bought it at a poster shop right before her first year of college.

  Her roommate, Teri, had said that every time she looked at it, she wished she were the woman in yellow. Lauren felt the same way. The picture opened up many conversations for the two of them as to what kind of man they wanted to marry and what they thought marriage would be like.

  Now all Lauren’s dreams of marriage were shattered. She expected to feel a swell of emotions that would draw the tears back to her eyes. Instead, she felt a strange sense of calm. For the first time in weeks she felt as if she was going to be okay. She wasn’t going to lose her mind after all.

  What did this new peacefulness mean? Was Jeff going to come back?

  Propping herself up on her elbow, she listened carefully. A male voice spoke in the next room. She eased her feet out from under the covers and walked quietly to the door, opening it a crack and peering into the dining area.

  “Make that an extra large with the works,” Brad was saying into the phone. “What’s that? No, I don’t have any coupons. Okay. Thanks. Bye.”

  “What time is it?” Lauren asked, walking out and squinting in the light.

  “Dinner time, sleeping beauty. Are you hungry? I took the liberty of cleaning out the refrigerator for lunch, so dinner is on me. It’ll be here in thirty minutes.”

  “You are too kind,” Lauren said, bending in a mock bow.

  “Anything for your majesty,” Brad said.

  “So what have you been doing all day, besides eating everything in my kitchen that isn’t plugged in?”

  “Bringing you into the twenty-first century. Come here. Sit down. I want to show you this.” Brad was still in his gray T-shirt and jeans, barefooted. His hair was now flipped behind his ears, and the stubble on his chin was edging more toward a beard than a five-o’clock shadow, showing he had lost track of time. She felt unexplainably proud of her brother. He looked like a hippie and smelled awfully ripe. In the few short hours she had slept, he had trashed her kitchen and strewn empty cookie boxes, smashed soda cans, and two plastic trays from microwave meals around her small desk. Still, she was proud of the slob and glad he had come. Brad was all heart when and where it really counted.

  Lauren pulled up a chair and said, “You need a shower. You seriously need a shower.”

  “Okay, okay. As soon as I show you how to do this.” Brad began to walk her through all the steps to turn on her new computer, connect with the Internet, prepare and send mail, and enter a chat room. As they entered their second chat room on the computer, the doorbell rang.

  “I’ve got it,” Brad said, hopping up and pulling his wallet from his back pocket. He paid for the pizza as Lauren, fascinated, watched messages being typed in before her eyes, knowing they were coming from varying parts of the world. Everyone had an opinion, a comment, or a question. And for every action there was an equal and opposite reaction. Amazing. She had heard about this cyberspace of modern communication but to see it suddenly flashing across a computer screen in her little apartment was astounding.

  “So what do you and I do to talk to each other?” she asked.

  Brad stuffed a slice of steami
ng pizza in his mouth and mumbled, “You want some?”

  “No. I’ll wait till it cools off. Plates are in the cupboard, Rad.”

  “No problem. Yeow! This stuff is hot! How could it still be hot? Do you have any more sodas?”

  “There’s some in the fridge.”

  “Not anymore. I’ll settle for water. Unless you have an espresso maker.”

  Lauren looked at her brother and shook her head. “What are you: a yuppie or a hippie? Make up your mind.”

  He shrugged and took a hit of water right out of the faucet. Then, joining her, he said, “What were you asking about e-mail?”

  “This isn’t e-mail, is it?” Lauren asked

  “No, e-mail is private. Like a letter. No one else can read your e-mail unless you want them to. You and I will be able to send messages back and forth all the time for literally pennies. See, I send the letter to your local holding tank. This mailbox icon here on your screen will let you know if you have any mail waiting, and then you can open it and read it anytime you want, right off the screen.”

  “That’s pretty amazing,” Lauren said. She quickly handed him a napkin from the counter just before a pepperoni slipped off his pizza and landed on the keyboard.

  “Good eyes,” Brad said. “Melted cheese is the worst to try to clean out of the keyboard.” He licked his fingers and sat down next to Lauren.

  “I’m serious about that shower suggestion,” Lauren said.

  “Okay, okay. Just watch this. We’re going to jump in here.” Brad typed in:

  ANY GL’S IN THE ROOM TONIGHT?

  “GL? What’s that?” Lauren asked.

  “It’s an underground code a couple of guys in my Bible study group got going. It stands for God Lovers. If you say Christian anymore you get all kinds of responses, not necessarily from Christians, but from everyone else who thinks he knows what Christians are all about. Look, there’s a response.”

  Across the screen came the message:

  GL—YES. KC. E-ME AT …,

  and then came a string of letters and numbers.