Page 38 of Missed Sunrise
“Yeah,” I said through a laugh. “I swear the movements were a lot more brutal then too. Like riding a damn bull.”
I worried the shells of my puka bracelet.Say damn one more time, Cody.
Her smile remained as she spoke. “They were, but only on the ones with the HEAs. They always had a terrible fall off a cliff or a malfunctioning roller coaster right before you were saved at the end. And then the ones where the villain won, you just kind of….” She trailed off, her forehead creasing as she reached deeper into her memory. “There was that one where the storm came after you thought you’d reached the end, and then you drowned.”
I remembered. That one had only played for one weekend before the more involved parents heard about it and complained to management.
The feeling of my toes scrunching inside my shoes was one that Ihated, but it gave me just enough distraction to say what my heart needed to. I created the irritating friction and urged my mind to focus on that. “How did we go from kids running loose around arcades and casinos, thinking we ruled the world, to adults with ex-boyfriends and ex-friends and… just. Just so muchdammit? We did our best, didn’t we? I really thought we had. But now… now I’m not so sure.”
The screen came to life with the announcements and disclaimers about buckling up and keeping your hands and feet in the vehicles, and I thought of Liem again. But then the next show started even though no one was sitting in the pods. That was one weird thing about the motion theater. The shows automatically started every fifteen minutes, no matter if there was an audience or not. The nine black shells lifted from their individual platforms—three on each row—and in creepy unison, started the ride for no one.
“We did the best we could with the tools that we had,” Bree finally said.
“That sounds like a guidance counselor poster,” I said dryly.
She sighed. “Doesn’t make it less true. And you know I never ask this of you, but please do not razz me today about the next words out of my mouth.”
I raised an eyebrow at her. “After today is still fair game?”
She nodded.
Smiling, I fluttered a hand at her in a “go on” motion.
Tilting her head back, she closed her eyes and muttered, “My therapist said something that I’ve thought about a lot this month.”
Reaching over, I took her hand and forced seriousness into my tone. I never wanted her to think she couldn’t be candid with me, so I volleyed an opening dose of truth. “Your aura is as beautiful as it has ever been.” I squeezed her hand. “Please continue, Cher.”
She blew out a breath as she laid her head against my shoulder. From the first day eleven-year-old Bree had grabbed my hand at Caffeina and told me that everything would be okay, it had been. But only because of her.
“The way Meghan, the therapist, described it to me was a lot smarter, so I’ll just tell you what I’ve gotten from it.”
Bree lifted her head from my shoulder, and I released her hand. The girl loved to gesticulate, so I was in for a show of another kind.
And she didn’t disappoint as she scooted away and then turned toward me, her hands raised in front of her. “When we’re kids, we have small emotional plates. They reach capacity quickly.” She touched her fingers together to form a circle. “As we mature, the plates grow with us.” Her hands moved, the imaginary circle growing larger until her fingers were no longer touching. “Theoretically.”
I nodded, watching her hands. “Because for some people, they don’t.”
“Right,” she agreed. “It’s not breaking news that some people are more mature than others, but the takeaway for me was really just, if I can make sense of one part of someone, even a part so basic…,” she trailed off, seemingly losing her thought.
“Give me an example?” I prompted.
She furrowed her brow, and then it smoothed as she smiled. “Vinh has a fucking oversized serving platter. As in, comically large.”
I threw my head back and laughed. “You were ready for that one. Thought about that a lot?”
Grinning, she replied, “Oh, yeah. A lot.A lot. But apparently that’s what happens when you’re raised by functional parents and have that beautiful, developed brain of a thirty-year-old.” She sighed, smiling softly to herself as she dropped her chin. “That kind of dismisses the work he has put in for himself, which is so wrong. Especially with how hard he has fought for his peace.”
Peace.That word had almost as much screen time as “dammit” had lately.
Bree lifted her chin. “If Vinh has a serving platter, I have a dinner plate. But last year, it got so overfilled that I was afraid to even move.” She glanced at me. “That’s how I’m summarizing it in my head. And that’s how I approach thoughts about any of it.”
My brain naturally wondered about what type of plate I had, but I stopped it. Now wasn’t the time.
Thankfully, Bree continued. “Grandmother…,” she started, then paused. “Some days I think Grandmother had a plastic bucket, but she only filled it with things for herself. Like when the slot machines used to pay out real coins. Other days….” She glanced at me, a wry smile forming on her lips. “Other days, I think she had a cocktail napkin. A wet one.”
I cackled. “Savage, Cher.”
She laughed along with me in a way that we only could in the dark of an abandoned theater. Because in the light of day, there was almost nothing funny about the downfall of Barbara Ann Copeland.
