Page 105 of Crossing the Brooklyn Briggs
But why would anyone listen to me? I’m personable, but charisma only goes so far in this kind of situation. What Brooklyn needs is someone withinfluence.
I curse under my breath. I know exactly the man who has that kind of influence, and he’s even in the right field. But that’s not a conversation I am eager to have. Still, for Brooklyn, the potential backlash would be worth it.
Brooklyn shifts in my arms, pulling my focus back to her as she sits back. “I was ten when my dad went to prison.”
I blink. Not only do I know this information from Houston, but I also have no idea how it is relevant to Teacher of the Year.
Sighing, she starts pulling up handfuls of grass and setting them in a pile between us. “When we went back to live with Lloyd, I was so afraid of him. I mean, you’ve met my stepdad. He’s intimidating, and gruff, and he doesn’t do well with emotional things.”
I grab one of her hands, allowing her use of the other one to keep building her grass pile. I have met Lloyd, and I actually really like the guy. He’s the reason Houston got a scholarship to USCB, and he always chatted baseball with us. Even let us throw parties at his ridiculously nice house. But that isn’t what Brooklyn is trying to get at, so I keep silent, letting her take her time.
“It took me years before I asked him about my mom. Trying to remember what she was like, you know? I was only seven when she died, and there was so much I forgot. Lloyd…he had a hard time talking about her, but he sat down with me for hours and told me all his favorite stories. We talked about when she got sick and all the things she went through. And I made a promise to myself that I would do whatever I could to make sure no one else had to go through that. I made a promise toher.”
She turns and looks at the headstone, which has an old pot of daffodils that have seen better days. “Chad,” she says, nodding to the flowers. “He comes all the time because he misses Mom more than anyone. How am I supposed to tell him that I can never work in research again? He doesn’t even know why I left in the first place.”
Honestly, Chad could probably fix her problem for her by digging into the company she was working for, but I know she’ll never ask. Besides, she wouldn’t want anything bad to happen to anyone. Not even James, her smelly sock of an ex. My way might not work after the way I left things, but I hope it does. Everyone would win.
This time I take up Brooklyn’s other hand as well, scooting myself forward until my knees touch her legs. “I know not getting that award sucks, and that you’re hurting. I know you’re frustrated and feeling lost. I know there’s nothing I can do or say that will make you feel better right now. But please don’t give up hope. If anyone can change the world or make a difference, you can, and you never know what doors might open if you allow yourself a little patience.”
Though her eyes are still watery—I don’t know how she hasn’t started crying yet—she offers up a tiny smile. “Sometimes when you say things, I want to believe you.”
I grin, even though I don’t feel like smiling when she’s hurting this bad. “Only sometimes?”
One shoulder lifts in a half shrug. “All the time. When you say something, I can’t help but think it’s true.”
“Hold on to that, then, and believe me. Please. Everything will be okay, even if it doesn’t look the way you thought it would.”
“You sound like Micah.”
“Good. More people should see the world the way she does.” I open up my arms, inviting her to fall into my hold again. She does, and we sit there for a long time in silence. Brooklyn is probably trying to figure out how to see light in her future, but I’m trying to figure out what I’m going to say to Jeff when I talk to him. Assuming he’ll want to talk to me. We didn’t exactly part on good terms, and I have a feeling I’m going to have to take a more cautious, indirect approach.
I like that even less than talking to Jeff directly.
After an hour or so, Brooklyn shivers as the sun sinks lower. A breeze has picked up, so a storm must be blowing in. “I should get home,” she says.
“Let me make you dinner.”
Thankfully, she smiles when I hop up and hold my hand out to her to help her up. “You do know the way to a girl’s heart.”
“Only yours,” I argue. “I’m going to pick up some ingredients to make you dinner, and then we’re going to watch whatever you want. I’ll even read something to you if you want to close your eyes.”
She cocks her head. “Why would I want to close my eyes?”
I thought that would be obvious. “Because you have a migraine.”
“I do? I mean, how did you know?”
I tuck some of her hair behind her ear, relishing each touch of her soft skin. “Because I know you, Queens. I can see it in your face, even though you’re trying to hide it. You don’t have to hide when you’re in pain.”
Next thing I know, her arms are around my neck and she’s kissing me, her lips frantically tugging at mine like she might find something if she searches deep enough. My brain short-circuits for a second, letting my instinct take over. I dive into the kiss like it’s been days since I last touched her because it has. I need her mouth on mine like I need air to breathe.
Logic kicks back in a few seconds later, reminding me that what Brooklyn needs right now is hope. Kissing me might distract her for a little while, but that’s a temporary solution. And while I would love to employ this tactic continuously, it’s not a feasible option.
She needs a reason to see something bright in her future so she doesn’t give up on her own brilliance.
I gently break away from her, regretting the loss of her kiss immediately. “I’ll happily do that as much as you want tonight,” I tell her, kissing her forehead because I want to kisssomething, but her mouth will be too hard to give up again. “But first, you need waffles.”
Her eyes go wide. “Your famous waffles? The ones no one can make as well as you?”
