Page 11 of Give Me Strength

Seeing him stirs something deep inside me, emotions I’ve tried to bury for years. Attraction, yes, but also confusion and guilt. It’s wrong, I know it is.

In addition to this being an attraction I know I shouldn’t be entertaining, he’s also the last person I should be crushing on. I shouldn’t be feeling this way, not about him, not now. He was Rachel’s husband, a woman I respected and trusted. And now, here he is, a stark reminder of a not-so-distant past filled with unspoken feelings and unresolved tensions between our two families — courtesy of Everett Crane.

I lost my mother and my best friend. Gilbert lost his wife.

What does Dad do?

He goes on the fucking warpath. He sucker-punches Gilbert at the funeral. And as if that wasn’t enough, he outright forbade me from mentioning their names in his presence. He didn’t care that Rachel had been my ballet teacher for over a decade. No, it was more important for him to center his own grief and prioritize that above everyone else’s.

He would’ve gotten away with it too, until Aunt Bonnie knocked some sense into him. Once the dust settled, off he went, gallivanting the world doing who knows what, where. Leaving me all alone. Granted, I had ballet to keep me occupied and grounded, Aunt Bonnie, our housekeeper Mrs. Torres, Russ, therapists, counselors, and whatnot, so in Dad’s twisted mind, I was ‘taken care of’.

Yet, I couldn’t help but wonder what became of Gilbert. He pretty much disappeared off the face of the earth for the last five years. Mom and I spent a lot of time at their house back then — I practically lived there — and he was never home. Rachel said he worked overseas a lot and that it wasn’t unusual for him to be gone for months at a time, sometimes for years. It would seem he’s back now, but for how long?

My heart races as I watch him walk towards the building, moving with a confident, almost predatory grace. A conflicting mix of longing and guilt swirls inside me, emotions I have no business feeling.

I remain in the town car until he disappears into the building. My pulse is pounding, and my thoughts are in turmoil. I want to go after him, talk to him, and see if he remembers me. But why should he? Rachel had hundreds of students, and she and Gilbert led separate lives. He traveled a lot.

Like then, Gilbert is a mystery to me. It would be best if he stayed that way.

The door handle slips from my grasp, and a cool breeze hits my face.

“I’ll wait,” Russ’s voice cuts through my haze.

He offers me his hand, and I take it. Most of the time I fight him on it, but not today. Seeing Gilbert has thrown me off kilter.

“You don’t have to stay. Aunt Bonnie will take me home after.”

“If I didn’t know any better,” he hands me my purse, “I’d think you were trying to get rid of me.”

“I am,” I deadpan. “What’s wrong with taking off early?”

His hearty chuckle fills the space between us. “Then I’ll be bored, and I don’t do so well with boredom,” he says. “I’m still taking you both home afterward.”

One has to admire his work ethic. The trust pays him, regardless of how much driving he actually does. He takes his job seriously and drives me everywhere, even to out-of-state dance competitions. Sometimes he’d fly with me and handle car rentals and hotel reservations. Aunt Bonnie joins us when she can, but it’s clear that she trusts him to take care of me. I often tell him that just because I have no life doesn’t mean he shouldn’t have one. But all he does is chuckle in that knowing manner of his, like he’s doing now.

I trust him. As far as scary milestones go, I can trust him with this one.

“Umm, Russ…” I say, my feet rooted in place, my fingers nervously clutching the strap of my leather purse. “One of these days, do you think you could… teach me how to drive?”

He’s silent for a beat, then, “I thought you would never ask.”

By the time I arrive at Willard Greenfield’s office, everyone is waiting for me.

Including Gilbert McKenzie.

I pause and do a double-take. He’s sitting across from Mr. Greenfield and looking oddly calm. His hands folded neatly across his chest, his face a blank mask, showing no signs of objection or surprise.

No, the surprised one would be me.

When I saw him outside a few minutes ago, it didn’t occur to me to wonder why he would be visiting the offices of Greenfield & Barrett Legal Group on a Sunday morning. I just assumed he was there to see any of the other lawyers who work in this building, just not this one.

I can count, on one hand, the number of times I have been in this room. Today makes number three. For a name partner, his office is a cramped space, filled with the smell of stale coffee and the musty scent of old paper. The air is thick and stagnant, and the cluttered desk in the corner is a testament to Mr. Greenfield’s disorganized yet somehow functional chaos. For someone whose name implies a love of Mother Earth, his office is anything but — papers are pilled high, files are scattered everywhere, and a lone mug with cold coffee sits precariously on the edge of the desk.

Under normal circumstances, my mind doesn’t do well with chaos. Nor does my body do well with coffee. There’s a reason why I prefer to spend as little time as possible in his presence.

Aunt Bonnie gives me a small smile as she pats the space beside her on the couch. I walk over to join her, each step is heavy, each movement forced. She drapes an arm over my shoulder and pulls me into her side. I take the comfort she offers, my nerves fraying at the edges as I wait for Mr. Greenfield to begin.

Mr. Greenfield clears his throat and begins to read the will. His voice is a dull drone, and I struggle to focus. It’s all legal jargon, most of it is things I expected. Dad left the bulk of his estate to me, with Aunt Bonnie as the designated executor until I turned eighteen. That happens in a week, so that’s kinda moot. Likewise, Aunt Bonnie remains the de facto executor of my other stuff until I turn twenty-two. It’s pretty much the same arrangement that has been in place all this time.

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