Page 128 of The Other Side

“You okay?”

I peek up, nodding my head before he shuffles to sit down next to me. The heel of my palm cleans under one eye, and Brant’s thumb takes care of the other.

My body huddles into his side, his large arm caging my back. His lips meet my forehead, and then I’m sinking down. My forearms tangle on his crisscrossed legs, my cheek numbly laying on them.

His fingers brush through the stray locks of my high ponytail. “I could say a lot of things, but I guess all it really comes down to is that I’m sorry, Mr. Montgomery.” Silence inflates the air. “I’m sorry,” he whispers.

I allow Brant’s apology to linger. For the next hour that we remain positioned exactly like this.

For him to hear it.

Until he believes it and forgives himself.

* * *

The hum of the engine cuts over the dirt road. I look out the passenger side window, and a vast field spreads into the distance.

My eyes dart to the scarce patch of tall sunflowers on the left side. Their bold, yellow petals pop over the sea of green, their faces angled toward the shimmering sun.

“Is that it?” I ask, touching my index finger to the glass.

“We couldn’t leave without making this stop.”

I turn to Brant, catching his tender gaze underneath the brim of his backward snapback. “Have you visited by yourself?”

His left forearm is propped on the steering wheel as he shakes his head. “I promised myself if I were to come back here, it would be with you,” he answers. His Adam’s apple cocks before adding, “We were in it together back then, and we should be in it together now.”

A slow smile blossoms from me, and I rotate to the window. “I can’t believe that patch is still kicking,” I breathe.

The hinges of Brant’s door creak, cueing me to step out of the Tacoma. My sneakers land on the dirt, and he’s already shutting my door closed.

Brant’s arm winds around my shoulders before mine crosses his lower back. Our legs walk in sync over the dry grass under the beaming warmth. My palm digs into the cotton of his t-shirt over his hip, and my free hand slips into my back jeans pocket.

We mosey our way over to the cluster of flowers, the thick and sturdy stems mildly swaying with the spring breeze. The petals are textured and dazzling under their natural spotlight. The dark green leaves of the stems only help their vibrancy pierce through.

I tilt my head so I can lay my cheek on Brant’s upper arm. I revel in the grassy scent blending with a sweetness I hadn’t expected.

It’s fresher than I remember.

We eventually idle in front of the sparse collection, silence engulfing us. We allow our memories to talk, and Brant squeezes me closer.

My eyelids fall as I sink into his solid body. Clips of clumsy motions and innocence flash in front of me, my lungs expanding as I ingest the images. They leak into my veins, riding with the current of my blood with more confidence this time.

I never forgot, but sometimes I missed Brant so much that I forced myself to stifle the memories.

Not anymore.

I’m free.

“Why do you want four kids?”

I open my eyes, my stare landing on the sea of bright yellow and green. “One to replace each heart that should’ve been when we were growing up,” I say. “Yours and mine.” I pause, inhaling the clean air before continuing. “Your momma’s and my daddy’s.”

He shifts his head, resting his stubbly lips on my hairline, and my eyes flutter shut. “Yeah,” he whispers, “we have the control this time.”

I nod, my cheek rubbing the sleeve of his t-shirt as a tear slips free. “That’s all I want. We owe it to the two of them.”

Those two doves.