Page 104 of The Other Side

We exit the truck, and Brant’s snaking an arm around me. We circle the side of his mom’s house, my hand planting on the center of his chest. It mildly curls into the cotton fabric of his hoodie, and I glance at my childhood home.

A pale-yellow lighting seeps through the blinds between the black shutters. My heartbeat races. Soars, even. Just waiting for a scream or cry to ring through that flimsy siding.

But Brant’s lips deliver a kiss to the top of my head.

My eyes pinch shut, his gesture knocking me back to reality. I pry my gaze open, swerving my attention forward before Brant releases me to grab my hand.

We march up the wooden steps, the dull thuds digging up a series of buried memories. I eject a long breath, but my head is like a magnet to the house behind us.

I peek over my shoulder, the earthy scent of the pine trees coiling around my veins. Until I’m tugged deeper into the storm of my past.

My eyes rest on that bland front door I’ve shot out of too many times. Daddy’s hollering echoes around me, numbing the feel of Brant’s palm cradling mine.

Then my gaze lifts to the slender silhouettes of the loblolly pine trees in the distance. And just as I expect the volume of Daddy’s voice to escalate, it simmers.

Those goddamn pine trees.

I spin my head around when the creaky door hinges squeal. The front door of Brant’s childhood home opens, revealing his mom on the other side.

My mouth molds into a tender smile. Mrs. Beckett’s blue irises sparkle against the mounted porch light, and her lips part in wonder. “Callie Rae, oh my goodness,” she breathes.

Her fingers rest on her lips, her stare roaming my face meticulously.

“Hi, Mrs. Beckett,” I say, my smile stretching. “How are you?”

“Oh, come in, come in,” she sings while motioning.

Brant unlatches his grip, placing his hand at my lower back. I step inside first, and his mom’s arms are already welcoming me into a hug.

“Ah, Callie, you’re just as gorgeous as I remember,” she coos. Her palms swipe up and down my back over my cardigan.

“It’s so great to see you. How are you?” I pull back from her, my hands lingering in hers as she shrugs.

“I’m doin’ alright,” she offers softly, her crow’s feet boldening with her smirk. “Gettin’ by.”

Her eyes gleam with a sadness above her smile. But her attention pops over my shoulder when the front door clicks shut.

Brant inserts himself next to us, leaning in just as his mom releases my palms. “Oh, thanks for coming,” she says, winding her arms around him. “It’s great to see you, honey.”

He pulls her into his embrace, pecking a kiss to her cheek. “You look good, Mom.”

A chuckle escapes her when she sweeps a hand through her shoulder-length hair. Abundant silver strands emerge between her dirty blonde locks, the back of her hand wrinkling as she fists a section. “Yeah, let’s just hope my tips start increasing at the diner. I could really use the money considering I’m cutting back hours.”

“You can just rely on your natural charm,” Brant replies casually. Then he walks left to enter the kitchen.

She drops her hand at her side to face me, a subdued smile creeping across her mouth. “He’s gonna be a minute. He’s searching for a secret stash.” She’s gesturing a hand in Brant’s direction.

My eyes pop to the left when a couple cabinets open and close. “O-oh.”

I land my attention on Mrs. Beckett as she adds, “He’ll be in the kitchen, then the other side of the house in a minute. It’s the same routine every time he comes.” She timidly laughs as her head rotates, eyes scanning Brant’s movements. Then her hands slip into the back pockets of her jeans. “He’s caught me a few times, so I guess I can’t really blame him.”

Mrs. Beckett’s always been slim, but it looks like she’s shed a little more weight since I last saw her. My stare lingers on her skin. I’m not sure if it’s the dim lighting the floor lamp casts, but her flesh is tainted slightly yellow.

My throat bobs before speaking. “Mrs. Beckett, respectfully,” I begin gently, “I really hope you aren’t drinking.”

She pivots her attention to me, her lips pursing as she shakes her head. “No, honey.” Her shoulders rise uncomfortably. “Sometimes, I break. But ever since Brant’s been out of college, he forced me to make some changes when he visited more consistently. I don’t drink anywhere close to what you remember. Haven’t in years.”

My eyes dart up when Brant strolls across the living room carpet to the slim corridor.